Best British Short Stories 2020 by Nicholas Royle (reading books for 5 year olds txt) 📗

in spite of it. Even without a baby they might have been happy.

She was swilling that thought around her mouth, looking for the note of poison in it, when he looked up and saw her. His smile dropped for a second before he put it back on. That was understandable. She had probably not been smiling herself before he noticed her. But she smiled now, and he stood up and came out in front of the table and hugged her, and it felt natural to press their bodies against each other.

‘Hey, how are you? You look great,’ he said.

‘I’m good,’ she said. ‘You look great too.’

‘Stop being polite. You really do look great. Like a French actress. I don’t remember that dress.’

‘I only bought it yesterday.’

‘I should be honoured you’re wearing it first for me.’

‘I’m not wearing it for you.’

His face fell. ‘Of course, of course, how silly of me to say that. I don’t mean to imply—’

‘Calm down, David. I’m teasing you. Sort of. Let’s sit down. I’m sorry I’m late.’

‘Yes. Patrick’s having an emergency?’

‘Yes, a little bit.’

‘What is it?’

‘Oh, let’s not waste our evening talking about that.’

‘He’s not?’

‘What?’

‘Well, all this Me Too stuff. I wouldn’t put it past him.’

‘Let’s not start on Patrick. You’ve always hated him.’

‘Hate’s a strong word. I just think he’s an arrogant, Etoneducated twat.’

‘But for you twat would always follow the words “Eton-educated”.’

‘With good reason. Have you been watching the news? I suppose I might give George Orwell a break.’

‘You must remember Patrick didn’t enrol himself there.’

‘Must I? Who says I must?’

‘Anyway,’ she lied, ‘it’s nothing like that.’

When the waiter came, David showed him a voucher he had downloaded to his phone, two for one pizzas, which the waiter said he would take later, and then David ordered the cheapest bottle of red without consulting her beyond the colour, as though there was nothing to consult, which was something else she liked about him, his common-sense stinginess.

She refilled her glass when he was half through his and topped up his as an afterthought. They had navigated past Patrick’s danger to women, and now David was talking to her earnestly about the work his NGO was doing, and about his new promotion to head of strategy, and why was it, she wondered, that she had lied to David about the circumstances of Patrick’s current crisis?

‘So,’ he said, eventually, ‘what about you? Any news? Are you seeing anyone?’

There had been a Victorian a year ago. A Romantic the year before. They gave her injured looks when they passed her on the corridor. And there was a lesbian colleague she wondered about sometimes.

‘Do you fancy her?’ he asked.

‘Look at your eyes light up. No, not really. I think she’s attractive. I like her company. I wonder how she feels about me sometimes. But, anyway, I haven’t given up on the conventions of a heterosexual life yet. On motherhood.’

He looked away and changed the subject. ‘You don’t mind Pizza Express, do you? I don’t eat out that much these days. I didn’t know where to suggest.’

‘It’s fine,’ she said. ‘You picked a nice one.’

They looked out at the Thames together. The tourists walking past made her think of the city breaks they had taken together to coastal cities, the waterside restaurants, the swimming, the reading, the galleries.

‘I seem to remember the Tate Modern’s open late on a Friday,’ she said.

‘We could be two tourists sightseeing.’

They watched the river, thinking what she thought were the same thoughts. The waiter showed a couple of young men to the table next to theirs.

‘So,’ she said. ‘It sounds like you’re not dating if you’re never in restaurants.’

‘Well, yeah, my Tinder days are over, anyway.’

‘You were on Tinder?’

‘Aren’t you?’

‘No. Can you be on Tinder at our age?’

‘Of course. Though maybe it’s different for a man. Women probably enter an older age-range than men do with women.’

‘Women probably do. Men probably do. Which did you do, David?’

‘You know. A couple of years above. A few years below.’

‘A couple and a few.’

‘Well, anyway. I didn’t like the thing. It felt artificial. The conversations could be hard work.’

‘Hard to find women who cared about changing the world?’

‘Don’t be sarcastic. It was hard to find women who were curious about the world, who thought about it much at all. I certainly never met anyone like you.’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound sarcastic.’

‘Don’t become cynical.’

She smiled. ‘The world offers provocation.’

‘I can’t argue with that.’

‘These dates you went on. Did they never lead to sex?’

‘They sometimes led to sex.’

‘Despite the conversation.’

‘In spite of the conversation.’

She realised she wanted him to tell her about them. Perhaps somewhere private. ‘One-night stands?’

‘Er, yeah. Sometimes two-or three-night.’

‘Sounds fun. And being single doesn’t tempt you back there?’

He looked down. ‘Ah, well.’

‘Oh?’

‘I’ve sort of been seeing someone.’

She had been curling her hair with her right hand and she gently returned it to rest on the table. ‘Oh. Good. For you.’

‘Yeah, thanks.’

‘Who is she?’

‘Someone I met during the council elections. We ended up door-knocking together.’

‘Right.’ She pictured the sort of shouty Corbynite she saw on Twitter. Down with capitalism. Good and evil. The right opinions, those which she shared, theoretically: David would get bored of her. ‘What’s she called?’

‘Isla.’

Which ruined the image. Now she was thinking of the Australian actor, those dark eyes and long red hair, a woman anyone would want to …

‘Is she … Australian?’

‘British.’

‘I see. I was thinking of Isla Fisher.’

‘Oh, no. She’s Ailah. A-i-l-a-h.’

‘I see. Interesting spelling.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Is that … Scottish?’

‘It’s a Pakistani name, I guess.’

‘Ah. It’s a Pakistani name. Of course.’

‘Of course it’s a Pakistani name?’

‘Tell me about her. Tell me about Ailah.’

‘If you change your tone I will.’

She took a breath. ‘I’m sorry if I seem combative, David. I don’t mean to be. I’m interested though. Who’s Ailah?’

‘Like I said, I met her doorknocking. She’s a party member, an activist.’

‘Is she our age?’

‘Yeah, a bit younger.’

‘Right.’ She wasn’t going to ask.

But he couldn’t resist. ‘She’s not far off thirty.’

‘Not far off?’

He had not been drinking but now obscured his face