‘So I, erm, saw Allison in the kitchen this morning?’
‘Allison?’
‘From accounts? Hair the colour of burned paper and the personality of Maleficent, mistress of darkness?’
Archer begins to choke on a lump of half masticated sandwich.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Is it weird that by your description I know exactly who you’re talking about? You just described her to a T.’ His words are still a little strangled, and he brings his hand to his mouth, coughing once into his fist. ‘Do you reckon she’s a witch, or is it just that she listens at keyholes? She’s scarily well informed, right?’
Thanks for setting that up for me.
‘What keyholes? What doors, for that matter? Doors are anticommunity, remember?’
‘We can’t complain.’ Sandwich distress rectified, he grins like a schoolboy who’s just been told classes are cancelled today. ‘We both have offices.’
‘And doors.’
‘But no keyholes.’
‘Regardless, she’s been listening to you somewhere.’
‘What do you mean?’ Archer tears a little bread from his baguette, throwing it in the direction of a couple of tiny sparrows pecking at the ground. We watch as the birds take flight momentarily before landing again to argue over the morsel.
‘She tells me you’re not going to Poppy’s wedding next week.’
‘Ah. Yeah. She’s right. Weddings aren’t really my scene.’
Quelle surpris.‘I thought everyone loved a wedding, marrieds, singles, and singles hoping not to be.’
‘You mean singles hoping not to be for the night?’
I redden under the scrutiny of his gaze.
‘Yes, wedding hookups,’ I mumble, looking at my lap and poking my salad again.
‘Also, I wasn’t invited.’
‘Really?’
‘I haven’t been here very long.’
‘Yes, I suppose the invites did go out a while ago.’
‘And you?’
‘I suppose I’ll have to go.’ I glance up mournfully and sigh, my shoulders rising and falling in a way he can’t fail to notice.
‘How come?’
‘I already RSVP’d, and when I did, I was seeing someone.’It’s not strictly a lie. I see people all the time, especially when my eyes are open.
‘And now you’re not? Seeing someone, I mean.’
My gaze drops to my salad container, and I squish a little squash against the side of the plastic. I’m not what you’d call a proficient liar. I’m also not comfortable with lying, even more so as I sit in this quiet park with a man I think I’ve underestimated on several fronts.
‘I got dumped. But I’ve already prepaid for the hotel, so I’ll have to make an appearance.’
