48. "Sorry"

Lost in the crowds and still raw from the day before, Bells finds herself exactly where she doesn't want to be - found by him, led by him, sitting across from him in a dim ramen restaurant.

JUDE

I had been waiting for my staff approximately fifteen minutes, reviewing bids for Teddy’s data on my phone. The figures were escalating with gratifying momentum - a couple of heavyweight competitors circling. I had considered simply dropping the gigabytes on the dark net, letting anyone have whatever was Teddy’s, letting anyone take a sledgehammer to his firm’s foundations at their leisure.

But I am, at my core, a capitalist. I believe in the doctrine fervently, with the conviction of a man it has treated very well. The economic equivalent of “survival of the fittest” - and, on reflection, only the fittest should secure what was Teddy’s. Just as I had secured the other thing that was Teddy’s. Though secured was perhaps strong this morning, given the predicament I currently found myself in with her.

Speaking of her. I noted the absence of Bells from my assembled team. The guide had given us a time, and Bells had always been nothing if not punctual - one of the things I lo... careful now... had noted about her, over the years.

I gave her ten minutes to surface naturally. Perhaps she was running out of a shop somewhere already, bags in hand, composing her apology.

She did not surface.

“She’s not responding in the team chat” Mark volunteered.

I tried her phone. Once. Twice. Call going to voicemail immediately. Her battery must be dead. The work phone - a similar problem. Either incredibly unfortunate or incredibly worrying, and for someone in my position - both. I checked something on my phone briefly - felt some relief.

“We need to split up and look for her.” I said to the team - though in all fairness I hadn’t needed them for this particular exercise.

“Shouldn’t we just wait here?” Klar offered. “We might all get lost.”

A reasonable point. I considered it, then concluded - no. I’d look far less suspicious bringing her back eventually if we all split up and looked. Success rate of 1 out of 7 instead of 1 out of 1.

“Location sharing on WhatsApp. Go in twos. Klar and Jack, Mark and Keith, Jake and Luke.” They began pairing up accordingly. I noted, not without some satisfaction, how quickly they moved when I spoke.

“I’ll set off alone. Keep in touch via the group chat.” Because the last thing I needed, once I found her, was an audience.

I set off then - traversing the streets with systematic focus. My height helped, scanning over the crowd but locating one dark-haired woman in a beige coat among a sea of slim dark-haired women in Tokyo was precisely the kind of problem that rewarded preparedness over hope - so I pulled out my phone again.

When I think back to this moment, I believe this is where it started. My obsession with her green dot.

Some days after her betrayal, her walking the data out of premises - the entire espionage, the seduction that I have since concluded was not entirely calculated on her part, I had rolled out new work phones for all staff. It seemed only prudent, given the circumstances, to equip each unit with an inconspicuous GPS tracker, network-independent, with an emergency charge cycling off the main battery. A perfectly rational business precaution to guarantee I could trace back everyone’s movements precisely if any further misdemeanors should occur. The fact that I found myself, in the evenings, slightly deep into the whisky, watching Bells’ dot sit at Teddy’s Bayswater Road address - that was...

Well.

Today, for the first time, the dot had found its proper use.

I followed it through the crowds - she was stationary, which worried me briefly. What if she’d lost the device? What if it lay somewhere on the pavement, lifeless, while she panicked alone among the crowds or worse...

And then I saw her. Sat down on a bench. The beige coat, hair up, head down in her hands.

I slid the phone into my pocket.

“Here you are,” I said.

She wiped her eyes, looked up at me. Had she been crying here? Weight shifted in my chest.

“…Jude…”

“Everyone’s gone off to look for you,” I said.

“And out of everyone, it’s you who finds me.” She exhaled. “Just my luck.”

Still furious with me, I see. I intended to address this shortly. Her cheeks were flushed, she was visibly distressed, but she was unharmed, and I felt something release in me that I hadn’t quite registered holding.

“I knew I would,” I said. Then immediately wished I hadn’t.

“Really? Why is that?”

“You go where I’d go.” I wasn’t sure where that came from but it fitted. Romantic even. She looked at me, brow kicking up, but didn’t push further.

