Page 66 of Read My Lips

“You realise Mel’s trying to change who you are to suit the narrative?” Simon said. His barely reined in irritation didn’t make sense.

“That why you got so bent out of shape in the meeting?”

“I don’t understand why you’re not. She took one look at us and decided no one would buy us being together. It’s ridiculous.” Simon’s jaw rippled like that required avenging, rather than being common sense, good instincts. He practically gnashed his teeth.

And I didn’t get it.

“Course she did. Who’s going to buy us being together without a fake sex tape?” The back of my neck went hot. Nothing to do with the anaemic sun and everything to do with his incredulity. “You’re all... You. And I’m me. Look at us. It doesn’t make sense.”

Simon’s face stayed impassive, unconvinced. For a solidly uncomfortable ninety–five years he didn’t say a thing.

Maybe I’d mumbled. No way I wasn’t speaking sense.

“Did I go too Geordie on you?”

“No,” he said. “I followed perfectly.”

“Oh.”

A bustle of tourists gathered around the restaurants and pop-up food huts, but Simon steered us past them. Conversation forcibly halted until he looked at me again, and then he didn’t pick it up.

Which meant I had to.

“How can you be mad about Mel thinking that? You don’t want to date anyone anyway.”

I earned myself a heavy exhale.

“Really? It’s got nothing to do with my dating habits.” Simon’s lips thinned like he wasn’t sure he wanted to let the next part out. “Ben, you’re the only reason I’m not neck deep in shit over this. And Mel can’t be bothered to remember your name. I wouldn’t even be working for her without you.”

I made a face. “Of course you would. You’re amazing.”

He made a face right back. “Don’t deflect.”

“Simon…”

“No. It’s not okay for anyone to treat you like a disposable asset. You shouldn’t think it’s okay for anyone to treat you like that.”

Was this how he saw me? Unable to stand up for myself if I wanted to. My pulse rocked through me too loud, too hard. “It’s just a name. It doesn’t matter.”

He was blowing this out of proportion. Wasn’t he?

“It absolutely matters.” Outraged had a face. It was on Simon. “It’s always something with her. You wait– she’ll have a revised biography for you she thinks is more consumer friendly. Statistically sympathetic. Less working class.”

I flinched.

“And, what?” My voice dipped too quiet. “You’d rather everyone saw me as a proper bit of rough?”

“No!” His eyes flared round and wide.

Despite the crowds around us, silence hummed. On Friday all I’d had to do was sit in the corner and translate. Now, it was identity politics all over the bloody place. And he was looking at me like I’d been the one who needed rescuing this whole time. Suddenly his suitcase weighed twice what I could bench.

“Ben, you’re not a bit of rough.”

“Sure about that are you?” He could talk himself up, but he was slumming it with me the same way Luke had been. But Simon didn’t think he had to admit it when he’d framed the situationship so tightly none of it was supposed to mean a thing. I tried for a laugh.

“You don’t want to sleep with me for real. Just for pretend, right?” I was fine with that. I’d always been fine with that. There was no other option. “You’re moaning about no one buying us together, but you’d rather act like it’s not even happening if you don’t have to. I don’t care - everyone sees me like that. But you can’t have it both ways.”

He stopped walking like he’d stepped in wet concrete. Our hands pulled apart.