Page 82 of The Fallback

Neither Rosie nor Mitch said anything.

‘What are you doing here?’ asked Rosie eventually, ignoring Connor’s question.

‘Erm, early Christmas drinks with some work people,’ Mitch replied, nodding towards the corner of the bar where a group of people were sat.

Connor was now stood up with a small dark, damp stain spreading across his shirt. ‘I’m sorry, who are you?’ he said confrontationally to Mitch.

Rosie stood, too. ’Mitch this is Connor, an old friend.’ Rosie saw the gleam of recognition in Mitch’s eye. Even now he would remember who Connor was, who he had been to Rosie. But he said nothing and politely allowed Rosie to finish the incredibly painful introductions.

‘Connor, this is Mitch…’ Her voice tailed off. She didn’t really know how to describe Mitch. Could she get away with still calling him a friend? She certainly wasn’t going to go with, ‘Oh, hey this is Mitch, the guy I’ve been in love with for years and who I was hoping you, Connor, would help me get over.’ She raised her eyes to the ceiling, wishing she was anywhere but stood between these two men.

Luckily, Mitch saved her by extending his hand towards Connor. ‘I’m really sorry about your shirt,’ he said, ‘but pleased to meet you anyway.’

Rosie could tell he sensed how awkward this was for everyone. Mitch hated to put anyone in an uncomfortable position and he didn’t want to be rude but at the same time it was obvious that he too would rather be anywhere else than stood at that bar right now.

Connor said nothing for a moment leaving Mitch looking increasingly uncomfortable. ‘Can I get you another drink? Some napkins?’ he offered. He picked up some napkins that the barman, seeing what had happened, had discreetly placed on the bar. ‘So, you’re the Connor that Rosie was at uni with, right?’

It was obvious to Rosie that Mitch was floundering, too. He didn’t know what to say to this person he had never met but had heard so much about, and whose date with his ex-best friend he appeared to have crashed.

Connor’s chest seemed to swell with pride at being recognised. ‘I am,’ he confirmed. ‘Although I have absolutely no idea whoyouare,’ he added laughing.

Rosie winced at his tone. Mitch looked at Rosie as if to confirm what he should say, but she had no advice to offer. Her eyes widened in panic.

‘Rosie and I used to work together,’ Mitch finally said neutrally.

‘Oh, right, so you’re an academic as well,’ Connor said dismissively, as if being an academic was one of the most boring professions in the world.

‘Actually, no, I’m a journalist, I’m the science correspondent forThe Post.’ Mitch paused. ‘You’re a journalist, too, aren’t you? Who is it you work for?’

For the first time Connor looked awkward. ‘I’m freelance,’ he blustered. Mitch looked baffled before turning to Rosie.

’You’re OK?’ he asked, ‘I didn’t hurt you? Can I getyouanother drink?’ Rosie shook her head, mutely refusing to meet Mitch’s eye.

‘Of course she’s OK,’ Connor said somewhat aggressively, ‘I’m the one who got the drink poured down my front.’

Mitch turned back and looked Connor up and down calmly before saying, ‘As I said, I’m sorry, but I’m sure you’ll live. Bye Rosie.’ And he picked up his drink from the bar, turned on his heel and walked away.

Rosie watched him go, her heart pounding as he went. He threaded his way through the bar to a table in the corner, directly in her line of sight. She watched as he gave a tight smile to the people sat at the table. Two of them stood up to let him pass and he sat. As he put down his glass he looked up and caught Rosie’s eye. His expression was completely unreadable.

‘What an incredibly arrogant guy,’ Connor said.

‘Excuse me?’ said Rosie, startled out of her observances of Mitch.

‘That guy,’ Connor replied, jerking his head over his shoulder in the direction of Mitch. ‘He seemed incredibly arrogant. I bet you’re pleased you don’t have to work with him anymore.’

Rosie said nothing. She realised how little Connor actually knew or understood her, and how much she was starting to wish, despite her very best endeavours, that she was sitting here with Mitch and not with Connor.

She wondered how on earth she was supposed to salvage the evening. Connor seemed even more self-absorbed now that he was covered in champagne. He kept stretching up to look at himself in the mirror behind the bar and was constantly patting down the front of his shirt and then looking over his shoulder, presumably to see if anyone else had noticed what had happened.

‘So, how are you finding life now you’re back in London?’ she asked again, her tone flat, her thoughts back on Mitch and wondering whether he felt as confused and sad as she was now feeling.

‘Hmm? Oh, it’s OK. For the moment.'

‘For the moment?’ Rosie repeated. ‘I don’t understand. I thought you were back for good? You know, wanting to settle down etc? The pressure of weddings?’

Connor laughed. ‘Oh, god no,’ he said. ‘I can’t imagine anything more depressing than conforming tothattraditional stereotype: falling in love, a big white wedding, two kids, moving to suburbia.’

Rosie looked at him in surprise. She didn’t want a big white wedding, she wasn’t sure if she wanted one kid let alone two, and she couldn’t imagine anything worse than moving to suburbia. But the way he said all of this, with such bitterness and scorn, left her cold.

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