Page 31 of Not in a Million Years

‘Hot-air ballooning’s not exactly death-defying. Isn’t it meant to be quite safe?’

‘It certainly didn’t feel that way,’ I admitted. ‘Anyway, you’re single, too, so why are you judging Andy and me for being?’

‘I’m not judging anyone. Just making conversation, like I said. Want that last prawn?’

‘And now you’re avoiding answering my question. I’m full – the cats can have it.’

Daniel shelled the prawn and carefully divided it into five – for by now there were that many cats milling around the legs of our chairs: one ginger and white, two black and white, a plain black and a tabby.

‘Which would you choose, if you could only take one of them home?’ Daniel asked.

‘Which what?’

‘Cat, obviously.’

‘But I don’t want a cat.’

‘Just as well, because you’re not getting one. It’s hypothetical.’

‘The tabby one, then.’

I reached over and nabbed one of the prawn pieces from Daniel’s plate and fed it to the tabby cat. Its nose was soft against my fingers, but the nip of its teeth as it took the morsel was sharp.

‘Why that one?’ he asked.

‘She’s beautiful. Look at her white whiskers and her amber eyes.’

‘Thought you didn’t like cats.’ He grinned, divvying up the rest of the prawn between the others. There was a tiny scrap left, which I gave to my new tabby friend.

As if they knew their run of luck had come to an end, the cats meandered off, tails in the air, searching for their next mark.

‘Maybe I do, a bit. But you still haven’t answered my question.’

‘Want dessert? Coffee?’

‘Not coffee. I’ll struggle to sleep tonight as it is.’

‘Because your neck hurts?’

I shook my head. ‘I usually sleep badly. And tonight – I’ll be thinking about what happens tomorrow.’

Daniel signalled for the bill, and the waiter brought it over with two shot glasses of some clear liqueur and a little plate of cubed Turkish delight. I took a piece, licking the sugar off one side before biting into it, while he settled the bill. I was fine with that; I’d paid for our first four nights’ accommodation and we’d agreed we’d work everything out at the end – whenever that would be.

‘This is amazing. Usually it tastes like soap,’ I said.

Daniel gave a half-smile. ‘You’re in the habit of eating soap? I knew you were weird.’

‘And I knew you were a dick. And you still haven’t—’

‘Answered your question. What was it again?’

I found I couldn’t remember, so I asked a new one. ‘Why are you single?’

‘Haven’t found the right person, I guess.’

‘What went wrong with you and Carla, anyway?’

It wasn’t like Daniel and I socialised together regularly, but I remembered him having turned up at the occasional get-togethers we’d both attended, over the course of two years or so, with a willowy blonde woman whose name – if you’d asked me five seconds before – I’d have said I had no recollection of.

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