Secrets - Kerry

'Can't you get a taxi?' Mel says when I phone to tell her that I'm too drunk to drive home.

'It will cost a bit,' I say.

'A few pounds.'

'I just feel I should sort this business out with Gordon while I have the chance.'

'Fine. Well, have a nice evening with your friend.'
           
She hangs up on me. Definitely cross. I join Gordon in the pub again. He's sitting with a large group of twenty-somethings, professional looking people, in the main room, talking about the gym. The receptionist with the henna coloured hair is there, playing with her earrings and sipping a cocktail out of a long glass with a slice of cucumber floating on the surface. Kerry, her name is. She has this constant smile on her face. Gordon introduces me. She keeps giggling, as if she finds me amusing and wants me to know that but doesn't want me to know why. It's quite nice. Gordon buys everyone a round, gets us all singing.
           
'That girl Kerry,' he says as we walk back to his flat beyond the car park. 'She fancies you.'
           
'She tell you that?'
           
'It's become kind of obvious. You ought to take her out, get her into bed.'
           
'Nah, it feels wrong. Lana and everything.'
           
'You don't still like Lana after the way she messed around behind your back?'
           
'Gordon, yeah?  Drop it.'
           
'I'm only asking. So would you have Lana back?'
           
I don't answer. The truth is, I probably would – although I wouldn't like to admit that to anyone.
           
'Would you?' Gordon says.
           
'Why do you want to know?'
           
'Because it's eating you up. You ought to talk about it, get it out of your system.'
           
'I don't want to talk about it.'
            '
'All right then,' he says.
           
We walk back to his flat in silence.