Tom: For One Night Only

Chapter One

"No, no, this isn't good enough. Why is this even in the paper?" He hisses into the phone. His face is turned into the smeared glass window, facing the inner wall of the Tube line as we're flung from station to station.

His eyes dart up, angry, looking straight through me. He returns to the paper and his conversation.

"I don't care if it's good publicity. Make them stop. Get rid of them. Issue a statement. Better yet, I'll put it on Twitter." He presses down hard on the screen a few times.

"It's a bit hard to slam them down now, isn't it?" I offer, hoping to lighten the mood, even slightly.

"If I could throw it, I would, but that'd likely end up online too, right?"

I shrug. "If you're lucky."

He stops and considers himself. A taught, rigid face relaxes and a smile emerges.

"Tom." He reaches across to shake my hand.

"Isobel."

His hand is warm and it lingers a moment. "Your accent?"

"Australian." I nod. "Funny. I was mistaken for both an American and an English person by two different groups of tourists today."

Door alarms sound as we arrive at the next station. The seat next to me vacates, and Tom slips into it.

"You definitely don't sound American," he assures me through a light laugh.

"Thank you. I think? Is that what I'm meant to say?"

He shrugs. "Who knows?"

"How about you? Did you sort your problem out?" I nod in the direction of the newspaper that's clasped in his hands.

"Who knows? It was a stupid music video. Nothing more."

"Can I?"

He hands me the newspaper and there he is, on the front page of the Daily Mail. A photo of him in a decently romantic embrace with some young singer, and a headline that declares it a world exclusive.

"Looks pretty... natural," I mumble.

He snatches the paper back. "Not you, too."

"No, I'm just saying. It's pretty damning if it's not true."

"Hall and Oats would have a field say with this," he muttered.

I laugh loudly, heads turn through the carriage to find out where the noise was coming from. Tom's body started rattling with laughter next to me. At least I could make him laugh, right?

"Alright, let's change the subject. I'm only going to get more annoyed if I keep thinking about it. Why are you even here?"

"Busy being a tourist."

"Really! What did you tourist today?"

"Uh... Buckingham Palace, the two Tates, and the river taxi, of course."

"Was our Queen in to receive you?"

"No." I frowned. "I was really hoping for some tea and scones but, no, she wasn't in residence."

"How very rude," he teases, his laughter light and airy.

"I'm very offended." I pout.

"Well, I'm off at the next station. Shall we remedy that?" He asks.

I narrow my eyes at him. "Am I the remedy to another malaise?"

"That may be," he wiggles his phone in my face, "if I hadn't already Tweeted that the article was rot. I don't have to prove anything."