I look down at the phone on my desk and see the two calls I’ve missed. It reminds me of what I was doing before I was rudely interrupted. I was reading the latest message from Alice.
She said we need to fight for what brings us joy.
I need her in my life.
It can’t be only this. Only Infinio.
Damian’s Infinio.
“Thank you, I’ll take it here.” But before I pick up the receiver, I need to make sure I get what I want. “Patrice, clear my calendar for Saturday, please.” I’ve got someone very special to meet.
Another whimper, then she clears her throat. “Of course, sir.”
“And call me Mark, will you?”
“Never, sir.” She grins and points to the phone on my desk, reminding me my mother is waiting.
“Mum, what’s happening?”
“Did you go to a costume party dressed as Robin Hood?”
Shit.
Fuck, has Alice read it? Is that why she wants to meet me? No, it doesn’t seem like it from what she wrote. I push the thought away.
Right now, I wish I could lie to the woman who brought me into this world, but she’s instilled near-crippling honesty in me over the last three-and-a-half decades. There’s no way.
“Yes, Mum, I did.”
“My goodness, son!”
Here we go.
“Don’t make it a thing, please,” I say.
“I’ve never heard of you dressing up before. You were Steve Jobs for Halloween every year, for crying out loud.”
“Is this why you’re calling?” I roll my eyes, glad she can’t see me.
“It was on the blog thing, son. I needed to know.” She’s silent for a beat, but I wait for her to continue. “I’m glad you’re out having some fun.”
“You’re not calling to tell me to behave? It seems to be the discourse these days. I need to continue being the opposite of Damian.”
“Darling, Damian did what he did and it was all terrible, but it doesn’t mean you need to double down on the seriousness of everything you do. I worry about you, you know. I can’t remember the last time I saw you relaxed and smiling.”
“I’m okay.”
Despite the Horace and Rey situation that just spiked my heart-rate, I am better than ever. Thanks to a certain someone.
“So, if you were Robin,” Mum continues. “Who is Alice?”
The million-pound question.
“I’m about to find out,” I say, grinning at my phone where I’m ready to type out my response to Alice.
CHAPTER TWENTY
east london
