“Personally, I find it really helpful when people point out how my fears are going to ruin my biggest dreams,” I chip in.
“Really?” He perks up, pointing a finger at Angus. “See! What did I—”
“No, Ewan.” I almost bury my head in my hands. “I was being sarcastic.”
“Oh.”
“Pie.” Angus set the menu down.
“What?” Ewan asks.
“That’s what I want.” He nods at the menu. “Steak and ale pie and a Guinness. That’ll set me right.”
“The brown mush didn’t fill you up?” I tease with a small smile.
Angus fixes me with a stern glance. “How’s that stove, eh, London? Got it working yet?”
I open my mouth, ready to throw back, but then I remember the last time I’d tried to claim more hiking skill than I really have, and shut it slowly, miming zipping my lips.
Angus nods. “That’s what I thought. Know what you want?”
“Oh, ah, I’ll take a pie too.”
“And you?” Angus asks Ewan, shuffling out of the booth. I try to suppress my disappointment at the feel of his body heat leaving mine.
“No toasties here, the heathens. So… pie for me, as well, I guess.”
“Three pies coming right up.”
Angus slips through the crowd, surprisingly dextrously for such a big man, leaving Ewan and I alone at the table. In the corner, a small, makeshift stage has been set up and three men carrying cellos are tuning their instruments.
Ewan frowns. “Was I really a prick to Priya?”
“Yeah, actually. You were a bit.”
“Shit.” He scrubs at his face. “I’m going to have to apologise, aren’t I?”
“You don’t have to do anything, Ewan. No one’s going to make you do the right thing. That’s entirely up to you.”
“You really know how to guilt a bloke, don’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I smile at him.
“Look, I’m sorry about earlier.”
He isn’t looking at me, but down at the table, arms folded around himself. His hat sits crooked on his head, half over one ear, cutting his forehead unevenly in half. His hiking jacket is a size too big, and I wonder if it’s even his at all: or if it came from another, sadder, source. After his revelation earlier, it’s hard to feel anything but sorry for him.
He isn’t the kind of person I’d meet in my normal life, but I’m glad that I have.
Bad temper and all.
“Don’t worry about it.” Angus is heading back, a pint clasped in one hand. “It’s already forgotten.”
We share a smile as Angus plonks himself down, revealing Bonnie hidden behind him, her tray laden with the rest of our drinks. She hands me my IPA and Ewan his Red Bull, earning him a confused, and deeply disapproving, look from Angus, and then hovers indecisively with the other two drinks.
“Do you still want these, or shall I take them back to the bar?”
“We’ll keep them,” I say, with a glance at the door. “They’ll be back.”
