“Oh,” she said. “Yes.” She paused but could think of nothing further to say. She wondered why he’d mentioned it, but he was a photographer; maybe he paid more attention than usual to what people wore. “So,” Daisy continued. “Don’t hate me for this... It’s the first thing I spotted, and I think we just have to rule things out at this point.”
“Agreed.” He nodded, and she could imagine what he was like at school. Studious. A good listener.
“Is there a chance you could have been a bit...” She grimaced. Having thought about it, this probably wasn’t the one to open with, but so far it was all she had.
He waited. “A bit...?”
“Sexist.” She blurted it out, then raised her hands to cover her face, pulling them away again to see him laughing, his eyes alight.
“Wow. Going right there, are you?”
She shrugged. “Had to at some point.”
“Didyou?”
She nodded toward her new pristine copy ofOrlando.“Don’t blame me, blame Virginia.”
“Go on.”
She opened the book on the page she’d marked by folding down the corner.
“Okay. ‘As long as she thinks of a man, nobody objects to a woman thinking.’ I feel like that could have stood out?”
He frowned, holding a hand toward her and beckoning for the book. She watched as he read it over and over, whispering it to himself in the same way he’d repeated the line she found on their walk the day before.
“Woah, V,” he said, eventually. “Hashtag not all men.”
Daisy looked across at him, a smile forming. She was so used to Zack’s perfunctory way of speaking, but Tom spoke more like her brother Dan.Dan!She’d completely forgotten to check in with him again, and there was still no word from him. At what point should she start worrying? Tom’s next words pulled her away from her thoughts.
“I’d like to say she would absolutely have never got that impression from me,” Tom continued, handing the book back. His nails were cut short and his hands were tanned, which she imagined was from holding a camera to shoot models in exotic locations. “However, I’m also questioning my entire personality, possibly existence... so maybe it’s safest to presume that anything you notice is something I could be guilty of.”
Daisy had hoped he might outright deny being sexist. “Okay,” she said, trying to keep her voice upbeat.
The doors to the bus opened and two women stepped on, one carrying a mop bucket and mop and the other a Henry hoover, both with swollen backpacks. They chatted away in Spanish and stood in the area that would later be filled with pushchairs.
“But if thatiswhat she thought about me, what do I do about it?”
“Well, we want to show her you’ve changed, right? So, wefind some feminist event that’s happening, and send you along. Then you post photos on Instagram so Sophie sees them.”
He frowned for a minute, then laughed, clapping his hands together. “I love it!” He paused. “What sort of event?”
“Well,” she said, pulling out her phone. “It just so happens my friend Clara has some tickets for some charity ceilidh tomorrow night in Stoke Newington that’s raising money for Women’s Aid. ‘Male allies welcome.’ You could go to that? I mean, we can keep looking...”
He let out a thoughtful noise, leaning toward her to look at her screen, his brown jacket resting against her black one for a moment. “You’re telling me that a guy rocking up to that solo will look like an act of feminism, rather than a creepy attempt to meet women.”
“No,” she said. “I’m not telling you that. It absolutely will look bad at first, but the photos you post won’t.”
He turned to her, smiling sheepishly, his face inches from her. “I’m not sure,” he said. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ll do literallyanythingto get Sophie back at this point, but I also don’t want to burst into a safe space for women.”
Daisy warmed at his words. “Which would make you the opposite of sexist, I think. I could...” She ran through it in her head. “I could... come? I imagine it looks a lot better if you turn up with a fr... a woman.” She couldn’t call herself his friend. Not yet. Not to his face.
“Yeah? You’d... go to a charity ceilidh in Stoke Newington...withme.”
She ran through what she’d tell Zack. Historically telling him about other men hadn’t gone down well. A story about the security guard at the office once prompted such a big overreaction from Zack she nearly had to quit her job, and she didn’t want him to suggest she stop the early bus rides. She could just try the truth. Say that Clara had tickets and they were going withsomeone called Tom. But no, he’d ask and there was too much at stake. Her work. Their photographer. She’d figure it out.
“I would,” she said, sounding more sure than she felt. “To save you being chased out for the wrong reasons.”
“Well...” He looked across at her, meeting her eyes. “I appreciate that. Let’s do it. Let’s hit up the ceilidh, I guess?”
