Page 98 of Read My Lips

The lack of Cathy’s things hit me in the chest. Indents marked where the feet of her junk-shop upcycles were supposed to sit. She’d get on really well with Simon if she ever got a chance to meet him. They could chat about bric-a-brac finds. Now, the shelf on the wall was empty. Ghosted-out silhouettes sat where my head told me things were supposed to be. But it had all been hers. Not mine. Not Matt’s. Not ours. And now none of it was there.

Home did not exist. It had vanished while I was dicking about with Simon, pretending he really wanted me in his life. But he didn’t even want me at his sister’s wedding. He was only coming over because I’d gone to pieces on him on the phone.

What was I even playing at? None of it was real. And outside, Luke knew.

Me and Simon didn’t make sense. Luke knew there had been a work emergency right when Richard’s sex tape hit the world. The dots were right there for him to join. And when he did, he’d tear everything down, brick by shaky brick.

I sucked in a strangled breath. And then another one, blinking back dots. Outside, the street was quiet.

After ten minutes, I crawled to peek out through the gap in the curtains. And there he was, sitting on the wall scrolling through his phone. Barricading me in.

Ben

FYI Luke’s on the doorstep.

Simon

Who?

You know. The guy I was… with.

…?

On Friday.

Oh that Luke.

Simon

Why? Tell me you didn’t invite him over for the threesome he wanted?

BEN

Fuck off. He was waiting on my doorstep.

Is he lost?

He wants to run a story about how he knows we’re not together.

What am I supposed to tell him?

Nothing, preferably. Don’t panic, Mr Cooper. I’ll be there to rescue you in ten.

When the doorbell went, it was only Simon standing out on the front step. I peered past him, squinting up and down the street, but the narrow pavement was deserted. Luke had vanished into the ether.

“Was he still out here…?”

“We swapped cards. He’s sending through the draft of his story.”

“Oh god. He’s already written it?”

Thoroughly unflapped, Simon swept past me, headed for my kitchen like he knew exactly where he was going.

“Ben, relax.” He set a green, crocodile leatherette suitcase onto the worktop. “At this point in my career, I know how to handle the media reasonably well. It’s rumoured I’m very good at it.”

“Yeah but he knows we’re lying.”

Simon raised an eyebrow. “He knows nothing. I promise you he won’t be sure of his own name by the time I’m done feeding him the preferred narrative.”