Chapter Thirteen

P I N

Friday, June 19th

As I stare at my computer screen, willing it to write words for me - an intro to a Top Ten feature about the summers new, steamiest beach reads, I hear the tassels of Louisa's poncho swing low against the back of my chair.

"Don't put that one, it's not any good," she says, sliding round to perch on the desk. "The main character has absolutely no self-respect and just bangs her debatably hunky CEO because she wants to get a leg up in the company but he's a total bastard to her. Honestly Jemima, have you ever met a CEO worthy of shagging?"

I laugh, shake my head and watch her drum her newly manicured fingernails on a stack of drafts I haven't read through yet.

"Because they are almost always old and gross. That's why."

When I scroll down and get her opinion on the two hot novels in competition for the prestigious top slot in a feature I'm sure know one will bother to read she screws up her face.

"What?"

"Troubled bad boys... Possessive, abusive werewolves... Alphas..." she groans. "So over it."

"This weeks bestsellers list isn't, so at least one of them has to feature," I remind her, tapping the screen, Amazons book chart open in disagreement.

"Sheesh, whatever. So, are you coming tonight, for drinks?"

I roll my chair back, and nod. "Of course, wouldn't miss Brett's debut for anything."

"But you've already met him Jem."

"I know, I meant for everyone else. For those who haven't," I reply, pointing over to Ruby who has her hair up in a tight bun, some faint red stains visible under her hairline. Still, it looks a hell of a lot better than before.

Louisa pushes her chair, and throws a hand on her hip. "You coming tonight? Drinks at the bar across the road?"

Ruby looks up and her cheeks flush. "No, sorry. Joel's got tickets to one of those Secret Cinema events. He's paid a fortune for them."

I tell her to ignore Louisa's angry expression, that she's only messing about. There's plenty of time to meet stocky Brett.

"Oh Ruby, that's the first strike," Louisa says teasing her still. "Two more and I am afraid you're out of the Aspire sisterhood. Isn't that right Jem?"

"She's lying."

"I'm definitely not."

Ruby hesitates to speak up until I dig my elbow into Louisa's side. "Oh ok, I really thought you were being serious for a second."

Louisa's loud laughter garners some attention but I know she doesn't care. It's Friday afternoon. Brett's arrived early, she's on cloud nine. "Next time, okay? No excuses!"

"Promise," Ruby replies, giving the thumbs up.

When Louisa slopes off to waste away the final hours before Brett's arrival, I catch up with Ruby about all the important things going on, namely Joel because I'm bored of working. "So you two then, sounds like it's getting pretty serious?"

She continues to type on the laptop but she's grinning. "I guess. I mean he's just the loveliest, and I know he's in a band and busy, they might be going on tour soon but he always makes time for me. He calls me everyday."

"Cute," I smile back.

"He's going to come stay at the weekend. I'm really nervous about it."

I put my pen down, and tear my attention away from the bulging biceps of an alpha, plastered over the cover of the book I'm thinking might nab my top spot. "Nervous, why?"

Ruby lifts her head up, scans the office. When she's sure no one's eavesdropping she leans forwards. "Well you know, he's staying over. We haven't... well... actually it doesn't matter."

"What do you - oh right, right I see." I reply slowly, catching her drift. "You don't have to rush into anything your not hundred percent ready for."

"Oh no, I'm ready," she says. "I'm just nervous. Because well with Alex it was just, I dunno not special, like at all and I was so young and he was, well the first and..."

I stifle a laugh, because she still is so young. Though I doubt that's the right thing to say. "I think that you should just see what happens. Don't make any promises, and don't worry about it too much. It's, well it's just sex isn't it?"

She giggles at such a word, tries to hush me. "Jemima..."

"That's what we're talking about right? It's not anything bad."

"I know, I just... Saying it makes it sound, well real. What if Joel doesn't like me? I know he's had a few girlfriends before. What if, it's not like how he likes it?"

Folding my arms tight, I lean back and sigh. "Well then that's his problem. Screw him, pun not intended."

