‘Really?’
‘Evensong at seven.’
‘No, but really.’
‘It’s a nice offer, but after my shift here I’m wiped out. I
like to just go home, comfort-eat, cry. So I’ll have to give it
a miss, I’m afraid.’
‘Another time then? I’m playing the Bent Banana at the
Cheshire Cat in Balham on Friday—’
Over his shoulder Emma could see the cooks watching, Benoit laughing with his hand to his mouth.
‘Maybe another time,’ she said, kindly but decisively, then sought to change the subject.
‘Now, this—’ She tapped another bucket with her toe.
‘This stuff here is salsa. Try not to get it on your skin. It burns.’
The thing is, Em, running back to the hostel in the rain just now – the rain is warm here, hot even sometimes, not like
London rain – I was, like I said, pretty drunk and I found myself thinking about you and thinking what a shame Em isn’t here to see this, to experience this, and I had this revelation and it’s this.
You should be here with me. In India.
And this is my big idea, and it might be insane, but I’m going to post this before I change my mind. Follow these simple instructions.
1 – Leave that crappy job right now. Let them find someone else to melt cheese on tortilla chips for 2.20 an hour. Put a bottle of tequila in your bag and walk out the door. Think what that will feel like, Em. Walk out now. Just do it.
2 – I also think you should leave that flat. Tilly’s ripping you off, charging all that money for a room without a window.
It isn’t a box room, it’s a box, and you should get out of there and let someone else wring out her great big grey bras for her. When I get back to the so-called real world I’m going to buy a flat because that’s the kind of over-privileged capitalist monster I am and you’re always welcome to come and stay for a bit, or permanently if you like, because I think we’d get
on, don’t you? As, you know,...