‘That’s some fucking business mentality,’ I grumble. ‘It’s hardly like we were a couple. It was just a few weeks of fun.’
‘Do me a favour, when you call her to smooth things over, leave that little insight out?’
‘I’m not gonna call the psychopath,’ I reply, my tone rising to levels of incredulousness.
‘That’s what this tantrum is all about—she says you won’t speak to her.’
‘You don’t want me to talk to her, believe me. Our last conversation didn’t go over that well. I’m pretty sure people heard her insults in the next borough.’
‘You make me want to yell plenty.’
‘Aye, but I’m not banging you.’
‘I’m pleased to hear, because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’ll bang anyone.’
‘Not true. I’m no’ so keen on the brush of stubble against my balls.’
‘And you know that how?’ comes his sardonic retort.
‘That’d be telling.’ I taunt, talking pure bull.
‘Stop messing about. The bottom line is you’re not banging Beth and therein lays our problem. Why couldn’t you have hung out a bit longer?’
‘Sure, I’ll just let her whip me down the aisle while she’s on.’
‘Just give the lassie a call—’
‘No way. I don’t care if she is the head of our construction partner, or the best interior designer in London.’ My gaze falls to the room in front of me.It’s a fucking tip. Beth had taken an interest in this property personally, especially when I touched on my history with the place, and truthfully, her plans were amazing. ‘She had designs on more than my body,’ I grumble. Designs that randomly found their way to bespoke jewellers, cooing at engagement rings, dropping hints the size of Kanye’s ego. ‘Anyway, I thought this place was working to schedule. It’s a veritable shit tip from where I’m stood.’
‘And I thought you were’nae gonna eat where you shit anymore?’
‘Ah, Kit.’
‘It’s your fault. If you had’nae shagged the lassie.’
‘Listen, don’t look now, but your accent’s showing.’
Kit swears colourfully down the line; you can take the boy out of Scotland... not that he’d appreciate the sentiment. He hates being pegged as anything but genteel Scots, his accent usually ironed pretty well flat after years of living in London. Both of us love Scotland, but in small doses, you understand.
‘Just get this mess sorted,’ comes his final irate demand.
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘You know, your hearing is impeccable. You’re right, I said no. Not on your life.’ As he inhales, I plough on. ‘She’s a couple biscuits short of a full pack, and you don’t even want to know what fucked up things she’s done in the last month. You can’t make somebody love you, no matter how many naked selfies they send.’
‘My heart bleeds for you,’ he says deadpan. ‘It’s pumping pure purple piss right now.’
‘Selfies aren’t the half of it. How about the tracking device she had on my phone?’
‘Now you’re talkin’ pure pish.’
‘What a coinky-dink,’ I pitch my voice higher, attempting to simper down the line. It’s a pretty fair impersonation of the woman herself thethirdtime I’d bumped into her after drawing a line under things. ‘We’re so similar, Rory, can’t you see? Even our down times are in tune.Three times,’ I say, in my own tone now. ‘Three different pubs across the country, Kit. Not just London—at a sports store while I was buying new Nikes. Then, at the new fucking gym I’d joined to avoid bumping into her. I nearly fell off the treadmill that time.’
Kit tries not to laugh. And fails.
‘Yeah, real funny,’ I agree. ‘I almost thought so, too, when I found the tracking app on my phone.’ Kit’s laughter buzzes down the line still. ‘It was almost as funny as when I found that she’d not only installed, but also set up a profile for me onpounder.You know, the gay hook up app?’
