‘You weren’t out with him last night, were you?’
‘Miles? God! No!’
The man in question appeared in the doorway, pulling his hood off his face, looking as unshaven and dishevelled as ever.
‘Ladies,’ he said, in his sullen Mancunian accent. ‘Did you get one in for me, Til?’
‘You can get your own. It’s Ella who looks like she really needs one.’
‘Yeah?’
He sat down, yawning, on my other side and dumped his backpack under the desk before swivelling to stare at me.
‘Why’s that then?’
‘Oh, just thought she looked a bit tired, that’s all,’ said Tilda archly. ‘Like she needs a bit more sleep.’
She gave Miles a meaningful look which was lost on him, but which I at last understood. Tilda had been making these weird oblique remarks to Miles about me for weeks. And now I understood why – everybody knew that he fancied me.
It was nice to be in on the secret, even if I was the last to know.
‘Oh,’ said Miles. ‘Why’s that, then? Late one, was it?’
This seemed to satisfy Tilda that we hadn’t been secretly at it all night long, and she turned to her desk to log in.
‘Just a few drinks with my flatmates,’ I mumbled, following suit.
Miles grunted and lumbered off to the coffee machine.
Not my type, I thought, following him with my eyes. Too simian, and that stoop – why didn’t he walk tall? Like Tom. Mmm. Tom. Bleurgh.
My phone rang twice. An external ring. Unusual, especially for this time in the morning. Mum or Dad?
I picked it up.
‘Morning, Foxy.’
I nearly dropped the receiver.
‘Oh’ was all I found to say.
‘You can walk, then?’
‘Just about.’
He chuckled. ‘I mean, your ankle.’
‘Yes,’ I said, bending low to the desk to avoid being overheard. ‘That’s what I meant.’
‘Just wanted to make sure I hadn’t…incapacitated you…in any way.’
‘I thought you had a breakfast meeting.’
‘Yeah, done that. Stale croissants, bloody cheek. Anyway, speaking of bloody cheek…’
‘Were we?’
‘Mm, I’m thinking about cheeks now. And I don’t mean the ones on your face.’