Chapter 4
Max
He’s out there somewhere. Just because he’s ghosted me doesn’t mean he’s vanished into thin air.
He can’t have, because I promised the ambassador he would be meeting him tonight.
That was a wild one, even by my standards.
That’s going to take some figuring out. So allow me to do what I tend to do when faced with a problem: pretend it’s not an issue for as long as possible.
After all, I’m curled up in bed right now with the love of my life.
He just so happens to be a five-year-old cavapoo called Mr Peanut.
I’ve been told by more than one person that you shouldn’t let your dog sleep in your bed or they’ll become too attached.
It’s a bit late for that. Faced with the choice between lying here alone or cuddling up with a creature that looks like the offspring of a teddy bear and a luxury bath mat, there was never any question.
If it was up to me, I’d stay in bed all morning, but Mr Peanut needs walking.
There’s no better way to lift your spirits than going on an early morning walk with a dog.
Unfortunately, to get to the nearest park I have to walk right through the middle of a cheap and cheerful market where the pavement is strewn with rotting fruit and the stalls stacked with suspicious-smelling fish.
Mr Peanut has never found a cut-price haddock he won’t risk it all to lunge at.
To add to the chaos, this is the best time of day to speak to my dad. I call him and he picks up instantly.
‘Max, glad you’re safe. Did you get that article I sent you?’
‘Hi Dad, no, I don’t think so. What do you mean, safe?’
I’m barely awake and my dad is already in fifth gear.
‘I sent you a news article about the recent Buckingham Palace renovation. Between you and me, I have some concerns about the light fittings.’
Classic Dad. I go to my first event at Buckingham Palace, and he spends the whole evening worrying that a chandelier is going to fall on me.
‘Don’t worry, I made it out of there alive.’
‘This time,’ he says, totally serious.
Mr Peanut has pounced on a fallen guava. I should probably stop him, but I don’t like to get mad at him, plus he looks so happy.
‘Apologies if the sound cuts out, by the way,’ says my dad. ‘I’m on a live feed with a simulator group.’
‘Right. So if the sound cuts out, you’re—’
‘Averting a major aviation disaster.’
‘A simulated disaster.’
‘Imagine the lives we could have saved.’
My dad recently retired after thirty years as an air traffic controller. There are certainly worse things he could be doing with his time than simulating major air crashes and figuring out how they could have been averted. Still, I’m not convinced it’s the best way for him to spend his retirement.
My dad was always the cautious one in his marriage.
My mum was a nurse, a stable enough job, if she hadn’t regularly volunteered abroad, sometimes for months at a time.
I found it daring and admirable how she flew off to these faraway continents to help people in need, but even as a kid, I was aware how much people judged her for abandoning her child, as they saw it.
In fact, she was always careful to avoid going anywhere truly dangerous.
Then five years ago, a conflict erupted while she was on the ground, and she got caught in the crossfire.
‘Dad, can you log off for a minute?’
‘They might need me.’
‘How many people are on the feed?’
‘Twenty-three.’
‘I think they’ll be all right.’
My dad asks me about last night, but all he really wants to know is what was on the menu and whether any of those ingredients are known carcinogens. I answer dutifully, but it does get a bit exhausting, especially when I’m the type of person who will put a positive spin on almost anything.
‘I’d better go, Dad. I’ve got a lot on.’
‘Oh,’ he says. ‘All under control?’
I hesitate. It’s not that I’ve never spoken to him about my love life, more that he’s so anxious about everything that I don’t like to burden him with my worries.
‘Yes. It will be.’
‘Good. Well, you stay safe. And make sure Mr Peanut doesn’t step on any broken glass. That could cost you hundreds of pounds in vet bills.’
I feel a duty to look after my dad, but talking to him always puts me in a weird mood.
I’ve tried to convince him to travel, actually see the world, but he isn’t interested.
As far as he’s concerned, simply leaving the house means exposing yourself to danger, and what happened to my mum closed the argument decisively.
Not for me. My mum taught me that there are people all over the world in need of help, but my dad would never forgive me if I plunged myself right into the heart of the action like she did.
Instead, I chose a career in diplomacy, where I could work to prevent those conflicts from even occurring.
Becoming an ambassador is the next step on the path to that goal.
And I’m so close. At least, I was until last night.
What the hell was I thinking, telling the ambassador he was going to meet my boyfriend?
It’s not like I can’t get out of it. I told everyone he’d broken his jaw.
He could easily be out of action for the remainder of the state visit.
But where will that leave me? If I don’t find a Flora to my Quentin, I’m at a serious disadvantage.
It’s pretty clear that I’m never going to hear back from Edwin. If not him, who?
I trawl through my recent romantic history, which turns out to be a terrible idea.
There’s no one in the past few years who it doesn’t sting to recall.
There was the one-night stand who I made the mistake of telling he was husband material because I thought that might cure his erectile dysfunction.
There was the friend with benefits who wouldn’t look me in the eye when we had sex, but I kidded myself it was because he was falling in love with me.
There was the situationship who literally walked out of the door when I tried to have a chat about our future.
I kept seeing him for two more months after that.
Now that I think about it, I have a problem. Why can’t I accept the evidence in front of me? That’s too big a question for today. For now, all I need is someone who can take the place of Edwin the orthodontist at short notice. But where the hell am I going to find him?
* * *
‘Morning, Max,’ trills Nessie as I arrive at the office. ‘What do you think?’
It’s barely 9 a.m., so forgive me while I stop and process this.
Nessie was part of the contingent who joined the civil service at the same time as me and Quentin.
We’ve been work buddies for years, although we rarely take it outside the office.
Nessie is lovely but kind of strait-laced.
She’s living with her parents in Hertfordshire so she can save for a deposit on a flat with a maths teacher who she met at church.
But right now, she is holding up her phone to show me what appears to be an AI generated image of herself with a perm.
‘Wow,’ I say. ‘What am I looking at?’
Nessie smiles. ‘It’s the haircut I’m thinking of getting.’
‘A perm?’
‘A volume boost.’
I stare at the image. She looks like a sheep.
‘What made you go with this look specifically?’
‘I wanted something bold. Something fun.’
Nessie explains that she recently went on a hen party in Marrakesh.
During a game, she got voted ‘Most Boring’.
The idea of spending hundreds of pounds to fly to Morocco only for a group of your supposed friends to declare you boring by popular consent is already too much for me to get my head round this early in the morning.
But Nessie has decided that the way to prove her friends wrong is by getting a perm.
‘What do you think, Max? I really like it.’
She looks so excited at the prospect that I can’t bring myself to let her down.
‘Totally,’ I say. ‘Go for it.’
As Nessie grins, I feel a tug of guilt. Sometimes I’m a little too good at telling people what they want to hear, but lying is a very useful skill in a job like mine. International governments are always committing the equivalent of getting a perm and needing to be told it’s a great decision.
‘Thanks, Max,’ says Nessie. ‘How was last night? Did you have fun with Edwin?’
I’m really starting to regret telling people I was bringing a date.
Why couldn’t I have left him to be a surprise – or not, as it turned out.
As I tell Nessie that Edwin couldn’t make it, I’m tempted to reveal the rest of my dilemma.
She’s not my dad. In fact, I’ve always thought that Nessie and I have the potential to be real friends.
It’s not like she had any shame in telling me about her humiliation in Marrakesh.
But I can’t do it. I come to work to put on my best self, not to display my failings. I offer Nessie a smile.
‘The important thing is that the deal got signed.’
‘Yeah,’ says Nessie. ‘I can’t believe it. What are we supposed to worry about now?’