whether we even met at all. It was all so brief, you couldn’t even describe it as whirlwind. Yet, somehow, he opened a door for me, and I guess I opened a window for him to escape. To think that I’m just here, and he’s just there … Wow. I never got to think like this before. It was always me being here, and Jim being way, way, way over there, beyond Europe, across the desert, up a skyscraper and heavily pixelated due to an illegal VPN.
I hope he’s okay. God, I really hope he’s okay.
And his poor mom; his ‘ma’. Patsy.
‘Zara! Zara!’ Dom says, yanking the straps of my dress.
‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I was a million miles away.’
‘Your dress is soooo pretty,’ he says.
I smile. It is pretty, second hand with a vintage floral print and damn comfortable, too. I planned that carefully, knowing I’d be sitting down for three solid hours on a wooden bench waiting for my name to be called out. I wish I’d been as smart about my sandals. I thought wedges were supposed to be comfortable.
But Dom’s clearly drunk too much on an empty stomach. He’s harmless, if a little too keen. And definitely too young for me. He tickles my bare arm and tries to take my hand, but I pull away.
‘Cheers,’ Dom says, raising his glass a little too abruptly and spilling beer onto his Hawaiian shirt, worn in solidarity with his four housemates. ‘To us.’
We clink and I gulp, the red wine feeling sticky in my throat. It’s bizarre to think that I’m drinking in a pub in Liverpool, and Jim probably is, too. If only it were the same pub. Would we talk? I laugh. Of course we would talk.
‘What are you laughing at?’ my mom asks.
‘I was just thinking about a friend of mine,’ I say. ‘It was his mom’s funeral today.’
‘That’s not very funny.’
‘Oh no! That’s not why I was laughing.’ Because it wasn’t. Yet I’m still laughing. I’m just sitting here, thinking about Jim and all I can see is us screaming at each other at the side of a road, in the damn rain. And this makes me laugh even more. And I remember him sitting in that old lady’s house … Mary? Yes, Mary! And reading her book on her rocking chair because I had fainted, and …
‘What’s wrong with Zara?’ my papa asks, perplexed.
‘She’s thinking about her friend,’ my mom shrugs.
‘Good God. Another boyfriend?’
Dom sits up. ‘Huh?’
‘Look, Zara,’ my papa says, unaware that he has just banged his fist upon the table. ‘Let’s go eat. Even if it’s your cheap Italian, I don’t care. I just need to eat.’
I drink up my wine, a little too fast, and stand up. My family follows suit and we face the gauntlet of people, squeezing and sidling through the Philharmonic until we’re outside. It’s still sunny, although it’s almost seven. Dom is lingering in the doorway. He asks if he will see me tomorrow before he heads home with his parents to Somerset.
‘I’ll try,’ I say, honestly. It will be nice to say goodbye.
Paige gathers us all together for a final selfie outside the pub and I lead the way down Hope Street towards the main road. Except instead of turning right and heading towards the ‘cheap’ Italian, as my papa calls it, I stop on the corner.
‘Mom,’ I say. ‘Would you be offended if I wanted to call it a day and just go home?’
My mom smiles. ‘Of course not, honey. You tired?’
I nod. ‘It’s been really great.’
‘But what will you eat?’ my papa asks.
My mom places a hand on my papa’s back. ‘She can feed herself, Samir. Don’t worry.’
‘I’m within my rights to worry about my own daughter, aren’t I?’
‘Papa, go to the steakhouse. Spoil yourself.’
And we stand on the corner of Hope Street, all kissing each other’s cheeks and saying goodnight, and I watch my family walk away from me, together, perhaps to even eat together. Whether they do or they don’t, I guess it doesn’t matter. Today has been good.
And tonight?
Well, I told a lie.
I’m not tired. And I’m not going home.
I hail a black cab.
‘Where to, love?’
I get inside and slam the door.
‘The Pacific Arms, please.’
The Pacific Arms is only about a five-minute walk from my little flat above the chip shop, although I’ve never been inside. I always meet friends for dinner or drinks in town and the bus stop is in the opposite direction to the pub, so I’ve no