Page 64 of Read My Lips

“It is not fine.” Simon stood firm. “He’s Ben, not Benedict. Just Ben.”

Discomfort flared up the back of my neck. This story would sell better with a Benedict in it. Benedict was interesting enough to compete with Richard. Just Ben made everyone confused about why the hell someone like Simon would even look twice. God knows I couldn’t figure it out.

“Wonderful for him.” Mel fluttered an uncaring hand at the pair of us. “You’re still fired when the general public decides I sanctioned AI-ing him into existence.”

Simon’s face stalled to neutral. “Not much risk there. He doesn’t have three thumbs.”

Mel did not laugh.

“Fine. Get out of here.” She waved a hand, thoroughly done with us. “Sort this out. By close of play Friday. Or you’re done.”

We were halfway down the corridor when she popped her head out of the door.

“Oh, and Simon? If you ever do anything like this to me again, I will feed the ashes of your career to my husband’s begonias. Do you understand?”

On the way down in the lift, Simon was silent. Simmering irritation. Barely stopping to pick up his case, he stalked straight out of the building, and steamed through the backstreets with the confidence of a man who knew exactly where he was going without checking his phone.

I was left behind, again.

“Simon!” Scrabbling down the street after him, I gave chase, like a bulldog chasing a panther, still clinging onto my ratty carrier bag. “What’s going on?”

“Go home, Ben!”

He shrugged me off, still walking. Not even bothering to catch my eye. Communication avenues on diversion. Fuck him.

Drawn out by the warm weather, tourists crowded the streets in meandering handfuls, clogging up the pavement taking selfies and stalled to halt outside every pub and shop window. Simon glided frictionlessly through them, while I got stranded behind every backpack-wearing, photo-taking one of them. Like hell I was giving up.

From the other side of the street I saw him duck into Blackfriar’s Station. I shouldered my way through the other pedestrians milling at the lights, darting across the road in a gap of traffic without waiting for the green man. The ticket gates beeped to let me through.

Simon disappeared around the corner, hoisting his suitcase to take the stairs leading to the platform. I clattered up the steps two at a time.

“Simon!”

Bloody hell. Even looking right at me, he’d never hear me and stop. The platform was crowded for early afternoon. Humming with people and the buzz of the lines. The next train announcement burbled in over the tannoy, bouncing off all the glass and steel and concrete.

Disturbed from their phones, people looked up, suspicious eyes cutting in my direction as my echoing steps tripped into a run. I was out of place. In a badly fitting shirt, with my holey carrier bag flapping, chasing along the platform when there wasn’t even a train there yet.

The next one was four minutes out. And if he got on, I’d never know why he was so pissed-off right now. Tomorrow, he’d have cooled down and rationalised and come up with something palatable to Mel.

I didn’t want the calm, curated version of him. I wanted the one who acted like Mel Booker needed to get my name right. If he got on the train – three minutes out – I might never see that Simon again.

The tracks were still empty, but passengers crowded in the middle of the stretched out platform.

Shoving forward, I caught his shoulder and he barreled round – face sheer irritation.

“Jesus, Ben.” Recognition washed away the worst of his scowl. “What do you want?”

He was all gritted teeth and angry caterpillar eyebrows where, before, I’d only ever seen him smile.

“I erm—”oh, get it out. “I wondered where we’re going.”

Fail.

Sev was right. Anything except for vulnerability.

“I’m going home. Don’t know where you’re going.”

A perfect breeze whistled under the glass walls closing in the station. Below us, the river snaked under the bridge. Over his shoulder it stretched towards the East End. Docklands far off, round the distant bend. Tower Bridge down the end, like a tourist postcard except for London Bridge getting in the way with its low profile concrete blandness. Just like me.