His wife, Sameera, bobs into view in the background, giving me a wave with a slice of pizza in her mouth.
“Hey, sweetness!” she calls through her mouthful.
“How’s my favourite godson?” I ask.
“Sleeping! At bedtime!”
“Amazing!”
“I know, right? Did Sexy Scowly Receptionist really see Grigg’s message?” asks Sameera, giggling already.
“Not my message,” Grigg says. “I was merely relaying a message from you, darling wife. I have never said angry-shag in my life before.”
“Don’t laugh, Sam!” I say, but I’m giggling along with Sameera, who is doubled over behind Grigg. “It was so awkward!”
“Did he know it was about him, do you think?” Sameera calls, disappearing off-screen.
“I don’t know,” I say, reaching for the spare pillow to bury my face in it. “I obviously tried to make it sound like it wasn’t. I don’t even want to shag him! That’s you talking, not me! But now he’s going to think I want him.”
“Don’t you?” Grigg says. He’s gnawing on a pizza crust. In the rare windows of time when baby Rupe is asleep, they tend to do everything at once—I’m pretty sure Sameera is putting on a wash in the background. “Didn’t you write him that love letter last Christmas?”
From somewhere off-screen, Sameera throws a handful of dirty laundry at Grigg. He barely flinches.
“Grigg!”
“It was not a love letter,” I say, “it was a Christmas card, and yes, I had a crush on him once, but all I said in that message to you was that there was a bit of a vibe at the mo—that doesn’t mean I want him. We still hate each other.”
“You don’t need to like someone to fancy them,” Sameera says.
“Don’t you?” Grigg asks mildly.
“I don’t fancy him,” I say, but the moment I say it, I know I’m lying. I know, deep down, that I didn’t want to cover myself up when Lucas caught me half-dressed through the lost-property-room door, and that if I weren’t still attracted to him, I’d have squealed and dashed out of view as quick as a rat. “Oh, shit,” I say, re-burying my face in the pillow.
“I think this is good!” Sameera says. “You always go for such . . .”
“Wet-arse men,” Grigg finishes for her.
“Excuse me?”
“Lost causes, guys who live in dimly lit basements, men with big dreams they’re going to get started on sometime next summer.” Grigg takes a large bite of his pizza.
“Hey!” I say, though actually this is painfully pitch-perfect. I think about Tristan’s flat above his parents’ garage, and Dean’s start-up plans, and I grimace.
“Grigg’s right,” Sameera says excitedly. “Sexy Scowly has drive and ambition! That’s way more you! Didn’t you say he lost the job he came here for because the place shut down, and then he got the job at your hotel, like, days before his visa was due to expire?”
“Yeah, he did,” I say, chewing my lip.
It’s one of the very rare pieces of personal information I’ve gleaned from Lucas—it came up in a conversation about lockdown rules. Thank God those days are gone. We argued worse than ever when the government guidelines kept changing every few weeks.
“He’s driven, sure. He’s also a massive knob,” I remind them.
“Does he!” Sameera crows, bounding back into view again with a bunch of laundry bundled to her chest.
“Is a massive knob, Sam,” I say, and then laugh at the disappointment on her face. “I promise you, I’m not interested in Lucas anymore, not after what happened last Christmas.” I hold up a hand when they both open their mouths to speak. “I will acknowledge that I still find him attractive.”
“What’s wrong with a bit of flirtation, then? You don’t need to worry about leading him on or hurting his feelings, given that he hates you as much as you hate him. And if the flirting leads to angry sex, hurray!” Sameera throws a hand up, sending a pair of knickers flying with it. “If you decide you don’t want to sleep with him, then you’ve wound him up for weeks on end—also hurray!”
“Well,” I say, sipping my tea, “when you put it like that . . .”
“Hey, what address should we post your Christmas present to?” Grigg asks, turning the camera back to him again. “I keep meaning to ask—where’s Jem living right now?”