Page 35 of The App Trap
“Don't worry, I’m only joking, tiger. I deleted you ages ago. I amsucha bitch, aren’t I?” he said, making the sound of a feral cat, or a leopard or something.
“So, what are you up to now? Off to work?” I continued.
“Nah, I’ve gotta go and visit my um… Dad.”
“Oh, right. Where does he live?”
“Wandsworth.”
“No way. I used to live in Wandsworth. Which bit?”
“His Majesty’s Prison.”
“Ooh.”
“Uh-huh.”
I laughed nervously. “Oh. You’re not joking, are you?”
“Nope. My Dad’s a bit of a wild card. His latest thing is that he’s converted to Islam. Can you believe that?”
I smirked knowingly.
Of course I could believe that,I thought, with a metaphorical look towards the camera.
“Right, anyway. Must dash and all that,” said Harry, doing up the belt on his expensive-looking coat.
He popped a chewing gum in his mouth to mask his coffee breath, and offered one to me with a forward nod that said,‘You really should,’in a half-jokey manner (I hoped).
We kissed each other goodbye, and I inhaled that exquisite cocktail of coconut hair and Paco Rabanne Ultraviolet that I had forgotten smelt so good.
We both walked in the same direction and realised that we were both heading towards the same Underground station.
“Bit awkward,” squealed Harry.
“Nah, just means you get another goodbye kiss,” I said, realising too late that I sounded phenomenally creepy.
“No way. Fist bumps only from now on,” said Harry.
We were actually both heading in more or less the same direction, so boarded the same train and sat awkwardly opposite each other.
“So, the dating’s going okay then?” Harry asked.
“Never better. In fact, I had a belter last night. Oiirish fella. Moi second favourite,” I said, in an absolutely pathetic attempt at an Irish accent, which I gave up on mid-sentence, drifting back into English as I lost confidence in myself.
As the train pulled into the next station, a flock of commuters alighted and a heavily pregnant lady boarded the train. Oh, bloody hell. Giving up my seat would mean I’d have to sacrifice attempting to flirt with Harry. Ah, well, a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.
“Would you like to sit here?” offered Harry.
Shit.
“No, no. Have this one,” I countered, expertly hiding my lack of will.
“It’s fine, really,” said Harry, pole-dancing his way out of the seat and into the aisle.
Great, now I look like a right prick.
“Would you likemyseat?” hollered a smarmy voice opposite.
