The doors slide open, and after much shuffling the Number 65 is emptied and re-stacked with bodies and for once Justin has slotted himself into a seat.
A judder and they’re moving.
He reaches into his pocket for his phone.
It’s not there.
He feels in his other pocket.
There it is.
Hi darling, be home in 25 mins. Had 2nd interview, went well. Had a chat with Mark. Says it’s between me and Philip. Not much more I can do at this point. Can you put the oven on? x
He closes his eyes and erases speculation, pushing it back and feeling it rush in again.
They’ll make their decision by the end of this week, they said.
Head firmly down until then.
He reaches into his trouser pocket for his work phone.
Then into the other.
Then he rifles through his bag.
Panic cold-plunges him. Earlier he disabled the password.