Page 97 of Be More Octopus

'No.' Connor sighed. 'The conversation hasn't gone how I planned at all. I miss you.' He produced a battered bunch of red roses from the holdall.

Em kept her hands firmly on her hips. 'What is it you miss exactly? Having someone to wash your clothes and clean the bathroom up after you? Someone to warm your ice-cold heart in the winter? Do tell.'

'You were more to me than that. It's just not the same without your smile. And your sarcastic take on everything.'

'Where's Micra or Astra or whatever she's called? Isn't she sucking your cock any more?'

'No. She's run off to France with the projectionist.'

'Do cinemas still have projectionists?'

'No. He's a dick. He called himself that because it sounded impressive. They just press a button on a computer now. And then spend the rest of the night serving behind the bar, flirting with Astra. Well, he used to. He's in fucking Paris now fucking that fucking bitch.'

'Three fuckings in one sentence - that must be a record even for you.'

'Oh, I see.' He attempted an upper-class accent. 'Now you're living in a mansion, you're too posh for swearing.'

The conversation was going nowhere useful. Time to tone it down a bit and get rid of him before Jack returned. 'That wasn't the point I was making. I'm sorry you've had a wasted journey. I'm happier now than I've ever been. I don't want to go back to how we were before.'

'It's that bastard Jack, isn't it?'

'What's Jack got to do with it?' How did he know about Jack?

'I knew it. I saw you together in that photo Lucy posted on Instagram last weekend, him giving you the “fuck me now” look.'

Oh, for god's sake, surely Lucy hadn't. But then it was Lucy, so she obviously had and being the thorough social media expert she was, she'd probably tagged the location as well. That explained how Connor had discovered where Em was living. The comment about Jack's look was an interesting one. She didn't think they'd been at all loved up that night. She'd have to check Lucy's Instagram feed later.

'Well?' Em's lack of response had made him agitated.

'It's nothing to do with Jack. Even if you crawled across broken glass and promised to spend ten hours a week rescuing orphaned kittens, there is no way I am taking you back. Just go home, Connor.'

He looked crestfallen. She thought he was going to cry. 'So nothing will change your mind?'

'No, nothing.'

'I suppose that's that, then. There's one slight problem. I can't go home. There isn't another fucking train till Monday.'

Em scowled.

'Sorry, your ladyship.' Connor put the posh accent on again. 'There are no vehicles of the railway variety to transport me back to my abode in the shire of the West Midlands until the morrow of Monday - or some such shit.'

'You'll have to find a room in Dashford, then.'

'There are two problems with that milady. 1. It's a two-mile walk in this baking heat, and 2. There are no rooms available. I checked on the train before I got here. There's some gathering of dancing wankers with bells on happening all weekend, so everywhere's booked out.'

The Morris Dancing Festival - Em had forgotten about that. 'Wait there. I'll be back in five minutes.'

CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

'For someone whose job is essentially sales, he doesn't do a very good job of selling himself,' Nancy commented as Em walked back into the kitchen.

'You heard all that then?'

'Unfortunately, yes. My uncle used to have a parrot who swore like that. They were fucking annoying as well.' Em was taken aback. That was the first time she'd heard Nancy swear.

'The parrot or your uncle?'

'Both. What is the lovely Connor going to do?'