Ruby bursts into laughter, and she shakes her head at me, a little embarrassed blush spreading across her cheeks.

"You'll be fine, just be safe. If you decide not to then that's fine too," I tell her. Really it's the best I can do. I'm not about to point her in the direction of any steamy Cosmo sex tips. That's just weird and besides from experience they almost always end in disaster or a trip to the hospital. I've really no idea who comes up with such terrible nonsense.

Because no one I know likes to waste donuts, especially not by pushing penis's through them. Really, that's just horribly unhygienic and like a game of horseshoes gone wrong.

"I know. I'm just over thinking it all," Ruby sighs. "Wow, I'm really sorry for bringing this up."

I shush her. "It's no problem."

I'm aware she's got hardly any friends her age in the city besides Joel, to talk to, get advice from. So if that role has to land on me, then fine. So be it. The walls of Aspire have heard, and discussed much, much worse.

Though I will admit she's got bad timing. My mind still working overtime imagining Dylan in the dark room, the mornings cold shower doing nothing to ease the frustration.

And it seems that sex is on the mind of others too, Louisa harping on about the full wax she'd got the day before, in preparation for hunky, but admittedly dull Brett. Plucking herself to within an inch of her life just so that he won't come across any unsightly hairs. Hair that's there for a reason, as I say though Louisa doesn't ever listen to me.

She thinks I'm weird for not shaving my legs everyday, and that I don't have a pair of tweezers to hand or carry any with me in my bag. I've learnt not to get into a debate about waxing down there because it usually ends in her booking me an appointment, which I always cancel. Because a landing strip should be for the sole use of aeroplanes, and light aircraft, and not anything else.

"He's landed!" I hear Louisa shout, her chair spinning round to check that Norine has in fact left already for her weekly spa pampering session. Rachel rolls her eyes knowingly at me. "He's at Heathrow, should be here soon. Oh my god."

When Louisa leaves her seat, scooping up her bulky make up bag to run to the toilets, Ruby's raises her eyebrows. "She seems happy."

"You have no idea. We're all in for a long night that's for sure."

She grins, pats me gently on the back. "Lucky you."

*** *** ***

Huddled up in the small booth Louisa's reserved for us, I continue to listen as Rachel talks about the new fitness regime she's throwing all her money at. "They do these shakes as well, and they actually taste nice. Well if you mix in fruit and milk. I have them twice a day now," she says, rambling on, trying to convince me to give them a go.

She wants to become an ambassador for the brand supposedly. This entails her flogging as many trials as she can.

"Sounds great but not for me I'm afraid," I tell her. Truthfully I'm just not a fan of ponzi style -diet schemes. "I'm happy for you though."

Jess laughs at me, trying to be firm, but polite, and sips her martini. I think she's still pissed at me because I left her curlers out, and now I've been rumbled as an occasional office thief or a borrower as I'd prefer to call myself. Now every time I pass her desk she keeps one hand firmly on her draws.

As Louisa talks Brett through our collective week, all the deadlines, the stress, the pressure, I notice that he's not said much and that he doesn't seem too chuffed to be sat, squashed into a small booth full of women. Though it is a much scaled back affair than I'm sure Louisa had been hoping for. Because Annabel's bailed last minute and Rachel's promise of bringing her boyfriend Steve along hasn't panned out because he's working a late shift.

"So we were in Down Dog position and I mean, if any of you have done yoga you'll know this isn't like the most flattering of poses but anyways, there I was, on the mat and I turned my head and saw Brett. He was staring at me, and we both laughed because we looked so silly, didn't we babe?" Louisa drawls, her mouth moving a million miles a second.

Brett nods. "Yeah."

"And there was this connection, wasn't there? After the class we went and had a green tea together and just hit it off. Didn't we?" she nudges his shoulder.

"Yeah."

Louisa holds onto his arm like a love sick teen, all smiles. "We did. We really did, and look at us now."

Brett cracks a smile finally. When he says yeah for the third time I notice his accent's nowhere near as nice or smooth or warm as Dylan's.

