Page 72 of A Face in the Crowd
‘That you didn’t recognise me. I get on that bus a couple of times a week and I see you all the time. When we swapped pictures on the app, I thought it was you but didn’t want to say anything in case it wasn’t. Then, when we met properly, I realised itwasyou. I recognised you straight away but you had no idea who I was.’
‘Oh…’
It feels like I’m a balloon that’s deflating. This is not how things went in my head. Even from the photos it’s obvious that all I do on the bus is avoid eye contact. I wouldn’t recognise anyone except, perhaps, the driver.
‘Do you have a problem with me?’ he asks.
I have no idea what to do. My argument now seems flimsy and not well thought through, like something one of my old school reports might say.
‘I went to your apartment block,’ I say.
‘I know – I was there.’
‘No… I went again afterwards. You went around the side when we were together. When I went back on my own, nobody knew who you were. Your name isn’t on the directory or any of the mailboxes.’
Harry’s frown now slips into a full-on scowl. ‘You went to my home?’
‘I, um…’
‘Do you know everyone inyourbuilding? How many people did you ask at mine? Did you talk to either of my next-door neighbours? Or Stacy across the corridor? Or Caitlin down the hall?’
‘Er…’
‘I’m not on the directory because it isn’t working properly.’
He cradles his head in his hands and, as I glance around, I realise people are starting to watch. There’s a trio of mothers this morning and they’re offering sideways glances from the front window while pretending to keep an eye on their kids. Deformed Kevin Bacon isn’t bothering to hide it – his mouth is open as he watches us openly. The waitress is leaning on the counter, pad in hand, and quickly glances away when I look to her. I don’t blame them. It’s better morning entertainment than guessing which of Piers Morgan’s five chins he’ll dribble on first.
‘You said pets weren’t allowed in the building,’ I say.
‘They’re not.’
‘But I saw someone coming out with a dog.’
If it’s a triumph, then it doesn’t feel like it. The smoking gun is more like a soppy water pistol.
‘Was it a little rat thing?’ he asks.
I feel tiny. ‘Yes…’
‘That’s Veronica. She’s lived there for fifteen years or so. When the building council changed the rules to ban pets, she already had the dog. They could hardly stop her having it, so it was a ban from then on. There are nonewpets.’
‘Oh…’
My evidence is suddenly thinner than the plot of aFast And The Furiousmovie.
‘What about your job?’ I say.
‘What about it?’
‘I called Bright White Enterprises and nobody knew you?’
The silence is worse than the incredulity. I can hear a spoon clinking on a mug across the room and there’s a vague rattling coming from the kitchen. Other than that, everyone is quiet.
‘You called my office?’ Harry says after an excruciating pause.
‘Yes. The guy said there’s no Harry Smith working there.’
‘That’s because nobody there calls me Harry. It’s “Haitch” or “Aitch”. That’s what people called me at school and it’s continued. Everyone calls me that – but I didn’t want to say that to you because it sounds a bit silly.’
