Page 143 of A Night with Damien Spur

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It was midnight when he drove her back to Fulham.

‘Such a great evening. I do hope we meet again,’ she said.

Damien liked Frances – he just wasn’t sure how much.

‘I’ll call you,’ he said. ‘Maybe lunch next week?’

‘Great! And next time you’re my guest.’

‘We’ll see about that. But you can certainly choose where to eat.’

‘It won’t be fancy. I like a place called Mitch’s. Reminds me of New York.’ Frances waited. Was he going to kiss her?

Damien Spur, the sophisticated A-lister, hesitated.

Not yet, said the Voice.You need to be sure.She’s not your usual sort. There’s something sweet about her. If you start all that, there’s no going back with this one.

He stroked her cheek. ‘Time to go to beddy-byes. See you soon,’ he said softly, and left.

***

They sat together on a shoddy red plastic bench in a booth. Thechrome tables and fluorescent lighting gave the place a ghostly feel; a harsh, steely atmosphere that not even the warm rays of autumn sunlight could penetrate.

‘Frances, please put your mobile away,’ Damien said. ‘What are you tweeting about now? It’s really very rude to be on your phone while we’re eating.’

‘I’m not tweeting. I’m posting on Instagram.’

Why the hell did she choose this dump?the Voice said.I think you’re on to a loser. She’s too young for you. So obsessed with her phone, probably doesn’t notice where she is.

Damien jabbed the grey slab of meat with his fork. ‘This burger is disgusting. Cooked to buggery. Not even fit for a dog.’

Should have gone to Gauchos, said the Voice.At least you can have a medium-rare steak there. Absolutely delicious, soft as butter, not like these dried-up cow pats that you can bet your bottom dollar taste like shit.

‘Anyway, what are you posting about this time?’ he said to Frances.

‘I’m a lifestyle influencer, Damien. I have 20,000 followers. I’m going to bring culture to my brand, and you are my poster boy.’ She pinched his cheek and gave him a beautiful smile.

‘Great.’ He bit into the burger and tried to swallow. ‘Ugh! I can’t do this.’ He spat it into a paper napkin. ‘I should imagine that prison food’s better. I know the soup kitchen in Brixton is.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because I’ve cooked there at Christmas.’

‘That’s good of you.’

‘Not really. Just relieves me of my guilt. You still haven’t said what words of wisdom you are sending to your loyal followers.’

‘Give us a smile.’ Frances took a picture.

She showed him the photo and then typed a short message that read,Damien Spur loves a burger, but not this one. Therewill be no return visit to Mitch’s Diner.

She tapped the icon with her index finger. ‘There you go – you’re posted on my Insta.’

‘Frances, I’m a serious writer. You are trivialising my life.’

‘Come on, Damien. It’s the new way.’

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