Page 48 of C is for Comfort

“Why?”

I clear my throat and lean closer, so I can speak in a voice that won’t get overheard by everyone in the coffee shop. “We haven’t exactly been doing much talking, Em.”

“Oh. He’s good in bed, then?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, he is.”

She looks disappointed. “There’s more to life than sex, Spence.”

“Yes, there’s pizza too,” I deadpan.

Emily gives me a withering look. “You must at least know his name.”

“Corey.”

She bobs her head from side to side. “That’s a nice name.”

“You had to think about that?”

“I was imagining what they’d sound like together. Spencer and Corey. Corey and Spencer. That way round sounds better.”

“Do you want to practise my signature for me, for when we’re married?”

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. What does he do?”

“He’s an art teacher, which I already told you.”

“Oh, yes. An art teacher and a doctor.” She nods approvingly. “Good match.”

“I told you—”

“It’s not serious.” She sighs. “Whenwillyou get serious about a guy, Spence?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe next week, maybe never. I’m not you, Em. My idea of happily ever after isn’t marriage and two point four kids.”

“What is your idea of happily ever after?”

I rest my chin on my hand and drum my fingers against my jaw, pretending to think very seriously about her question. “A lifetime supply of pizza and a home cinema,” I say after I’ve teased her for long enough.

She pulls a face and twists on her chair so she’s no longer facing me. She picks up her coffee and sips it sedately. “I hate you,” she informs me.

“I love you too.”

She looks at me out of the corners of her eyes. “Doyou want to get to know him better?”

I shrug. “Yes, eventually. We don’t have much time to talk.”

“You must be doing more than fucking,” she whispers.

“Actually, no. He comes round after work, we fuck, and he goes home to his kid.”

Her eyebrows shoot so high up her face they head into space. She twists back round, puts her coffee down, and taps the table in her ‘I demand to know more’ way. “He’s got akid?” she asks in an excited squeak.

“A five-year-old girl.”

“Is he having an affair?”

“Not that I know of.”