Page 13 of Little Miss Fortune

TOBY

(flirty)

Maybe I could get your number first, you know, to text you about the physio.

Fuko is not fired and everyone is happy.

THE END

Except that’s not the end. My previous worries are put to rest and replaced with new ones. Oh, this is going to be so awkward for me. My best friend and my supervisor are making googly eyes at each other. I can’t believe she can like someone in that shirt and that my supervisor would be the type to wear it.

Leon joins us. Sashka and Toby Lewis exchange contact information. Sashka looks happy; Toby Lewis looks interested in her. But there is a gnawing feeling that lets me know I am not happy with this arrangement.

Surely that shouldn’t bother me.

It’s the weed and the alcohol and the alcohol and the alcohol again.

I am fine. This is cool. Cosmopolitan, even. My best friend and Toby Lewis.

So many things might go wrong...

Maybe I should stop it now like my mind is telling me.

No, I will not get involved; they are adults with their own capacity for making bad choices. I just need to keep myself neutral. Like Switzerland, or beige. Just stay away from this.

‘Fuko, I have a favour to ask,’ Sashka says in our taxi back home.

She danced with Toby Lewis, made out with him by the end, even.

‘Can you see if he is an all right guy?’

‘Sure.’

My fist is too big for my foolish mouth. You never learn, Fuko.

CHAPTER 4

Leave the misfortune. Take the cheesecake

When you are unlucky, you learn not to tempt fate. You do not say things like ‘Oh, it’s been a minute since my phone was stolen from me’ or ‘I’ve never had a nosebleed’. Statements like this invite a challenge, which is why I tend to keep my opinions to myself.

‘We are out of oat milk. Would you like almond?’

Typical.

‘Can I have normal?’

‘That will be £5.65,’ says the cashier at the coffee shop.

Bloody hell, for a coffee? Central London, eh?

My phone struggles to pick up a signal in this cafe, on the ground floor of a high-rise building a couple of minutes from work. The reviews look great, and all the bakery goods are separated with glass containers. I click my tongue when my phone refuses to pay and pull out my wallet like a loser. But a card flashes before me and taps on the contactless icon.

‘You love that move, huh?’ I ask instead of saying thank you to Toby.

‘Morning, Fuko.’ He smiles.

After ordering an almond croissant and a double Americano, Toby gestures out the door, and I try to walk away from him as he bites into his deadly pastry.