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Sophia loops her arm through mine. “Well, I think you’re brilliant, and way too good for Spreadsheet Angus.”
I bump her with my shoulder. “Back at you. Even if you are a bit of a liability with your keys.”
We walk a bit more in companionable silence, letting the city hum around us. London looks beautiful in the late summer. The leaves are still green and the sunlight makes everything slightly less grey. My mum always chooses brunch locations in the same area, aka one of the most expensive parts of the city full of beautiful brick houses, and wide streets. It’s so different from a lot of the neighbourhoods my friends grew up in, and the one I chose to move to. Which took a lot of persuading. But I like living in a more relaxed borough, and the coffee shops are certainly cheaper.
The two of us turn past a park, and stroll along watching perfectly manicured dogs trotting alongside their perfectly manicured owners, peeing on perfectly manicured lawns.
“How’s work?” Sophia asks me as I stop to pet yet another irresistible puppy. It’s the same question Mum asked earlier, but it sounds completely different coming from her.
“Fine.” I smooth my hands over my shirt again. “I’m still doing that cancer research campaign I was telling you about before. Lots of mapping where information should actually go. They’ve paid for an extension of the project, which is really exciting. I’m looking forward to working on it. The creative team did the visuals last week, but they went with this really clinical blue palette which feels a bit cold, and I just—” I stop myself. “Anyway, they’re hoping to launch in a few months.”
“You just what?”
“Oh nothing. I’d have chosen a warmer palette, the one they did feels a bit ‘hospital corridor’,” I shrug. “I did some sketches.”
Sophia frowns. “You should send them to the design team.”
“It’s not the right time.”
“Claire.” She gives me a long look.
I don’t reply. Sometimes I draft an email asking about a different role, attaching some ideas, but I never send it. There’s always a reason; a busy quarter, a reshuffle, a bunch of new hires. And anyway, I studied marketing not design.
“Want to go back to mine and binge something aggressively dumb?” Sophia asks, sensing the shift in my mood.
“God, yes.”
Chapter 5
Tom
By the time I squeeze between two overcrowded tables and reach our corner of the pub, I’ve already apologised to ten strangers and nearly spilled my pint three times. The place is packed. Dark wood panelling, sticky tables, and enough quiz teams inside to violate several health and safety regulations. I’d received a text from Kath at lunchtime saying they were a player short for a quiz she wanted to do, and that my brain was needed for the history round. Apparently my expertise in dead people and long-forgotten wars has practical applications outside a classroom.
Term hasn’t started yet, so I don’t even have the excuse of my marking pile having built up too much. The only things I’ve been working on are lesson plans and my proposal to the school board; my passion project which is consuming a lot of my brain space.
The pub is a welcome break, and if I squint hard enough, I can convince myself that it counts as professional development. Maybe…
I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t admit that part of the reason I agreed to come to my sister’s quiz night was because I hoped she might invite Claire. But I haven’t asked Kath about who else she’s invited other than the usual suspects. Sam’s here to cover the sports questions, and between the two of us we can probably save the team from Josh, their other school friend, whose main contribution to quizzes is confidence.
Josh rubs his hands together. “I really think we’ve got this in the bag.”
Sam rolls his eyes, and I try not to laugh. The last time I did a quiz with them we were distinctly mediocre, though I’m pretty sure that without Josh we’d have maybe come top three. He had some strong views about the music round, and was wrong on every question.
“Right.” Kath claps her hands. “Team name. I need to register us.”
“Quiztopher Columbus,” Josh says immediately.
“No.”
“We Thought This Was Speed Dating?”
I laugh as Sam vetoes that one.
“My Drinking Team Has a Quiz Problem?”
Kath stands. “Josh, sometimes I worry about you. I’m going to make one up when I get to the table.”
“Oh dear,” I hear a familiar voice. “Is Josh doing team names?”
