Page 22 of Little Miss Fortune

‘Ed and Lorraine... Ed and Lorraine... Don’t tell me. I will figure it out.’

‘Hey, there is no shame in not knowing things.’ I bet that annoys the life out of the Oxford boy.

We walk in silence as he racks his brain. I let us into the lift and press the button. I’m about to mention Annabelle the doll, but three more people slip in.

‘Ha! The Conjuring!’ he shouts, startling everyone, including me, and I knew what was happening.

‘Well done.’ I tap his shoulder and lead out when we get to our floor.

He hops out, in a much better mood than when he exited the train. We sit down in the same seats as we did last time, facing the doors of the lift.

‘Got something for you.’ Toby pulls out my stuff that I dropped last week.

My extra absorbent pad, some mint polos, socks, and some hand sanitiser. No Nuts signs scream at us from every corner and every pillar. Oh, this is going to be embarrassing. Now I am the girl that caused the no-nuts debacle and needs extra-absorbent pads for her heavy-flow periods.

‘Thanks.’ I grab them off him, hoping that he doesn’t comment.

But he doesn’t let go. ‘Why do you have an extra pair of socks?’

Fuck off. ‘Things happen.’

‘Not with socks.’

The lift goes back down again, the numbers changing from 3 to 2 to 1 to G.

‘They do when you’re me. Can I have my things back?’

‘Can you give me one example of what could possibly happen?’

‘What if I have a horrible foot condition that makes them necessary?’

‘Do you?’

‘No, but I could’ve and you would’ve been in serious HR trouble.’

‘Well, in for a penny, in for a pound.’ He says as I pull, again. He doesn’t let go, again.

God, he is stubborn.

‘Do you really want to know?’ I lower my voice, as if I am letting him into a secret.

He nods with the determination of a child that’s promised his iPad if he completes his chores.

‘Sometimes,’ I start, ‘when I really need a tissue, and the toilet paper runs out, I will use the socks.’

‘Ew, what the hell, Fuko?’ He lets go.

‘Ha-ha.’ I grab my stuff and hide it in my bag. ‘Gullible fool. I need them if my feet get wet in the rain.’

‘How often does that happen?’ he asks with a hint of disbelief.

‘More often if you’re me,’ I can’t help but grumble, putting them away.

‘Why didn’t you just say that?’

‘You wouldn’t have been satisfied. I know your type. You require a thing to hound on, to vulture around. The most mundane thing possible, and you will turn it into a mind game.’

‘That is... right.’ He looks at me as if I just told him his future through a crystal ball.