“It’s a safety requirement.”
“It’s my face.”
“It’ll still be your face underneath.”
“You don’t know that.”
Kev laughs.
AJ points at him. “No support from the wider team?”
Kev holds up both hands. “I’m not getting between a watch manager and a safety requirement.”
I fold my arms. “AJ.”
He looks at me, and for one ridiculous second I am aware of his eyes. Green. Very green, actually, which is another thing I do not need to know.
“Pippa,” he says, with a level of seriousness entirely disproportionate to the situation. “What if I trimmed it?”
“No.”
“What if I signed something saying I accept responsibility for my own jawline?”
“No.”
“What if we call Marie Louise?”
“Who?”
“My editor,” he adds, with slightly less confidence, as if he has just realised he is asking for adult supervision.
“She’ll tell you to shave.”
He considers that.
“Strong point.”
“Thank you.”
His hand is still on his beard. “I’ve had this for years.”
“That must have been lovely for both of you.”
Mish turns away completely now, shoulders shaking.
AJ watches her betrayal with wounded dignity, then looks back at me. “You’re enjoying this.”
He exhales, slow and dramatic enough to qualify as mini tantrum.
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Yes. Fine. If the beard must be sacrificed in the name of public education and respiratory integrity, I will not stand in the way.”
“Very brave.”
“I thought nobody here was impressed by stupid bravery.”
