“You don’t know what I was going to ask.”
“I know enough.”
“I was going to ask whether we’re doing a leaving speech for him.”
“No.”
AJ puts a hand to his chest. “That was fast.”
“You’ve only been here two weeks.”
“And yet I’ve given so much.”
“You moved the tea bags,” Mish says.
“To the place labelled tea bags.”
“Nobody asked for logic.”
“That should go in the feature,” Dan says. “Journalist arrives. Morale collapses under basic organisation.”
AJ points at him. “That is very good. Can I use that?”
“No.”
“Shame.”
I let the banter run for another few seconds because it is normal, and normal is useful. Then I cut it off.
“Right. Let’s get on.”
Chairs move. People stand. The night gathers itself around us.
AJ lingers half a step behind as the others filter out, and for a second I think he is going to say something.
I want him to.
I do not want him to.
He looks at me, and all the sensible air leaves the room.
“Pippa,” he says quietly.
I glance towards the open door.
“Not here.”
His expression shifts.
Not hurt.
Understanding, maybe.
“Yes,” he says. “Of course.”
That should settle me.
It does not.
