‘No. What?’
‘Always keep under the radar.’
We stood by the bus stop and watched the bus creep slowly down the hill towards us in the line of traffic. I was going home – it was too late to go boating now.
‘Where do you live?’ I asked him.
‘Mornington Terrace,’ he said. ‘You?’
‘Parliament Hill Fields. The other side of the Heath from Nancy’s.’ We were heading in opposite directions.
The C11 bus pulled up alongside us, gusting hot air from the brakes.
‘I’m sorry our fake date didn’t work out,’ he said.
The bus stopped and the doors slid open. I tapped my Oyster card and turned round to wave goodbye. Didn’t work out? He had a famous literary stepmother!
I gave him my brightest smile to remember me by, because: ‘There’s always a next time,’ I said.
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