Is that a new shirt? You’re looking very smart.
SARAH GOES TO THE FRIDGE AND STARTS PUTTING IN GROCERIES.
SAM:
You don’t have to sound so surprised. I do own more than one shirt, you know.
SARAH:
You could have fooled me.
SAM:
Well, you’ll be pleased to know me and the shirt are going out this evening.
SARAH:
Who’s the unlucky woman?
SAM SHOOTS SARAH A LOOK.
SARAH:
Fine, I don’t care. As long as it gets you out of my flat, I’m happy.
SAM:
Look, I know living together got off to an awkward start, but you understand I’m genuinely trying not to get on your nerves, right?
SARAH:
Really?
SAM:
Yes, really! I’m doing my best!
SARAH GIVES SAM A LOOK.
SAM:
I am! Look, it’s clear you find me incredibly annoying right now, and that’s fine, that’s your right, but I felt things were starting to get weird so I tried to keep my distance and not bother you, and then I tried to be encouraging and say nice things about your work but clearly I totally fucked that up, and then I tried to make amends by bringing you coffee and apologising but that justannoyed you even more, and then youkissedme! And I know I kissed you back and I’m not going to lie, it wasn’t bad, I mean itreallywasn’t bad, but I know it was a massive mistake, and you’ve made it clear you also think it was a massive mistake, and fuck I really don’t want to have to move offices so can we please, for the love of God, just call a truce to whatever the hell this is?
Delete, delete, delete, delete, delete.
Chapter Ten
INT:NORTHSIDEOFFICES / EXT: IBC CAMPUS / INT: ANNIE AND ROO’S HOUSE
I feel sick as I enter the IBC Television building on Monday morning. And for once, it’s not because of the job. I’m dreading the prospect of a day enclosed in a small room with Art. It’s a miserable, rainy morning and I arrive half an hour early because I want to be at my desk, settled, calm and collected, before he gets in. My stomach is churning as I push open the office door.
And there he is, hunched over his laptop. He looks up as I enter and for a moment neither of us says anything.
Then Art clears his throat. ‘Morning.’
‘Morning.’ I hang up my jacket. It’s my turn to clear my throat now. ‘Did you have a good weekend?’
‘Um, fine, thanks.’ He turns back to his laptop. ‘And you?’