Three tea bags were piled on top of a spoon in the sink ringed by a stain of brown water. Nick was taking a long time to react and my unease grew as the silence stretched.
‘Shit,’ he said, eventually. ‘How did you find out?’
I slumped against the counter. ‘So it’s true?’
‘I’m sorry, Zoë. Who told you?’
I scooped up the tea bags and flicked them into the bin. ‘What does it matter who told me? If you knew about these pictures, why didn’t you tell me?’
‘That would have been cruel, don’t you think?’
‘Cruel? Giving me advance warning wouldn’t be cruel. It’s the least you could have done. The tabloid press will make mincemeat of her, and God knows what Jonny’s army of rabid fans will do. Lucy’s not as tough as she seems.’
‘Lucy? What are you talking about?’
‘Pictures of Jonny and some pink-haired girl snogging. You mean it’s not Lucy?’
‘I don’t know anything about that.’
‘Then what pictures are you talking about, Nick?’
He groaned – he’d revealed something he didn’t want me to know and my first instinct was to shout ‘hah!’ in triumph. Except, I didn’t feel too triumphant.
‘Nick?’
Silence.
‘What pictures, Nick?’
More silence.
‘For fuck’s sake, Nick.’
‘Pictures of Jess and Simon.’
I swallowed. ‘I see.’
‘I’m sorry.’
I grabbed the scourer and started rubbing at the brown ring mark in the sink. ‘When were they taken?’
‘I don’t know.’
I stopped scrubbing. ‘Was it that night we were all together at London Bridge? They were standing very close, I remember, but they definitely didn’t kiss.’
He didn’t immediately respond.
‘Nick?’
‘They’re more recent than that.’
‘How recent?’
‘Does it really matter when they were taken?’
‘I was just curious, that’s all.’
‘I can find out, if you want.’