I keep up with the charade, listening to Louisa gush about how much they've missed each other because I really don't think I've got the heart to tell her that from an outsiders perspective, to a person not so infatuated, Brett actually seems rather vacant and bored. Like there's nothing behind his dark brown eyes.

And I can tell this isn't quite what he'd pictured stepping off a plane and landing into. His expression screams jet lag. I feel his pain. I'm tired too. All of us are apart from Louisa. All just wanting to get home and not spend a fortune on pricey drinks. All of us starving because the bar snacks are rubbish and miniscule.

"Brett's been so busy that it's hard to find the right time to come over isn't?" Louisa's hand keeps falling to his thigh and I can't help but look away with bemusement. The unwanted, image of his much hyped, discussed, praised manhood burning in my mind.

I'm laughing too because I can see last years last minute jokey birthday gift poking out from Louisa's bag - a mini karma sutra manual we'd chipped in to buy her, for a laugh.

When Brett excuses himself to have a smoke outside, Louisa slides out the booth to join him, mouthing the words I thought he'd quit? at me with confusion and surprise.

And when they both return, he slinks off to the mens toilets and Louisa stands awkwardly before our table. "So, he's really tired. Like absolutely exhausted from travelling and I think we're going to head off if that's ok," she sighs, eyes down. "Sorry guys, usually he's more talkative but it's the jet lag."

If only I could believe her.

"Have a good night," I grin, as she sticks like glue to his side. Brett casually waving goodbye, feet already walking towards the door. "Call me tomorrow yeah?"

Louisa nods, and follows him out, leaving me to make general chit chat for the next half hour. Jess and Rachel both sinking back their drinks, eyes clock watching. Maybe I'm shit company too, I start to think when they both try and make excuses for leaving early.

As Jess sorts through her bag to find her bus pass, I feel her arm tense. When I follow her gaze I find it lands on the two figures striding through the bar. Tim's narrow face makes my chest tighten and when Jack steps out of his shadow, white shirt undone, jacket slung over his shoulder, hair pushed back, it feels like it might break.

Of all the bars, in all the towns, in all the world, he just had to walk into mine.

Though it's hardly surprisingly, it's the only bar close to work that can fit more than ten people in it at time. It's our local only as far as location goes.

Tim notices us first, eyebrows dancing. "Alright ladies."

Rachel sighs, and Jess pretends to drop her bus pass back into her bag, keeps on rummaging as Tim turns course, and comes to the booth.

"Wild night out?" he laughs, slapping the table. "Just you lot tonight?"

I nod, because no one else can be arsed to. And it's a mistake.

"Yeah most of the lads bailed on us too. Going back home to be with their girlfriends, wives, kids. Completely under the thumb, them lot."

Rachel finally pipes up. "Thought you were part of that group now Tim?"

He grins, looks back at Jack who has turned away, busy ordering a drink further down the bar. Though I know he's seen us.

"I'm not quite off the market yet, if that's what you're asking. Getting a pint in while I can."

"Right....," Rachel sighs. "Long day then?"

"Yeah, meetings. Visitor numbers to the site have been down all month. Got a right bollocking from the boss. But what's new eh?" Tim sighs back before checking that Jack's got his order of a Guinness in.

When Rachel nods in sympathy, Jess pushes up against my leg. She's trying to scoot out before Jack inevitably comes to join his friend. I don't blame her. I even consider hitching a ride on her arm so she can drag me out too.

"I am so beat," she announces, faking a yawn, leaving her drink. "Catch you all on Monday, excuse me. Sorry. Bye!" I honestly don't think I've seen anyone move so fast in their life. She's up and out before I can even wave back.

Rachel gives me a warning look. Like she's contemplating doing the same and I want to sink down under the table because this isn't how I'd thought the evening would end up. A shambles, my only real ally gone, my second furiously figuring out a good excuse so she can leave too.

