Page 22 of I Knew You Were Trouble

He replies almost instantly:

That’s not far from my house. If you’d like to meet up later, there’s a bar close by.

‘Huzzah! That’smorethan a hint of flirtation. He’s asking you out.’

‘Not on a date. He’s just being friendly,’ I reply, not bothering to temper my irritation.

Margot seems unconvinced but doesn’t press, and I type out a noncommittal reply. We won’t arrive until late and I suspect I’ll be longing for sleep. Actually, I’m longing for sleep now and the lulling movement of the train isn’t helping.

‘Have you heard from Arseface today?’ Margot asks when I put my phone away.

I sigh heavily and rest against the seat. ‘Can we please talk about something else? Or nothing?’

Margot’s hand lands lightly on my leg, patting it three times. I slide my eyes in her direction, catching her supportive expression. She gives me a kind smile and I return it. One of the things I love most about Margot is her ability to switch seamlessly from cheery distraction tactics to empathetic love.

It’s probably best that she invited herself along, because if I linger on what I’m doing for more than five seconds, I break into a cold sweat.

‘Thanks,’ I say softly.

She pats my leg a final time, then takes out the latest book in the Mackenzie August PI series, her favourite. While Margot reads, I sip my prosecco and regard the English countryside out the window.

Seriously, what the actual fuck am I doing?

* * *

‘Is this right?’ I ask.

Our driver has dropped us off on a residential street that runs alongside a canal and Margot is rolling her casetowardsthe water.

‘It’s right. Follow me,’ she calls over her shoulder. She stops in front of a houseboat, crosses a walkway, and checks her phone for the code to the lockbox beside the front door. It springs open and she holds up the keys with a grin. ‘See?’ she asks, looking up to street level.

When I put Margot in charge of accommodation, I thought she understood that meant a hotel. This is not a hotel.

‘Come on,’ she says cheerily. She disappears inside the houseboat, and I follow, closing the front door behind me.

Margot is running around switching on lights as I take in the main room of the houseboat. It’slovely– Scandinavian-style furniture, a chunky knit throw on the sofa, a dozen or so pot plants, and pops of orange in the throw pillows, an area rug, and lamps. There’s a table for two butted up against the wall, and the kitchen is compact but, as I hadn’t expected we’d even have a kitchen, it’s a bonus. Especially as it bears a welcome basket with tea, coffee, long-life milk, and a packet ofstroopwafels!

‘Your room’s down here,’ says Margot from one end of the house.

I follow the sound of her voice into a bedroom that’s decorated similarly to the lounge. She’s spreadeagled on the double bed, her eyes closed.

‘You sure?’ I ask with a mocking smile. ‘You look rather comfortable.’

She cracks her eyes and peers at me through her lashes. ‘The other room only has a single bed.’

‘That’s okay. I don’t mind.’

She props herself up on her elbows. ‘But what happens when you want to bring Thor back for a shag?’

‘Margot!’ I plop onto the edge of the bed, laughing. ‘You do realise you sound like a teenager when you talk like that?’

‘You do realise that it’s mostly an act?’

We exchange a weighty look as she gives me a rueful smile. I’m the only person Margot is ever truthful with about her inner struggles.

‘Right,’ she says, hopping off the bed. ‘I’m going to get settled in my room. What time are we meeting Thor?’

I’m overcome by a huge yawn. ‘Sorry.’

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