Page 72 of One-Hit Wonder

“And we both just stopped then, and she stared at me until I couldn’t stand it for another second. And I said, ‘Can I laugh at you now?’ And she just looked at me all sniffy and serious and said, ‘Yes, you may laugh at me now.’ And I tell you what—I just lost the plot—totally. I don’t think I’ve laughed so hard before or since.

“So anyway, we walked into this bar, and I knew what we must have looked like to other people—this big bloke with a scar on his cheek holding up this tiny beat-up little woman in head-to-toe leather who’s so woozy she can’t walk in a straight line. So, of course, everyone just stared at us, and I tell you what—that was the moment when I knew that Bee was special, that I wanted to get to know her. She was this famous popstar and she honestly didn’t give a fuck about people seeing her looking like a crackhead. All the money that her label invested into creating and maintaining her image and she didn’t give a flying fuck. I loved that…

“So. We stayed in that bar all afternoon, and she wanted to know all about me—my family, my childhood, my girlfriend, my hopes and dreams. She was so easy to talk to, that woman, so excited by people and life and all the… I don’t know—all the little stuff. She liked detail. Not that she’d ever remember any of it afterwards.” He smiled. “You could never just tell her that you’d met a girl in a bar and gone to bed with her. It would be, What bar? Who spoke first? What were you drinking? Whose place? What color sheets? What fucking color was her fucking bush? She honestly asked me that once…” He laughed and then fell silent, staring at the grubby pattern on the carpet. “Fuck. I’m going to miss her. I’m going to miss her so much. Still,” he said, snapping out of his reverie, “we’re breaking the rules here, aren’t we? We weren’t supposed to be talking about Bee. And—oh look—my half hour’s up. Time to get another round in. Same again?”

At eleven o’clock, Ana and Flint spilled from the pub and into the slightly chilly outside air. Flint had offered Ana his sofa for the night, but she’d declined, and they were now waiting for a cab to take her back to Ladbroke Grove.

“So,” said Flint, “tomorrow. Daytime. We’ll do some research, yeah? Maybe I’ll come over to Gill’s—she’s got the internet, hasn’t she?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’ve got a job tomorrow night, but you could always come out with me, if you fancied it?”

“What d’you mean?”

“I mean sit up front with me, in the passenger seat.”

“But—won’t your client mind?”

“Nah. They won’t even know you’re there. And besides—it’s my car. I can have whoever the fuck I want in it.”

“OK. Maybe.” Ana didn’t want Flint to think she was leeching onto him. “But definitely, tomorrow, research.”

“OK. I’ll phone you. Tomorrow. Yeah?”

“Yeah. Tomorrow.”

“Good. Well—it’s been an experience, hasn’t it?”

“God—that’s an understatement. Sunday morning feels like years ago now, doesn’t it?”

“Uh-huh. Oh look—cab.” Flint strode out into the road with one large arm held aloft. It pulled up beside him and he gave the address.

“So,” he said, letting Ana into the cab, “see you tomorrow. And sleep tight.” He closed the door on her and leaned into the open window. “And thank you.”

“What for?” laughed Ana.

“For being such great company. I’ve had a really good night.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Really.” He stepped onto the pavement and started to walk away, but Ana felt suddenly compelled to ask him something. “Flint?” she called out, gripping the edge of the open window.

“Yes, sweetheart,” he said, turning back to her.

“Were you… were you ever in love with Bee?”

He laughed. “No,” he said, “no. I’ve never been in love with anybody.”

And then, before Ana had a chance to check the expression on Flint’s face as he said it, the cab pulled away and bore her homeward. And as the cab drove on, Ana wondered to herself how anyone who was friends with a man like Flint could ever possibly want to kill themselves when all they’d have to do, she was sure, was phone him up and talk to him and everything in the world would be just fine…

chapter twenty-nine

That’ll be £18.60, please, love.”

Ana’s eyes boggled slightly, but she pulled out her purse anyway and took out a £20 note. “Bloody hell,” she said under her breath as she got out and walked toward the house. Twenty quid! For a cab ride. This city really was taking the piss.

As Ana regarded the little house on Latimer Road, she suddenly felt like she’d been gone forever. And in a strange, heartwarming way, it almost felt like home. She picked up her rucksack and made her way inside. Once again, all was in darkness. She went to the kitchen and poured herself a couple of big glasses of water to thin out all the whiskey she’d drunk and then found, much to her delight, a couple of plates of yummy things in the fridge—M&S party food, little sausages, terriney-salmony things, bits of battered fish. In the dishwasher were a few used champagne glasses and in the bin lots of empty crisp wrappers and hummus pots. Gill must have had some people round. And, in true Gill style, had cleared away every last crumb and wrapping. She grabbed a couple of nibbly things and took them upstairs. And, almost like déjà vu, as she grabbed the handle of her bedroom door, she could hear groaning. And grunting. And slapping. And moaning. And giggling. Lots of giggling. No, thought Ana, no way. She couldn’t be. Not again. And surely not on a Monday night.