Page 105 of The Photograph

Typing SOS into the WhatsApp box, I turn it around to show James as three people instantly start to respond.

“Oh God,” he says. “Not George.”

I type in another message:

Emergency meeting tonight, no excuses.

George responds:

Is this Alex?

No, James.

Ooo, a new one!

If only I was that fickle.

James from work! He needs help with his girlfriend.

Then Dimitri chimes in:

What do we know about straight relationships?

James is watching over my shoulder, grinning. Another smile—that’s progress, right? I type in:

Who cares? It’s all hands on deck. Our collective romantic genius is being tested. Put your thinking caps on.

Righteous!

Steve. What has he been smoking? Turning to James, I point my finger in his face.

“Red roses ordered to her office.”

“Not a good idea. She hates cut flowers and says it’s an affront to the environment.”

Oh fuck, she’s going to be one of those.

42

DES

Iknow I need to speak to Alex sooner rather than later, but I can’t bring myself to do it right now. Perhaps another day of distance will calm my ass down. I’m just hurt and mad. He’s left me six voice messages and a whole flurry of texts. A photograph I haven’t dared open.

Is everything okay?

Why aren’t you taking my calls?

I’m sorry, Des.

Please talk to me.

Please don’t cut me off.

The latest one came in half an hour ago, and I’m staring at it for the umpteenth time debating whether to just call him and stop being a jackass when my phone starts to vibrate andUNKNOWN NUMBER flashes across the screen. Usually, I’d ignore stuff like this, but something makes me press answer and hold the phone to my head.

“Hello, young man,” a quavering voice says on the other end of the line.

I take my mobile away from my ear and look at it again. “Hello?”

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