‘Same,’ I say.
‘Thanks, guys,’ says Susan. ‘Sorry you came in for no reason. I promise, we’ll be back to a normal schedule in a few weeks and things will calm down.’
After she leaves, Art and I pack up our laptops in silence. I grab my jacket and say, ‘Well, bye.’
Art doesn’t even look up from putting a notebook in his bag as he says, ‘Bye.’
I need to go to the loo so I stay in the bathroom for a long time to ensure Art has left the building. But as I emerge fromthe stairwell into the lobby, the lift door opens and Art walks out. Can he have been lingering behind to avoid me? He nods at me, looking as happy to see me as I am to see him, and we walk through the lobby in silence. At least he’ll be heading towards the car park now so I can escape him.
But when we leave the building he doesn’t turn off towards the car park. He’s walking in the same direction as me, down the path that leads to the main gates. In desperation, I say, ‘Where’s your car?’
‘What car?’ says Art.
‘The car you drove to work in,’ I say.
‘I don’t have a car,’ he says. ‘Why did you think I did?’
WhydidI think he did?
‘Um, I’ve never seen you on the bus,’ I say. ‘And you used to live in LA. I thought you’d drive everywhere.’
‘Well, I don’t,’ says Art. ‘I usually cycle here. I got the bus today because of the rain. And besides, I only ever drive if I have no other choice.’
‘Oh right,’ I say.
‘You don’t know me as well as you clearly think you do,’ says Art.
I’m a little jolted by the edge in his voice. ‘Sorry.’
We walk along the path in silence for a moment. God, this bus journey is going to be excruciating.
Then Art sighs, loudly. ‘Okay, McDermott, this is ridiculous.’ He stops in the middle of the path and turns to face me. ‘Clearly ignoring what happened on Friday isn’t working.’
‘Isn’t it?’ I say.
‘Look, last week was weird for both of us,’ Art continues as if I haven’t spoken. ‘Like Susan said, we were basically thrown intothe ocean. An ocean full of sharks. It was … it was a lot. After five days of it we clearly weren’t in our right minds.’
‘Agreed,’ I say.
‘So let’s accept that the two of us … doingthatwas, I don’t know, two people under pressure letting off steam, and move on,’ says Art. ‘We won’t pretend it didn’t happen. It did happen, it was fine, and it was just one of those things. It doesn’t change anything between us.’
It wasfine?
‘You’re right,’ I say. ‘It doesn’t. It shouldn’t.’
‘It won’t,’ says Art.
‘Okay,’ I say.
‘Good,’ he says. ‘Now we’ve acknowledged it, let’s go and get that bus.’
We walk down the drive in a silence that’s only slightly less painful than it was a few moments earlier. I try to think of something normal to say, something that will show I’m moving on, something that will show my willingness to be a polite but professional colleague.
But instead I hear myself say, ‘Are you seeing anyone at the moment?’
Art turns to me, his face impossible to read. ‘Why do you ask?’
WhydidI ask? What is wrong with me today? ‘I just … I hope I didn’t … I mean, I hope I wasn’t an accessory to cheating.’