Flint got to Gill’s at twelve. On the way there he bought a box of little Portuguese cakes from the place by the bridge up on Golborne Road. As he handed the white card box to Ana at the door of the house, he felt like Tony Soprano.
‘Hi,’ she said. She was wearing the same jeans and top she’d been wearing last night, and all weekend, come to that. Flint had never before met a woman who appearedto have so little interest in clothes. Her feet were bare and her hair was tied back in a ponytail. It looked nice. Off her face. Gave her a sort of ballerina look.
‘Your hair looks nice,’ he said, dropping his car keys into his pocket and following her into the living room. ‘It suits you – up like that.’
She didn’t say anything.
‘Gill not here?’ he said, looking around the empty room.
‘No,’ she said, ‘she’s at the gym.’
‘Yup,’ he said, ‘that sounds like our Gill.’
‘Do you … do you want a cup of tea or something?’ Ana said, fiddling with her earlobe.
‘Yeah. Great. We can have the little cake things, too.’
She nodded distractedly and padded into the kitchen, clutching the box tentatively like it was a dirty nappy.
Flint sat down. Something wasn’t right. With Ana. She seemed awkward. Well, she always seemed awkward, actually, that was nothing new. But she seemed extra-awkward.
She came out with a tray with a couple of mugs on it and the cakes arranged on a plate.
‘So – how are you getting on here with Gill. You happy?’
She shrugged. ‘Haven’t really been here enough to form an opinion. But it seems all right. Gill’s … nice.’
‘Yeah.’ Flint leaned forward and helped himself to a cake. ‘I like Gill, too. She’s as mad as a hatter, but I like her.’
He bit into his cake and the room fell silent. He couldn’t think of a thing to say to her. ‘Are you all right?’ he managed, eventually.
‘Yeah,’ she said, ‘I’m good. I’m great.’
He looked across at her and felt a sudden wave ofwarmth and compassion for her. Poor girl. One minute she’d been living her funny little half-life in Devon, thinking her sister hated her, and the next she’d been uprooted and transplanted to one of the biggest, noisiest cities in the world, was living with strangers and discovering that her sister’s entire life was a lie.
He put down his cake and walked over to where she was sitting on a low cushion thing. He crouched down and put an arm around her shoulder. She flinched. He put another hand on her knee and squeezed it. She stiffened.
‘Are you missing home?’ he asked.
She jumped slightly and looked him straight in the eye. ‘God. No,’ she said, ‘not even a tiny bit. I’m just tired, that’s all.’
He removed his hand from her knee and looked her in the eye. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I know this must all have been quite hard going for you. And I just want you to know that I’m here. If you need me. If you want to talk. Or cry. Or anything. OK?’
She didn’t look him in the eye this time, just sort of shrugged and nodded. And then, before he had a chance to push it any further, the doorbell rang. Ana looked at him and then at the door.
‘Expecting anyone?’ said Flint, getting to his feet and going to peer through the window.
She shook her head. ‘Who is it?’ she said.
‘I dunno,’ said Flint, ‘some weird-looking bloke.’
‘What does he look like?’
‘Kind of geeky. Skinny. And he’s wearing really weird clothes.’
Ana got to her feet and walked towards the window.She peeled back the curtain and looked through the glass and suddenly jumped and flattened herself against the wall. ‘Oh my God,’ she whispered, ‘it’s Hugh!’
‘Hugh who?’ said Flint, peering out again.