How could he? He wasn’t there.

Been replaying the interview. Going over the things I said. The way I smiled while talking. Think I sounded nervous. Not like me.

They should’ve replied. Unless they’re still deciding. Or trying to word a rejection. Or just forgot.

They’re lucky I even spoke to them.

Kept refreshing my inbox. Checking spam.

Nothing.

Had to sit through a 2-hour presentation on new software in the afternoon. They’d forgotten to give me a login.

No email.

Went to The King after dinner on Friday. Saw Hugh again. Still propping up the bar. He looks a right mess. Shirt untucked. Red-faced. Pissed.

His own fault.

Tried to leave before he clocked me. No drama. Be the better man.

He grabbed me on the way out. Leant in close. Reeked of piss and booze.

“I know what you fucking did.”

Gave him a tenner. Told him to get another drink. He doesn’t know. How could he? He wasn’t there.

Stayed in all weekend. Just me and the hole.

Still no email.

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