‘Oh.’ We’re at Crystal Palace. ‘Me too.’ There’s no shaving cut, today, and the blue striped tie has been replaced by one in pale pink, standing out against the grey shirt and suit.
‘You’re not following me, are you?’ he says, then apologises when he sees my horrified face. ‘It was just a joke.’ We fall into step together, heading towards the escalators. It’s hard to move away from someone walking in the same direction as you. At the ticket barrier he stands aside to let me tap my Oyster first. I thank him, then say goodbye, but we both turn the same way out of the station. He laughs.
‘It’s like at the supermarket,’ he says, ‘when you say hello to someone in the veg section then end up saying hello to them again in every single aisle.’
‘Do you live around here, then?’ I’ve never seen him, although that’s ridiculous; there are dozens of people in my street alone who I’ve never seen. I throw ten pence in Megan’s guitar case and smile a hello as we pass.
‘Just visiting a friend.’ He stops walking, and automatically I do the same. ‘I’m making you feel uncomfortable, aren’t I? You go ahead.’
‘No no, really, you’re not,’ I say, although my chest feels as though someone’s squeezing it.
‘I’ll cross the road, then you won’t feel obliged to talk to me.’ He grins. He has a nice face; warm and open. I don’t know why I feel so uneasy.
‘There’s no need, honestly.’
‘I need some cigarettes anyway.’ We stand still as people weave their way around us.
‘Well, goodbye, then.’
‘Bye.’ He opens his mouth to say something, then stops. I turn to walk away. ‘Um, would it be terribly forward of me to ask you to have dinner with me one evening?’ The question is delivered in one breath, rushed as though he feels embarrassed asking, although his face still wears the same confident expression. It crosses my mind that the delivery is deliberate. Practised, even.
‘I can’t, I’m sorry.’ I don’t know why I’m apologising.
‘Or a drink? I mean, I don’t want to play the “I saved your life” card, but …’ He holds up his hands in mock surrender, then lets them fall and assumes a more serious expression. ‘It’s an odd way to meet, I know, but I’d really like to see you again.’
‘I’m seeing someone,’ I blurt out, like a sixteen-year-old. ‘We live together.’
‘Oh!’ Confusion crosses his face, before he composes himself. ‘Of course you’re with someone. Foolish of me; I should have expected that.’ He takes a step away from me.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say again.
We say goodbye and when I glance back he is crossing the road towards the newsagents. To buy his cigarettes, I suppose.
I call Simon’s mobile, not wanting to walk along Anerley Road without company, even if it’s at the end of a phone. It rings, but goes to voicemail. This morning he reminded me he was having dinner at his sister’s tonight. I’d planned to watch a film; perhaps persuade Justin and Katie to join me. Just the three of us; like old times. But my encounter with Luke Friedland has left me unsettled, and I wonder if Simon would postpone his trip to see his sister; if he’d come home instead.
If I call now I might catch him before he leaves work. I used to have a direct line for him, but the paper moved to hot-desking a few months ago and now he never knows where he’s going to be from one day to the next.
I Google the switchboard number. ‘Could you put me through to Simon Thornton, please?’
‘I’ll just put you on hold.’
I listen to classical music until the line connects again. I look at the Christmas lights on the lamp-posts lining Anerley Road, and see they’re already coated with grime. The music stops. I expect to hear Simon’s voice, but it’s the girl from the switchboard.
‘Could you give me the name again, please?’
‘Simon Thornton. He’s an editor. Mostly features, but sometimes he’s on the news desk.’ I repeat the words I’ve heard Simon use, without knowing whether these two roles are in the same place or miles apart. Without knowing if they’re in the same building, even.
‘I’m sorry, I’ve got no one here of that name. Is he freelance? I wouldn’t have him listed if he was freelance.’
‘No, he’s on the payroll. He’s been there for years. Could you check again? Simon Thornton.’
‘He’s not on my system,’ she repeats. ‘There’s no Simon Thornton working here.’
16