Boyfriend Material(36)

“You know what I mean.” He probably didn’t. “You have a whole bunch of nice society people you can reach out to, and they’ll get you in Hello! or Tatler or Horse & Hound or something. I can get in the Daily Mail by sucking somebody off in a fire escape.”

“Actually, I was going to suggest that you come with me to the club. Miffy’s always got men following her with cameras. I mean”—he wrinkled his nose—“I think they’re mostly journalists, although there was that awkward business with the kidnapping last February.”

“Sorry. Did your girlfriend get kidnapped?”

“Silly business. They thought her father was the Duke of Argyll when he’s actually the Earl of Coombecamden. How we laughed.”

I decided to let that go. “So you’re telling me that if I hang out with you, I’ll either get my picture in better-quality magazines or I’ll be abducted by international criminals.”

“Which will also get you in the papers. So I think that’s what the kids today are calling a win-win.”

For the sake of my sanity, I decided now was not the time to explain to Alex what slang was and, more to the point, what it wasn’t. “I’ll see if he’s free,” I said and then retreated to my office via the coffee machine.

Since Sunday, Oliver and I had been sporadically fake-texting, which was becoming increasingly indistinguishable from real texting. My phone was never far from my hand, and my sense of time had distorted around my understanding of Oliver’s schedule. He always sent me something first thing in the morning, usually an apology for the continued absence of dick pics, then it would be silence ’til lunchtime because important law stuff was happening, and sometimes he would work through lunch so I wouldn’t hear from him at all. Come the evening, he’d check in before and after hitting the gym, and diligently ignore my request for updates on his V-cut. And once he was in bed, I’d bombard him with as many annoying questions as I could think of about whatever he was reading, usually based on the Wikipedia plot summary I’d just Googled. All of which was a long-winded way of saying I was surprised when he rang me at eleven thirty.

“Is this a butt-dialling,” I asked, “or is someone dead?”

“Neither. I’ve had a bad morning, and I thought it would look suspicious if I didn’t call the person I’m supposed to be dating.”

“So you thought they’d notice you not calling me, but they wouldn’t notice you saying ‘supposed to be dating’ aloud on the phone?”

“You’re right.” He was quiet a moment. “I think, perhaps, I just wanted someone to talk to.”

“And you picked me?”

“I thought giving you an opportunity to laugh at my expense might make me feel better.”

“You’re a strange man, Oliver Blackwood. But if you want to be laughed at, I won’t let you down. What happened?”

“Sometimes people don’t help themselves.”

“Okay, there’d better be more to this, or I am going to let you down.”

He appeared to be taking calming breaths. “You may be aware that occasionally defendants change their stories, and this tends to get brought up in court. My client today was asked why, when originally questioned regarding a recent robbery, he’d claimed that he was with an associate of his. Who, for the sake of this anecdote, I shall call Barry.”

There was something about the way Oliver was relating this to me in his best “I care deeply about the right to a fair trial even for petty criminals” voice that made me giggle before I was probably supposed to.

“What are you laughing at?”

“Your expense. I thought we’d established.”

“But,” he protested, “I haven’t said anything funny yet.”

“That’s what you think. Do go on.”

“You’re making me self-conscious.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just happy to hear from you.”

“Oh.” A long silence. Then Oliver cleared his throat. “Anyway, my client was asked why he had previously said he was with Barry when he was now claiming to have been alone. And my client said he got confused. And so the council for the prosecution asked why he got confused. To which my client explained that he got confused because, and I quote, ‘Me and Barry get arrested together all the time.’”

“Did you shout objection?”

“We’ve been over this. And even if that were a feature of the British judicial system, what would I have said? Objection, my client is an idiot?”

“Okay then. Did you do that thing where you rub your temples and look really sad and disappointed?”

“I don’t recall doing so. But I couldn’t swear that I did not.”

“So what did you do?”

“I lost. Although I flatter myself that I made the best of a bad situation by attempting to characterise my client as, and once more I quote, ‘a man so honest that he voluntarily introduces prior arrests not in evidence.’”

At this point, I just gave up and burst out laughing. “You’re such a trier.”

“I’m glad I could amuse you at least. It means I’ve done somebody some good today.”

“Oh, come on. It wasn’t your fault. You defended the guy as well as you could.”