Page 29 of Beautiful Losers

‘Interesting.’

‘Really? How so?’ I hand Jack a cup of camomile tea and sit down across from him.

‘Isn’t he – what is it your lot are fond of saying these days? – “problematic”?’

‘That’s Lee. To my knowledge, Duncan has never said anything controversial.’

‘Yes, right, Lee. What was it he said again? Something about tigers and 9/11?’

‘Elephants. He said who gives a fuck about New York when elephants are being killed.’

‘That was it. Interesting take.’

‘Look, it’s my ex’s t-shirt, alright? I’m not into Blue.’

‘Hey, no judgement here,’ he says, holding up his palms in a gesture of mock surrender. ‘They’re very talented musicians.’

I raise my eyebrows at him and he lifts his mug to conceal a smile.

‘There was another incident,’ he says, taking a sip of tea.

‘Oh, come on. Enough already.’

‘No, I’m serious. Didn’t he say that the government was controlled by the devil and we’ll all be microchipped soon?’

‘Something like that.’ I take my teabag out of the cup and set it on the table. ‘Everyone knows he’s a mad conspiracy theorist.’

Jack lifts my teabag and his, cupping them in his palm as he walks over to the sink and deposits them in the compost bin.

‘Yes, but Duncan makes a valid point all the same,’ he says, returning to his seat. ‘Surveillance is an important issue.’

He rests both hands on his mug and catches my eye, the ghost of a grin on his lips. I try not to smile back, directing my focus on his tea, like it’s the most interesting thing I’ve seen in a long time. I notice he’s still wearing his wedding band, and that the skin around the thumb of his left hand is red andbroken, as though it’s been picked at repeatedly. My gaze moves up along his bare arms. They’re lightly tanned and muscular in a way that suggests a natural leanness as opposed to a diligent adherence to any kind of sleeve-filling workout. I realise I’m staring a little too intently and force myself out of my trance.

‘Again, it was Lee who said the thing about the microchipping.Duncan– I point at the semi-naked man on my chest – is the nice one who went out with Tara Palmer-Tomkinson before coming out.’

‘It’s a tricky one, though, isn’t it?’ Jack continues. ‘I mean, can you ever really separate the art from the artist? Is it possible to appreciate ‘One Love’ in the same light knowing the troubling worldviews of the band? A moral dilemma for sure.’

I groan. ‘Okay, you’ve made your point. Can we talk about something else?’

‘Sure. How are things with you and Ari?’

‘Fine. Why wouldn’t they be?’ I bristle.

‘Hey, I’m only asking. You said to change the subject. He seemed upset the other day is all. Which is understandable. Wouldn’t you be crushed to find out your grandfather isn’t Woody the cowboy?’

I puff out my cheeks, exhaling slowly. ‘I really fucked that one up, didn’t I?’

‘Ah, go easy on yourself. Parenting is one fuck-up after another. You’ll get used to it.’

‘I’m not so sure about that. It feels like these days, I make double the number of fuck-ups everyone else does. I like to compensate for Ari being down a parent.’

Jack smiles, his mouth closed.

‘What about Ari’s dad?’ he asks. ‘I know he’s notaround on a day-to-day basis, but surely he helps – beyond the financial stuff, I mean. You can chat to him about things?’

I laugh at the absurdity of Cillian being any kind of emotional crutch. Jack gives me a rueful smile, like he feels sorry for me. I hate that. I hate being pitied. Because we’re fine, Ari and me. Always have been, always will be.

‘How old is your son?’ I say, moving the conversation on from what Jack no doubt considers my tragic existence. ‘It’s Max, right?’

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