Chapter 27
Friday 25 October, one year later
Elaine reached the Starbucks slightly ahead of the appointed time and ordered herself a Caramel Frappuccino. She found herself a table for two in the corner by the window with a good view of the entrance. Shrugging off her shiny black quilt coat, she hung it on the back of her chair and sat down. The client had asked her to wear green. She’d chosen a chic roll-collar dress with a pencil skirt, reminiscent of the kind Jackie Kennedy Onassis used to wear. With its stretchy, crepe fabric, she felt both comfortable and sexy.
Romance gigs were among her favourites. They allowed her to indulge her own neophiliac tendencies – her love of flirtation and the thrill of fresh possibility. They were also fraught with risk. Romantics were supposed to be natural coquettes and philanderers, addicted to the chase but uninterested in what came after. These were not your romantic heroes of story and film: the very opposite if anything – louche, decadent, cynical types who lived only for today. Bluebird supposedly vetted them for these tendencies beforehand, but there was nothing so quirky as human desire. What if one of them properly fell for her? So far, that had only happened one time. If there had been others, Bluebird had kept her shielded from them. All the same, the butterflies in her tummy weren’t entirely down to pleasurable anticipation; there was, as always, a little bit of fear in there, too.
Elaine checked her watch. It was five past four. She didn’t mind that he was late. Romantics often were. Rob, the one guy who’d overstepped the mark, had always been late for their dates. In that and so many other ways he’d conformed to Bluebird’s Romantic stereotype: a bestubbled guy in his late thirties, not bad looking, but with a sallow, jaded look and a low, sexy growl of a voice that had sweet-talked too many girls in late-night hotel bars, and blue eyes that had mentally undressed every one of them. Yet Elaine had liked him, maybe because he made no pretence of being anything other than a bounder and a cad. Because he seemed immune to deep feelings, she’d let down her guard, revealed too much of herself. When he told her he was a resort photographer, she divulged her own interest in photography. It gave them something to talk about, and Rob was a good talker – sardonically amusing about the vagaries of models and weather when doing photo shoots in holiday resorts. They met up one or two nights a month for three months, and it was always fun. She’d introduced herself as Julie, but he always called her Jules or Babe. On the last of these dates, in a weak moment, she gave him her personal phone number, in case he ever fancied the odd non-Bluebird hook-up. A few weeks later, the calls had started – always late at night from a hotel in Bali, Costa Rica or some other exotic location. He’d be drunk and desperately sad, groaning that he missed her. She’d tell him he was surrounded by gorgeous models and he should just sleep with one of them, but he insisted in his deep, snivelling whine: “I only want you Babe!”. The mask had slipped. The world-weary libertine turned out to be a romantic in the old-fashioned sense. After one too many interrupted nights, Elaine came clean to Garfield. He wasn’t too angry, luckily, just told her to change her phone number and they’d handle the rest. She didn’t see or hear from Rob again.
It was now eight minutes past four. Elaine took a sip of her Frap and looked out of the window at the passersby, wondering which one of the men out there, young or old, she’d be obliged to fake love for. This particular job was riskier than most. It didn’t carry Garfield’s personal stamp of approval for one thing. The boss was on holiday, so it had been left to his inexperienced young American assistant Alex to handle the booking. Also, the client didn’t want to identify himself by appearance, so Elaine would have no idea who he was until he approached her. This meant she’d been unable to prepare for the role and would have to leave even more than usual to chance and her own improvisation skills. She had to admit, the air of mystery and jeopardy surrounding the job excited her.
There was a certain theatrical pretence to romance assignments, at least at the start. The client would never simply walk up to her and introduce himself. It was supposed to be more happenstantial, like a chance encounter – eyes meeting across a crowded room sort of thing. This could be fun, but there was also plenty of scope for misunderstandings. She’d once spent half an hour chatting up an off-duty fireman before realising her actual client had been waiting for her at the other end of the bar.
Most meetings began with a banal question such as “Is this seat free?” to which she was always tempted to reply, “Yes, but I’m expensive”. Sometimes the client would open with a corny line – often something weirdly medical, like “Do you know CPR because you’ve just taken my breath away?” or “Do you happen to have a plaster because I’ve just scraped my knees falling for you?” Occasionally she’d get the cartological: “Do you have a map because I just got lost in your eyes.” Or the legal: “If being sexy was a crime, you’d be guilty as charged.” She had to give these guys credit for bravery, offering up zingers like that, even as she cringed inside. They were attempting to be spontaneous, she supposed, though the lines usually sounded as if they’d been lifted straight off the Internet.
The sad truth was, romance jobs were just blind dates in disguise. The happenstance was as contrived as an old couple trying to liven up their sex lives by pretending to be strangers. Still, who cared? She loved blind dates. If she could spend the rest of her life getting paid to sit in a bar or café waiting for a guy to come and chat her up, she’d die a happy woman. Of course, she might not have too many takers once she was in her eighties, except for the really weird ones.
The door swung open and a tall man came in. About time! she thought, but then she took a closer look and the realisation of who it was brought her out in full-body goosebumps. Oh My Effing Gee! she thought, her eyes widening to about twice their normal size. What is HE doing here? Before he could spot her, she quickly turned around in her seat to check out whatever was behind her, which happened to be the toilet door. Her ears sizzled. Her neck must have turned a bright shade of fuchsia.
“Hi,” said HIS voice a moment later. “Is this seat taken?”
Elaine had never found a witty comeback for that one. The best she’d ever come up with was “Yes, and I’m currently in negotiations with its kidnappers.” She couldn’t keep on staring at the toilet door pretending she hadn’t heard him. She’d have to turn around and face the guy she’d spent the last twelve months trying to forget .
