‘OK. What’s your Instagram like?’
Jamie tapped at his phone and handed it over.
Laurie peered at the black and white profile photo, Jamie laughing at some unseen person, half in profile, looking predictably devastating. She read his bio aloud – ‘Call me when you realise none of this matters’ – and burst out laughing.
She glanced up at Jamie and to her surprise, he blushed. He’d seemed unembarrassable, and her opinion shouldn’t matter. Although that might still be true, the two things weren’t that closely linked.
‘Alright, it’s only humour, you snipe.’
He screwed his face up in a mock sulk which could’ve been nauseating, but his boyish charm carried it clear out of nause and right into almost cute. Laurie could see why lesser women than herself succumbed so easily.
‘It’s a bit … I’m no good for you, baby. I’m married to the sea,’ Laurie said. She feared she might be pushing her luck, but she liked the more light-hearted, larky side of her nature he seemed to unlock. Lad Banter Laurie, as Dan used to call it, not approvingly. It chased some of the ghosts away, albeit temporarily.
‘Hahahaha, married to the sea,’ Jamie said. ‘Right, hang on. I’m changing my bio to that now, it’s excellent.’
He fiddled with his iPhone and Laurie said: ‘You’re not really, are you? I was taking the piss.’
‘I know. And it was funny. There …’ he flashed the screen up at her. He had, as well.
‘Is there anything you won’t ironise? Do you ever have genuine feelings towards women?’
‘Yes of course I do! They’re very genuine for the two or three hours I feel them.’
Laurie groaned.
‘You’re an actual womaniser, snaring the unwary by doing a comic parody of a womaniser. Modern men.’
Jamie curled his lip at the word ‘womaniser’. Laurie recognised it as the same expression as when defendants who dealt drugs heard themselves described as drug dealers.
‘… I think calling them “unwary” is a bit much. As is “snaring”. I’m not The Hooded Claw.’
‘Plenty of them, even if they accept it’s casual, must think you only need to meet the right “them”, though.’
Jamie clinked ice in his glass.
‘I think you underrate how many women out there are perfectly fine with casual. You see it as my interests versus women’s, and it isn’t like that. Sex comes under the category heading of General Interest. I’m not exploiting anyone.’
This hurt, more than she betted it was meant to. Following Dan’s departure, Laurie was sensitive to accusations of being vanilla.
‘Works in theory. But Eve wasn’t hoping for more than career advice tips, for example? She didn’t think maybe you might bed and boyfriend her?’ Backhand low volley.
‘Nope,’ Jamie said, though he looked discomfited. ‘Not at all. Despite her uncle’s prejudices about the dangers of consorting with unattached members of the opposite sex, sharing dinners with them. God who is he, Mike Pence?’
The temperature between them had cooled considerably.
As much as lotharios were anathema to Laurie, it was hardly fair of her to object tonight. If you wanted plumbing done, you hired a plumber. If you wanted your roof fixed you hired a roofer.
If you wanted everyone to erroneously believe you were at it like knives, you recruited Jamie Carter.
When discomfort meets strong liquor, at first the spirits seems wondrous panacea for it, Laurie observed – then they start extracting a heavy price. Like a Wonga Dot Com deposit on payday.
She ordered a second martini, despite an unguarded wooziness setting in, and despite remembering the adage that they were like breasts: one wasn’t enough, three too many.
‘I’m glad you’re having another, when I saw your face when it arrived I worried I’d messed up,’ Jamie said, pleasantly, clearly happy to move the conversation away from his love life.
‘Oh no, really my thing, thanks.’
She winced inside: she’d been snippy with him to an unwarranted degree. She had a low opinion of this man, for no real reason other than the boys at work hated him and women pashed on him. Boys being the operative word. She’d accepted a second-hand version of Jamie, one largely shaped by spite, and ought to make up her own mind.
‘Shall we transfer to a table? I have constant premonitions of falling off these things, while balancing on terrified clenched cheeks.’ Jamie sucked the cheeks on his face in.
‘Oh my God, same!’ Laurie laughed, with the over emphasis of the getting-drunk-fast person.
Installed at a table, the drinks arrived on paper doily coasters and Jamie slid onto the banquette beside her, close enough that she felt the warmth of him through her lace sleeves, and chided herself for the goosebumps which rippled down her arm.
‘Now,’ he said. ‘To business.’
He turned his camera on its side as Laurie lifted the glass to her lips and he leaned his head into the frame, tapping rapidly at the circle at the bottom of the screen. He took reams of photos, which, Emily had informed Laurie, was the insider’s secret to getting a great one.
‘Hmm,’ he said, unconvinced, swiping through his camera roll.
Laurie peered at them: ‘Snuggling up with my alcoholic wife. Hashtag blissville.’
‘I am very happy to hand you the controls,’ Jamie said.
‘No! It’s fine. It’s just, you know. Seeing how the sausage is made.’
‘Hey, you still have no idea how my sausage is made, baby.’
Laurie hooted with laughter and Jamie quickly pulled her towards him and into the crook of his arm, holding his phone aloft, clicking away. He smelled expensively citrus and masculine, and Laurie thought how much more presentation work singlehood involved. Dan was perfumed only by double underarm swipes of Sure For Men.
‘What’s your … scent?’
‘Acqua di Parma and success.’
Jamie examined his work.
‘Yes! There,’ he said. ‘That’s it, that’s the one. Oh, record time, Carter. The master at work, etc. The Samsung Galaxy Da Vinci.’
He turned the screen towards Laurie. The picture showed Jamie smiling up conspiratorially straight into the camera, all strong jawline and brow and a few dark curls on his forehead. Laurie was in profile, eyes tight shut in mirth, resting against his chest in a coquettish way. She could see he’d found a flattering angle where she looked … foxy? The cocktail hour dress was visible, Jamie’s shirt unbuttoned the right amount. It was the kind of poseur nonsense that vain people sent out on wedding invites.
The scene looked intimate and genuine, depicting the sort of pleasure in each other’s company you can’t fake. Except, you clearly could.
‘That’s like some Harry and Meghan official photos level lenswork,’ Jamie said, satisfied, flipping expertly through the filter options. ‘Monochrome feels a little too studied. Let’s go with a nice Mayfair.’
‘Is Meghan your one handy mixed race girl reference?’ Laurie said, taking the cocktail stick out of her fat olives and putting it in the corner of her mouth, grinning.
‘You’re a waspish character at times, aren’t you?’ Jamie said, but reasonably warmly. ‘Should I … is mixed race the right term nowadays?’