Page 20 of In the Same Boat

‘Mum?’ I say. ‘You okay?’

‘Oh, Sammie, darling, yes,’ she replies. ‘This is Hank. Hank, this is my daughter, Sammie.’

‘Nice to meet you, Sammie,’ Hank says, offering me his hand to shake.

‘And who is this?’ Mum asks, nodding towards Hank’s son.

I open my mouth to speak – but I don’t actually know who he is.

‘That’s my lad,’ Hank tells her. ‘Nico.’

The news doesn’t really have time to land before our host’s voice booms through the speakers again.

‘Okay, boys and girls, now it’s time to grab the person you hit it off with the most, pull them for a chat somewhere private, and let the magic happen,’ he announces.

I hate almost everything about that.

‘Shall we get a drink?’ I hear my mum say.

I turn to her and realise she isn’t talking to me – she’s talking to Hank. Well, that’s unexpected.

‘I’d love to,’ he replies. ‘But I’m buying.’

As everyone else pairs off it becomes clear that Nico and I are going to be the only two left without ‘a chair’. So we may as well sit with each other.

I watch Mum and Hank grab their drinks and then drift off towards a quieter corner, to a booth where they can talk, just the two of them. They sit down and I notice that they’re already leaning in towards each other in that unmistakable way people do when they have decided, either consciously or not, that they want to keep talking and see where it goes.

And I’m stuck here with Nico.

He glances after them, then back at me.

‘Come on then, I’ll get you one,’ Nico tells me.

‘Wow, thanks,’ I say sarcastically, because he makes it sound like he’s doing me a favour.

‘I don’t have to, if you don’t want,’ he points out. ‘We can sit together or we can sit alone. No one here wants the two under-fifties milling around ruining the atmosphere. We’ve been grouped by default.’

‘Oh, well, if it’s by default, then I guess I don’t have a choice,’ I reply – also sarcastic. ‘But I can get my own drink.’

‘Suit yourself,’ he replies.

‘What can I get you, mate?’ the barman asks him.

‘A Hugo Spritz, please,’ he replies.

Nico notices me staring at him.

‘What?’ he says. ‘A man can like a cocktail.’

‘It’s not that,’ I reply.

‘What can I get you?’ the barman asks me.

‘A Hugo Spritz, please,’ I reply. I turn to Nico. ‘It’s my favourite.’

He smiles.

We both wait for our drinks and then take them to one of the tall tables with stools around them. It’s quieter over this side of the room.