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I follow him into his small living room. It’s neater than I remember. When I was last here—helping him lug in a new washing machine—empty beer cans littered the coffee table and his gaming stuff was sprawled across the floor. Now everything has been tidied away, the surfaces wiped clean. There’s even a vase of fresh flowers.
“Place is looking good. I didn’t take you for the floral type.”
Drew follows my gaze and laughs, though it sounds a touch forced. “Ah, well. Trying to make an effort to appear civilised these days. Beer?”
“On the bike,” I say, settling into an armchair.
“Right, aye. Tea? Water?”
“I’m good.”
Drew perches on the edge of the sofa opposite, his posture oddly stiff for someone in his own living room. “So . . . how’ve you been? This whole situation is crazy.”
“Been better,” I say flatly. “You?”
“Can’t complain. Listen, mate, I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch. Your da made it pretty clear we weren’t supposed to contact you.” He drums his fingers against his knee. “Also, this is awkward, but I’ve got to say it. I’ve . . . been promoted. To your old position.”
I keep my expression neutral, though something twists in my gut. “Makes sense. You know the ropes.”
“Aye, well, the circumstances are shite. Nobody believes you actually did it, you know.”
“Nobody?”
“Okay, maybe not nobody. But I don’t, and Johnny doesn’t. Anyway . . .” He attempts a grin, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You just here for a social call? If you fancy a game night, I’d be more than happy to hand your arse to you in FIFA.”
His attempt at our usual banter almost makes me smile. Almost.
“Actually,” I say, leaning forwards, “I was hoping to pick your brain about something.”
“Oh?”
“Samantha.”
The change is subtle—a shift in his posture, a twitch in his jaw—but it’s there.
“What about her?”
“She still riding your arse about maintenance requests?”
Drew laughs, and this time it sounds genuine. “When isn’t she? Woman’s a bloody nightmare. Always finding something that needs fixed five minutes before my shift ends.”
“Do you remember what you and I were talking about the day I quit?”
“Hmm. Remind me?”
“You asked if I’d ever hook up with another staff member.”
“Did I? Just making conversation, I guess.”
“And specifically, you mentioned Samantha.” I pause. “I should really have asked you the same question, shouldn’t I?”
“Christ, Robbie.” He swallows. “What are you suggesting? That I’m sleeping with Samantha? That’s mad.”
I glance pointedly at the flowers, then back at him. “Is it?”
“Those are just—” He stops himself, and for a moment, the friendly mask slips. I see calculation behind his eyes. Then he sighs, his shoulders slumping. “Fuck’s sake. How did you know?”
“I didn’t. Not for sure anyway, at least not until just now.”
