She slaps a hand on her mouth.
I turn sharply. ‘Vand?’
Her eyes are wide. ‘So yeah, Rich is definitely in Paris.’
Quickly wiping my hands on my jeans, I take the phone from her.
It’s a photograph from the viewing platform of the Eiffel Tower, where someone has draped a bed sheet over the railing. Painted on it are the words: I love you, Lentil.
I gasp. ‘Oh my God.’
‘There are more,’ she says.
She’s right. The next picture shows Rich standing next to the makeshift banner. Then more pictures arrive, this time blurrier: a uniformed man trying to pull the sheet off, another man dragging Rich away.
‘What the fuck?’ I whisper. ‘Is he beingarrested?’
She shakes her head. ‘That’s completely bonkers, but also … kinda romantic? It’s where you met, isn’t it?’
I nod, not knowing what to do. ‘Should I reply?’
Before Vandi has time to answer, another slew of images arrive.
Two green cocktails in martini glasses sitting atop a bar, a grinning accordion player, a Toulouse-Lautrec poster.
I blink to ward off tears. ‘It’s the bar we went to after the Eiffel Tower.’
‘Oh wow,’ says Vandi.
Next is a dizzying photograph taken underneath the Arc de Triomphe. The place we first kissed. Then, the Pyramid at the entrance to the Louvre, followed by a picture of Rich inside the museum staring up at the Venus de Milo, the Cypriot goddess.
She blows out a breath. ‘A whistle-stop tour of the places you went to on your first date? It’s a hell of a gesture.’
My phone lights up – but this time, instead of texting, Rich is calling.
‘What should I do?’ I whisper in panic.
‘Donotanswer it,’ says Vandi.
‘I think maybe I should speak to him.’
‘I’ve got a better idea.’
Chapter 16
Vandi’s bright idea is to wait fifteen minutes and then ring him back, only by then, we’ll be in the pub with The Doll and his mate Jonno.
‘Are you sure about this?’ I ask, as she checks her freshly reapplied lipstick in the hall mirror. ‘Won’t the pub be noisy?’
She chivvies me out of the front door. ‘That’s the point, silly.’
As soon as we walk into the White Hart, it’s obvious that the noisewillbe a problem. But not in the way we imagined: the place is deathly quiet. Of the five lonely souls here, three of them are sitting motionless at the bar watching rugby on a muted television. The other two are staff.
‘Is it always this dead?’ I whisper.
‘Dunno,’ Vandi whispers back. ‘First time I’ve come.’
‘But it’s a hundred metres from your house.’
