In Case You Missed It

CHAPTER TWO

One of the most wonderful things about London was, no matter how much it changed, at its heart, it always stayed the same. They could open as many coffee shops and co-working spaces and Brewdog after Brewdog after Brewdog but the bones of the city stood strong, happy to slip on a new skin from time to time but always knowing its true self, underneath it all. As I emerged from the tube station at London Bridge, I took a deep, familiar breath of murky city air and smiled. I’d missed home so much.

After university, I’d lived nearby with my best friend, Sumi, and our friend, Lucy, the three of us crammed into a tiny two-bedroomed terraced affair with no functioning kitchen to speak of, a living room that doubled as Sumi’s bedroom and a bathroom that didn’t have a bath. Since we only had a fridge-freezer in the hallway and nowhere to sit that wasn’t someone’s bed, we met at The Lexington Arms almost every evening after work to eat and drink and catch each other up on every last little thing that had happened during our day. It was a wonderful, crappy old pub round the corner, beloved by us for its fish finger sandwiches, cheap white wine and the landlord’s willingness to let us upstairs when he had a band on without paying for a ticket. Sumi was in law school, Lucy was training at beauty college and I was making tea for whichever local radio station or desperate DJ would have me. It sounded hideous but they were happy times, really, they were the happiest.

As I waited for the green man, I gazed across the cobbled street at Borough Market. It was all together too cool for us back then but Sumi insisted I meet her here tonight. It was closer to her office, she said. This new bar she’d started going to was far nicer than The Lex, she said. A complete and utter betrayal, I said. And there had been no word on whether or not they served fish finger sandwiches.

Dodging the tourists with their giant backpacks and the locals with their bulging shopping bags, I walked around in circles, searching for the bar but only succeeding in getting lost in a sea of artisan food stalls.

‘You can’t afford fancy cheese,’ I reminded myself as I stared longingly at a wheel of brie in the window of the cheesemonger’s. Besides, who needed a baked camembert and a fresh-from-the-oven baguette when they could buy a Dairylea Dunker from Tesco Metro on the way home? Christ, I groaned inwardly, it had been a long time since I’d had been this broke. I had to find a job sooner rather than later.

Eventually, I spotted it, nestled between a boulangerie and a cheese shop, a tiny sign stencilled on a huge plate-glass window in antique gold lettering. Good Luck Bar was about as far away from The Lex as it was possible to be, figuratively speaking. Instead of a dark, dank, old man’s boozer, this place was one of those café-pub hybrids with too many mirrors and not enough dry-roast peanuts. One side of the room was taken up by oversized sofas in the perfect shade of pink for faux lounging while you took a thousand Instagram photos. The other side was filled with communal tables and a dulled metal bar that ran halfway down the room, lined with tall barstools and Edison lights hanging down overhead. It looked like a steampunk hairdressers, if a giant strawberry yoghurt had exploded inside. Not that it mattered what I thought, the place was absolutely packed, the sofas were swarmed and the communal tables full of people nursing an almost empty coffee cup while they abused the free WiFi.

With no other options, I hopped up onto an empty stool, resting my bag on the bar. A woman appeared on the other side and gave me a big smile. Her hair was woven into a long, elaborate braid you couldn’t help but respect and a heavy leather work apron covered her white shirt and blue jeans.

‘What can I get you?’ she asked.

‘A white wine please?’ I replied with a quick glance at the happy hour menu. ‘A large white wine?’

I might not be able to afford expensive cheese but there was always room on my credit card for a drink.

‘One of those days?’ The bartender pushed an enormous glass of Sauvignon Blanc towards me.

‘Something like that,’ I agreed, tucking my own long hair behind my ears and taking a grateful sip. I liked her already.

The day had been a challenge. Between my jetlag and a pair of randy rutting foxes that had seemingly chosen the back of my shed as their love nest I’d barely slept a wink. Which meant I didn’t cope very well when my dad apologetically explained he’d moved all my clothes from the washer to the dryer without asking me and accidentally shrunk more than half of them. And that was before I’d got to the freezing-cold water in the shed shower or the utter horror of the compostable toilet. My parents might be happy to have me home but home did not seem happy to have me.

‘Oh my god, it’s you, it’s you, you’re really back!’

Without warning, a black leather tote bag, filled to overflowing, thumped down beside me at the bar with a short South Asian woman attached.

‘I am so happy to see you,’ I told her, squeezing my friend so tightly she squealed in protest.

