Page 87 of Read My Lips

The page count in the bottom corner confirmed Sev was not exaggerating. We’d be here all year squinting through that lot.

“Does it really matter so much?” Jo asked, perching on the arm next to Simon, putting my thoughts into words. “All this digital footprint stuff seems a bit overkill?”

Simon blinked at his sister like she’d suggested oxygen was optional. “It’s not.”

Simon’s online presence was a carefully curated marketing exercise. Every event he handled got an artful picture of him, or one of his clients, or an interesting view, or the food on his plate. Posted with efficient cross-promotion hashtags. Vintage fashion featured heavily on a near daily basis. Family photos were not unheard of, even if he didn’t tag names.

He was right about us needing this to be credible. If he’d been dating anyone seriously, they’d have been documented somehow. Everyone who followed him knew that. Me included.

“Well that’s my cue to leave then.” Jo patted Simon’s shoulder, standing to slip her discarded sandals back on. “The lot of you are deranged masochists, by the way.”

“I’ll get my laptop,” Simon said. “It’ll be faster if we split the pages up.”

Even with two screens this was going to take all day. And the pictures would be all starched and distant and posed, the way they always were with media shots. They weren’t going to do what we needed them to.

“Actually—”my voice choked me, shrivelling down to a dried up nothing in my throat, and I had to clear it. “We do have some pictures up on social already.”

Both Jo and Simon paused.

“Darling,” Simon drawled. “You never said.”

“Shut up. It’s only a few.”

“Oh go on, show us,” Jo encouraged, settling back on the arm of the chair.

Wriggling to dig my phone out of my pocket, I swiped to get the first one up on the screen. “This is the⁠—”

“Christmas party, at the pub.” Simon’s eyebrows notched up in surprise.

Oh. He recognised it then.

“It’s just a couple of snaps me and Tracy took.” My throat knotted as I scrolled. “You know. Everyone together at the table.”

Technically true. His whole immediate team was in the shot. But I was close up next to Simon, and he’d slung his arm around my shoulders to make sure we all squeezed in for the picture, and we were in the foreground, and maybe I’d tilted the angle on the screen when I was taking it, selfie-style, so the others were a little blurred.

And I was looking at him like there was no one else in the room. What a total psycho.

Sinking back into his seat, the wariness in Simon’s eyes appeared again. The same as when I’d messed it up about the coffee at Richard’s place. And when he was on the riverbank talking to me about cannibals. He’d never wanted me imprinting on him like a day-old chick.

“Oh, use that one. It’s really sweet,” Jo crooned, leaning in over Simon’s shoulder. “Are there any more?”

At the end of my arms, my hands didn’t quite feel like mine. My numb fingers found the next batch.

“From that conference in that place outside of Leeds? With the champagne reception in that lobby with the big staircase?”

Simon didn’t look so happy in those. All day he wouldn’t tell me why. But the tux made up for it, and he’d still turned on his smile even if it didn’t make it to his eyes.

Now he wasn’t smiling though.

“And the Team Away Day,” I murmured. “And at the annual business dinner.” Each new location made the cumulative effect so much worse, but I couldn’t shut up. “And that Fun Run.” I clicked the screen black. “Anyway. It’s just a few pictures. Of us. Together. On my feed.”

Simon stared at me, and I stared right back, all but hearing a train horn blaring, while I was stuck on the level crossing of my shitty life decisions.

“You should bring Ben to the wedding.” Jo said brightly, nudging Simon’ shoulder.

He spun his head, too late to catch her words on her lips. “What?”

Calmly, Jo repeated herself. “Only if you want to Simon.”