“Daisy,” she said, pointing to herself. “And of course.”
“Well, Daisy, you said your dadusedto say...” He raised his fingers, forming quotation marks.
“Oh yes. He died.”
Tom nodded once, more of a dip of the head. Daisy glanced across at him, waiting.
“Well? Aren’t you going to say ‘I’m sorry to hear that’?” she asked.
“Do you want me to?” he said back, locking eyes with her. His were a pale blue, and when he looked at her, it was almost as though he knew what she was thinking. “My mum died when I was ten,” he added, by way of explanation. So hedidknow a bit about what she was thinking. “I’ve got secret scores for each reaction and thesorryone comes up the most, so I think I’m now immune to it.”
“I know what you mean,” Daisy said. “Though it isn’t theworstby way of response.”
“True,” he nodded. “I think my absolute favorite I once got was ‘were you close?’ Like it made it less sad if we weren’t.”
Daisy covered her mouth with her hand, stifling a laugh. “I’ve not had that one, but I did get ‘what did he die of?’ once, before any sympathy was offered.”
“A fair question. Cancer,” Tom said, just as Daisy said, “Car accident.”
“Shit, I think you win,” Tom added, and they both gave matching slightly sad smiles. They walked directly across a road that in an hour or two would be filled with cars and pedestrians waiting to cross, but for now didn’t even require a second glance, and onto a stretch of road leading toward Euston Station.
The copy ofOrlandoslipped from Tom’s hand as they reached the other side and he bent down to pick it up, an ambulance passing silently, its blue lights flashing.
“Can I ask why?” Daisy asked gently, pointing at his book, the journalist within her unable to hold back. He looked across at her, his eyes warm; reassurance that he didn’t mind her asking.
“It’s going to sound ridiculous.”
“I live for ridiculous,” she said. “Try me.”
Tom took a deep breath, glancing ahead toward a restaurant, its windows filled with potted plants. “My ex-girlfriend broke up with me four months ago.” He coughed. “On the day I was going to propose to her,” he added after a pause. It seemed like it was a story he’d told many times before, knowing exactly how long a pause to leave for dramatic impact.
“Oh God, I’m sorry to—” She stopped herself from saying the rest of the sentence that Tom apparently didn’t like to hear.
“Well done,” he said, smiling. “Great save on the sympathy.”
“Were you close?” Daisy responded instead, and he leaned his head back and laughed.
“Much better question,” he said and then his face turned serious as he reached up to pull at his lip. “I know you’re joking, but honestly, that’s all I keep thinking about. Because, yes. So fucking close. We planned everything together. We had a holiday to Portugal booked for next year. Theatre tickets to that new Benedict Cumberbatch play on our pinboard for Christmas. Shared savings toward our dream home in Hampstead. Then she just... she ended it, and when I asked her why...” He paused again. “I sayasked. Cried and begged for a reason would probably be more accurate, but, you know... I’m tough.” He hit his chest with his fist and Daisy had the urge to reach out and squeeze his arm, offer him some sort of reassurance. “I asked her why, and she said it was because ofthis.” He lifted the book and tapped it with his other hand as though it was no big deal, when she could tell it was actually quite a huge deal.
“Orlando?” Daisy frowned, taking in the cover. It was a painting of a man—presumably Orlando—with one Frida Kahlo type eyebrow and long dark brown hair.
“Orlando,” Tom replied, nodding.
A waft of freshly baked bread filled the air for a moment, seemingly from nowhere, before fading away just as abruptly. “I don’t know it, but it seems... an odd choice.”
“Are you saying that based on the title or the image of this very dashing young man on the cover?” he asked, holding the book up beside his face and then dropping it again.
“Both, I think.”
“Itisan odd choice,” he said. “I’ve read it over and over and I just... I can’t find anything in there. It’s a dude who gets his heart broken repeatedly, swears off all humans for life, lives alone for, no exaggeration,hundredsof years with dogs for friends, and then becomes a woman. It wasn’t even the type of book she’d usually read. She was obsessed with sad romances.” He was just spilling out all the thoughts in his head now and Daisy knewnot to stop him. That on some level, he needed to get this off his chest. “Sometimes we’d go to that book market down by the Thames on the Southbank—you know the secondhand one?—and compete to find a book which sounded the most sad. We’d give each other points for the best,” he added, smiling. “It had to saydevastatingorheartbreakingortore my soul out. This one isn’t any of those things.”
They were opposite Euston Station, the bus stops outside lit up by neon lights while the streets themselves were relatively empty. The odd person passed them, but for the most part London, for now, felt entirely theirs.
“What if it was just something stupid like... growing your hair out,” Daisy said, holding her hand out for the book, reveling in the mystery of it all.
“I feel like if it was, she’d have just dropped hints about how much she fancied Jason Momoa.”
“Nice reference.”