‘I’m happy to see you too,’ Sumi replied, delight all over her face. She’d always hated being short and lived in four-inch heels but she loved that she was, in her own words, ‘a thicc bitch’, all confident curves and zero-fucks attitude. Her hair was long and dark and her face was a masterpiece, glowing skin, huge eyes and a mouth that always seemed to be smiling.

‘I’m gagging for a drink,’ she said, waving to the bartender and pointing at my glass before giving her a thumbs up. The woman threw her a wink and went to work. ‘So, tell me everything. How does it feel to be back?’

‘Weird,’ I admitted as we fell right back into our rhythm. I hadn’t physically laid eyes on Sumi since she came out to visit a year ago but one way or another, we’d spoken every single day without fail. We didn’t miss a beat. ‘I’m happy though, I’ve missed everything about home so much.’

‘You picked the right three years to be gone,’ she replied. ‘I’d have gone with you if I could have. How’s the flat-hunt going?’

‘Can’t get a flat without a job,’ I pointed out. ‘I’m totally broke. If I’d known I’d be leaving so suddenly, I’d have tried to save more.’

I shuddered at the thought of winter in the shed.

Sumi took in the news with her trademark sympathy. ‘You’ll work it out,’ she said, patting me aggressively on the back. Sumi was a corporate lawyer who would never be out of work as long as companies continued to do dastardly things to each other – which basically meant she’d be loaded forever. ‘Everyone will be champing at the bit to give you a job. Your CV must look amazing, who else in London has three years’ experience at American Public Radio? You’re a rockstar, babe.’

‘Yeah,’ I agreed weakly. ‘That’s me.’

She lifted her head slightly to examine me, an expression I knew only too well.

‘You still haven’t really explained what happened. Did you quit? Was it layoffs?’

‘I was ready to come home,’ I said, also ready to draw a line under the conversation. ‘It’s a long, boring story, not worth the waste of breath.’

She gave me a sideways glance as her wine arrived. Sumi, ever the lawyer, knew when a case was closed.

‘Your mum and dad must be thrilled to have you home?’

‘They’re making me live in a shed.’

Sumi’s eyes lit up. ‘I have many follow-up questions.’

‘You may not ask them,’ I replied. ‘But you can help me set up my new phone if you like.’

I pulled a sexy black slab out of my bag and modelled it with my best game show hostess hand movements while my friend contributed the appropriate ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’. Even though I couldn’t really afford it, I had to have a phone. I’d had a work one in DC and the moment I’d handed it back in, it was like having my arm cut off. The ancient handset I’d been using in the interim was so slow, it would have been easier to send my friends telegrams than it was to text.

‘My phone is so old you practically have to put twenty pence in the back to make a call,’ Sumi muttered, admiring my new technology. ‘But I can’t face learning how to use a new one. I’ve gone full Luddite.’

‘Oh, I’ve got no idea how to use it but look how pretty it is.’ I gazed lovingly into the glossy screen and blinked with delight as it unlocked itself, opening up the home screen. ‘Look at that! I didn’t even have to press anything.’

‘Facial recognition,’ she said darkly. ‘Another reason not to upgrade, I don’t need the Russians saving my face to some mad database.’

‘Why the Russians?’ I asked, peering at the virgin, unscratched screen. So beautiful.

‘It’s always the Russians,’ Sumi said, a knowing look on her face. ‘The Russians or Mark Zuckerberg. Or both. In fact, do we even know he’s not Russian?’

‘Yes, Sumi,’ I replied, holding my phone at a safe distance and studying it carefully. ‘We do.’

My sister, Jo, could pick up any item of technology and, within three seconds, she’d have a gluten-free, vegan pizza on its way, her favourite music playing through an unseen speaker and five potential dates lined up for the weekend, all while checking her blood pressure and livestreaming footage from the Mars Rover. I had to work a little bit harder. The woman in the shop had set up the basics but I was going to have to figure out the rest for myself. For the last three years, I’d had to listen to all my albums on shuffle because I was too embarrassed to ask anyone how to turn it off.

Sumi took a deep swig of her wine and sighed with pleasure. ‘Have you downloaded the apps yet?’

‘Give me a break. I’ve had the phone for half an hour, this is the first time I’ve looked at it since I left the shop,’ I replied, sighing at her impatience before casting my eyes towards the floor in shame. ‘I downloaded Tinder.’

She pulled a bowl of snack mix down the bar and began popping peanuts into her mouth as her eyebrows wiggled up and down suggestively. Free snacks on the bar were definitely a plus point for this place.

