‘This is Will, he lives in Muswell Hill, runs a floristry empire and he’s Blossom’s co-pawrent,’ she said to an elegant woman with sallow skin, a glittering smile and a razor sharp, black bob. ‘Will, this is Solange, real wife of Jacques my work husband. Solange is French and she’s Head of Vibe at a Hoxton branding agency.’
‘What the hell is Head of Vibe?’ Will immediately asked, forgetting to be tactful, but Solange didn’t mind and the ten minutes that followed weren’t at all excruciating, apart from when it transpired that Solange was loosely acquainted with one of his former bosses in New York.
‘He dated one of my old interns,’ Solange informed him. ‘And he used to be one of my favourite hate follows on Instagram, though lately all he seems to post are inspirational quotes from Tony Robbins and The Art of War, and those interminable stories where he’s running daily half marathons.’
Will couldn’t help but shudder. He, too, had run half marathons three times a week and had The Art of War committed to memory. ‘When I worked with him, I had no choice but to lean hard into the bro company culture. We used to go to CrossFit as a team bonding exercise.’
‘Madness! I take my team for sushi,’ Solange said, then they moved on to talking about their favourite sushi until Jacques arrived with a packet of fancy crisps, because he couldn’t remember if he was allergic to rapeseed oil.
Margot was waiting in the wings to introduce Will to someone else and an hour quickly sped by talking to Margot’s osteopath, who was very concerned about Margot’s wrenched shoulder and had the two of them considered a smaller breed of dog? Den, married to one of Margot’s best friends, and Daphne from the house upstairs who used to go to Blooms’ as a little girl with her mother, who’d bought fresh flowers every Friday.
Will was standing in the little patch of ground in front of Margot’s flat talking to Daphne, people sitting on the steps that led up to the street, when he saw Margot through the open living-room window. She was trying to persuade Blossom to get off the armchair so an elderly man could sit down.
‘Excuse me,’ he said to Daphne, and knocked on the upper part of the window. ‘Margot!’
She didn’t hear him, but the people sitting nearest did and word quickly passed to Margot.
‘Do you want me to take her for a quick walk?’ Will called through the open window.
It took Will a good five minutes to negotiate getting back into the flat as he was stopped by so many people who were either big fans of Blossom and knew about his co-pawrent status or were regular and enthusiastic Blooms’ customers. One couple, professional opera singers, were both.
Margot met him halfway, dragging a very reluctant Blossom with her. ‘If you don’t mind some company, I could do with a bit of fresh air,’ she said. ‘I’d forgotten that throwing a party is quite exhausting.’
Will had been hoping for ten minutes of quiet. He hadn’t been so sociable since . . . Since . . . He couldn’t even remember the last time. Probably one of those awful work functions he used to attend as part of his former life, where everyone spoke in jargon, and when they weren’t jargonising, would say, ‘I don’t do small talk. I prefer to connect with people at a really granular level. What’s your most traumatic childhood memory?’
‘Where’s your coat?’ he asked, hoping to stall Margot. She shook her head.
‘Between all these people and all the booze, I am boiling,’ she said, her cheeks red and a hectic glitter to her eyes.
Somehow they managed to retrieve Blossom’s lead and harness, then weaved their way through the people on the steps, and out onto the street.
‘I’m all talked out,’ Margot said, which Will was sceptical about, but she didn’t say one single word as they walked across the square then along the tiny alley and up the steps that led onto Hampstead Lane.
Will didn’t plan on heading to Hampstead Heath, which was treacherous underfoot even in daylight. Trying to navigate the meandering paths, full of dips and rogue tree roots, in the dark with a dog that pulled and a woman under the influence wasn’t a good idea.
Instead, he manoeuvred Blossom and Margot around the corner onto Highgate West Hill until they reached the covered reservoir built in Victorian times, and which, to the untrained eye, resembled a huge grass mound surrounded by ornate railings.
‘Where’s the gate?’ Will asked, as they circled around it.
‘It’s locked,’ Margot said. ‘Otherwise a whole load of pissed-up people might accidentally tamper with the water supply. Not that you’re pissed up.’
‘Are you pissed up?’
Margot did keep leaning into him and she’d only do that if she were hammered. ‘I was pleasantly buzzed, but not having a coat on has sobered me up,’ Margot decided, but she put a hand on Will’s arm when he tried to turn them so they could head back to the tropical climes of her party. ‘No, I’m all right. A bit of cold air never hurt anyone.’
‘Unless they get pneumonia and die.’ This was what Sage meant when she called him Mr Buzzkill. ‘Although pneumonia is a virus, so you can’t catch it from being cold. Sorry. I’m going to stop talking now. Do you want my coat?’
The whole time he’d been at the party, he hadn’t had the opportunity to take it off. Now he tried to shrug out of it one-handed.
‘You’re all right,’ Margot said, taking a step back. ‘No point in you being cold too. Let’s find somewhere to sit and then, if you promise not to get the wrong idea, I can huddle against you for warmth.’
‘No wrong idea to get. We’re just two people who share custody of a dog.’
‘Co-pawrents, I think you meant to say.’
‘Never,’ Will said with an exaggerated shudder that made Margot laugh, but the message was loud and clear. Any attraction Will might have for Margot was one-sided, and even if it hadn’t been, it would complicate things and Will didn’t do complicated like he didn’t do commitment or cornichons.
There was a bench not too far away. Will gestured to it as if he was ushering Margot to the finest table at the Ritz. She sat down with a flourish, the glittery silver skirt of her dress swishing behind like a curtain of stars, but before Will could sit down, Blossom jumped up and leaned into Margot as if she needed to huddle for warmth too.
Will sat down on Blossom’s other side and instantly she pressed her stocky, solid weight against him.
It was a clear night, barely a cloud in the sky, so that what few stars there were could be seen twinkling clearly. It was darker where they sat, away from the street lights and fairy lights and Christmas lights of the village. Will marvelled that in a bustling capital city, it was possible to be so alone.
But he didn’t feel alone. He glanced over first at Blossom, who had gone back to leaning into Margot. Her fur gleamed ghostly white and she was shivering a little. Will wanted to say that they should probably buy her a winter coat, but he didn’t want to be the kind of man who walked a dog wearing clothes and, also, he didn’t want to break the perfect silence.
His gaze moved on to Margot. She had her arm around Blossom, the back of her hand brushing against Will’s arm. Her face was in exquisite profile, lips slightly parted, her hair a glorious mess of curls.