Free It's Not You It's Me by Allison Rushby

height. He puts one hand on each of my shoulders and gives me a kiss on the cheek.
    ‘It was great seeing you again, Charlie.’
    I swallow.
    He steps back now and smiles quickly. ‘Call this time, yeah?’
    I nod. ‘Um, OK. Thanks.’ I hold the card up. Then I turn for real, waving with my free hand. I head off in the direction of some nearby phones, remembering my promise to give Kath and Mark a call as soon as I got to the airport.
    They really worry about me.
    Kath picks up the phone on the second ring. ‘Charlie?’ she sounds frantic.
    OK, so maybe they worry a bit too much.
    ‘Yep, it’s me. I got here just fine. On first class, I might add.’
    ‘First class?’
    I explain the videotape scenario to Kath and then my chance meeting with Jas, aka Zamiel.
    ‘And how was that?’
    ‘Strange. He seems exactly the same. I thought he’d be really different now, but it was just like old times.’
    ‘Did he eat any live animals?’
    I laugh. ‘Yep, they had them in a cage so he could just go up and pick them out when he felt like it. And there was a spittoon on the floor he could spit the bones and fur into as well.’
    There’s a pause on the other end of the line.
    I laugh. ‘Come on, Kath, you know that’s not true,’ I say, but feel a bit guilty remembering that I sort of, kind of, just a little bit might have believed it myself not so long ago. Media brainwashing, of course.
    I ask about the twins and Kath tells me all the news. Who ate the most—Daisy—who tried to speak—yes, at four weeks; she is obviously very intelligent—Annie—whopooed the most—Daisy. Then she asks what I’m going to do next.
    ‘I’m going to catch the Tube to the hotel, and then I might have a bit of a walk around,’ I say.
    ‘Charlie, you should have a rest. You must be exhausted.’
    ‘I’m fine. Stop worrying!’ But I smile as I say it. Really, it’s nice to have someone who frets about you.
    She makes me promise twice that I’ll call her in the next few days before we both hang up. As I replace the receiver, I take a look around to get my bearings. I’d seen a sign for the Tube before—past the carousels, I think. Ah, there it is. I make my way over towards it, reading the signs all around as I wheel my bag. It’s only when I finally look down that I see him…
    Jas. Sitting on his bag. Right where I left him fifteen minutes ago.
    He doesn’t notice me until I’m standing right in front of him. When he still doesn’t look up, I start tapping one toe to get his attention.
    ‘Ah,’ he says, spotting me.
    ‘What are you still doing here?’
    He freezes and looks decidedly as if he wishes he was small enough to hide behind his bag.
    No chance.
    ‘I…er. Deciding where to go.’
    I stop tapping now. ‘What do you mean? Don’t you have any plans?’
    Jas shakes his head.
    ‘Are you out of cash or something?’
    Jas stands up and pulls out his wallet. ‘Don’t know, actually.’ He opens it up. There are two US dollars, but no useful money. ‘I’ve got a few cards…’
    This I’ve already noted, wide-eyed. ‘Few’ isn’t quite theword. Jas has the whole set in there—as if he’s collecting them. Amex, VISA, MasterCard, Diners. And no cash. Who does he think he is? The Queen?
    He puts his wallet away then, and looks at me like the last puppy at the pound. ‘What I mean is, I don’t have anything to do. ’
    I stand in silence, surprised. Very surprised. I guess I’d been half expecting him to ditch me before we disembarked the plane and I’d be left to watch him push the paparazzi aside as he made his way through Heathrow, dived into some waiting limo purring at a designated pick-up point and sped off to a sixties rock-star-style night of debauchery at some exclusive hotel, where all the big names had been sitting around for hours waiting for him to arrive and do the first line of the night on his specially requested black granite coffee table.
    Phew.
    I give him the once-over now. Old denim