“Craig,” I say breathlessly, wheeling round. Then I blink in slight surprise. He’s not wearing leather. He’s wearing a coat. And has he shaved?
He greets me with a kiss on each cheek—then I turn self-consciously to Luke.
“Luke…this is Craig,” I say momentously.
I don’t know what exactly I’m expecting. An instant confrontation? But of course there’s nothing like that. They shake hands and Luke says, “Welcome to Letherby,” whereupon Craig says, “Thanks, mate. Cold out there. What are you drinking?”
The whole film noir vibe has sort of ebbed away. They just sound like two blokes in a pub.
“What can I get you, Becky?” says Dave again. “Your usual? Baileys on ice?”
I feel a flash of embarrassment. Baileys on ice is not my usual. I’ve only had it a few times.
“Tequila, thanks,” I say in my coolest voice, glancing at Craig. “We’re doing tequila shots, right?”
“Tequila shots?” says Luke, looking astonished, but I pretend I didn’t hear him.
“Not for me,” says Craig, lifting a hand, and I stare at him.
“What do you mean?”
“I wasn’t serious about tequila,” he says with a rueful smile. “Can’t do that anymore, not after wrecking my stomach lining. I’ll be on wine. But don’t let me stop you guys,” he adds, turning to Luke.
“I’ll be on wine too,” says Luke firmly. “There’s a nice Malbec here—”
“The Malbec.” Craig nods enthusiastically. “That’s a good wine. I had it the other night.”
Malbec? Since when do rock gods drink Malbec?
I watch, discomfited, as Dave pours out two glasses of wine and a tequila shot. I feel stupid now. I don’t want to do shots on my own.
“Cheers,” says Craig, clinking glasses with Luke and me. The two men sip their wine and I drain my tequila.
Ooh. That was quite strong. The air’s gone a bit blurry.
“You want another one?” says Dave, watching me curiously.
“Er…maybe in a minute,” I say, getting out a tissue to mop my eyes.
“So, are you into wine?” Craig is saying to Luke.
“A little,” says Luke. “You?”
“Got into it recently,” says Craig in his raspy, laid-back way. “My mate Mark—lead singer in Blink Rage—just bought a case of 1916 Château Lafite at Sotheby’s.”
“I read about that,” says Luke, his face lighting up. “The bidding got quite frantic, apparently?”
“It was intense,” says Craig. “I was with Mark. He was bidding by phone, freaking out….Hey, you want to sit by the fire?” he adds, as a group of people get up from their seats.
“Sure.” Luke nods. “Good idea.”
As the two of them head over to the fire, I watch them, feeling affronted. When I said I wanted Luke and Craig to hit it off, I didn’t mean I wanted them to start talking about wine and ignore me.
“Becky, are you coming?” asks Luke, looking round. “And do you want another tequila shot?” he adds quizzically.
Is he making fun of me?
“I’ll get myself a glass of wine,” I say with dignity.
I wait for Dave to pour me my wine, and order some packets of crisps too. I’m about to join Luke and Craig by the fire, when the door opens and a girl comes in. She’s about my age, wearing a coat and a very tight gray business suit, revealing quite an incredible cleavage. She has long straight hair, a biscuity fake tan, and very manicured eyebrows. And she’s definitely had her lips done with filler. (Probably twice. The first time I’m guessing she said, “Keep it natural,” and the second time, “I love it! Go for it! More!”)
She eyes my skull tights with surprise, looks at my skull earrings, and bites her cushiony lip in amusement—then scans the pub.
“Craig!” she exclaims in a nasal voice.
“Love!” Craig’s whole face lights up and he gets to his feet. “Love, over here! Luke, Becky, let me introduce you to Nadine, my girlfriend.”
His—
What?
* * *
—
Why shouldn’t Craig have a girlfriend? Of course he has a girlfriend. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me before that he would have a girlfriend. It isn’t a surprise, really.
Although what is a surprise is…
Well. Her.
If you’d said “Craig’s girlfriend” to me, I’d have pictured someone cool. Rock chick. With electric-blue eye shadow and grungy tights, like the girls in his Instagram posts. But Nadine is nothing like that.
She’s got herself a drink and come to join us, and I can’t stop staring at her in disbelief. She can’t be with Craig, surely? But somehow she is. She’s very polished, and apparently she drives a Fiat and hates