Andrew waited until the taxi had wound its way out of the cul-de-sac, stopping to let a fox diligently trot across a zebra crossing, before he spoke.
“Am I going to get fired, then, do you think?”
Peggy handed him the bottle of wine she’d smuggled into the taxi and he took a surreptitious sip. “Honestly? I’ve no idea,” she said.
The work lot had left in another cab. Jim and Alex had decided to stay a little longer at Rupert’s, not being able to resist the opportunity to see his attic and its dedicated Rocky Mountains–themed train setup.
“I couldn’t quite tell how everyone reacted at first, when I told them everything.”
Andrew had only given the short version of events to the others, and describing his deception that way made it sound all the more stark. He’d braced himself for scathing interruptions from Keith and Meredith, but neither of them said anything. Nobody did, in fact, until he got to the part about Carl, at which point Alex launched into a furious rant about how they weren’t going to let him get away with it. She demanded that Andrew call Carl right there and then, explaining to him impatiently exactly how he’d need to play the conversation to get Carl to reveal unambiguously what he was doing. She cajoled the others into giving her their phones, lining them up on the table and setting them to record. Afterward, they listened back on each one and decided that Meredith’s recording was the clearest.
“Great, so you just need to send that to Andrew now,” Alex told her.
“Oh right, yes. How do I . . .”
Alex rolled her eyes and took the phone out of Meredith’s hand. “Andrew, what’s your number? Right, there. Done.”
Afterward, Rupert had suggested bringing out some “decent” brandy to toast the plan’s working so well, but the suggestion was met with only a halfhearted response. Cameron, in particular, seemed eager to leave.
“Well. That was obviously . . . what a funny old evening,” he said to Andrew. “I’m away for a few days, did I mention that? Training courses and whatnot. But we should talk properly when I’m back. About all this.”
“That could just mean he wants to talk to you and make sure you’re okay,” Peggy said as the cabbie casually veered across two lanes of traffic without signaling.
A thousand thoughts were clamoring for attention in Andrew’s mind, and he didn’t even notice that Peggy had slid across the seats until he felt her head on his shoulder.
“How are you feeling?” she said.
Andrew puffed out his cheeks.
“Like someone’s just removed a splinter I’ve had in my foot for a hundred years.”
Peggy rearranged her head on his shoulder.
“Good.”
The cabbie’s radio crackled into life—the control room telling him he could go home after this job.
“God, it’s no good, I’m falling asleep,” Peggy said. “Wake me up when we’re at Croydon, eh?”
“I think you’re the first person in history ever to have said that,” Andrew said. Peggy elbowed him halfheartedly.
“So, earlier, when you came into the kitchen,” Andrew said, feeling unusually uninhibited given all that had just gone on. “I couldn’t tell if you’d heard what I’d just said. About, well, me maybe being in love with you.”
For a moment he thought Peggy was choosing how to respond, but then he heard the soft sounds of her breathing. She was asleep. He rested his head gently against hers. It felt entirely natural, in a way that made his heart soar and ache at the same time.
He’d be lucky if he got a minute’s sleep that night, his brain was so wired. He had already sent the recording to Carl, but there had been no response. He wondered if there ever would be.
He found himself thinking of Sally—the moment where she’d handed him that beautiful green model train engine, winking at him and ruffling his hair. Maybe, if they had their time again, they’d have been able to fix things. But he shook the thought from his head. He was tired of fantasizing. He’d done enough of that for one lifetime. He drank the last dregs from the wine and raised the bottle in a silent toast to his sister.