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I open my mouth to speakbut I'm too confused. My head is teeming with thoughts. “Okay,” I say at last. “Okay. Thanks.” We have our story totally worked out. At least I do. If anyone asks, Jon is giving me a driving lesson. He just happened to drop by when I was getting into the car, and just happened to offer. But no one does ask. It's a sunny day, and as Jon reverses the car out of its parking space, he retracts the roof. Then he reaches in his pocket and hands me a black hair elastic. “You'll need this. It's windy.” I take the hair elastic in surprise. “How come you have this in your pocket?” “I have them everywhere. They're all yours.” He rolls his eyes, signaling left. “I don't know what you do, shed them?” Silently, I put my hair up into a ponytail before it can get windswept. Jon turns onto the road and heads to the first junction. “It's in Kent,” I say as we pull up at the lights. “You have to head out of London on the” “I know where it is.”

“You know where my mother's house is?” I say a touch incredulously. “I've been there.” The lights turn green and we move on. I stare out at the grand white houses passing by, barely noticing them. He's been to Mum's house. He knows about Fi. He has my hair elastic in his pocket. He was right about the blue folder. Either he's really, really done his research, o r . .. “So... hypothetically,” I say at last. “If we were once lovers...” “Hypothetically.” Jon nods without turning his head. “What exactly happened? How did we...” “Like I told you, we met at a launch party. We kept bumping into each other through the company. I came over to your place more and more. I'd arrive early, while Eric was still tied up. We'd chat, hang out on the terrace It was innocuous.” He pauses, negotiating a tricky lanechange. “Then Eric went away one weekend. And I came over. And after that... it wasn't so innocuous.” I'm starting to believe. It's like the world is slidinga screen is going back. Colors are becoming sharper and clearer. “So what else happened?” I say. “We saw each other as often as we could.” “I know that.” I cast around. “I mean...what was it like? What did we say, what did we do? Just...tell me stuff.” “You crack me up.” Jon shakes his head, his eyes crinkled in amusement. “That's what you always said to me in bed. 'Tell me stuff.'” “I like hearing stuff.” I shrug defensively. “Any old stuff.” “I know you do. Okay. Any old stuff.” He drives silently for a while and I can see a smile pushing at his mouth as he thinks. “Everywhere we've been together, we've ended up buying you socks. Same thing every time, you rip off your shoes to be barefoot on the sand or the grass or whatever, and then you get cold and we need to find you socks.“ He pulls up at a crosswalk. ”What else? You've got me into putting mustard on fries.”Advertisement

“French mustard?” 315 “Exactly. When I first saw you, I thought it was an evil perversion. Now I'm addicted.” He pulls away from the crossing and turns onto a big dual carriageway. The car is speeding up; he's harder to hear over traffic noise. “One weekend it rained. Eric was away playing golf and we watched every single episode of Doctor Who, back to back.” He glances at me. “Should I keep going?” Everything he's saying is resonating. My brain is tuning up. I don't remember what he's talking about, but I'm feeling stirrings of recognition. It feels like me. This feels like my life. “Keep going.” I nod. “Okay. So...we play table tennis. It's pretty brutal. You're two games ahead, but I think you're about to crack.” “I am so not about to crack,” I retort automatically. “Oh, you are.” “Never!” I can't help grinning. “You met my mum. She instantly guessed. She knows me too well to kid her. But that's okay. She's cool, she'd never say anything.” Jon pulls into another lane. “You always sleep on the left. We've had five whole nights together in eight months.” He's silent for a moment. “Eric's had two hundred and thirty-?five.” I don't know how to reply to that. Jon's gaze is focused ahead; his face is intent. “Should I keep going?” he says at last. “Yeah.” I clear my throat huskily. “Keep going.” As we drive through the Kent countryside, Jon has exhausted all the details he can give me about our relationship. Obviously I can't supply any of my own, so we're sitting in silence as the hop fields and oast houses pass by. 316 Not that I'm looking at them. I grew up in Kent, so I don't even notice the picturesque, garden-?of-?England scenery. Instead I'm watching the GPS screen in a trance; following the arrow with my gaze.

Suddenly it reminds me of my conversation with Loser Dave, and I heave a sigh. “What's up?” Jon glances over. “Oh, nothing. I just still keep wondering, how did I get to where I am? What made me go after my career, get my teeth done, turn into this... other person?” I gesture at myself. “Well,” says Jon, squinting up at a sign. “I suppose it started with what happened at the funeral.“ ”What do you mean?“ ”You know. The thing with your dad.“ ”What about my dad?“ I say, puzzled. ”I don't know what ypu're talking about.” pqdm.com