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32
Jack
A few days later, when I left the flat to get to my shift at the pub, Rebecca was coming home from work.
‘Hey,’ I said, waiting on the landing to let her pass. ‘How was your interview the other day?’
She slid her bag off her shoulder so that it was dangling from one hand. ‘I didn’t do it,’ she replied. ‘Told them I wasn’t sure it was the best move for me.’
‘Blimey,’ I said, pleasantly surprised. ‘That must have taken guts. Good for you.’
‘They were a bit shocked,’ she said, laughing. ‘I think they see me as being welded to my desk. I don’t think they’d imagined for a second that I might want to leave.’
‘When will you hear about that charity job?’
‘Not sure,’ she said. ‘I might not even be what they’re looking for.’
‘I bet you are,’ I replied, crossing my fingers. She crossed them back. ‘Anyway, better get to work,’ I said, tripping down the stairs.
I heard her get her keys out and then, because it popped into my brain and I didn’t give myself the time to filter it out, to think of all the reasons I shouldn’t say it, I ran back up to our landing. She looked surprised to see me.
‘Um, you said you like theatre, didn’t you?’
She hesitated. ‘Sure.’
I put my hands on my hips, slightly out of breath. ‘I’ve got a spare ticket for something at the Park Theatre tomorrow night. A friend of mine’s in it. You wouldn’t fancy coming, would you?’
‘Um …’
‘You’re probably busy,’ I backtracked, silently kicking myself. ‘Don’t worry, I know it’s short notice.’
‘No, that sounds good, actually,’ she replied, jangling her keys.
‘Great,’ I said, still not sure why I’d asked her in the first place. I went to the theatre on my own all the time. Plus, since Nathalie, my ex, was in it, it might be awkward. It had just seemed a shame to waste the ticket. ‘Shall we meet in the bar on the ground floor?’
She nodded. ‘What time?’
‘Can you get there for about seven?’
She let herself into her flat. ‘Sure,’ she said, turning to look at me with those almond-shaped, brown eyes that I always pictured when I thought about her. ‘See you there.’
‘Here we go,’ I said, nabbing a spot out on the pavement in front of the theatre.
I put our drinks down on the shiny, silver table and promptly watched them nearly slide off the edge because the leg was wonky. I caught them just in time and then crouched down, shoving my copy of the Evening Standard under one of the legs to steady it.
‘Large Sauvignon Blanc, right?’ I said.
‘Perfect,’ she replied, sitting down and tucking herself into the table. ‘I’ll get the interval drinks.’
I pulled my coat around myself. It had been a lovely bright day earlier, but it was pitch black out now and too cold to be sitting outside, really.
‘We can stand inside if you prefer?’ I suggested, noticing that she was rubbing the tops of her arms. ‘There’s not much room, but we can find a corner somewhere.’
‘It’s fine,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I like it out here.’
I caught the tail end of a conversation happening at the table next to ours. I reckoned they were actors, too, because they were talking about a friend of theirs who was putting something on at the Kings Head. I strained to hear; you never knew when this kind of information might prove useful. Sometimes I thought it might be nice to take a night off from being an actor.
I took a sip of my pint. ‘That’s better,’ I said.