“Let me message the group.”

I pressed the off switch on my phone in my pocket, then drew it out and performed a brief pantomime of checking it.

“Uh. Dead.” The lie required no effort whatsoever. “Yours?”

She held up her phone. Equally lifeless of course. I already knew this.

“Brilliant.” I said like I had not just engineered this.

“It’s fine. I think I can find the way back.” I added. She was already looking around, composing herself.

“Hold onto me,” I said, and extended my hand.

The look she gave me was, I suppose, fair - context considered - if a little hurtful.

“You want me to hold your hand now?”

I was not going to argue about the logic of yesterday just yet. Ideally - not ever, though I feared it would come to it, eventually.

“It’s a practical measure, Bells. It’s extremely crowded. Wouldn’t want you lost again.”

She looked at me with suspicion, like she saw what I was doing but wasn’t quite sure how to hold it.

“Please,” I said.

At that she took my hand - reluctantly, - and I knew immediately I was in trouble. The cool of her palm against mine. The slight curl of her fingers. She had said - correctly, though I would never tell her so if I could avoid it - that our hands together meant something different than fucking in cabs et cetera. Something deeper.

She was right about a number of things, and it cost me to keep sitting with that knowledge.

---

BELLS

His hand was warm, unfairly so, suggesting excellent circulation - the thought arrived - unbidden. Somehow it hadn’t surprised me that his body operated like a perfectly calibrated machine. It was almost like every single part of him was working overtime to make up for that horrendous personality...

I trailed slightly behind him as we walked, like a child being led, his grip loose enough not to hurt and firm enough that losing him in the crowd wasn’t an option, and I was aware of his hand around mine with a specificity that I resented. The heat of it travelling up my wrist. The particular fit of it.

We walked for maybe ten minutes. The street smelled of grilled meat and something sweet and petrol fumes, and crowds pushed around us in indifferent waves. Him ahead of me, the breadth of his shoulders cutting a passage through people, the certainty of his stride, as though the city ought to part like the Red Sea as he stepped through. Though the surroundings were - instead of more familiar - increasingly new, alien. I followed, uncertainty rising.

Then he stopped in front of a restaurant and turned to look at me. The gaze froze me in place for a moment - and I saw immediately, from the faint shift at the corner of his mouth, that he had absolutely no idea where we were going.

“You have no clue where you are going, do you.” I asked. “A perfect metaphor for us.”

His smile was infuriating - the way he held it - like he knew exactly the effect it had on women. Most of the time. It wasn’t affecting me then. Not at all. Definitely not.

“You lead me nowhere with utter confidence. I follow, misguidedly compliant.” My voice had that exasperated note in it.

He stepped closer, still holding my hand, leaning over- inappropriately near for a boss. Did that thing when his voice goes low and soft and... seductive. “Bells. When were you ever compliant?”

He straightened - nodded toward the restaurant door.

“I might not know where we are.” Brighter. “But I know I’m starving.” The boyish grin in full deployment. “Fancy lunch?”

Lunch was genuinely the last thing I wanted. I was still feeling raw, was sure my eyes were swollen, and the prospect of sitting opposite him for an hour seemed like torture.

“We should find the others, Jude.” I said.

“They’ll be fine.” One step toward the door, my hand still in his. “Come.”

Of course - the lunch was his foregone conclusion... I could either be dragged behind him or cause a scene and honestly, I had been too tired. So I let him lead me in.

The staircase was dark and narrow, the walls red and close, and the restaurant above was small and packed and dim, the low hum of other people’s conversations rising around us. He found a table by the window, and only released my hand once I sat down.

A waiter appeared. Jude ordered ramen for both of us, the only item on the menu either of us could parse. When the waiter left I turned to look out of the window. The street below tracked in silhouettes - long coats, dark haired people, shoulders, the blur of movement. I felt his eyes on me.

“Hope you’ve enjoyed the Mt. Fiji loop on me,” he started, lightness in his voice, like we were going to do this - have a pleasant lunch and not address yesterday at all.

I said nothing.

“Bells.”

