Page 121 of Read My Lips

“Oh my god. It’s a bit bloody late for you to be telling me he liked me all along now. He’s basically back with Richard, isn’t he?”

Sev blinked twice. “Did he say that?”

“Oh come on. You edited the film. You saw exactly what Richard said.”

“Yeah, but we’re talking about Simon. Did he say ‘screw you Ben, I’m getting back with Richard’ at any point?”

I scowled. “He didn’t need to, did he? It just makes sense.”

Sev rested one ankle on her knee leaning back.

“Wow. You really are unforgivably spineless.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s crap. All this Richard’s better than me garbage. You’re scared, mate. You’re fucking terrified he’s going to look at you and see you. Yeah, Simon’s an uncommunicative idiot, but, I’ll give him this: I think he already does – see you. I think he has for a long bloody time.

“And what are you doing? You’ve finally figured out he actually likes you – which apparently you’ve managed to miss in your perpetual self-doubt spiral, even when he was telling you to your face. Which, by the way, is not a good look. And you’re still sitting here fighting with me instead of doing something about it.”

My mouth hinged itself open. Had I been reading Simon wrong the whole time? What if he’d really meant every kind thing he ever said to me?

Oh god. Sev might have a point.

“You – erm.” Everything went adrenaline jangly. I cleared my throat. “Really think he likes me?”

“Oh dear god. I cannot do this. I am not this person. Will you please get it together. Right now.”

“Okay.” I grabbed for my phone, fingers sweaty on the screen. “I’ll call him.”

Sev batted it out of my hand. “No you bloody don’t. This is an in-person conversation. Take a risk, Ben Cooper. One of you needs to wake the fuck up.”

CHAPTER

THIRTY-FIVE

The milling crowd of journalists on the doorstep energised as I twitched back the living room curtain, assessing my exit route. They moved as one – cameras mobilised in my direction, flashbulbs firing.

“Shit.” Dropping the curtain, I stumbled back, blinking stars. “How am I going to get past that lot?”

All of them wanted to grill me. To get me to confirm me and Simon had faked everything. But we hadn’t. Not the important bits. And I had to tell Simon I knew it was real. But I’d never get the chance with this lot circling.

A touch to my shoulder made me startle. Matt raised an eyebrow.

“Calm down,” he signed. “Back door, mate. What are you waiting for?”

Sev nodded. “It’s how I came in.”

Squeezing out the garden gate, I bounded along the bin alley, striding over tufted strands of browning grass and straggling dandelions along the concrete tyre tracks leading down to the garages at the end. A heat haze rose off the melting tarmac of the road at the end – a shimmering mirage of freedom. I was definitely dreaming.

And then I was out on the street, haring away from the house.

A shout followed me down the road, and I turned, jogging backwards a few steps. Sev’s head poked out of my bedroom window – peroxide blonde bright against the grimy pebble-dash. With unnecessary theatrics, she raised a hand to the side of her face.

“Run Forest, run!”

The pack of journalists pivoted, moving like sharks scenting blood in the water, all eyes on me.

“Oh, fuck.”