I contemplate telling her I'll buy some fitness shakes, whatever she wants, if she'll stay but then that seems like quite a drastic sacrifice. In the end I decide to wait it out, see if she'll pull a fast one.

Oh how I wish Ruby were here now instead.

"You want to join us for a cigarette outside?" Tim asks.

I shake my head, avoiding eye contact.

"Suit yourself,"

Jack marches off before Tim's even taken the first sip of his drink, doesn't look back. Doesn't say a word.

"Jemima, Steve's just text. He wants to get a curry, he's had a tough day so I'm going to make a move, if that's ok?" Rachel asks, though she shouldn't bother.

"Okay," I sigh, my second drink still full. "Have a good weekend."

With Rachel gone, I get out my phone. Flicking through with boredom. Passing the time till my drinks empty. Hogging the booth, casting a lonely figure between the red leather and dark mood lighting.

"Any seats going spare?"

That voice is like music to my ears and nails down a black board, both at the same time. When I look up, Jack's holding a fresh pint and Tim's nowhere in sight.

"Lost your friend?"

He towers above, nods. "His fiancé called, turns out he's a big old liar. Should have gone straight home. So he's necked his pint, left."

"Seems like you've found your voice though."

"Yeah, look I'm sorry about that. Tim's been doing my head in all day. And we all got a right telling off about late articles, missed deadlines and I didn't want to interrupt. Though it seems everyones left you too," Jack says, some genuine warmth detectable between his hurried speech.

"Uh huh, course." I have no patience left.

"So can I sit?"

"If you must. You can take the lot, I'm leaving after this," I reply holding up my drink.

"Stay. Have another drink," he laughs, sliding into the seat opposite. The leather dragging with his dark trousers, to make a loud squeak. "You seem on edge."

He's not wrong. I really am, now that Louisa's run off into the night with Brett and Rachel's left. There's no one to stop him from talking a seat beside me in the small red leather booth.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Well least finish the one you've got then," he smirks, eyeing up my half empty glass.

"I don't even like Gin, Rachel got it for me." I say, though I'm aware he thinks this is a lie. Because I'm still taking small sips between tense conversation.

"Right, got it. Company not what you'd hoped for?" he replies, eyebrows raised. "I know you're not my biggest fan but one drink won't hurt. Between mates."

I reel back, shaking my head. Eyes rolling. "Mates?"

"Yeah. We work in the same building, same company. We've hung out a few times. Mates, like I said."

"Are you mates with everyone you sleep with?" I reply sarcastically, though it sounds like I hiss out the words. I know I shouldn't bring it up but calling me his mate is pretty laughable.

Jack breaths in deeply, and puts his arm up on the booth seat. "You always have to make things so difficult don't you? I'm not here because I want to piss you off, you just looked lonely by yourself, because all of your supposed mates have buggered off."

"And that's why I should be going."

"Fine," he puts both hands behind his head, the fabric of his white shirt rippling. His top button undone. "I'm trying Jem, you know that right? It's not often I get the chance to talk to you without others listening in, putting untrue thoughts into your head."

I've no idea what he means. "Like who?"

"Look, I'm the first to admit I'm no angel but a lot of the shit said about me, most of it, ain't true. At all."

"What shit?"

Jack sighs, rests his hands on the table and leans forwards. Emerald eyes focussed solely on mine. "That Mollie yeah, the one that sits near you?"

I correct him though I almost don't want to. "Millie."

"Sorry, Millie."

Slowly I nod, swallowing hard. Really I don't want to hear him say her name again, I don't need to know any further details about their sordid one night stand, back at his after an evening at a bar not too dissimilar to this one. Not long after I'd lost my damn mind between his sheets.

"Jack, really I don't care. We don't need to be talking about this," I stress as he bites the corner of his lip. "Whatever you do in your own time I've no desire to know about."

"And that's fine but at least know that a lot of what's spread round, 'gossiped about' is a load of made up bollocks."

"You're not on trial here ok?" It's a lie. He might as well be. We've heard about all the things he gets up to, how quick he is to seduce. The conclusions we've jumped to pretty fair and expected. Though I am a hypocrite. Monogamy isn't exactly my strong suit either.

