Sinead sniggered. He waited until she looked up at him; he wanted to convey sincerity. ‘Seriously. Who is Sinead Woods?’
She smirked. ‘My least favourite subject. There’s really not much to tell.’
‘Come on, I know that’s not true. What about your family. Are you close?’
‘That would be a No. Not very close.’
‘Where do they live?’
‘My dad’s in New Zealand. I don’t know… Auckland, somewhere. Yeah. He’s leaving for work when I’m going to bed. So…’
‘Hard to stay in touch then?’ Resisting the urge to smile, he mimicked the active listening pose he’d once seen a psychiatrist adopt, many years earlier.
‘He’s on the other side of the world.’ Sinead sniffed and rubbed her nose. ‘As far away from me as he could get.’
‘And your mother? Where’s she?’
‘She died. In January.’ Sinead immediately looked down at the tablecloth.
Elliot felt a rush of excitement. He had to pause as he monitored himself. ‘My condolences. It didn’t even occur to me…’ He cleared his throat.
Sinead stroked the pendant hanging from her neck. ‘It wasn’t exactly unexpected. She had a lot of problems. Yeah…’ She took a large swig from her glass.
Elliot shifted slightly in his seat. ‘Do you have any siblings?’
Shaking her head, Sinead’s eyes stayed transfixed on a point a few inches in front of her; a spotted pattern on the tablecloth. ‘No, just me. My dad remarried years ago. He’s got kids, but I’ve never met them.’
‘You see, I sensed we had something in common. I was an only child.’
‘Were you? Cool…’
He noticed a subtle change of expression; wistful or reflective maybe.
Sinead continued. ‘When I was a kid, I wanted a sister. Someone to go on adventures with. She’d stick up for you and always be on your side, no matter what happened…’ She trailed off, lost in memory.
He quickly analysed her behaviour. Interrogation had been surprisingly easy – the wine had really opened her up. But then something had changed when she spoke about her family. And now, just moments later, her mood switched again. He saw the sad, lonely look vanish from her face as Sinead jumped up from her chair and collected the plates and cutlery.
‘White wine! Always gives me verbal diarrhoea. Just tell me to shut up.’
‘Logorrhoea.’
‘Sorry?’ Sinead glanced at him, but he didn’t feel the need to reply. She carried on stacking plates in the dishwasher. He sat back and reflected upon her answers. Sinead picked up a saucepan encrusted with burnt rice.
‘This one needs to soak.’ She filled the pan with hot water and squirted in washing up liquid. ‘Oh yeah, I meant to ask you. What happened to your trainers?’
His back muscles tensed up. When he’d come home last night and put the bloodstained trainers in to soak, he had been so tired he forgot she would be collecting her bike from the side passage. He stared at Sinead. How observant was this girl?
Sinead said, ‘In the bucket out there. Looked like they were in bleach.’ She noisily scraped rice from the bottom of the pan with a fork.
There was no cause for concern; she was totally oblivious. So he said, ‘Canine excrement. I tried soaking them overnight, but they’re ruined. I had to throw them away.’
Sinead laughed, turned her back and continued cleaning up. He gently lifted his chair, inched it backwards and quietly stood up.
‘Bloody dogs. Disgusting, aren’t they? It’s the owners, though – they’re the problem. They just leave it there on the pavement…’ Sinead chuckled to herself.
He left the room, but she continued talking; her voice fading as he moved away. It was some tedious anecdote about an Alsatian defecating on the high street. He went into the bathroom for some much-needed alone time.
12
The coffee was still way too hot. Why do they have to make it so it’s undrinkable for at least ten minutes? Sinead blew into the cardboard cup and gazed out of the café window. Her eyes were stinging and her head was pounding. She’d slept badly again – the wine had worn off at about 3am and it had taken another hour to get back to sleep. It was now 9.20 and her shift was due to start in ten minutes. On the opposite side of the table, Dylan was preparing a roll-up.
‘Drinking on a school night. When will you learn?’
‘I know, I know. Couldn’t be helped.’ Sinead rubbed a bloodshot eye with her hand. ‘Elliot cooked some Thai food. A getting-to-know-you type of thing.’
‘Oh yeah? Getting mullered with the landlord, are we?’ He raised his eyebrows suggestively.
‘Don’t give me the eyebrows! It was nothing like that. We just had a good chat.’ Sinead moved her head from side to side, trying to release the tension in her neck. ‘You know what’s funny, though? Apparently I stopped him once. On Tottenham Court Road. He remembered me, but I didn’t remember him, obviously. Weird. Still, nice to know I made an impression.’
Dylan took a pinch of tobacco and sprinkled it in the cigarette paper. ‘Guy seemed a bit odd to me.’
‘Really? How d’you mean?’
Dylan shrugged. ‘Just odd. A bit cold. Stuck up.’
‘He’s all right. I wouldn’t call him stuck up. He’s reserved.’ She put on an upper-class accent. ‘Posh gentlemen prefer to keep themselves to themselves, don’t you know?’ Sinead looked at Dylan; he seemed unconvinced. She tried a more professional appeal. ‘The thing about this job is you learn not to judge a book by its cover. People can surprise you.’
‘That’s where I’m going wrong.’
‘You’re doing all right. Your numbers are going up.’
Sinead’s phone beeped. She took it from her jacket and read the text. ‘What? Honestly…’
‘Bad news?’
‘Heidi’s flaking on me. We’re meant to be going out later. I wanted to catch a movie.’ Sinead had suggested they meet up that night; she’d felt bad about the way she’d reacted to Heidi’s insinuations about Joel and wanted to make it up to her. Heidi was now saying she was too tired to go out. Sinead tapped a reply on her phone. She noticed Dylan watching her as he licked the Rizla and sealed his roll-up.
‘Friday night blow out. Gutted. Hope she’s got a good excuse. Probably her new boyfriend.’
‘Was she the friendly one I met in the hallway?’
‘No, that was Imogen. She can be a basic bitch sometimes. Heidi’s nice, though – it’s too bad you didn’t meet her. I guess she’s like my best friend. We met on our first day at uni.’
Dylan glanced out of the window. Sinead screwed up her eyes as she composed her message. Dylan turned to her, about to speak. He cleared his throat.
‘Maybe we should go out instead? I mean, you know… if Heidi can’t make it.’
Sinead was distracted by the phone’s auto-correction. She paused – did he just ask her out? She looked up; he was staring at her expectantly, waiting for an answer. ‘Oh. You know what? I’m probably just gonna get an early night. Yeah. This hangover feels like it’s here to stay.’
‘Doesn’t have to be tonight.’
He was asking her out. Sinead stammered, ‘No… well… yeah, I suppose… umm…’
‘Maybe next week?’
‘The thing is… it’s just like I’m kind of seeing someone so…’
‘Right. Yeah. That’s cool. Didn’t know that.’ Dylan pocketed his papers and tobacco pouch.
Sinead saw the pained expression Dylan was trying to cover with nonchalance. She noticed it because she’d worn the same expression herself many times in similar situations.