“Good idea,” she said, falling into step beside him. She was curious about why John might need a support dog but suspected it was rude to ask. “It’s so good to see you,” she said. “What are you up to these days, still composing?”
“I am,” he said.
“What kind of music?” She watched him as he checked the departures board, unable to compute how much he had changed. Had she changed that much? The concourse around them thrummed with sound—children crying, PA announcements,the clatter of suitcase wheels, and the flutter of pigeons. Yet John stood there, unfazed, calm and serene, as though he were standing in an art gallery, contemplating an interesting painting. “I write scores for film and TV,” he told her, eyes scanning the screen, “and I work at a recording studio.”
“Wow,” she said, genuinely impressed. “That sounds cool.”
But then an unwelcome wave of self-doubt crept in. John, like Sean and Kiko, was doing exactly what he’d set out to do. Was she the only one who wasn’t? She quickly checked herself. She knew that this weekend—hearing about everyone’s glittering lives—was going to be challenging. That was exactly why she had armed herself with great outfits and a distractingly beautiful plus-one. Jealousy was not a helpful emotion, and besides, didn’t a rising tide lift all ships? She must not think of herself as the waterlogged boat that was no longer seaworthy in this analogy.
“Maybe I should take some credit for your success,” she said, nudging John. “Wasn’t I always convincing you to compose music for our plays?” He frowned slightly, then hitched his backpack higher onto his shoulder. “Remember that musical we wrote in third year,Back to Brideshead?” she added with a laugh. “Wow, that was terrible. Not your music, obviously, the play. Do you remember? We did one performance, and half the audience walked out.”
“I remember,” he said, and there was a tightness in his tone. He didn’t seem in the mood to reminisce.
“So, are you still in touch with a lot of people from college?” she asked, pivoting.
“I’m on the alumni committee, so yes,” he said, turning to walk toward the ticket machine. “I’m in touch with people all the time for fundraisers and events.”
“I meant socially,” she said, skipping along beside him as they skirted around a noisy crowd of schoolchildren wearing hi-vis jackets. “Who have you stayed friends with? I only really keep up with Akiko and Emma. Do you see—” She paused, trying to sound casual. “Do you still see much of Sean?”
“Yes. Less since he moved. LA is eight hours behind,” John said, offering for her to go first with the ticket machine. “There’s a bus in five minutes.”
By the time they’d bought tickets and found the right line, the moment to ask more about Sean had passed. The Oxford Tube was already parked up, a large red-and-blue coach, with people boarding at the front. John let her go first, but then the driver said, “No dogs on the bus, mate.”
“It’s a support dog,” John told him.
“You got an ID? Certificate?” the driver asked while chewing gum.
“Yes, somewhere here,” John said, reaching into his pocket for his wallet.
The driver waved him on, because a queue was building behind them. “Just don’t let it sit on the seats.”
The bus was already half full. A man in a hoodie was asleep across two seats, laptop half closed on his chest. An elderly couple near the front were quietly sharing an iPad and a bag of green boiled sweets. Chloe walked down the bus, taking in the distinct aroma of egg sandwiches and damp upholstery. They passed two teenage girls in matching Doc Martens, discreetly vaping while giggling over something on a phone screen. She thought of Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert’s bus journey inIt Happened One Night. Perhaps their bus smelled of egg sandwiches too, but everything just looked more romantic in black and white.
Chloe found an empty row at the back. She let John go in first. The dog jumped up beside him, but John shooed him down to the floor. Richard looked briefly disgruntled but then curled up at his feet. “Kind of regretting missing our nice college bus now,” she whispered, as she slipped in beside him, and John finally cracked a smile.
“Indeed.”
Chloe looked up at John and then back down at Richard, up at John, then down at Richard again.
“What?” John asked, narrowing his eyes at her.
“Nothing,” she said, “I just…” She trailed off. “Nothing.”
“What? What were you going to say?”
“Well,” she whispered, “is Richardreallya support dog?”
John glowered at her. She didn’t remember him being a glowerer. It felt incongruous, but also intriguing, like she’d just unlocked a new mode.
“It’s just, if I had a dog, I would probably say that so I could take him places,” she said, pausing as the glower deepened. “No one ever checks the certificate, do they?”
“That would be an abuse of the system,” John said, his voice giving nothing away.
“Right, I know. Of course.” She pinched her lips closed.
“You haven’t stayed in touch with Sean, then, I take it?” John asked. She shifted in her seat, impatient to get going.
“No, but I’m happy for him, how well he’s done.”