"Sure feels like it sometimes. Especially when you won't even take the time to talk to me, like you would anyone else in that building," he replies, sounding slightly angry again. "So I'll tell you - I never slept with Millie. I know she told you all that I did. We had a drunken fumble, nothing more. Same with Jess."

"And Annabel..." I sigh, downing the last of the gin. "And Astrid or whatever she's called."

His eyes spike and he laughs, throaty and deep. "Oh right, some others added to the list. Just more notches on my bed post? Bet that's what you've been thinking isn't it? For the record," Jack lifts up his pint glass and takes a long sip, as I hang on his words. "I only went out for drinks once with Astrid, and Annabel...well that happened back when I first started, again only once, but never again. I don't like to make a habit of repeating my mistakes."

My mouth puckers at such a revelation. I can't even look him in the eyes. I've been too indoctrinated with the years of gossip and stirring, the second hand whispers and rumours to fully believe him. I've no idea whose's been truthful and who hasn't though he does make a compelling case. A possible, genuine side to him I'm only just coming witness, that or maybe, he really is just full of shit.

Jack must suspect as much because he sits back and shrugs, eyes falling away from mine. "I know you don't trust me as far as you can throw me Jem, but give me some credit yeah?"

With lips shut tight, I glance down at my hands, fingers fiddling with the beer mat. I know he wants me to answer but I'm not sure it'll be what he wants to hear.

"Or at least just a chance. Without any of those preconceived notions of me rattling about in your head. That would be nice," he says laughing. The corners of his bottom lip, deep and red from chewing down. Maybe he really is frustrated with the stigma attached to being called Jack the Cad. Maybe all I've heard should only be taken with a pinch of salt, and not as gospel.

"Isn't it funny that this has probably been the longest we've ever talked for? Without you storming off at least," he teases, grin wide. Tongue pressed between his teeth.

Playing with the limp piece of lime in my glass, I take a long sigh. "I guess?"

"Maybe we should do it more often," Again he grins and I don't like the way it makes my chest feel tight, restricted.

"Uh huh, ok,"

Really though, I've no idea where to start. Because talking has never really been a top priority when it comes to spending any time with him. All his past actions spoke louder than words ever could. Just the way I'd liked it. In hindsight, those were much simpler times. Less confusion. Less thinking involved. Just lustful hands.

"One drink, okay? What's the harm? That's all I'm asking for. Promise," his voice is low, and quiet. I don't think I've ever heard him sound so serious.

What's the harm in one more? A question ironically connected to all the times before with Jack. Just not quite so innocent as one more drink.

Because one more drink might bring back all the simmering frustration from not kissing Dylan, the night before. And I think about him when a waitress comes over, offers to open up a tab for us. After Jack's ordered another pint and a vodka lemonade for me.

Dylan - somewhere in Brighton. Tucked up in a cosy spare bedroom, maybe overlooking the pebbled beach and pier. Sharing his weekend with Felicity. Maybe others. And maybe he's out too, sampling the wild nightlife. Up in Kemp Town singing karaoke with fabulous drag queens.

I actually have no idea what he's up too. He could be snorting lines off a drunk student in Wahoo's for all I know or downing free shots out under the arches, queuing up to listen to drum & bass. He could very well be sat up close to his work acquaintance too. Just like I am.

And that's the thought I stick to the front of my mind, when Jack's knees brush up against mine and his gaze lingers on me for too long, between our second drink.

I like Dylan, a hell of a lot and sometimes it makes my ribs ache but I don't have the foggiest about what he gets up to when I'm not around, and I certainly don't have any claim, to expect him to behave.

I don't own him.

He doesn't own me.

While Jack talks about his plans for the following weekend, I keep this thought spinning. We are not betrothed to each other, though the thought of Dylan in a booth with a nameless woman does turn the rib ache into a sharp twist. Still, Jacks fingers drumming along the table to heavy rock music dulls it. And I'm surprised, it's not a genre I'd thought he'd be a fan of.

