‘That’s very romantic,’ said Achilles, smiling. ‘The stuff of a Hollywood movie. Of course, another thing that often happens in Hollywood movies is the naïve girl who falls for the handsome man gets murdered by him and he wears her skin as a coat. You don’t think that’s going to happen, do you?’
‘I hope not,’ admitted the ghost.
‘I could come with you, if you like. Keep you safe.’
She smiled. ‘It’s a generous offer. But no.’
‘Well, don’t say I didn’t offer. Anyway, he’s a lucky man,’ he added, bowing his head chivalrously. ‘And whoever left their phone in your care should feel happy that he or she set this great romance in motion.’
The ghost pulled a face. ‘I’m not sure that she’d be completely thrilled,’ she said. ‘It belonged to a woman he was dating. Well, I say dating, but she was actually paying him for sex.’
Achilles frowned. ‘You’re dating a rent boy?’ he asked.
‘No, it’s not like that. They were seeing each other and, apparently, she liked to give him financial gifts afterwards.’
‘I like the sound of this guy more and more. I could probably learn a lot from him. So, the other woman doesn’t know yet?’
‘She doesn’t even know that he’s coming back to London this evening, and she’s been calling him relentlessly.’
Achilles looked up at the Tube map as the train started to slow down.
‘This is me,’ he said. ‘Which stop are you?’
‘The next one,’ she replied. ‘And I didn’t even get a chance to hear about where you’re going.’
‘Oh, it’s far less interesting,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t worry about it.’
He stood up and looked down at her.
‘I have this overwhelming urge to kiss you,’ he said.
‘Resist it,’ she replied. ‘I’d hate to see a young boy like you embarrassed in front of a Tube full of strangers.’
He grinned and nodded as the train pulled to a stop.
‘I’d better get off,’ he said. ‘But I’ll look forward to our next encounter.’
‘I’m sure you will.’
‘Have fun with the sugar baby.’
‘Have fun with whoever you’re meeting.’
He made his way to the doors and stepped out, minding the gap. Just before they closed again, he turned around and shouted back in to her.
‘Hey!’ he shouted. ‘You still haven’t told me your name!’
EFF TWITTER
Beverley was busy preparing dinner by scanning the different options on a food-delivery app while Elizabeth was seated on the sofa, barefoot, tweeting as @TruthIsASword. During this particular session, she’d exchanged insults with the wife of a Premiership football player who’d been accused of impregnating two different women in recent months, with a consultant at a London abortion clinic and with a Big Brother housemate from 2007, all of whom were now threatening legal action. She had also sent abusive tweets to @jk_rowling , @OwenJones84 and @ElonMusk , and was hoping that one of them might take the bait but, to her disappointment, none of them were biting as yet. She knew that a response from a blue-ticked person was so much more powerful than a reply from a civilian, for the moment someone famous engaged with her, her followers would grow exponentially. It didn’t matter in the slightest what any of them said, they could be as rude as they liked, as long as her numbers kept increasing. @JohnCleese had snapped at her once, calling her a ‘stupid woman’ and that had been good for an extra five hundred.
‘Have you noticed anything strange about Achilles lately?’ asked Beverley, putting the phone down, having ordered something wholesome and overpriced.
Elizabeth shook her head. ‘I try to avoid Achilles most of the time. He’s an idiot.’
‘Do you think so? I’ve always found him the most companionable of my children. No offence.’
‘How could I possibly be offended?’
A thought occurred to her and she posted the following tweet:
@TruthIsASword @AchillesCleverley u know there’s a rumour going round yr school that u have a tiny cock? And that u have 3 nipples?
She waited a minute to see whether he would reply and, to her surprise, it only took a few moments for him to simply block her account. She frowned, wondering whether he might not be such an idiot after all.
‘It’s not that I love him any more than you or Nelson,’ continued Beverley, pouring herself a glass of white wine. ‘Although, in a way, I do. It’s just that, speaking as a mother, he’s always had a certain … how shall I put this? A certain je ne sais quoi. Nelson is so furtive and you’re so angry all the time. But Achilles—’
‘I’m not angry all the time!’
‘Oh, darling, you’re permanently furious. You’re like a Labour backbencher at Prime Minister’s Questions. Achilles, on the other hand, just larks around and brightens everyone’s day. Every house should have an Achilles, don’t you think?’
‘We could send him out on work experience,’ suggested Elizabeth, tweeting a nineties pop star who’d recently announced that she needed a liver transplant to suggest that she’d got herself into this mess by spending most of her adult life as a dipsomaniac. When the pop star replied, threatening a lawsuit, Elizabeth responded by telling her to ‘finish off that bottle of wine in your fridge, love’ before laying bare her hypocrisy by adding that ‘kindness will be the fixing of this’. ‘Why do you ask anyway?’ she said, putting her phone down for a moment and massaging the fingers of her right hand with those of her left. She was starting to worry that she might be developing carpal tunnel syndrome in her thumb, as it ached constantly. ‘What’s he done?’
‘He hasn’t done anything as such,’ said Beverley. ‘But he’s being very secretive, that’s all. Coming and going at the strangest times and behaving in a shifty fashion. And I don’t know where he gets the money to buy himself all these fancy toys. You don’t think he’s dealing drugs, do you?’
Elizabeth thought about it and shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘He’s not the type. I think he’d find it a bit grubby, to be honest.’
‘Perhaps he has a girlfriend. An older woman. And he’s nervous about introducing her to us.’
‘The last I heard, he was having a fling with some boy.’
‘No, that was just an experiment on his part, and he told me it wasn’t for him. I think we should pretend it never happened. Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against the gays per se, but it would be a lot simpler if he was, well, you know—’
‘Normal?’
‘I didn’t want to use that word, but since you say it.’
‘You realize that’s quite homophobic of you, right?’
‘I didn’t say it!’ protested Beverley. ‘You did!’
‘Still. You agreed.’
Beverley let out a long groan. ‘Is it wrong of me to hope that my son is a heterosexual?’ she asked. ‘I mean, let’s face it, life is hard enough without throwing another difficulty into the mix.’