‘No?’
‘No.’ Dan stopped, saw their reflections in the glass behind the bar opposite and in a flashing moment of sober thought, said, ‘It’s bigger than that. I can get another job in the morning, probably one that pays better than working for Leah, certainly one I’d be happier doing.’
‘But?’ Harry was watching him now; maybe he already knew.
‘I need some time out, to…’ Dan wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. Find himself? Wasn’t that what women did? They went off and they ate, prayed and loved? Dan had no interest eating or praying, never mind about loving. ‘I want to figure things out,’ he settled on.
‘I see,’ Harry said softly and perhaps he did, but he was good enough not to offer any trite words too quickly. Instead, they both sat in silence for a little while and considered the deep amber liquid in the glasses before them. ‘So, you’re thinking of taking a bit of time away from the madding crowd, eh?’ he said ordering two more doubles.
‘Yes, Harry, I think I might be,’ Dan said with a lot more certainty than he’d realised he felt.
‘Perhaps it’s time to finally write that book?’
‘That’s what I was starting to think too,’ Dan said softly, because maybe, for the first time since he left Leah’s office, it seemed like there might actually be something he could pull out of this day apart from a hellish hangover.
‘Better do it now than leave it too late.’ Harry’s voice was gentle, but he wasn’t saying anything that hadn’t already occurred to Dan. ‘You could take a few months and who knows, if you don’t find what you’re looking for, maybe you’ll find something else? Something even better?’ Harry was trying to cheer him up; still, Dan appreciated the effort. ‘Now, less of this maudlin hanging about. Let’s drink these and get you to bed.’ Harry handed him one of the glasses, they swallowed them quickly and Dan felt as if his whole body had been set on fire from the inside out. ‘Come on, back to mine – you can sleep on the sofa for tonight. Dream about this new start until tomorrow.’
*
The mother of all hangovers – he deserved it of course, but it wasn’t helped by the fact that the sun streamed in, scratching his eyes open on the uncomfortable leather couch. He lay for a while, in denial about the stiffness that had set into his back, the throbbing pain in his head, and the dryness in his mouth that made him feel as if he’d gulped down sand instead of too much whiskey the night before. Most of all, he was trying to thwart the overhanging bleakness that he knew marked out his first day of unemployment.
‘Coffee, mate – that’s what you need.’ Harry handed him a mug that must have contained at least four shots of the strong coffee he had imported from some undoubtedly ethical bean farmer in Brazil, via a stopover in Andalucía for roasting and pricey packaging.
‘Urgh.’ Dan shuddered as he took the first sip.
‘You really did hit it hard last night.’ Harry slapped his shoulder and grabbed the vintage man bag that held his notebook and probably an array of travel-sized grooming products. He balanced on the edge of the sofa for a moment, drinking the last of his own coffee. ‘I’ve been thinking, you know, what you said last night, about maybe taking time.’ He looked at Dan now. ‘You should do it. Take yourself out of London for a while, see if you can’t write that novel – have a go. If you come up with anything half decent send it to me.’
‘You want first dibs at something that I haven’t even written yet?’
‘I want you to write the bloody thing and wipe the satisfied smile off Leah Maine’s face, that’s what I want. If it’s any good, I’ll see if I can sell it for you. How’s that for a deal?’
‘That’s pretty decent of you, mate,’ Dan said, although at this point, he was more grateful for the coffee, even if it did taste like liquid tar.
‘And you should get out of London, head for the sticks, the proper sticks I mean, not somewhere like the Cotswolds where you’d be tempted to come back before you’ve finished.’
‘Right,’ Dan said, although he’d never lived anywhere outside of London in his life, well… not as far as he could remember at least.
‘I’m thinking Wales? Or Scotland? You might meet some lovely lass. You never know…’
‘Ireland. I could go to Ireland. There’s a place there I’ve always wanted to visit. It’s on the west coast, as far away from London as I’m likely to get.’