AllFreeNovel
Share Us
‘That’s no good – I’m out at the labs tomorrow. There’s a thing with – uh, with your mum’s company. Looking at the facilities and how we’ll do testing, and stuff.’
‘Oh.’
He seems to be waiting for more of a reaction – like maybe the mere mention of my mum will restart our argument from the other night. Or maybe, because it’s Lloyd, and he’s a better guy than I give him credit for, he’s just worried about upsetting me by talking about her.
‘Are you around this weekend?’ he asks tentatively. ‘Saturday?’
I consider it – Sunday would work better for me, but I don’treallyhave plans until later Saturday evening, and I don’t want him to think I’m making excuses or anything. I appreciate that he’s trying to make the effort of meeting me halfway.
Polite. Civil.
So I bite my tongue and say, ‘I could meet you in the morning. Nine o’clock, at Waterloo station? I’ll meet you under the clock.’
He nods, and doesn’t jokeIt’s a date,like he might have done before.
Instead, I just politely let him know that his shoelace is untied, and I wonder if these awkward, stilted conversations are all we’ll salvage from the wreckage of everything we’ve said and done this summer.
Probably, it’s more than I deserve.
When Saturday finally arrives, I’m resolved to try and repair things with Lloyd as much as I can – and, if he doesn’t want to, I’ll have to respect that and give him whatever space he needs. I get ready as quickly and quietly as possible but when I leave my bedroom, Louis is on his way out of the bathroom. He looks a little grey and his eyes are bloodshot; he yawns widely as soon as he tries to say ‘hi’.
‘How’s your hangover?’ I ask. Everybody went out to a pub for dinner last night; half of us came home early, but Louis, Burnley and Monty were among those who stayed out late.
‘Hangover? Pfft. I’m just dandy, Anna.’ His voice is croaky, probably from shouting along to music at the club he ended up in last night, but he’s not so sleepy or hungover that he doesn’t notice my outfit, or the bag slung over my shoulder. ‘You off out? Bit early, isn’t it?’
‘I’m, uh, meeting someone. A friend. For breakfast.’
(I might get something for breakfast when I get to Waterloo, so it’s not technically a lie, really.)
‘Oh, cute. Have fun! We still on for tonight? Izzy’s making a cake.’
‘Yes! Definitely.’
I’m glad he’s at least too tired to interrogate me like he usually would want to – he doesn’t even try to tease me if this ‘friend’ is a date. He stumbles back down the hallway to his bedroom, and I make my escape before Elaine can wake up and question me too.
It’s a grey day, the sky completely overcast with thin layers of pale cloud; it’s muggy, too, like it might storm later, the air thick with summer heat. By the time I’m down on the Tube platform, I’ve already shed my jacket.
Waterloo station is busy, but it’s easy enough to spot Lloyd waiting underneath the large clock suspended from the high ceiling, standing in place while the crowds shift and merge around him.
I’m relieved when he looks more like himself than he did the other day – like he’s finally gotten some rest, at least. Wearing jeans and his glasses, his hair a little unruly as if from sleep, it feels like I’m seeingmyLloyd: the version of him who knows where to get late-night cake and coffee, who spills secrets and draws out partsof me I didn’t even know existed. He even smiles when he sees me approaching – small and reserved, but sincere.
‘Hi,’ I say, when I get close enough.
‘Hi.’
I swing my tote bag from under my shoulder, taking out his file and handing it over. Lloyd is careful not to let his fingers brush against mine; I try to ignore the way that stings. He starts flipping through it, a frown tugging at his brow, almost like he thinks he’ll find whole sections missing. Maybe he thinks I’ll have graffitied them with crude drawings of penises like the boys at school used to do in textbooks.
‘It’s all there,’ I reassure him. ‘I was careful with it.’
‘You shouldn’t have looked at it at all,’ he mutters. He’s still too busy examining it to look at me beyond a quick, reproachful glance. ‘It wasn’t yours. You shouldn’t have snooped.’
‘Like I said, I was just trying to figure out who it belonged to. But … this is …’ I glance at all the neon tabs, watch the file bend with the weight of all the papers in there. ‘Lloyd, whatisall this?’
He tries to play it off – a playful scoff and a full-body shrug, and a too-casual, ‘What did you expect? I told you. My dad wants me to know how everything works, know the company inside out, ready for when I take over one day. I’ve been making notes, that’s all.’
But Lloyd can’t quite meet my eyes, and this time it feels purposeful rather than simply distracted. I shift a little closer so I can drop my voice, and the sudden proximity seems to resurrect the little bubble we’ve created on nights in each other’s company before, muting the noise of the rest of the world around us and granting us some illusion of privacy.
‘Notes? This is way more than just a fewnotes. It’s –’
