‘Seriously?’ Elis’s face is still creased in disgust from the whisky. He gapes at Miles. ‘Is he for real?’
Miles grimaces. ‘I think he might be, yes.’
‘Look,’ George says. ‘I don’t want to sound uncouth, but I can assure you that Jessie has already begun to imagine her future with a tall dark Englishman – me. And I’m not going to stand idly by if you come in and attempt to deprive her of the chance to realise that dream.’
George looks at Elis, waiting for him to protest. But he doesn’t; instead, he slides his hands slowly down his face, pulling at his cheeks to expose the deep tangle of veins along the base of his eye sockets.
‘Okay, then,’ George says.
Miles tuts and shakes his head. ‘Another thing,’ he says. ‘Can we please not mention the whole,you know what.’ Miles grimaces, and they all know what he’s referring to. ‘It’s not about misleading anyone. I’d just like to get through at least one night without explaining it all, and to be treated like a normal person. You know?’
The other three nod in agreement.
‘Yeah, of course,’ Elis says.
‘Absolutely fair enough,’ George adds. ‘In all honesty, I don’t think it would help anyone to be bringing that up. Anything else?’
They look at each other. Elis mutters something inaudible.
‘Good,’ George says. He grins broadly and extends an arm towards the door. ‘Once more unto the breach, dear friends. And stay away from Jessie. Jessie is mine.’
George hears a theatrical sigh and turns to find Polly has snuck up behind him. She has her arms folded in that semi-serious contemptuous manner of hers.
She gives him a withering smile. ‘Have you ever thought about taking a break from being a complete prick, for literallyoneminute?’
George grins. ‘Oh, look, the fun police is here. What’s the charge? Are you worried I might steal her heart?’
Polly groans and rolls her eyes. The others head for the exit, and she turns to follow.
Before she has a chance to leave, George reaches out and grabs Polly loosely by the arm. ‘Hey, wait. I’ve been meaning to ask you something.’
She stops and looks at him blankly.
George steps close to Polly and lowers his voice. ‘What’s your take on Elis?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, I hardly know the man. And I just wondered what you thought of him.’
‘I think he seems really nice, actually. He’s been super-supportive of Miles.’
‘So I gather. And what’s his motive behind that?’
Polly raises her upper lip, exposing her teeth. ‘Not everyone requires amotiveto do something nice, George.’
‘Don’t they?’
Polly shakes her head and walks off, and George stands and watches her for a moment, considering just how wrong she is about that. All actions require a motive. Even well-intentioned ones. And people choose not to reveal their motives for a variety of reasons, good and bad. It might be through kindness or tact, deception or shame. George is normally pretty good at instinctively realising what those reasons are. He’s accustomed to concealing his own. But there’s one motivating factor that he can’t quite fathom in all of this: why, exactly, has Miles chosen to bring Elis along with him on this trip?
Chapter 19
Miles
Miles opens his eyes, and it takes a second or two for him to remember where he is. At the same time, there’s an assault on his body: deep nausea, eyelids of sandpaper, a head full of rocks. A proper hangover. He hasn’t had one of these for a long time. Miles lies still, unready to move, staring vacantly towards the window. The room is dark, but a white glow around the edges of the curtains says the sun has been up for some time. A glass of water stands on the bedside table, but it’s too much effort to reach for it. He closes his eyes. Maybe he can slip back into sleep. He lies, his head pulsing, and memories of the previous day start to splice together, disjointed fragments slowly interweaving to form a narrative. They were at that bar all afternoon, weren’t they, and then there was a restaurant – Thai, he thinks – and then another place, not quite a nightclub but there was neon and a dance floor, and—
Suddenly the picture cuts to black. His body tenses, rigid. Something crawling up his bare calf. Someone. Someone in the bed with him. He turns over, and there she is.
‘Good morning, Miles.’
