Cate and Will have finally emerged from the room he shares with Joe. Beyond that I have absolutely no idea where either of them is, because she’s switched off her phone. Which means that, instead of going back to my room, drying off and curling up in my squeaky bunk to hide my mortification, I’m left with no alternative but to accept Joe’s offer to do the drying-off bit in his room.
This is not a prospect with which I feel even a tiny bit comfortable, particularly given that the only dry clothes available are Joe’s shorts and clean T-shirt, which hangs ludicrously off my shoulders. He smiles when I emerge from his en-suite.
‘I’m glad I’m the source of such amusement,’ I say.
‘They kind of suit you actually,’ he grins.
His room is slightly smaller than ours, but fancier, if you count the shower cap, actual bona fide vista (ours is a ‘Garden View’ which means it overlooks the car park) and remote control for the TV. He leans on the bureau and crosses his arms.
‘So what was on the paper? All the passwords for MI6’s security settings?’
‘Far more important,’ I tell him, sitting on the edge of the bed. ‘Or more embarrassing.’
He laughs. ‘I see.’
‘Oh, not that embarrassing,’ I insist hastily. ‘I mean, it wasn’t my list of top ten favourite Bros songs or anything, or membership of UKIP.’
‘I should hope not.’
‘It was . . . well, it was just a list of pros and cons. About whether I should move to Singapore.’
‘What’s in Singapore?’
I sigh. ‘Not what – who.’
‘Go on.’
I squirm. ‘It’s just this guy at work, my friend. We’re quite close, in some ways. I’ve had feelings for him for quite a while, only they haven’t been reciprocated, because he had a girlfriend – until recently.’
‘Now he’s single?’
I nod. ‘He dumped her and is moving to Singapore. Only, he’s asked me to go with him.’
Joe raises his eyebrows. ‘So you’re an item?’
‘Well, no. That’s just it.’
He looks at me in a way that makes it impossible not to continue. I sit on the edge of his bed and words tumble out of my mouth about my history with Edwin – my feelings for Edwin – in a way that’s so cathartic I ought to be paying Joe by the hour.
When I stop talking, a rush of embarrassment fills my chest.
‘Would you like some male insight into this situation?’ he offers.
‘Yes, please.’
‘This guy is interested, all my instincts are telling me so,’ he says. ‘There’s no way I’d invite a girl to fly all the way over to Singapore with me if I didn’t think she was seriously special.’
‘So why hasn’t he done anything about it?’
‘He’s definitely not gay?’ he says, and I realise he’s being mischievous.
‘He had a girlfriend for three years.’
‘Could he be shy?’ he ventures.
‘That could be it. He’s a little old-fashioned,’ I agree. ‘There’s always the obvious though: he doesn’t fancy me.’
‘I don’t think so,’ he laughs. ‘I’m going with your first guess. Which is fine – we all get shy sometimes. I used to be terrible when I was younger.’ I find this difficult to believe somehow. ‘But faint heart never won fair maiden, as the saying goes. He needs to man up.’
‘He is all man,’ I leap in defensively. ‘Well, kind of.’
‘Why don’t you just ask him out?’ he shrugs. I freeze in alarm and he looks surprised. ‘Is that so controversial? I had you down as a feminist.’
‘I am. But I’ve also read The Rules. I’m not going to fall into that trap.’
‘Forget self-help books. I am a man – I know these things. Just ask him out, then you’ll know categorically if he’s interested. Mystery solved.’