I didn’t need the pregnant pause to tell me that he wasn’t talking about Tony anymore.
‘Do you want to get a drink?’ I asked abruptly.
‘What?’
‘I owe you one. You won the bet. You made Denton cry first.’
‘Lily…’
‘Please.’
He thought about it for a moment, then nodded.
‘I saw a sign out the front of our old fave the other day,’ I said. ‘It’s under new management. Meet you there?’
‘All right.’
I got there before him. The bar still looked pretty much the same as it had seven years ago, when I’d first surveilled Murray at his birthday drinks, but they’d updated a lot of the drink options (including, sadly, taking away our beloved, terrible, cheapDesert Island Castawaybeer). ‘Two of… I don’t know, whatever you have on tap that you recommend,’ I told the bartender, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a man-bun and a row of little silver rings lining one ear. ‘And fries.’
‘Sure thing.’
‘Can you split that into two bowls? Same amount of fries, but in two different dishes? And can you cover one in pepper? Like, an amount of pepper that might potentially kill someone?’
The bartender grinned at me. ‘Whatever you want, love. Sit down and I’ll bring it out to you.’
It was a quiet night, and the food and drink arrived at the same time Murray did. ‘Before you start complaining about it, I’ve done the calculations,’ I said, as he slid into the boothand the bartender set the dishes down. ‘It is definitely my turn to buy the bar snacks. You bought them last week. So shut up.’
Murray didn’t say anything. The bartender visibly swallowed a laugh. I glared at him until he went away.
I held my beer up. ‘Cheers.’
‘Lily.’
‘I know. I know we have to talk about it. But can we just…’
I bit my lip.
‘We pulled off something amazing,’ I said at last. ‘I don’t want that to get lost. We made an awful man look like a complete dipshit, and we made sure there isn’t anything Tony can do about it. That deserves to be celebrated.’
Murray paused, then he clinked his beer against mine. ‘Cheers.’
We drank.
Then we just looked at each other, for a long time.
‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered.
‘You don’t need to apologise.’
‘I want to, though.’
I closed my eyes. How the fuck was I going to put this? I was good with words, but how could anyone possibly explain the swirling mess of my thoughts?
I loved him.
I’d wanted him for years.
Iloved him.
