‘No.’
‘Hung like a horse?’
‘Eww. What kind of person discusses this stuff with their mother?’
‘Me—not voluntarily, though.’
‘Poor Heth. But it could be worse. Instead of free love, your parents could be practicing free hate. Like my lot.’
‘When are you going to tell Olivia?’
‘At twelve weeks. I’ll tell everyone who needs to know then. Twelve weeks seem to be the sweet spot for these things. And please don’t mention it to her before then.’ Pulling out an E-Volve branded pencil, I brandish it in her direction.
‘Jeez, okay. You know I won’t. But you must admit, it’s better that I told him when I did.’ She taps the back of my phone. ‘Because when he sends you... whatever it is he sends you,’ in response to me rolling my eyes, her voice becomes a little more forceful, ‘you actually smile.’
‘I smile other times,’ I retort with another fake smile.
‘I think I’d prefer it if you did have wind.’
28
James
‘Another drink?’
We’re at Mortcombs again but inside this time. It’s too cold and wet today to sit out.
‘Sure.’ I barely glance up at Griffin, my gaze falling to my phone again, having just enquired what Miranda’s plans are for the evening. Since the ultrasound, I’m happy to say I see her most days, though it’s during the night more often than during the day, not that I’m complaining. But I have made voluble my complaints with regards to her pet-sitting position.
‘Are you willing her to answer?’ I ignore Beckett’s tone. We haven’t spoken of Miranda since the day I called and asked about her.
‘Who?’ Griff is like a shark sensing blood in the water. ‘Who are you fucking? Is it that model?’
‘Isn’t it always a model?’ Beckett interjects in that infuriating drawl. Though I’ll credit him as not supplying Griff with further ammunition. Just as he kept Olivia away from out little group, I’ll do the same with Miranda.
Perhaps we’re just greedy and keeping them to ourselves.
‘What was her name again?’
‘I don’t know who you’re talking about,’ I reply evenly.
‘Yeah, you do. You were in the social section of one of the local rags—one of the newspapers.’
‘Why, Griffin. I never pegged you as a devotee of the social sections. Howquaint.’
‘Get fucked, you,’ he retorts, sending Beckett a derisive grin. Because somehow, quaint sounded more like deplorable. ‘I’m not looking to make connections with anyone but the gorgeous and almost divorced.’
‘A public service, no doubt. You’re like the human version one of those wide-mouthed whales, sucking up the flotsam and jetsam of the world.’
‘Thank you, Beckett. But I don’tsuckclients. Often,’ he adds with that grin again. ‘But come on.’ He turns his attention back to me. ‘What was her name again? I want to say it was a name that sounded like an animal.’
‘She should be right up your alley, then.’ Neither of us pays Beckett’s muttering any attention as he picks up his broadsheet newspaper, opening it with an annoyed flourish.Or perhaps an annoying flourish.
‘You’re the only animal I know.’ My phone vibrates with a text. He means Giselle, of course. I wonder how she’s still window-shopping in anticipation of her divorce settlement? I should give her a call. She might be interested in a preshow viewing of the Kenyan photorealism showing I have coming up. Or maybe I won’t call her at all. Last time I tried to sell her something, she roped me into going to an event, and a more boring night I’ve never had.
Just on my way out of the office for an hour. Same place as last night. Will call you soon x
Miranda. She’s as graceful as any gazelle and has the same attractive doe-like gaze, but her temperament is closer to that of a donkey. The woman is as gorgeous as she is both infuriatingly independent and mulishly determined to continue refusing my help. But I stay the course and continue to chip away at her walls. It’s hardly surprising she’s built them so high given her experiences and role models. But I persevere, quite happily usually, though it is tiresome never quite knowing whether I’ll be sleeping in my own bed or some stranger’s bed from day to day.
