15
Jack Culverhouse let out a sigh and turned back two pages, scanning the paragraphs to work out at which point he’d lost concentration this time. Military history wasn’t usually his thing, and he cursed Steve for having even suggested the book in the first place. Personally, he couldn’t give two shits about Gallipoli, but it got better, Steve had assured him. Honestly, by the end he’d be gripped. Gripped by a bloody coma, perhaps.
The ping of an incoming text message on his phone would more often than not go completely ignored, but this time Jack was grateful for the distraction. He didn’t recognise the number on the screen, so unlocked his phone and opened the message.
Hi Jack. Just wondered if you still wanted to meet for drinks. I’ll supply the white wine vinegar. Cx
He’d forgotte
