Page 19

“I’ll see you at twelve thirty.” She smiles as though this is all perfectly straightforward.

“Yes” is all I manage.

By the time I make it back to my office, my head feels strangely fuzzy.

The staffroom.

Lunch.

Not only have I agreed to go to a wedding as Alice’s fake date, but now we’re apparently having lunch together.

What am I doing?

Why did I agree to this? Why does it feel like I’ve willingly thrown myself off the top of a building?

But I know the answer.

I like Alice.

That’s precisely why I’ve kept my distance. I don’t want to lead her somewhere I can’t follow. Somewhere I’ve already been before, only for it to end in heartbreak.

I can’t do that to her. I can’t do that to anyone. And I certainly can’t survive going through it all again myself.

But it’s been three years, and this isn’t real.

This is pretend.

Alice hasn’t asked me on a real date. Maybe that’s why I agreed. Because none of it means anything, which makes it easier to ignore the small part of me wishing that it did.

Pulling my phone from my trouser pocket, I find Carmel’s name and text her.

Hopefully my dog walker is free on the day of the wedding.

And hopefully Smithy has some sandpaper.

8

Alice

When I arrive in the staffroom a little before twelve thirty, the urge to make Owen a cup of tea is overwhelming. But I know he’s very particular about his tea, so instead, I make my own in my normal haphazard way by splashing water onto the bag and abandoning it to steep while I replay this morning’s conversation.

I still can’t quite believe Owen agreed to come to the wedding pretending to be my boyfriend so easily. Then again, in his eyes, this probably isn’t a big deal because he already has Paul waiting at home.

And yes, maybe I shouldn’t instantly assume he’s gay just because he mentioned another man and likely owns more hair products than I do. Bisexual people exist, Alice. Calm yourself.

But still.

He has strong taken energy.

Stable, committed, deeply-in-love-with-someone-who-probably-folds-his-laundry-correctly energy.

So the idea of fake-dating me probably feels completely harmless to him.

But he’s also so damn fine I could cry.

The staffroom is busy, and I wonder how Owen will cope, as I never see him in here other than to make his cups of tea.

Jamal calls me over to a table in the far corner, and I’m stuck. I can’t sit with Jamal, as I can’t imagine Owen will want the other staff knowing about our little arrangement, and we can’t possibly get to know each other with Jamal sitting there like a gooseberry.