The noise of the restaurant filled the space between us. Someone laughed three tables over. I watched a woman stop on the street below to check her phone, her face briefly illuminated.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

The words arrived so quietly and with such reluctance I wasn’t certain I’d heard correctly.

“Excuse me?” I glanced over at him. He inhaled heavily, like this costed him.

“I said I was sorry.” A little louder. A little cleaner. It almost sounded meant. His jaw was tight, eyes steady like he wasn’t letting himself look away rather than that he was comfortable.

“For what?”

He held my gaze. His jaw again, with that stubble- I looked down at his hands on the table instead. Then back at his face, because I’d asked a question and I wanted the answer.

“I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

His eyes didn’t move from mine. He bit his lower lip, briefly. The moment sat heavy between us, the surrounding noise felt further away. Then he glanced down at the menu, breaking the spell.

“Should we get sake as well? Started the day off with champagne, might as well”

Yep. The deflection, arriving right on schedule.

I turned back to the window. The woman with the phone had gone. The street continued its march without her.

More silence.

“We’re good then?” he said, finally - with the tone of a business man wrapping up a conference call.

I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I could almost taste copper. Then I turned to him slowly.

“You really think this fixes things.” My voice came out softer than I intended, which was worse than if I’d shouted. “A half-arsed apology in a cheap ramen joint. You made me cry yesterday, Jude.”

He swallowed. His eyes moved over my face - that inventory that always felt like being apart - and I watched him find the words and discard them, one by one. The waiter saved him momentarily, setting down drinks. He took a sip.

“I got overwhelmed,” he said finally. “It was a difficult day. And then I had you going at me with all those questions”

“So say that. Why not say that?” I felt the tightness gathering in my throat and hated it. “Why lash out? Why call me a ...?”

“I did not.” He interjected. Firm and immediate - his patience thinning at the edges.

“You implied...”

“I did not call you that.” His voice dropped, a register that I recognised as the door closing in my face. “We’ve been through this.”

I looked away. The ramen arrived in two deep bowls, steam rising in slow curls, the broth dark. I stared at my bowl, cupped it with my palm, felt the warmth of it through the ceramic on my skin - a comforting little kindness. Then the soft give of the noodles when I pressed them with my spoon, buying myself something to do with my hands.

“Bells. Come on now.” His voice, between spoonfuls, casual again. “I’m a little tired of apologising to you.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“You apologised exactly once.” I said.

“Technically twice. You made me repeat it. And I’ve been meaning to all morning but couldn’t quite get you alone.” I felt his eyes on me but I didn’t look up. Just... blinked.

And then I felt it - a single tear. I got to it fast, one finger, quick. He saw. He always saw.

I knew because I felt him. The way he went very still.

---

JUDE

That tear.

She’d erased it before it reached her jaw but I had seen it, and it was something I had not been ready for then.

The feeling accompaning the visual - somehow worse than in the aftermath of her data theft. Worse than most things the last several months. I could make her angry cry - would, on purpose, for the fun of it - I was practised at that, could navigate her fury with confidence. But this was not fury.

“Bells” My hand moved toward hers on the table. Automatic. Before my better judgement could intervene.

She pulled back before I reached her.

“Don’t.”

Quiet, and absolute. I withdrew my hand. The rejection landed like a physical thing.

“I just wanted you to stop,” I said. “I didn’t think...”

“No.” Still not looking at me. “Just instinct taking over, wasn’t it. The ruthless precision of it.”

We ate in silence after that - unbearable silence. Me watching her periodically, hoping for a returned glance. Her resolute about her bowl, then the window. I considered saying more. Several times I assembled something and discarded it. The danger of speaking the wrong words to her now was that they would cost more than the silence. And I had clearly exceeded my allowance yesterday.

I cleared the bill and we left.

Outside I suggested a cab back to the Aman. Every driver would know it, I said. She nodded. Still wordless.

In the back of the cab she took the far side, pressed herself against the door. Her eyes on the window. Mine on her reflection in it - the passing streetlights crossing her face at intervals, illuminating something new each time, some slight shift in the expression I couldn’t quite read from this angle. The worry pressed into my chest.

You really lost her this time, idiot.

I watched her reflection in the glass and thought: no. That wouldn’t do at all.