So she turned and had to crane her neck as he was standing very close to her table. He looked older, she thought, the angles of his face somehow harder. A few greys had snuck into his black hair. She met his curious, wistful look with something a lot cooler. She’d always been good at controlling her face. The trembling though, the goosebumps, she could do nothing about.
“Hello, Dan,” she said, relieved to hear her voice sounding steady, and only slightly higher than her usual pitch. “I’m afraid the seat is taken, yes.”
He glanced at the toilet door. “Is your friend in there?”
“No.”
“Is he in the queue?”
“He hasn’t arrived yet. But I’m expecting him at any minute.”
“Who is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know who your friend is?”
“That’s right.”
Explain nothing , the voice of Garfield Blake advised her. Keep your answers short, and hope he gets the hint and goes away.
“Well couldn’t I be your friend in that case?” asked Dan.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Look, I think it might be better if you left.”
Dan paused, maintaining eye contact. “Tell you what,” he said. “I’m going to buy myself a coffee and sit down at that table over there.” He pointed out another small one, also by the window and two away from hers. “Is that okay with you?”
She shrugged. “Please yourself. But you might not like it when my friend gets here. I’m going to be very friendly with him.”
Dan merely nodded at this, then went to the counter and stood in the queue.
Elaine took stock of herself, and realised she was a mess. Her confidence was shot, the pleasant, tingly, anticipatory mood of moments ago quite gone. She felt as hollow and shivery as a schoolgirl about to be hauled before the headmistress. How could she possibly perform with Dan sitting there just two tables away?
Recklessly, and entirely against her brain’s wishes, her eyes kept glancing at him in the queue. She’d been so careful to avoid him these past twelve months, moving to another part of the borough miles away from Winchmore Hill and avoiding any of the places where she might run into him. He must have tracked her down somehow, probably using a private detective. Maybe that was who he was texting now. But why on earth would he even want to find her? Surely he must hate her guts. Did he know what she did for a living? Why would he want to put himself through the torture of watching her romancing another guy?
She took out her phone and called Alex. “Hi!” she said. “Listen, I hate to do this but I’m going to have to cancel, or maybe switch venues. An old friend has suddenly shown up and him being here is really going to put me off my game. I’m so sorry. Can you call the client and apologise from me?”
“The client’s just told me he’s arrived at the venue,” Alex replied in her youthful American accent. “I don’t think we can bail at this stage. Once he’s made contact with you, you can suggest going someplace else.”
“Oh, alright. Good idea.” Elaine put away her phone and scanned the room for her date. The Starbucks was filled mainly with women, plus a few children and retired couples. The only young men she could see were a gay couple on the sofa. It seemed her mystery romancer was the invisible man.
Dan paid for his coffee – an espresso – and seated himself at the table he’d specified. He took the chair facing her and offered her a courteous smile as he took a sip of his drink. Elaine didn’t know where to put her eyes. Nervously, she played with a discarded sugar wrapper, uncomfortable under his amiable scrutiny.
She reached for her phone, about to call Alex again to tell her the client had been lying, when Dan said, “I wouldn’t bother if I were you.”
Elaine raised her eyebrows at him. “What?”
“I just texted Alex. Told her I’d arrived.”
For a moment she just stared at him like a limp doll, her scrambled brain trying to make sense of what he was saying. Then, as if jabbed by a cattle prod, she jumped up, grabbed her phone, bag and coat, and hurried out.
She half ran down the high street while still struggling into her coat, not caring where she went, only that it had to be far away from where she was. It was a chilly, grey afternoon, the air speckled with moisture. Many of the shops had orange and black Halloween decorations in their windows.
Her mind was a hot, dense mess. She couldn’t think, didn’t want to think or speculate, only to escape. But the word that kept rising like smoke above the flames in her head was why? Why was he here? Why book a romantic date with someone who’d lied to him about everything, broke his brother’s heart, then ruthlessly wormed her way into his life? He must think her a callous bitch, and he’d be right. He’d be wrong, too, but he couldn’t possibly know that – couldn’t know that the one thing she hadn’t lied about were her feelings for him. If anything she’d underplayed them.
She had by now reached the canal and was hurrying along its bank with her head down. Dan was the first and only man she’d ever loved, and she’d blown it. That was the truth she’d spent a year running away from. How could he come looking for her now? Why couldn’t he just forget her – file her away in a mental box marked Hateful Things and let her live out her shallow, frivolous, meaningless life in peace?
“Kay, wait! ”
She heard his harsh breathing and the heaviness of his steps behind her. Reluctantly she stopped and turned. “Please leave me alone,” she said.
“I paid Bluebird for a date with you,” he said. “I signed the agreement. I know the terms and I’ll stick to them. I just wanted a chance to talk to you. After that, you’ll never have to see me again.”
“It’s supposed to be strangers,” she said. “This is all wrong.”
“I know,” he said. “Maybe I wasn’t entirely honest on the form. Maybe I flirted a bit with Alex. But I had to see you again and I couldn’t think of another way.”
“How did you find me?”
“I hired someone. It took a long time. You covered your tracks well, Kay.”
“Please don’t call me that. My name is Elaine... Look, I don’t know what you want, Dan – what you think I can give you. An apology? I’ll say sorry if it’ll make you leave me alone.”
“I don’t want an apology,” he said, and he indicated a bench next to the canalside path. “Let’s just sit down and talk.”
She hesitated. “I’m not the person you thought I was. That ought to be clear to you by now.”
“I’m not sure that’s true,” he said. “You weren’t working for Bluebird when I met you.”
“This is all wrong,” she groaned. “I can’t do this. I have to go. Good luck with your life Dan.” She turned from him and started on down the path .
His voice rang out in the damp grey air. “I’m getting married tomorrow.”