The Passengers(12)

‘It’s not great,’ Libby replied but chose not to elaborate.

‘What’s it for again? I forget.’

‘Patient confidentiality and data protection.’

‘Ah, that’s why. Sounds as boring as hell.’

Libby loathed lying to anyone about her absence from work, especially a friend. But legally – and reiterated by the forty pages of detailed forms she’d been made to sign yesterday – she had no choice. Only Libby and the Human Resources department at the hospital where she and Nia were based could know what she was actually doing.

‘Tell me all about it on the bus.’

Libby glared at the long, white vehicle parked on the other side of the road, emblazoned with video advertisements across both sides. It would drop them off at the hospital’s front entrance. But Libby was headed elsewhere, so she made up an excuse.

‘I haven’t been on public transport since they replaced the drivers with computers,’ she said. ‘Putting the lives of dozens of people in the hands of Artificial Intelligence is asking for trouble.’

‘You sound like a dinosaur from the dark ages.’

Libby stopped herself from pointing out dinosaurs didn’t live in the dark ages and agreed instead. ‘Yep, and the only time you’ll see me in something that drives itself is when I’m in the back of a hearse.’

‘If it’s cheap and gets me to where I need to be, it could be pulled by unicorns on roller skates as far as I care.’ Nia threw her head back and gave a hearty laugh. ‘Anyway, I’m going to be late if I don’t get a move on. Are we still on for lunch on Monday? You’ll be finished by then?’

‘Definitely.’

‘Good, because it’s your turn to pay,’ Nia added as she moved into the road.

‘Careful!’ Libby yelled, grabbing Nia’s arm and yanking her from the path of an oncoming car.

‘Those electric things are so damn quiet, aren’t they? They’ll be the death of me.’

‘They’ll be the death of all of us,’ Libby replied, as Nia crossed the road, safely this time.

She waited until her friend’s bus made its way along the road before she continued to walk in a different direction. She checked her phone one more time to see if there were any updates about him. Again there was nothing.

Libby had been with Nia and a group of friends on a weekend away in Manchester the night he and Libby had met. They had gravitated towards the karaoke room at the back of a pub when she’d first set eyes on him. They’d joined the stage as a group and huddled around two mics to sing Libby’s choice, Michael Jackson’s ‘Man in the Mirror’. But at more than five minutes long, they’d lost interest, leaving Libby to finish the song by herself.

It was then that she’d seen him. Their eyes had connected across a noisy pub when he’d given her a cheeky, almost lopsided grin. He wasn’t the most handsome of the group of young men he’d been standing with; his shoulders weren’t the broadest and he wasn’t the tallest. And he’d hovered behind them almost as if he was embarrassed by their laddish behaviour. Like her, he was obviously a Michael Jackson fan and had mimed along with her. He’d also known every whoop, holler and hee-hee in the song.

‘That boy can’t take his eyes off you,’ Nia had encouraged when Libby had finally left the stage. ‘Go talk to him.’

Libby had opened her mouth to protest like she always did when her friends encouraged her to flirt. The memory of William’s betrayal was never far from the surface. However, this time, she’d pushed William back into the room from where he came and locked the door. This time, she was interested. After knocking back her gin and tonic for Dutch courage, she’d approached him.

‘Hi,’ she’d begun nervously. She’d thrust her hand out to shake his.

‘That’s very formal,’ he’d teased, but had shaken it regardless. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Libby.’

‘I’m …’ but she hadn’t been able to hear his response through the feedback of a DJ’s microphone. She’d been about to ask him to repeat it when he’d spoken. ‘So you’re a Michael Jackson fan?’

‘My brother and I were raised on his music. My mum would play him all the time.’

‘My dad was the fan in our house. When I was a kid, he bought us tickets to see him play in London, but then Jacko died so we never got the chance to go.’

‘My mum did the same! She still has the tickets in a frame on the bathroom wall.’

Libby had smiled at him and already felt a tingle inside her stomach.

‘Are you from around here?’ he’d asked.

‘No, we’ve come up from Birmingham for a girlie weekend.’ She’d pointed towards her six friends, then immediately wished she hadn’t when they’d blown exaggerated air kisses in his direction. He’d responded by doing exactly the same. Libby had liked that.

‘Can I buy you a drink?’ she’d asked, and he’d agreed.

As the two had made their way towards the bar, it was as if the pub had emptied around them because all they had seen and heard was one another; not the dancing, drunken bodies and voices filling the room or the thumping beat of the dance music. Libby had chatted about her job in nursing while he’d explained how he’d worked in the automotive industry until the driverless car revolution made his role redundant. Their dislike of the vehicles appeared mutual, but Libby hadn’t wanted to put a dampener on the evening by explaining why she wasn’t a fan.