LITMIR.BIZ

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you already forgotten how we got into this mess in the first place?’ I groaned. ‘It’s like you’ve literally learned nothing.’

      ‘If I win the twenty quid, I’ll buy you dinner,’ she called after me.

      ‘Fine,’ I said, rubbing my grumbling stomach. ‘The bet stands.’

      ‘That’s my girl,’ Mir said with a grin. ‘Go get him, tiger.’

      ‘Knock knock.’

      Just as I’d hoped and fully expected, Dr Page was hard at work behind his desk, all traces of his campout vanished.

      ‘Did you unlock the door again?’ he asked.

      ‘Hello, Sam,’ I said, slipping the key back in my pocket and ignoring the question. ‘I brought you something.’

      ‘No one calls me Sam.’ His hair was back up in its man bun but his beard was running free and wild. He wore jeans at least four sizes too big for him and if I ever found out where he was getting all those awful shirts, I would have them in The Hague on crimes against humanity faster than you could say ‘Nehru collar’. Thankfully, I had no way of knowing whether or not he was still wearing the Bart Simpson boxers.

      ‘I like Sam,’ I said. ‘It’s a good name. Solid. Friendly. Who wouldn’t like a Sam?’

      ‘No one calls me Sam,’ he said again. ‘They call me Samuel or Dr Page. Or in your case, that man down the hallway who is considering a restraining order.’

      ‘I was in the coffee shop, trying to justify buying pastries and I thought, I wonder if Sam fancies a croissant.’ I took a seat before he could ask me to leave and placed a small, white cardboard box and huge, steaming cardboard coffee cup in front of him. ‘I don’t know if you’ve had a chance to try the almond croissants yet but they are amazing. Life-changing, in fact. You can’t have one every day because you’ll get diabetes and die, but oh my god, what a way to go.’

      I pushed the box towards him but he didn’t move.

      ‘Go on,’ I kept pushing it with the tip of my finger until it was butting right up against his keyboard. ‘You know you want to.’

      ‘I’m allergic to almonds,’ he replied. ‘Please take it away before it kills me.’

      ‘Noted,’ I said, grabbing the box back and nursing it on my knee. ‘You probably don’t want the almond milk latte either then.’

      I reached for the coffee cup with an apologetic smile. Sam did not smile back. Sam looked really quite annoyed.

      ‘I have a fire marshal question,’ I said. ‘How many books do you think you have in here?’

      ‘Three hundred and seventeen,’ he answered without hesitation. ‘Why is that a fire marshal question?’

      ‘Fire hazard,’ I replied. ‘All those books, no second exit. It’s important for me to know all this stuff.’

      ‘I’ve got some very rare texts in here,’ he said, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. ‘Very old, very fragile. I can’t even touch them without gloves. If there’s a fire risk, I need to know.’

      ‘Should be fine.’ I turned to take in the sheets of paper stuck to the glass. They had been taped up with such care. ‘Is that what the paper is for? To keep the light off the books?’

      ‘What?’ Sam looked puzzled. ‘Oh no. That’s to keep people out. I didn’t realize the building would be quite so … social.’

      ‘Did anyone explain to you what a co-working space was before you signed up?’ I asked. He shrugged, unaware or unconcerned, it didn’t matter. ‘Most people here are pretty chummy.’

      ‘I’m not most people,’ he said bluntly. ‘Now, is there anything else I can help you with? I’m quite busy.’

      ‘Just trying to be neighbourly, given your situation,’ I slipped the pastry box back in my tote bag, not entirely upset about the idea of eating them all myself. ‘Where’s your blow-up bed gone?’

      ‘I’d rather not talk about it,’ he said, tapping on his keyboard and refusing to make eye contact. ‘And I’m really very busy, so if you’re done—’

      ‘When I broke up with my ex, I didn’t really deal with it that well at first,’ I said before he could finish. Sometimes the best course of action was to just keep talking until they gave in. Not often but sometimes. ‘It wasn’t until a few days after it really hit that we were over. It’s the little things, isn’t it? No one to go to the pictures with, no one to laugh at your in-jokes. Whenever we drove anywhere, whoever was in the passenger seat would always put their hand on the person who was driving’s thigh and I remember the first time I went out in the car after he left, I got halfway to Tesco and had to pull over because I was sobbing like a baby.’

      I pulled my fingers through the ends of my ponytail, combing out a stray knot, wishing he would do the same.

      ‘That sounds terrible and I’m very sorry,’ he said robotically. ‘And now you’ve unburdened yourself, do you think you might let me get on with my day?’

      I should have known he wasn’t going to make this easy.

      ‘I truly think you’d feel better if you talk about it,’ I told Sam, taking a sip of the coffee I’d brought for him. ‘Whenever me or Miranda are going through a tough time, we always feel better after we’ve talked it through.’

      ‘Two questions I will surely regret,’ Sam replied, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. ‘Who is Miranda and why should I talk to you about my personal life?’

      ‘Miranda is my business partner,’ I said with a patient smile. ‘And my best friend. Since forever. Well, since we were eleven, which is a very long time these days. And you should talk to me because I’m here and I’m nice and because spending twenty-four hours a day in your office is unquestionably unhealthy behaviour. I don’t want to have to be the person on the Ten O’Clock News six months from now, saying “We’re all so surprised, he was always so quiet and polite …”’

      ‘I shall try to make a point of scheduling my rampage on a day when you’re out of the office,’ Sam said, ‘Thank you for your concern, but I don’t think it qualifies you to act as my relationship counsellor.’

      ‘My sister is a proper psychologist!’ I exclaimed, making him jump. ‘Totally qualified and everything, she’s very good.’

      ‘And my brother is a brain surgeon, but that doesn’t mean you want me rootling around inside your skull, does it?’

      ‘Is he really?’ I asked with suspicious eyes.

      ‘No,’ Sam replied coolly. ‘He isn’t.’

      ‘That would be good though, wouldn’t it?’ I said, taking another sip of too hot coffee. Should have got it iced. ‘Very Grey’s Anatomy.’

      He pressed his hands hard against his head and let out a surprisingly shrill shriek for a grown man.

      ‘You’re not going to leave, are you?’ He peered out at me from between his fingers, without moving his hands away from his face. I offered him a winning smile and a thumbs up. Sam threw his hands up in the air and took a deep breath and I could sense victory.

      ‘Get your coat,’ I ordered. ‘Let’s go and get a coffee that won’t kill you.’

      He picked up a red-and-black plaid donkey jacket.

      ‘Actually, leave your coat,’ I said. ‘Let’s just go.’

      In the bright, unforgiving light of a summer’s day, Sam looked downright sickly, his baggy clothes hanging off his tall frame, giving the impression of a consumptive tramp. Blinking into the sun behind his glasses, he followed me through the streets, muttering, huffing and generally making

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