‘Don’t get excited,’ I warned. ‘I downloaded it, that’s all, I didn’t activate my profile. I think I should probably find a job before I start looking for a shag.’

‘Absolutely, one hundred percent agreed, you’ll hear no arguments from me,’ Sumi said right before she grabbed my phone, held it up in front of my surprised face, swiped, tapped and, five seconds later, my Tinder profile was reactivated.

‘You’re a monster,’ I told her as she sat beside me, swiping through my options. Dozens of different faces gazed up at us, a smorgasbord of available men just waiting to be tapped. ‘You know I’ve never had any luck on the apps, no one does, it’s totally pointless. Besides, I’m not ready.’

‘I met Jemima on an app, Lucy met Creepy Dave on an app,’ Sumi reminded me, as though invoking Creepy Dave might help her argument. ‘Look at your pictures, they’re amazing! You look fit and nice and not like a complete arsehole. That’s Tinder gold.’

‘Thanks.’ I cringed at a clearly staged photo of me with my mouth open laughing at absolutely nothing. ‘Fat lot of good they’ve done me so far.’

‘No bites?’

‘The last date I went on arrived thirty minutes late, dripping in sweat, wearing his running gear and, because that wasn’t bad enough, his knob kept falling out of his shorts.’

‘If his knob was big enough to fall out of his shorts, you might have been a bit more understanding,’ Sumi, a lesbian who had literally never even touched a penis, suggested.

I reached across her to nix a photo of a white man proudly displaying his dreadlocks. Immediate red flag.

‘And if his mum hadn’t been waiting for him outside the bar, I might have been.’

‘Maybe his mum was an Uber driver who needed some practice?’

‘Maybe he was the next Norman Bates?’

Sumi frowned at London’s love offerings. Man with a baby tiger, man skydiving, man on top of a mountain. Man on top of a mountain holding a baby tiger immediately after skydiving.

‘I know you’re going to tell me you’re too busy to be in a relationship right now but I do think a good shag would sort you right out,’ she said, causing the man sitting to my right to choke on his gin and tonic. ‘It’s good to clear out the cobwebs, you know?’

‘I’m not against the idea of being a relationship,’ I told her, politely pretending not to notice as my seat neighbour sopped up his drink with several napkins. ‘I’m against the idea of dating. I don’t have the time or energy to waste drinking overpriced cocktails with people I never want to see again.’

‘Oh, of course,’ Sumi agreed innocently. ‘Because you’re so busy living in your parents’ shed not working?’

‘Put that down as my headline,’ I told her, catching my own eye in the mirror behind the bar. I looked tired. ‘I do want to find someone, eventually. No one wants to be the weird single friend that shows up to family parties in last night’s eyeliner and scares the children, but it’s too much right now.’

‘But a good first date is the best.’ Her eyes sparkled as she gazed into a memory. ‘All the laughing and talking and finding reasons to touch each other, wondering who’s going to make the first move, wondering if they’ll ask you out again, wondering when they’re going to text …’

Sumi’s first dates sounded as though they’d been a lot more fun than any of mine. ‘That sounds great,’ I said, giving her a look. ‘But Frasier isn’t going to rewatch itself, is it?’

Her smile softened into something more understanding. ‘I think you need to get back on the horse. I think you might have forgotten how much fun horses can be, if you give them a chance.’

‘All the horses I ever rode were destined for the glue factory,’ I reminded her.

‘To new horses,’ she said, tapping her glass against mine. ‘Sexy, clever horses with their own teeth, financial stability and a home that isn’t a shed.’

‘What about a stable?’ I suggested.

‘Only if it’s Jesus,’ she replied.

Laughing, I tucked my hair behind my ears and shook my head. I had missed her so much.

‘Before I forget,’ Sumi said, tapping a long, black acrylic fingernail on the screen of my phone. ‘You need to send me your new number before I accidentally call some random American in the middle of the night.’

‘I need to send everyone my number,’ I told her, rubbing peanut dust on the leg of my only pair of jeans. ‘They updated my contacts from the cloud so I’ve got everyone’s details but no one has mine. Is there an app for that or have I got to text everyone I ever met?’

‘You sweet precious baby,’ Sumi said with a fake swoon. ‘There’s an app for everything, even I know that.’ Her nail rattled across my screen and, in just a few taps, a little green icon appeared on my phone. ‘This is what we use for group texts at work. End-to-end encryption, no one can hack it.’

It was fair to say Sumi was more than averagely engaged with conspiracy theories.

‘Hit that, connect it to your contacts and open up a group message. Then you can text your number to whomever your heart desires.’

