‘How long has it been?’ Jenny asked me, unsteady on her feet and in her voice. Her face was still flushed – from the excitement of seeing me? The anxiety? Nothing more than a physical reaction to bumping into another person?
‘Uh, five years?’ I said, uncertainty tingeing the answer more than I’d like. ‘Six?’
‘Six, I think,’ she said with a smile. ‘That’s the hard part about breaking up on New Year’s Eve, I suppose – it’s so much harder to do the maths backwards.’
‘Right, right,’ I laughed politely. ‘So… how have you been? Have you met anyone?’
Stupid, idiotic moron, why would you ask—
‘I haven’t, actually,’ she replied, quickly.
‘Oh,’ I said, nonchalantly. ‘That’s a shame. Has there been anyone, or…’
Seriously, what is wrong with you? That’s it, we’re fleeing the country – you better learn how to be a European car mechanic, and quickly—
‘Nope,’ Jenny shook her head. ‘Not since you. Or, us, I suppose. What about you?’
I was momentarily thrown off-balance by her very predictable question. I smiled at her sheepishly.
‘Also a no on that front. Turns out missing you was a full-time occupation – didn’t really have room for anyone else in the trenches with me.’
‘Oh,’ she said, her brow furrowing. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. I didn’t think that it would have that big of an impact—’
‘No, no,’ I said quickly, soothingly. ‘It’s fine. I’m not blaming you. Well, not anymore, anyway.’
We both had a quick laugh at that.
‘This is going to sound nuts,’ she said eventually, as we both began to wonder how to step away from the conversation. ‘But would you be able to drive me home?’
‘What?’
‘I know, it’s a lot to ask,’ she said. ‘But my car is with a mechanic in Frankston at the moment, and it’s going to take me ages with the bus—’
‘Sure,’ I said with a smile. ‘Same place still?’
‘Same place.’