‘Congrats to them,’ I say, getting myself settled in the passenger seat. ‘And sorry for listening. Your friend was kind of loud.’
‘You’re not wrong there.’
‘You don’t seem too happy about it.’
‘What?’ Jim turns to me. His eyes are narrow, scowling.
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I just spoke when I shouldn’t have … I do that. Sorry.’
‘I am happy,’ he says, his tone quite the polar opposite of happy, as he starts to drive off. ‘I’m very, very happy.’
‘Yeah, you sound it.’
‘I’m just, you know, under a bit of fucking pressure now.’
‘Okay …’
‘I mean, I’m gonna have to stand up and talk about Snowy to a room full of people. That’s not easy, like. And I’m gonna have to tell the very best – and the very worst – tales about him to the likes of his nan.’
‘Yeah, I’d hate to be best man, or maid of honour … well, no I’d actually like to be asked to be maid of honour, I’ve never been a bridesmaid for anybody. But hold on. Forgive me for overhearing, but did Snowy mention you guys used to be in a band?’
‘Nope.’
‘He did! Don’t deny it. Come on, tell me. You were in a band?’
‘Okay, fine. Yeah. I was in a band.’
I fight the urge to laugh as an obvious tint of red rises from Jim’s neck to his cheeks. He must have been the lead singer. With that hair and that smouldering glint? I remember the photo I’d seen back at his house. Jim was head and shoulders above the other three guys when it came to looks.
‘I bet you were the lead singer, right?’
Jim gives a small groan.
‘Oh, Jim, I’m not asking you to reveal your inner secrets to me, I’m just making light conversation about a band you were in. Don’t be so uptight.’
Jim’s mouth drops open into one large, round O.
‘Well, you are uptight,’ I justify. ‘You’ve been uptight all day.’
‘You don’t know the half of it.’
‘No, that’s right. I don’t. Because you haven’t told me.’
‘Look, I’m bad at hangovers. Okay?’
‘Where did you go last night?’
Jim winces. ‘The Titanic. It’s not a ship, it’s a—’
‘A hotel,’ I give a little whistle. ‘Yeah, I saw it when I was looking for somewhere to stay last night. That place was way over my budget. You don’t do anything by halves, do you, Jim?’
‘Not anymore, it seems.’
I hang onto Jim’s words, hoping for an opening, or just more of a chat. I turn in to face him, lifting my right knee and getting comfy nuzzling into the passenger seat, holding tight onto both cappuccinos. He puts his foot down and speeds up, overtaking the slow lorry ahead of them.
‘Why are you watching me?’ he asks.
‘Why do you turn my every move into something sinister?’ I cry, quite eager to spill his drink into his lap. Why is he so damn difficult? And besides, the tuna melts are going cold. If I make a choice to eat carbs and cheese, then I want them piping hot and juicy. Instead, I can’t find a cup holder so have to sip my cappuccino whilst also holding Jim’s, offering it to him now and then. My stomach rumbles as the delicious smell of hot bread gives way to a warm odour of cooling cheese, and eventually, just stale fish. The radio doesn’t even work in this minibus. The luxury of that BMW is sorely missed.
‘You wanna know about me?’ Jim asks suddenly, although the way he says it makes me not want to know. ‘Well, guess what? There’s nothing to know.’
‘Bullshit.’
‘I don’t do anything, haven’t really done anything—’
‘That’s totally impossible.’
‘It’s not.’
‘How did you get a car like a BMW if you don’t do anything?’
‘I don’t wanna talk about the fucking car.’
‘Okay, fine. I get that. It’s a sore point. But how do you not do anything? What does that even mean? You live, you breathe, you have a mom, you have friends, how does any of that mean you do nothing?’
‘What I mean is …’ But Jim tails off.
He opens his mouth to speak again, yet no words come. Jim bites his lip, his frown apparent, even through the hair that tries to hide it. He looks stuck – incredibly stuck – as though he’s working out an illogical equation.
‘You wanna know what I think?’ I try, aware that I’m on thin ice. ‘In the time I’ve known you, I’ve seen two things. One, you’re super nice to the people who know you well;