‘Okay,’ he says, looking a little taken aback. ‘Well, I’m getting myself something. Stay here, I’ll be back in a minute.’
I sigh, more loudly than I intended. ‘Why are you here, Art?’
Okay. So I suppose I’mnotgoing to do this politely.
‘What do you mean, why am I here?’ says Art. ‘You were there when Roo asked me!’
‘Yeah, but … why did you come?’ I say.
Art raises his eyebrows. ‘I came,’ he says, ‘because even though you pretty much vanished without warning earlier and then didn’tanswer my text, we’ve just finished an incredibly tough job and I wanted to hang out and celebrate it with you.’
I fold my arms and glare at him. ‘Oh, you did, did you?’
‘Yes, I did!’ says Art.
I make a noise that sounds a bit like a snort.
‘Jesus, what is up with you, McDermott?’ Art’s expression is a mixture of confusion and annoyance. ‘Why are you being so weird?’
‘Nothing!’ I say. ‘Nothing’s up!’
‘Then why are you acting like me being here is such a mad idea?’ says Art. ‘I was invited! And we’re friends. At least I thought we were until about two minutes ago.’
‘Well, if we’re suchfriends,’ I snap, ‘why didn’t you tell me about your New York job offer?’
As the words come out of my mouth I realise a part of me has been hoping it’s all a misunderstanding, that I’d got things wrong, that there is no New York job. But Art stares at me and then says, ‘How do you know about that?’
So it’s true.
‘A message came up on your phone yesterday when you were at the shops,’ I say.
‘You said you didn’t see who was calling me yesterday,’ says Art.
‘I lied,’ I say. ‘Just like you’ve been lying to me.’
‘I haven’t been lying to you!’ he says. ‘I just didn’t tell you about this job.’
‘Well, go on,’ I say. ‘Tell me now. What is it?’
Art runs his hand through his hair. ‘It’s a script supervisor job. On an American film.’
‘How long have you known about it?’ I say.
Art looks uncomfortable. ‘Since … since the first night I was in your house.’
‘What?’
‘Do you remember my phone rang?’ he says.
‘Well, yeah, Art,’ I say. ‘Strangely enough I do remember, seeing as it rang when we were about to have sex.’
Art closes his eyes for a moment as if he can’t even bear to look at me and says, ‘That call was my agent. I mean, my ex-agent. I hadn’t talked to her since last year and I knew if she was calling it must be important. That’s why I left that night. I had to call her back.’
‘And?’ I try to keep my voice calm. ‘Was she welcoming you back with open arms?’
‘Not exactly,’ says Art. ‘But …’ He’s looking down at the floor now.
‘But what?’ I snap.