‘But how did you know where I lived? Have you been stalking me?’
‘What?! No. No, Jim. I have not been stalking you.’
Honesty washes across her face, and Christ, it’s such a sweet face. I want to break the screen, reach through the cracks and touch it, tell her not to worry, to calm down. I’m here for her, after all. Oh God. I’m here for her. And she’s fucking there.
‘So, how did you find out where I lived?’ I ask.
‘I just did. But, Jim, seriously. Why are you in Dubai? Are you with Leon Taylor?’
‘Well, yeah, obviously.’
‘You know him?’
‘I do now.’
‘This still doesn’t make sense.’
‘You’re telling me.’
‘Jim, please. Why are you in Dubai?’
I pause. Her frantic blinking attacks me like strobe lighting.
Why am I in Dubai? The answer is clear, simple. I’ve got to tell her.
Tell her!
It’s not as if I can run or hide, or invent some crazy story that turns this situation into a coincidence. We’re two people who met by accident. Only a calculated plan could bring us together again. These are the facts. Zara deserves them.
‘Zara, love. I suppose I did a you.’
‘A me?’
‘Yep.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I did what you do.’
A gasp, so light, so delicate, escapes her. ‘You came to find me?’
‘I did.’
‘Oh my God.’
‘I know.’
‘Oh, Jim.’
‘Yep.’
‘So we both …’
‘We both.’
Zara’s hands clasp her mouth and I let my head hang, my shaggy curls falling over my eyes. On impulse, I find I can’t stop myself from silently laughing, trying harder and harder not to, in fear of upsetting Zara. Through the speaker of Leon’s phone, I can hear her, too, sniggering. We both shake our heads, laugh out loud, and I’m grabbing onto my side where a stitch has formed. Zara tries to say something, but she’s taken over by a fit of giggles and this tickles me even more.
‘Why?’ she suddenly bursts out.
‘Honestly, girl. I’m not entirely sure.’
‘You know what, Jim? Me neither.’
We laugh some more and naturally it filters into a long, long sigh. We could laugh about it all night. Except this isn’t a joke. It’s a total shambles.
‘Look, Zara, I’ll come straight back. Tomorrow.’
‘To Liverpool?’
‘Where else?’
‘Okay …’ she says, breaking eye contact. She glances to her side, to where I know the window overlooks the flyover. The scented candles on my windowsill are unlikely to have been lit and I can smell the deep fat fryer from Wong’s chippy as if it were in Leon’s kitchen right now. Zara switches direction, her focus now towards my bathroom, a space so small that I feel squashed just thinking about it.
That flat, that life, that person called Jim Glover, isn’t anything she would’ve imagined.
‘I was gonna tell you. I wanted to tell you. But …’ I’m a coward, I want to say. To admit.
‘I like it.’ She smiles.
And for once, I don’t get that knee-jerking urge to argue with her.
‘Don’t come back tomorrow,’ she says. ‘Enjoy Dubai. You’ve never been to Dubai, right?’
I bite my lip. ‘I’ve never been anywhere, love.’
Zara doesn’t seem bothered by my embarrassment. In fact, she’s not even taking any notice; she’s clapping her hands, her eyes glistening and growing huge.
‘I just realised,’ she exclaims. ‘You’re going to the brunch, aren’t you? Tomorrow! This is why Leon invited me to that brunch. So, hold on, how do you know Leon?’
‘Ah, I’ll tell you another time, love.’
‘Tell me now.’
‘Well, it does involve some stalking. Not from me. Me mate. He’s a bit of a—’
‘Stalker?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Jim, you have to go to brunch tomorrow.’
I shrug. Surely brunch is just overpriced eggs three hours late.
‘Experience it, lap it up, go crazy,’ Zara goes on. ‘Make weird friends. Contacts.’
‘Y’what?’
‘Expats, Jim. Expats LOVE a new kid in town, you’ll have a ball. Trust me.’
‘It’s that good, is it?’
‘It can be.’
‘No, Zara. I should come back. I mean, you’re in me flat, girl. I need to come back.’
‘No! I’ll come back to Dubai instead. I’ll meet you there.’
‘At the brunch?’ I ask, not proud of how keen I sound. ‘Is that even possible?’
Zara chuckles. ‘No. In a few days.’
‘Well, in that case, I’ll come back to Liverpool instead.’
‘Please, stay there. You see, I can’t come back to Dubai tomorrow.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, I guess it doesn’t really matter anymore …’
‘Eh?’
She slaps herself across her forehead. ‘No. It does matter, actually. It does.’
‘You’re making a whole lot of nonsense there, Zara.’
‘Sorry. I’ve got a meeting, like a meet and greet thing.’