I was seated at my desk. ‘Because you like going out.’
‘I’m not in the mood.’
Rooney had made it to two of our six lectures that week. And when she had come, she had simply stared ahead, not even bothering to get her iPad out of her bag to take notes.
It was like she just didn’t care about anything any more.
‘We could … we could just go to a pub, or something?’ I suggested, sounding a little desperate. ‘Just for one drink. We could get cocktails. Or chips. We could get chips.’
This prompted an eyebrow raise. ‘Chips?’
‘Chips.’
‘I … would like some chips.’
‘Exactly. We could go to the pub, get some chips, get some fresh air, then come back.’
She looked at me for a long moment.
And then she said, ‘OK.’
The nearest pub was packed, obviously, because it was a Friday night in a university town. Thankfully we found a tiny beer-stained table in a back room and I left Rooney to guard it while I procured us a bowl of chips to share and a jug of strawberry daquiri with two paper straws.
We sat and ate our chips in silence. I actually felt very calm, considering the fact that I was technically on a ‘night out’。 All around us were students dressed up for the evening, ready to spend a couple of hours in a bar before heading out to clubs later. Rooney was wearing leggings and a hoodie, while I was wearing joggers and a woolly jumper. We probably stuck out quite a lot, but compared to the hell of Freshers’ Week, I was extremely relaxed.
‘So,’ I said, after we’d sat in silence for over ten minutes. ‘I’ve been sensing that you are not having a great time right now.’
Rooney stared at me blankly. ‘I enjoyed the chips.’
‘I meant generally.’
She took a long sip from the jug.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Everything’s shit.’
I waited for her to open up about it, but she didn’t, and I realised I was going to have to pry.
‘The play?’ I said.
‘Not just that.’ Rooney groaned and leant over the table on one hand. ‘Christmas was hell. I … I spent most of it meeting up with my school friends and, like … he was always there.’
It took me a moment to realise who she meant by ‘he’。
‘Your ex-boyfriend,’ I said.
‘He ruined so many things for me.’ Rooney started stabbing the fruit in our cocktail jug with her straw. ‘Every time I see his face I want to scream. And he doesn’t even think he did anything wrong. Because of him, I – God. I could have been a much better person if I’d never met him. He’s the reason I’m like this.’
I didn’t know what to say to that. I wanted to ask her what happened, what he did, but I didn’t want to force her to revisit bad stuff if she didn’t want to.
There was a long silence after she spoke. By the time she spoke again, she had successfully skewered all of the fruit in the jug.
‘I really like Pip,’ she said in a very quiet voice.
I nodded slowly.
‘You knew?’ she asked.
I nodded again.
Rooney chuckled. She took another sip.
‘How come you know me better than anyone?’ she asked.
‘We live together?’ I said.
She just smiled. We both knew it was more than that.
‘So … what are you gonna do?’
‘Uh, nothing?’ Rooney scoffed. ‘She hates me.’
‘I mean … yes, but she misinterpreted the situation.’
‘We made out. There’s not much to misinterpret.’
‘She thinks that we’re a thing. That’s the reason she’s angry.’
Rooney nodded. ‘Because she thinks I’m taking you away from her.’
I almost groaned at the stupidity. ‘No, because she likes you back.’
The look on her face was like I’d taken a glass and smashed it over her head.
‘That’s – that’s just – you’re just wrong about that,’ she stammered, going a little red in the face.
‘I’m just saying what I see.’
‘I don’t want to talk about Pip any more.’
We fell into silence again for a few moments. I knew Rooney was smart about this sort of thing – I’d watched her effortlessly navigate relationships of all kinds since the first day I met her. But, when it came to Pip, she had the emotional intelligence of a single grape.
‘So you like girls?’ I asked.
The scowl on her face dropped. ‘Yeah. Probably. I dunno.’