He said this with interest rather than implied criticism. Some people couldn’t get over her lack of a driver’s licence. It was like her dad’s refusal to own a mobile phone. People took it personally.
‘I’ve never been behind the wheel of a car,’ said Amy. ‘I’m pretty sure I died in a car accident in a previous life. Possibly involving a bridge.’
She really did think this. She had fragmented memories of a crash. Water. Glass. Screaming. It may well have been from a movie.
‘Were you driving?’
‘What?’
‘In your previous life,’ said Simon. ‘Were you behind the wheel?’
‘Oh,’ said Amy. ‘I think so.’
‘So you have been behind the wheel of a car,’ said Simon. ‘Just not in this life.’
‘That’s right,’ said Amy. ‘You’re very . . . accurate, aren’t you?’
He had actually been very accurate, even when drunk.
‘I have good attention to detail,’ said Simon. ‘I’m thorough.’
‘You are,’ said Amy, straight-faced. ‘Your attention to detail is scrupulous.’
He held her eyes for just long enough to show he got it, and then he said, ‘I could give you my accurate opinion on this potential scammer.’
‘Your accurate accountant’s opinion?’ said Amy.
‘That’s right,’ said Simon. ‘I don’t have anything else to do right now and one of my goals for the next few weeks is to improve my spontaneity.’
‘Why?’ asked Amy, interested. She had always been advised to pull back on her spontaneity.
‘You know I was meant to be getting married this April? When my fiancée was explaining why she’d decided to end the relationship she had a list of . . . you know, things about me that didn’t work for her. And one of them was my lack of spontaneity.’
‘She wrote a list of things that didn’t work for her?’ asked Amy.
‘She liked lists,’ said Simon. ‘It was something we had in common.’
‘She sounds just lovely,’ said Amy.
‘You sound like my sister,’ said Simon.
Amy looked at him. He radiated good health, as if he’d just stepped out of a bracing cold shower after a run. His t-shirt was crisp and clean.
‘Do you iron your jeans?’ she asked. He was so exotic.
‘Of course,’ he said.
‘Okay,’ she said.
‘It’s okay that I iron my jeans?’
‘No, that is definitely not okay. I mean, okay, you can come with me to meet the scammer. The possible scammer. She may also be a nice girl who is down on her luck. It’s up to us to make that call.’
‘I’ll keep an open mind.’ He looked pleased.
‘I’ll just go put my unironed jeans on,’ she said.
‘No problem.’ He courteously waved his hand to let her pass him on the stairs.
She was a head taller than him, so now that she was on the step below him they were eye to eye. He had bushy old man eyebrows and good honest tax-paying eyes.
‘Before I do that,’ said Amy. She moved a fraction closer.
‘Before you do that,’ repeated Simon, and there was a catch in his voice.
It was like the satisfaction of striking a match first go. She saw the understanding spark and shine in his eyes.
‘We could work on your spontaneity,’ she said.
‘We could,’ said Simon.
‘Just very quickly,’ said Amy.
So they did that.
*
An hour later, Amy stood at her parents’ front door and rang the doorbell that didn’t work, just in case it had been fixed, and then, without waiting, because she knew it would never be fixed, knocked hard with her knuckles.
She looked at her clean, delicious flatmate, standing next to her in his white t-shirt matching his white teeth, with his buzz cut and broad shoulders and glasses, like a door-to-door missionary or the nerdy best friend from a teen vampire movie. Her mother would ask Simon lots of probing questions, and Simon would be the type to answer them in polite comprehensive detail, and her mother would remember that comprehensive detail for years after Amy had forgotten Simon Barrington’s very existence.
He was a distraction from the visit’s main purpose, which was to subtly collect as much biographical data about Savannah as possible, particularly as it related to the alleged assault.
You brought your flatmate? Why? She could just hear her sister and brothers, that careful patient tone they sometimes used, as if she were an explosive device that could detonate at any moment.