The Things We Do to Our Friends(14)

The other girl said something that I couldn’t make out, but I heard my name.

“Yeah, well, we know why he likes her,” Kaylie said.

Clearly, we weren’t destined to get on.

Kaylie replied again. “You’re right. I’m being harsh. She’s fine, I guess, but you wouldn’t want to be stuck on a shift alone with her, would you?”

She appeared in the door frame and had the decency to blush a little, but she recovered quickly. “Oh, hey, Clare. You’re not working today, are you?”

“I just came in to get my pay slip.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll get that for you.” She disappeared into the back room.

Her comments were fair. I probably did stare too often. The groups of girls that we worked with were difficult to navigate, however hard I’d tried to work them out. They were nice enough to my face, but I could never believe that they actually liked me. It was almost a relief to write them off. I felt fine about it because I had Tabitha and Ava, and even Imogen.

Then there was Samuel.





11


After our first meeting, I saw Samuel more and more and I learned about his personal eccentricities. The character he played was a dapper English gentleman, and there were things he prided himself on. He opened doors and did things in the right way. It was important to wear the right clothes, and he always greeted people properly with two kisses or a handshake depending on the occasion and their background. He knew people worth knowing; he made sure to tell you about them often—Oh, Catherine, yes, of course I can put you in touch with her.

Early on, I could see that his entire existence revolved around a slow accumulation of favors: of gathering them up, paying them back, and fostering calculated goodwill. He even carved up his day with an actual diary with appointments in it (he was far more ingrained in general student life than the rest of them). And he was always in his car.

The car was notable. It wasn’t practical to drive in Edinburgh as a student—there was no parking; everything was mostly close enough to walk—but Samuel paid no attention to the inconvenience. He drove to the bar all the time—he said he liked the car because it gave him more access. He’d chat with me intensely about disconnected topics: Did I know anyone with contacts in Brazil? How much was my jacket? Had I tried Caribbean food? And then he’d be off again, tapping his keys against the bar top for the entire conversation like a possessed metronome.

This wasn’t a problem in the early evening, but at night the way he was with me seemed different. The first time he appeared, on a quiet Tuesday shift, he knocked hard on the door, which we’d locked when we’d closed to the customers. It was late, past one, and the lights were turned up as we cleaned hurriedly, keen to get home. Finn clucked with irritation and went over to the window. He peered through the glass, mouthing go away, but I could see Samuel, in a smart overcoat, jabbing his finger at me, his car parked haphazardly on the street with disregard for the rules.

“Oh, it’s my friend—you remember? Can we let him in?” I asked Finn.

Looking annoyed about the whole thing, Finn opened the door, and Samuel stormed in, rubbing his hands together in glee. Seeing them together, they couldn’t have been more different. Samuel was a collection of sharp lines drawn with a ruler, and then there was Finn, all crumpled like an empty crisp packet.

For a second, Samuel looked a little uncomfortable, as if he wasn’t sure what to do once he’d achieved the goal of getting into the bar, but he composed himself.

“I was just in the area and I thought you’d like a lift home?” he asked me.

Finn and I both stared at him, surprised.

“Thanks, but I’m fine,” I said. I lived a ten-minute walk away from the bar; there was no need for a lift which would take as long.

“Come on, Clare,” he said brightly. His words had an edge to them. He wouldn’t break eye contact, and I knew there was no simple way out. The three of us stood there. Awkward, but I also felt a buzz. There’s something affirming about two men fighting over you even if you’re unsure about your feelings for either. I was flattered.

I looked over at Finn. I could tell what he was going to say, as always. He’d let me go.

“I’ll finish up here, then,” Finn said. He went back to cleaning the bar top down and ignored both of us.

Samuel grinned triumphantly, and we went out into the cold night toward his car. When we got in, I turned to him and spoke more rudely than I’d intended. “Why are you here?”

He whistled, ignoring my tone. Turned the key so the engine grunted.

“No need to shout! I was out and about, and I thought you’d appreciate it.”

I pushed back with my feet, so that I sank further into the leather seat of the car. I wasn’t scared, the word seems too much. But there was a harshness to his smile—the way it turned down at the sides made me on edge when it was just the two of us.

We were off, away from the bar and down the Grassmarket. We could reset this.

“Nice wheels,” I said.

He nodded proudly, and I knew it was a good conversation starter.

“Thank you! She’s a little unreliable, but I just love driving around this city and seeing what’s going on. Everyone says Edinburgh’s a nightmare to drive in but look at her now.”

I looked out of the window. The streets were dark, but at this time of night, in this area, it was busy. Hens and stags milling around after closing time, trying to make their way back to their hotels and hostels. A messy fight looked to be taking place outside of one of the strip clubs. Pubs were lit up with fake lanterns.