‘How did I manage three whole years without you?’ I asked, marvelling at the wonders of modern technology.

‘It is a question I ask myself every day.’

Editing radio shows was easy, iPhones were a whole different story. This was why I didn’t dare download TikTok. Fear of the unknown.

I stared at the screen, trying to come up with just the right message. How was I supposed to say ‘Hi, I’m back in London, please don’t ask me any questions about my surprise return that was one hundred percent my choice and also I live in a shed now’ without sounding completely pathetic?

‘You’re sending people your new number, you don’t have to write an essay,’ Sumi climbed down from her stool, peering over my shoulder to see my fingertip poised over a blank screen. ‘I’m going for a wee, see if you can finish it before I get back.’

‘Good to know, enjoy it,’ I told her as she click-clacked off through the bar in her stilettos.

Hi, it’s Ros Reynolds, I typed out before I could overthink it. Overthinking was one of my greatest talents. Given the chance, I could talk myself out of literally anything in under five minutes. Instead, I took another glug of the wine while I tried to imagine what I would say if I were writing it for someone else.

Hi, it’s Ros Reynolds. This is my new number, I just moved back to London! Let’s catch up soon.

One exclamation mark, no emojis. Short, sweet, to the point and, most importantly, not pathetic. It was a winner. I tapped the little arrow in the corner and saw a small white box pop up.

Group Text wants to access contacts? I hit ‘Allow’.

Choose recipients or select all?

‘Can I get you another drink?’

I looked up to see the woman behind the bar smiling at my empty glass.

‘Could I get a water?’ I asked, my head suddenly swimming with the realization that I’d absolutely chugged an entire glass of wine on an empty stomach. Not the perfect start to a Monday night. Or was it?

Rubbing my tired eyes, I looked back at the screen. Choose recipients? I started scrolling and clicking, scrolling and clicking, scrolling and clicking. It got very boring, very fast.

Yawning, I flicked my thumb upwards, sending the screen whirring all the way back to the top of the page. I clicked on Select All.

And then I pressed send.

CHAPTER THREE

‘Someone’s popular,’ Sumi said on the return from her mission to the loo. On the bar, my phone flashed with unread message after unread message.

‘Turns out a lot of people are bored and on their phones on a Monday night,’ I replied as the ‘welcome home’, ‘let’s get a drink’ and ‘who is this?’ texts flooded in. ‘I don’t even know why I have half these people in my contacts, I never text anyone apart from you, Adrian, Lucy and my sister.’

‘I am honoured,’ she drained her wine glass. ‘Shall we have another drink?’

‘Oh, go on,’ I said, pushing my water away. ‘Which way are the loos?’

‘Downstairs, all the way to the end,’ Sumi replied, already lost in her own phone. ‘Ladies on the left.’

I set off on my mission, checking my latest text as I went. Domino’s Pizza. At last, someone who was truly excited to have me back in the country.

The ladies’ loos were massive, all rose gold fixtures and well-lit mirrors, perfect if your primary reason for being there was taking excellent selfies but if you needed a wee you were bang out of luck. The room was huge but some genius had only installed two toilets, both of which were occupied as I waddled up and down in front of the sinks.

‘Two bloody toilets, what is the bloody point?’ I muttered under my breath, sounding more like my dad by the second.

There was only one thing for it and I was far too close to having an accident to be picky. Besides, we were living in a post-gender world and I was a dying-for-a-wee girl. I scooted out of the women’s toilets with my knees clamped together and cautiously opened the neighbouring door.

‘Is anyone in here?’ I called, poking my head into the gents.

No one was.

Ecstatic, I flung myself into one of the stalls, relieved to see it was spotless. Not as nice as the ladies but at least they had individual toilets with floor-to-ceiling wooden doors and each stall piped in both air freshener and music – both of which, I assumed, would be a bonus in the men’s toilets.

The idea of drinking a glass of water with every alcoholic drink was all well and good but unless you happened to be wearing an adult nappy, it really was a supreme test of bladder control. I pulled my phone out of my pocket to see the screen light up with yet more returned messages. Robot numbers, failed connections and the odd and deeply unflattering, ‘new phone, who dis?’ Nestled in the middle of the mess was one text that screamed with capital letters.

Hi Ros!!! Long time no see but perfect timing??? CALL ME! ASAP!!!!

According to my contacts list, it was from Dan. But who was Dan? And why were they so intent on using every punctuation mark in their phone? Then it dawned on me. Could it be? I leaned back against the white porcelain tank, pressed call and waited for my phone to connect.

