I found the courage to look up. ‘Nowhere, mate. It’s cool. We’ll do something on Sunday if you want.’
He brightened. ‘Nice one. Brunch? Hampstead Heath?’
‘Get your kite out.’
‘I will! Well, I would if I had one.’
‘Sorted.’
Ten minutes of silence while our heads went back down to our computer screens.
‘Definitely a brothel,’ he said, out of the blue, pulling me away from my air-freshener radio ad.
‘What?’
‘That place.’ He jerked a thumb towards the window, indicating Kinky Cupcake.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Just saw this blatant ho come out the door. Skirt up to her arse, heels like Nelson’s Column, corset and a dog collar.’
‘Perhaps that’s just her style. Not very nice to call women hos, Anton.’
‘Style? It’s nasty. Saw a really weird guy come out of there earlier on too.’
‘Did you?’ I hoped to God I wasn’t not blushing too much. My heart was skittering.
‘Looked like one of the Village People but skinnier. I reckon they have male and female hookers in there.’
‘Right. Which Village Person was it? The one with the huge feather headdress?’
‘Nah. Which was the one with the huge ’tache?’
My heart stopped for a beat.
Coincidence.
Paranoia.
Stop it.
* * *
I want to ask him about it, but I manage to head myself off, concentrating instead on small talk about his crazy flatmates and the film I saw with Anton, while we sip at our Kinky coffee.
‘I miss you this week,’ he says, putting a hand on my thigh and squeezing.
‘Me too.’ A rush of scalding love, head to toe. ‘All work and no play …’
He doesn’t know the saying.
‘I play a little bit,’ he says, and for a moment I think he is going to say he’s been having hot kinky sex with Tinkle Tosser while I’ve been at work. ‘We play five-a-side football, me and my friends.’
‘Oh, ha ha, oh, right, oh, that’s good.’
He eyes me, a little puzzled. ‘You like football?’
‘No.’