Page 62 of Read My Lips

“How was the rest of your weekend? Did you choose flowers?”

This was why everyone liked Simon. He chatted.

Sev mouse-clicked with rapid-fire efficiency. “We’re having thistles.”

“Thistles?” Incredulity painted clear into my voice. “Isn’t it meant to be all… roses and stuff?”

Sev skewered me with a narrow-eyed death glare. “It’s not supposed to be anything Mr Conformity. It can be whatever we want. And there are going to be roses as well, actually. Orange ones.”

“You didn’t go all black then – mourning your alignment with patriarchy-defined relationship milestones?”

She flung a Biro at my head. Entirely justifiable violence.

“Fuck off. Isn’t that yesterday’s t-shirt?”

Oh, shit. I cleared my throat, like every person ever with nothing to hide.

She knew nothing about anything between me and Simon. No need to body-blush over mutually sating our totally allowable adult desires on our own time. With absolutely no feelings involved at all.

“The – uh, trains were cancelled?”

Simon remained unruffled. “We had to come straight here this morning.”

At least my boxers were clean. Not that she was getting a look at them.

“Mm.” Sev didn’t sound convinced. “I bet you did. Had the place conveniently to yourselves, did you? Simon let you in with his spare key?”

Oh she was talking rubbish now. He wouldn’t have spin-bowled a rock through a window if he’d had a spare key. Would he?

“Do stop stirring, Sev. I don’t have a spare key.” Simon tossed me the shirt I’d spent yesterday repeatedly removing while pretending to be Richard for her camera, and I caught it. “Ben, put that on and meet me up there.”

“Where are you going?”

“To fill my water bottle, if that’s quite alright with you?”

Right. We didn’t have to spend every waking moment surgically attached. I could handle Sev Duman alone for five minutes without confessing everything.

In fact, she’d gone back to clicking rapidly through frames without looking up.

It had to be her latest edit job. Nothing on screen had me or Simon in it. She kept dumping whole chunks of the reel in the bin. It must have taken her all night to concoct something from all the takes of us she’d rejected.

I balled the stupid shirt up, and then forced myself to smooth it out. I was so done putting Richard’s clothes on and playing his unconvincing body-double, but this morning, Simon was right, I needed that shirt. Mel Booker had to think I was a liability after the last time I opened my mouth in her presence. Showing up looking like I’d forgotten what business casual was wouldn’t do me any favours.

“Just so you know, your hovering is making me want to find the only stapler in the building and brain you with it”—not graphic at all—“so if you could come out with what the issue is, babes, that’d be grand.”

“Erm. About the film...”

Sev stopped clicking. She spun her chair to look at me so solidly I regretted being born, let alone asking. “What about it?”

“You really reckon it looks legit enough?”

Sev shrugged. “It’s trending up.” She did big eyes, like that was supposed to be exciting. I could imagine the invisible jazz hands.

“Right. But... it’s. You know, convincing?”

She made a low, vaguely disgusted sound in the back of her throat. “It’s fine. I did a good job.”

I held my breath for a beat. This was me wasting both of our time. “You’d swallow it then - me and Simon?”