‘Ros bloody Reynolds, is it really you?’

‘It is,’ I replied happily. ‘Hello, Danielle.’

‘I can’t believe you’re back,’ she shrieked. ‘This is amazing. Perfect timing, meant to be.’

Danielle and I started out as interns at the same radio station on the same day. We were first-day-of-school friends, joined at the hip and so excited. We took our tea breaks together, went for lunch at the same time, inhaled two-for-a-fiver cocktails at the Wetherspoons across the road, starry-eyed and rosy-cheeked and still so optimistic about our first forays into the job market. At least, we were for the first three months, then we realized we really didn’t have anything in common other than the place we went to work every day. Slowly, we stopped hanging out so much – fewer lunches, far less tea and eventually, zero cocktails – until Danielle left for another job and that was that. She faded into a shadowy existence as nothing more than a Facebook friend and a number in my phone I’d forgotten I even had.

‘I would love to have a proper chat but I’m on a plane and we’re about to take off,’ Danielle interrupted without pausing for breath. ‘We should have a real catch-up when I’m back but I have the most incredible opportunity of all time, I’d be doing it myself but I’m out of town for the next few weeks. PodPad needs a producer basically yesterday and I know you’d be insane at it. Is there any chance, the slightest possible hint of a chance, I might be able to tempt you to come and work for me?’

‘PodPad?’ I repeated. ‘You’re at PodPad?’

‘Babes, I’m running PodPad,’ she laughed. ‘The programming at least.’

I knew PodPad. I turned down a job at PodPad to take the job in DC.

‘That’s amazing,’ I told her, the sound of a politely irritated flight attendant asking her to end her call crackling through my phone’s speaker. ‘I’m so pleased for you.’

‘It’s pretty wonderful,’ she agreed. ‘So, producer job. Are you interested?’

‘Um, I’d love to hear more about it,’ I replied, trying very hard not to sound as desperate as I felt. What if she wanted to know why I’d left? What if she wanted a reference?

‘You’re incredible, this is the most incredible thing that has ever happened,’ she cheered down the phone. Danielle, I remembered, was prone to hyperbole. ‘Can you come in tomorrow?’

‘Yes, absolutely,’ I confirmed, pushing negative thoughts away. ‘Let me know when and where and I’m there.’

I thought back to a chapter of Starting Over I’d read at three a.m. while the foxes behind my shed rogered each other senseless. This is what happened when you stayed positive. Take your time, stop running. Stand still and the clouds will clear, allow life to show you the way.

‘I’m texting you the address, be there at ten tomorrow morning and I’ll love you forever,’ Danielle threatened. ‘I’m so pleased you texted me, Ros. I was just about to offer the job to a complete wanker and you’ve saved my life. Meant to be or what?’

‘Miss, please put away your phone or—’

Three short sharp beeps in my ear declared the call over.

I was officially the first person on the face of the earth who had accidentally sent someone a text message and it had gone right. I made a mental note to buy a lottery ticket on the way home. It had to be my lucky day.

Flushing the loo, I slipped my phone into my back pocket so I could look myself in the eye and pretend I wasn’t the kind of person who reads their phone on the toilet (even though everyone did it, there were many reports on the matter). Pushing against the heavy toilet door with all my weight, I groaned, hoping the added vocalization might somehow make me stronger but it didn’t budge.

‘What do they do in here that they need hermetically sealed cubicles?’ I asked, not really wanting an answer to the question, before hurling myself at the door one more time. It stuck for a second then creaked open, sending me stumbling out into the toilets and—

‘JESUS FUCKING CHRIST.’

I immediately locked eyes with a man using a urinal.

‘OH MY GOD,’ I screamed, covering my face with my hands before remembering I still needed to wash them. Thrusting my arms out in front of me, I closed my eyes instead, stumbling around the gents like a blind zombie.

‘What are you doing?’ the man shouted. ‘Get out!’

‘I’m going, I’m going,’ I promised, still holding out my arms and fumbling my way forward. It seemed foolish to keep my eyes closed now, especially since I’d seen everything, but I had been raised to be polite. And not to use the men’s toilets, but still.

‘Shit,’ he grunted as he zipped up his fly. ‘You made me piss on my shoes.’

I winced, opening my eyes just a crack to find the sink. Sure, I might read my phone on the toilet but I always, always washed my hands.

‘No, really, take your time,’ I heard the man say over the sound of many, many paper towels being dispensed. I purposefully pumped the soap dispenser.

