all too soon. Shredding a document at work earlier today, she had wondered how much sick
leave she would get if her fingers became accidentally jammed in the mechanism. Two weeks, had been her guess, and the exchange had felt worryingly tempting.
Zoe nodded.
‘I knew on the train back to London that I was making a mistake.’
‘Why?’
Alex sighed. ‘Ines isn’t exactly . . . dazzling company.’
‘But you went to all those cool clubs and ate in all those fancy restaurants.’ Laying on the sarcasm a bit thick, but what the hell. ‘So it took you how long to figure that
out? A month?’
‘Thailand’s weird. Everything’s . . . it’s different . . . weird.’
‘Is she beautiful?’
Damn
.
Alex swirled his wine and watched the drops run down the inside of the glass. He nodded without looking up. ‘Yup.’
Annoying. And Zoe felt suddenly self-conscious about her nose – cute, it’s been called,
cute as a button
, but the phrase has always made her think of mushrooms. And now the
damned thing was itching. Even so, there was something flattering about being courted over a beautiful German woman.
‘Rich, beautiful and . . . a banker, did you say?’
Another nod from Alex.
So that’s why we’re drinking in a back-alley ale-house. So we
don’t get spotted by Ines or any of her City colleagues.
‘Rich, beautiful and intelligent,’ said Zoe. ‘That’s the fantasy, isn’t it?’
Alex looked up and laughed. ‘Actually, that’s rich, beautiful and dumb.’
‘So which am I?’
Alex smiled but resisted the bait.
‘Long story short,’ he said. ‘It was wrong – is wrong – but I stayed too long. It was too easy, too convenient, I guess.’
‘How long?’
‘About eighteen months.’
‘So you chat up girls at discos—’
‘Discos?’
‘Invite them out for a drink in a dingy pub, bare your soul, then catch the last tube home to the rich, beautiful, boring girlfriend on the King’s Road.’
‘That’s about the size of it.’
‘Well . . .’ Zoe felt suddenly tired, exasperated. ‘Glad I could be of assistance. But I’ve got a busy day tomorrow. Meetings to pretend I’m interested in, fingers
to shred, and all that.’
Zoe pushed her chair back from the table.
‘Wait,’ Alex said, apparently amused, looking like he was about to laugh. ‘Did you say . . .
fingers to shred
?’
Zoe closed her eyes, sighed. ‘Things,’ she said, blushing. ‘I meant
things
to shred.’
Zoe laughed, laughed so abruptly, in fact, that she snorted; and there’s nothing cute about that. She has always done it, and long ago learned that any attempt to stifle this sinus gurgle
only exacerbates it from little-piggy grunt to great big snotty hog-sized bellow. So she let it go. Good, cathartic, tears-in-the-eyes laughter. Alex laughed too, but not as hard. He sat back,
sipped his wine and smiled as Zoe pulled herself together and wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands. Her button-mushroom nose would be red and swollen now – the complete antithesis of
poised Teutonic beauty. But . . . well, fuck it.
‘Feel better?’
Zoe nodded.
‘Has anyone ever told you that you look beautiful when you laugh?’
‘Don’t push your luck. Seriously d . . .’ and like a crazy woman, she was laughing and snorting all over again.
They talked. About bad decisions, work, ambition, disappointment, university, family, the seaside, the Fens, kids’ TV shows from when they both grew up. They talked about love and sex; Zoe
and this man she barely knew. But she felt like she did know him, or perhaps understand is a better word. A two-way thing. They held hands across the table as they talked about first times and
funny times, Alex’s thumb stroking the back of her hand. They extended their legs towards each other, letting their feet and shins connect beneath the table like their hands above. Zoe told
Alex he should leave Ines, and he told her she should quit her job. You have to do what makes you
leave she would get if her fingers became accidentally jammed in the mechanism. Two weeks, had been her guess, and the exchange had felt worryingly tempting.
Zoe nodded.
‘I knew on the train back to London that I was making a mistake.’
‘Why?’
Alex sighed. ‘Ines isn’t exactly . . . dazzling company.’
‘But you went to all those cool clubs and ate in all those fancy restaurants.’ Laying on the sarcasm a bit thick, but what the hell. ‘So it took you how long to figure that
out? A month?’
‘Thailand’s weird. Everything’s . . . it’s different . . . weird.’
‘Is she beautiful?’
Damn
.
Alex swirled his wine and watched the drops run down the inside of the glass. He nodded without looking up. ‘Yup.’
Annoying. And Zoe felt suddenly self-conscious about her nose – cute, it’s been called,
cute as a button
, but the phrase has always made her think of mushrooms. And now the
damned thing was itching. Even so, there was something flattering about being courted over a beautiful German woman.
‘Rich, beautiful and . . . a banker, did you say?’
Another nod from Alex.
So that’s why we’re drinking in a back-alley ale-house. So we
don’t get spotted by Ines or any of her City colleagues.
‘Rich, beautiful and intelligent,’ said Zoe. ‘That’s the fantasy, isn’t it?’
Alex looked up and laughed. ‘Actually, that’s rich, beautiful and dumb.’
‘So which am I?’
Alex smiled but resisted the bait.
‘Long story short,’ he said. ‘It was wrong – is wrong – but I stayed too long. It was too easy, too convenient, I guess.’
‘How long?’
‘About eighteen months.’
‘So you chat up girls at discos—’
‘Discos?’
‘Invite them out for a drink in a dingy pub, bare your soul, then catch the last tube home to the rich, beautiful, boring girlfriend on the King’s Road.’
‘That’s about the size of it.’
‘Well . . .’ Zoe felt suddenly tired, exasperated. ‘Glad I could be of assistance. But I’ve got a busy day tomorrow. Meetings to pretend I’m interested in, fingers
to shred, and all that.’
Zoe pushed her chair back from the table.
‘Wait,’ Alex said, apparently amused, looking like he was about to laugh. ‘Did you say . . .
fingers to shred
?’
Zoe closed her eyes, sighed. ‘Things,’ she said, blushing. ‘I meant
things
to shred.’
Zoe laughed, laughed so abruptly, in fact, that she snorted; and there’s nothing cute about that. She has always done it, and long ago learned that any attempt to stifle this sinus gurgle
only exacerbates it from little-piggy grunt to great big snotty hog-sized bellow. So she let it go. Good, cathartic, tears-in-the-eyes laughter. Alex laughed too, but not as hard. He sat back,
sipped his wine and smiled as Zoe pulled herself together and wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands. Her button-mushroom nose would be red and swollen now – the complete antithesis of
poised Teutonic beauty. But . . . well, fuck it.
‘Feel better?’
Zoe nodded.
‘Has anyone ever told you that you look beautiful when you laugh?’
‘Don’t push your luck. Seriously d . . .’ and like a crazy woman, she was laughing and snorting all over again.
They talked. About bad decisions, work, ambition, disappointment, university, family, the seaside, the Fens, kids’ TV shows from when they both grew up. They talked about love and sex; Zoe
and this man she barely knew. But she felt like she did know him, or perhaps understand is a better word. A two-way thing. They held hands across the table as they talked about first times and
funny times, Alex’s thumb stroking the back of her hand. They extended their legs towards each other, letting their feet and shins connect beneath the table like their hands above. Zoe told
Alex he should leave Ines, and he told her she should quit her job. You have to do what makes you
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