I grab my pen and scribble down all the things I’ve learned about him in the past few days:
1. Looks young for his age.
2. ‘Allergic’ to the sun.
3. Hates garlic.
4. Cold to the touch.
5. Wears sunglasses a lot.
6. Very keen that I officially invite him into my flat.
7. Won’t go in a church but digs a graveyard.
8. Unusually attractive to elderly bats.
I read them back to myself and then slam my notebook closed as well, a little annoyed with myself that I’m still thinking about this. Honestly, it’s probably not the worst thing he could be. Mina would love it if her cousin was undead, and there’s really no one else who matters to me.
For a moment– just a brief, indulgent moment– I allow myself to imagine it’s true. Life would be different, certainly, than the one I imagined I would live, but being an optimist who’s perpetually let down by my loved ones, that’s true anyway. I might as well have some perks.
This isn’t a very Lucy Partridge thing to say, but thinking about spending eternity getting railed by a really hot vampire? Well, let’s just say I’m not mad about it. Not when there’s so much going on at the moment that Iammad about.
I huff a breath out and pad down the stairs to put the kettle on.
Bram set off for work about an hour ago, and the annexe feels strange without him– much bigger than a tiny cottage extension really ought to. I feel like I’m rattling around in here, slowly losing my marbles with the fading traces of his aftershave still catching at my chest every time I breathe in. There’s a gig on tonight at Bitten that Bram made me promise I’d go to, a Dawn Breaks Black tribute act that he’s really excited about, but it doesn’t start until seven-thirty, and it’s– I check my watch– not even three. Dammit.
I make a cup of tea and drink it, which takes twenty-seven minutes, and then I reply to an email, which takes another three, but there are still four hours to go until I have to be anywhere. Then my phone rings, and I rush to grab it, thinking it might be Bram or maybe Mina, but my heart sinks to my feet when I see the name on the screen.
Jonathan Baker.
I almost let it ring out, but he is still my boss, after all, and I am still technically working this weekend. So I slide to answer, putting on my perkiest Lucy Partridge voice as I do.
‘Hello.’
‘Ey up, Fluff.’ It’s his standard greeting. It used to make my stomach flip with excitement, but now it just makes me feel a little queasy. ‘How are those goths treating you?’
I don’t particularly want to talk about it, not with him, so I shift into niceties. ‘Yeah, brilliant,’ I say, trying to sound genuine. ‘I didn’t expect this to be my scene, but I’m actually having a blast.’
‘Great,’ he purrs. How have I never noticed that he talks like this– like he’s constantly trying to seduce everyone? Maybe I thought it was just me. Maybe I was blinded by my infatuation.
But I’m seeing clearly now.
‘Look, Fluff,’ he continues, in that same voice, ‘I’m really sorry I couldn’t be the one to take this job for Mina. I know it was a lot to ask from you, especially on short notice. But my mum’s been in hospital and I didn’t feel right leaving her. Been by her bedside all weekend.’
The lie makes my jaw tighten, disinterest replaced by a fierce wave of anger that rattles through my whole body. Because not only do Iknowthat Jon was here in Whitby, due to the fact that I saw him sucking face with Amy not twenty-four hours ago. But something Jon is obviously also forgetting is that I’m friends with his mum on Facebook.
Geraldine Baker and I got chatting once at one of our work socials, and we enjoyed each other’s company so much that we swapped social media details. She posted pictures from her holiday in Torremolinos less than an hour ago. I saw them when I was aimlessly scrolling, trying to get myself motivated. She seemed to be having a whale of a time, and looking very healthyindeed. I left a heart emoji in the comments, and she liked it within minutes.
‘But the good news,’ he continues, oblivious to the burn of my silent rage, ‘is that she’s out now, so I’ll be at the gig tonight.’
My heart slams into my ribcage. ‘What?’
‘The gig tonight,’ he says, like I simply haven’t heard him. ‘The DBB tribute at Liam’s bar? We could catch that drink beforehand if you like?’ His voice drops a notch. ‘You know, just the two of us.’
His use of Bram’s first name grates at me, particularly now that I know Gilly is the only person who calls him that. Then I realise what he said at the end, and my blood runs cold. I think that he can’t be serious for a moment until I remember that he doesn’t know about the journey I’ve been on since he last saw me. I’m just the same old Fluff to him.
And of course he also doesn’t know thatIknow about Amy. Does she know he flirts with me? That he kissed me? I wonder how many of us there are– how many people hang on his every word, thinking they’re something special. It makes me feel sick to my stomach.