"I've got a charity football match coming up soon," he tells me between another round of drinks, of which I try and resist. Failing as soon as the vodka hits my lips. "Real good cause, I do it every year."

I keep nodding, though I realise it's because I'm in too much shock to actually speak. To learn that he's got a charitable, kind side. And that I know hardly anything about him, not really. Not about his past, his likes and loves besides the fact he can be a cocky bastard, is good with computers, and surprisingly gifted in bed.

Jack tells me that he's been saddled with organising both of Tim's impending stag trips - one in the city and one in Amsterdam. "The lads wanna go to red light district and all that."

I crudely laugh. "Yeah let me guess, heaven on earth for you right?"

He looks a bit hurt that I'd think such a thing."Nah, not my scene. You really know nothing about me, do you?"

Maybe I have been looking at him all wrong. Maybe I just haven't been asking the right questions.

"You wanna have a game?" he asks, pointing towards an old wooden football table in the corner of the bar. "Think you can beat me?"

I push him out the booth, and let the vodka confidence kick in. "Go on then."

When Jack lines up three shots of slime green coloured apple sours on the table, one for each game to be won, I find that I'm actually enjoying myself. And that I'm actually not that terrible, because I'm on my way to winning the first match, twisting and spinning the little plastic football players on their metal rods with speed and strength. I believe that even he's a bit surprised.

"Poor shot," he teases, catching the ball before I can send it flying into his unmanned goal. "Terrible."

"Oi, stop talking, I can't concentrate when you do." It's because I'm laughing too much.

Jack just grins like a cat that's got the cream. I'm quite amazed that my insistence for him to shut up isn't followed by some foul innuendo. Something rude like he usually does - that's what she said.

When I've downed the first shot, and Jack's claimed the second, we battle it out to win best of three, and I find that I'm tipsy on my feet and that it affects my mouth too.

"Loser pays for the cab home," I announce loudly to the surprise of my sober self, lost in the back of mind, drowning in choppy boozy waters.

"Deal."

Jack scores another goal and continues to tease me, his stupid cheeky, charm-the-pants-off-everything smile spurring me on wild trails of thought. Like the difference in accents. His all husky, deep, so very cheeky and peppered with shortened, lazy words, and slang.

And the more I drink, the more I seem to mimic it with ease.

"Are you even trying?" he sighs, when I miss an open shot.

"Shut it," I smirk back. "I know you're testing me."

"What you on about?"

"I know you're game, mate. You're just a test," I slur, knocking my drink into my chest. "Sent to test me, make me fail."

"Oh really? My only game is that I'm gonna beat you, again. It's two all at the moment Jem but not for long," he grins, flicking the ball into the back of the goal effortlessly. "See?"

"I hate football," I tell him between hiccups. "Rugby, now that's a real mans game."

"I played at school. Broke my shoulder. Ain't been too bothered to play again," he reveals.

"You're such a pusssssy," it comes out all slurred, totally different to how it sounded in my head. Rolling off my tongue like a rogue barrel down a hill, dodging hiccups.

Jack takes my taunt with grace, continues to try and kick my arse, till I slam my hands down on the table. Head titled up to roar in laughter. The familiar jangle of guitars plays, a dodgy intro that I'd once had looped in my head guilty for years, and I feel like I might keel over from the giggles, the sheer irony.

"Why are you laughing?" he asks, pausing the game.

"This song!" I shout, pointing at the ceiling because I've no idea where the speakers are. "This was written about me."

"You're crazy."

"It is!" I hiccup. "Google it."

I keep prodding at his phone laid face down on the football table until he gives in, shaking his head. Sweet Kit Smith swooning over the chorus. Sweet lovely Kit, obsessed with Bono, and once with me till I stomped all over his heart.

"Alright, quick half time," Jack calls as he walks round the table, rests his hip up on the side. As he checks his phone, I can feel the heat from his chest. Shirt untucked, another button undone, sleeves rolled up tight. I have to steady myself when he runs a hand through his hair, ruffling it into a wild quiff.

