She shrugs. ‘It’s always looked so lame from the outside.’
I can’t help but laugh. ‘How do I let you talk me into these things?’
‘Do you want to go back home? I don’t think The Doll and his mate are in here. Plus, I don’t see any pool tables.’
A moment later, a side door swings open, and we hear a blast of music.
‘Oh, there’s another room,’ says Vandi. ‘Thank God for that.’
The door opens again, and The Doll walks through. ‘Ladies,’ he says, like he’s been expecting us. ‘Just in time. What can I get you?’
I hadn’t been planning on drinking or staying more than ten minutes to make my phone call, but The Doll, or rather Oliver, and his mate Jonno are surprisingly good company and I’m having fun. I’m dragged into a pool game, partnered with Jonno, against Vandi and Oliver and we win, which means Vandi and Oliver demand a rematch, so I have to stay for that, and of course, another drink. Before I know it, it’s half past ten and I still haven’t called Rich.
I take my phone out, give Vandi a knowing look and head to the quieter part of the pub.
I call Rich, and he picks up on the first ring.
‘Nella?’ He sounds tentative.
‘Rich.’
‘Thanks for calling.’
‘I thought we should talk before we see each other at work tomorrow.’
The bell for last orders is rung, and a surprising number of punters surge into the bar area.
‘Where are you?’ Rich asks above the noise.
‘I’m in a pub.’
‘Oh, right.’
He sounds put out, and I want to laugh. Did he think I was going to sit at home moping?
I don’t tell him I’m with Vandi and that the only reason we’re here is so she can flirt with her flatmate.
‘So, you went to Paris?’
‘On a whim, yesterday. It cost an arm and a leg.’
‘Is that supposed to impress me?’
‘No, I just meant …’ He pauses. ‘I had this idea to take pictures of all the places that meant so much to me – to us – that I literally jumped in a cab and rushed to St Pancras without even bothering to pack.’
But I saw your suitcase, I want to say. Maybe he’s exaggerating for the sake of the story, but the whole thing reeks of performance. A couple of hours ago, it had felt like a romantic gesture, but now I can see it for what it is: a cold calculation.
It hardens me to say what needs to be said.
‘I don’t want to tell anyone at the office – not yet.’
‘You don’t want them to know we’ve split up, or …?’
There’s hope in his voice that I need to quickly extinguish.
‘I don’t want any drama, and I don’t want my work affected.’
‘Whatever you want.’