I opened my eyes a crack and saw him rubbing at a dark stain.

‘I’m going to wash my hands,’ I said primly, rinsing my hands. ‘I’m not a monster.’

He looked up but his dark hair was covering most of his face. ‘Says the woman using the men’s toilets.’

‘How dare you assume to know my gender identity,’ I mumbled as I grabbed my own paper towels.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, even if he didn’t sound as though he was. ‘What are your preferred pronouns?’

‘Prefer not to say.’ I clocked the furious set of his jaw before I made a beeline for the door. Dark hair, dark eyes, murderous expression. Got it. ‘Sorry about your shoes.’

Running back up the stairs, I grabbed the fresh glass of wine that was waiting for me and downed half of it in one gulp. Sumi’s eyes opened wide.

‘What happened to you?’ she asked. ‘Did a rat climb out the toilet or something?’

‘Let’s say yes,’ I replied, taking a breath and then going back for the rest of the glass. ‘I’m starving. Why don’t we go and get some food? Or go to The Lex?’

‘Ros, I told you, no one goes there any more. They got a new landlord and it’s basically a crack den,’ Sumi pulled a face. ‘It was always basically a crack den, we were just too poor to care before. If you’re hungry, they’ve got really good food here. Adrian loves the burger, have that.’

‘I really want to go somewhere else,’ I said, looking over my shoulder. ‘I know you like it here but this place is so pretentious and totally overpriced. Let’s go and get a pizza or something.’

Sumi set down her glass with concern. ‘What on earth’s wrong? Did something happen to you downstairs?’

‘Nothing happened to her,’ a voice answered from behind the bar. ‘And we’ve got pizza. But it might be too overpriced and pretentious for you.’

And there he was. The man from the gents, strapping a leather work apron over his white shirt and his damp blue jeans.

‘John!’ Sumi leaned over the bar to press kisses on either side of his annoyed face. ‘What are you doing here on a Monday?’

Of course, they were friends. Of course they were.

‘Mostly being attacked in the men’s toilets,’ he replied, never once taking his dark eyes off me.

‘I didn’t attack you, it was an accident,’ I muttered. I attempted to hide my face behind my masses of hair, utterly mortified. ‘It’s not my fault you pissed on your shoes.’

‘Is that what I can smell?’ Sumi sniffed the air and made a face.

‘Could be the pizza,’ I suggested.

Sumi looked from me to John and back to me, a confused smile on her face. As much as I loved my friend, she did like to stir up shit and there was clearly shit here to stir.

‘So, it seems like you’ve already met but we’ll do introductions anyway. John, this is my best friend, Ros, the one who was in America. Ros, this is John McMahon, the greatest bartender in all of London.’

‘Nice to meet you,’ I mumbled, holding out my hand. He stared at it but did not move. ‘What? You know it’s clean.’

‘Nice to see you, Sumi,’ John said with a nod. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’m needed in the kitchen.’

Leaving my hand hanging over the bar, he turned and disappeared down a staircase I hadn’t noticed before, hidden behind an enormous wine rack.

‘Well,’ Sumi turned back to me and took a long sip of wine. ‘Someone made an impression.’

‘Not the one I would have chosen,’ I replied curtly. ‘So, you were saying something about a burger?’

‘Drink your drink,’ she ordered. ‘I’m buying and you’re not working, let’s get pissed.’

‘Actually, I might have a job after all.’ I gave her a happy grin, accompanied by my best jazz hands. ‘Do you remember Danielle who I used to work with?’

Sumi frowned. ‘Was she the very, very keen one?’

‘Was and still is,’ I nodded. ‘She got my new number text and she reckons she might have a job for me. How mad is that?’

Sumi’s face began to scrunch in on itself until her nose was the only discernible feature left. ‘Were you weeing or were you down there texting everyone you’ve ever worked with? On a public toilet? In London?’

‘No,’ I said quickly. ‘I was reading texts on the toilet and making one very quick phone call. Perfectly acceptable according to millennial social etiquette. I only sent that one text.’

She suddenly stared at me with very wide eyes.

‘Ros, did you send that text to every number in your contacts?’

I nodded.

‘And you thought that was a good idea?’

I nodded.

‘Have you got any idea of the number of dick pics you’re going to get in the next twenty-four hours?’

I considered it for a moment then decided I definitely did not want dick pics. Yes, I was going through a dry spell but still. Unbidden dicks were not nice to look at. Even bidden dicks failed to make the prettiest of pictures. There was a reason there was no ‘hall of knobs’ at the Louvre.