“Unfortunately.”
“We’ll have an adventure,” I assure him, adding, “Don’t worry, we’ll bring wine.”
“I think that’s a necessity,” he says, his mouth twitching into a smile.
Once we’ve got a satisfactory list of ideas, we spend Saturday traipsing round London to see which ones make our top six. It sounds like a chore, but it’s a nice day and it’s surprisingly fun, largely because Ryan seems much more relaxed outside of the office. We both arrive with backpacks filled with wine and snacks, and consequently end up having mini picnics at each spot, sitting on Primrose Hill or in the middle of Holland Park discussing the advantages and disadvantages of each view point.
By the time we reach our final destination—Greenwich Park—I’m feeling very tipsy. It’s fairly busy, but as there’s only two of us, we manage to squeeze into a good spot in the middle of the hill, right at the top. Pouring some more wine, we forget to review the merits of the park and instead start discussing why we wanted to become journalists and what our ambitions are for the future. He tells me he wants to write a book someday.
“What about?” I ask.
“I don’t know, something important,” he answers vaguely. “Maybe I’ll write an investigative report into some kind of awful injustice and blow it wide open, so I bring about real change, and then I can turn that into a book. That’s why I wanted to be a journalist in the first place.”
“To get a book deal off the back of an article?”
He laughs. “No, to give people a voice who might not have one.”
I tell him I think that’s very noble and that I want to be a journalist simply because I like telling people’s stories. He says he thinks that’s noble, too.
We somehow end up talking about family and he tells me about his parents, his Swedish heritage, and his one true love, Cracker, his parents’ Irish setter. He asks me about my family and I tiptoe round the subject, but regale him with a couple of funny stories from university, like how I auditioned for the pantomime and landed the role of a nonspeaking duck.
He roars with laughter and I think how nice it is to see him really let loose, and how I wish he laughed like that more often. He catches me staring at him and I blush, looking away.
Remembering why we’re here in the first place, I gesture at the view and declare this to be my favorite picnic spot in London.
“Nah,” he says, shaking his head, “I prefer Battersea Park.”
“But you can see the whole city from here!”
He smiles at my enthusiasm. “Yeah, but I like picnicking by a lake or something.”
“Oh, I see,” I say, rolling my eyes and putting on a posh voice. “Ryan enjoys a water feature, don’t you know.”
“Nothing wrong with a good water feature.”
I take a sip of wine, chewing on the edge of the cup.
“Did you get the email last night about… the application?” he asks carefully.
“Yeah. I got an interview. You?”
He nods. “Yep. It’s on Friday the twenty-seventh of August.”
“Same. Pretty harsh that it’s the week before we leave.”
“Probably a good thing. Less awkwardness if we don’t get it,” he reasons.
“That’s true.”
“What time is yours?” he asks.
“FourP.M.”
“Mine’s at three.”
“You can give me tips.”
He snorts in response, instantly irritating me.
