Back at home, I sat on the sofa with my head in my hands, Oliver concernedly beside me and Jaz in the armchair with Spud, notexactly revelling in my misery because she didn’t reallydorevelling, but certainly not in any way brought down by it.
“We’re fucked,” I was saying, and it was testimony to how seriously Oliver was taking my fuckedness that he didn’t bother to call me out for sayingfuckin front of Jaz. “I had one job and I fucking fucked it.”
“Your job,” Oliver told me in his most everything-is-all-right-and-you-are-wonderful voice, “was to rebuild, with no notice, bridges that another man had burned a decade ago. You did as well as anybody could have.”
“Ruff,” agreed Spud, which I double-appreciated on account of Jaz being his favourite human now.
Jaz had no words of consolation for me herself, but I took the fact that she wasn’t telling me thatactually no, I was a shit person who had done shitas her own brand of sympathy.
“Well.” I tried to remain stoic and philosophical, which were two things I was, of course, extremely good at remaining. “We planned around this, right?”
Oliver nodded. “We did. We don’t need two incomes.”
“Three incomes,” Jaz reminded us, and I genuinely couldn’t tell if she was being bitter or consoling. “You get cash for me, too, remember.”
“You see,” continued Oliver, still soothing. “It’s not even really a financial hit.”
Sniffling slightly, I looked over at Spud. “I’m going to make youso manytiny outfits. With, like, hats. Adorable hats.”
“You’re fucking not,” Jaz told me on Spud’s behalf, and Spud backed her up with a low growl.
“Hey,” I protested, “I’m having a bad day. You don’t get to be snarky at me when I’m having a bad day.”
“You don’t really get to be snarky withanybody,” Oliver added. “Kindness costs nothing.”
Jaz considered this. “Yeah, but rudeness don’t cost nothing neither and it’s more fun.”
“Jasmine…” Oliver was just beginning to shift to stern mode when my phone went off.
And, of course, it was Saint.
“Sorry.” I sighed. “I’m not unemployed yet, so I should probably take this.”
I went into the hall and then through to the study so that Jaz and Oliver wouldn’t have to listen to whatever my half of the conversation with Saint was going to sound like. Though probably what it would sound like was me sayingYes, yes, whatever you wantlike a spineless prick.
“Need a ride,” Saint said, with no other greeting.
And, while that was annoying, Ididstill have his car. “Where are you?”
“Nick.”
“Nick who?”
For a moment the line was quiet. Then, “Was that a joke?”
It had been a long evening. “No?”
“I’m in nick. The nick. The slammer. Chokey. The clink. The big house. The naughty box. Peel’s penthouse. Room One No Fun.”
I was about to ask him if there was anybody else he could possibly call, but I stopped myself. Because the answer was almost certainly “no.” I would’ve felt sorry for him if not for the tiny, tiny detail that he was ruining my life.
Then a further detail occurred to me. “Hang on, are you still in Droitwich?”
“Course.”
That was two hours away. That was a four hour round trip. That was a completely unreasonable thing for anyone to ask anyone. Especially if the first anyone had made the second anyone do that trip once already.
“Okay,” I said, too tired to argue. “Text me an address. I’ll be there.”