"Well you weren't lying. Shit Jem. You're famous. Must have been pretty important to have a song written about you," he smiles. "Though some of the lyrics ain't that nice."

"There not," I shout over the music, slurring, tapping my feet. "I broke his heart."

Jack just continues to smile. "I don't doubt it," eyes still scanning the screen of his phone. "Hope that's not a habit of yours."

"Well, sometimes it happens. It's what people do. We are cruel. That is life," I prod my chest, pushing out another hiccup. "Cold-hearted. It's been said before."

"Oh really?" Jacks smirking now.

"You know what I mean. You probably break hearts everyday and you just don't even realise it mister," I'm laughing and pushing my hand against his chest. "That's why we call you Jack the Cad," I continue to tease between hiccups that are becoming all too frequent.

"Nice, real nice."

When he moves away and asks me if I'm ready to resume play, I tell him I'm sorry.

"You're drunk. It's fine."

"I'm not even," I protest, hitting the ball straight into his goal. Bringing the score to even. One more and I'll be sinking back the last winning shot. Maybe I should play football drunk, I laugh as I take the last strike and firmly kick his arse.

I thrust my arms up in triumph. "Winner."

"Yeah yeah. Beginners luck."

"I think you'll find I have a shot to drink in celebration," I tell him between further gloating fist pumps.

"No more shots for you," he laughs, whisking it away from my wanting hand. "Taxi."

"Don't be stupid I am fine," I put my finger on my nose, to walk in a straight line. Jack catches me when I wobble and knock my bag off the stool. "You pushed me," I drawl. "It's these shoes."

"Jem, it's time to go home."

"Just one more drink," I trill. "One more, that's what you said. Liar."

Jack doesn't bother to listen. He's already calling for a cab. Tells me to get my bag and hold his arm. When we wait outside, he has to keep me at arms length whilst he has a cigarette. Because I'm promising him that I'm a social smoker now, that I've got self control. That it won't become a habit again.

"Do what you want, but you ain't having one of mine. I'm not gonna be responsible for getting you started again."

Though we end up waiting for ages, my annoyance wears off quickly. Jack tries to keep me entertained, make me laugh with stories about his past and silly impressions so I don't keep complaining about my hiccups. Which are really starting to hurt and make me panic.

"What if I can't get rid of them? Will I die? Can you google - has anyone ever died of hiccups. Please, seriously."

"No, and I doubt it," he laughs when the taxi arrives, and I hiccup and crawl onto the back seat. The blur of passing lights making me feel dizzy. Jacks leaves the middle seat free but he keeps one hand linked in my arm to stop me from rocking into the door.

"Redchurch Street, Shoreditch first mate, then onto Newtown Street please," he says sticking his head through the little plastic window.

"You know where I live!" I'm not sure why this makes me happy but it does. "That's my street, where I live."

"Well I hope it is, otherwise someones gonna have a right shock when you turn up."

When the taxi speeds up, and Jack keeps me laughing, the hiccups subsiding, I wiggle free from his arm and lift myself up off the leather seat to smack my hand on the cabbie's plastic door.

"What you doing Jem, sit down."

I swat Jack away. "We're only gonna stop at one place now. Not where I live. The second stop. At his."

"Jem... I don't think that's a good-"

"Don't listen to him, he's just drunk," I giggle, trying to make myself sound important and serious so the cab driver with the big side burns and grey hair will believe me. "So just drive on to the second one, like he said."

Jack sighs, rubs his face with his hand and puts his lips together tight. Like he's thinking real hard.

"Oi mate, where are we going? If we're going to Shoreditch first I need to know," the cab driver shouts back, which sends me toppling in a fit of giggles into my seat.

I try again. "Second stop - his. Where do you live again?"

As I laugh and laugh, Jack slips his arm back into mine, and a hand comes to rest on my thigh. The danger of it makes me feel even more giddy.

"You heard her mate, we're going wherever the lady wants."

. . .