Chapter Fourteen #2
“He’s early,” says Lissy. “That’s a bit weird.”
“He can’t be early!” We both hurry into the sitting room, and Lissy gets to the window first.
“Oh, shit,” she says, looking down to the street below. “It’s Connor.”
“Connor?” I stare at her in horror. “Connor’s here?”
“He’s holding a box of stuff. Shall I buzz him up?”
“No! Pretend we’re not in!”
“Too late,” says Lissy, and pulls a face. “Sorry. He’s seen me.”
The buzzer sounds again, and we exchange helpless looks.
“OK,” I say at last. “I’m going down.”
Shit, shit, shit…
I pelt downstairs and open the door. And there, standing on the doorstep, is Connor, wearing the same martyred expression he had at the office.
“Hi,” he says. “Here are the things I was telling you about. I thought you might need them.”
“Er, thanks,” I say, grabbing the box, which seems to contain one bottle of L’Oréal shampoo and some jumper I’ve never seen in my life. “I haven’t quite sorted out your stuff yet, so I’ll bring it to the office, shall I?”
I dump the box on the stairs, and quickly turn back before Connor thinks I’m inviting him in.
“So, um, thanks,” I say. “It was really good of you to stop by.”
“No problem,” says Connor. He gives a heavy sigh. “Emma…I was thinking perhaps we could use this as an opportunity to talk. Maybe we could have a drink, or supper, even…”
“Gosh,” I say. “I’d love that. I really would. But to be honest, now isn’t a brilliant time…”
“Are you going out?” His face falls.
“Um, yes. With Lissy.” I glance at my watch. It’s six minutes to eight. “So anyway, I’ll see you soon. You know, around the office…”
“Why are you so flustered?”
“I’m not flustered!” I say, and lean casually against the door frame.
“What’s wrong?” His eyes narrow, and he looks past me into the hall. “Is something going on?”
“Connor.” I put a reassuring hand on his arm. “Nothing’s going on. You’re imagining things.”
At that moment, Lissy appears behind me at the door. “Um, Emma, there’s a very urgent phone call for you,” she says in a really stilted voice. “You’d better come straightaway…Oh, hello, Connor!”
The trouble is, Lissy is the worst liar in the world.
“You’re trying to get rid of me!” says Connor, looking from Lissy to me in shock.
“No, we’re not!” says Lissy, flushing bright red.
“Hang on,” says Connor suddenly, staring at my outfit. “Hang on a minute. I don’t…Are you going on a…date?”
My mind works quickly. If I deny it, we’ll probably get into some huge argument. But if I admit the truth…maybe he’ll stalk off in a huff! “You’re right,” I say. “I’ve got a date.”
There’s a shocked silence.
“I don’t believe this,” says Connor, shaking his head, and, to my dismay, descends heavily down onto the garden wall. I glance at my watch. Three minutes to eight. Shit!
“Connor—”
“You told me there wasn’t anyone else! You promised, Emma!”
“There wasn’t! But…there is now. And he’ll be here soon…Connor, you really don’t want to get into this.” I grab his arm and try to lift him, but he weighs about 160 pounds. “Connor, please. Don’t make this more painful for everyone.”
“I suppose you’re right.” At last Connor gets to his feet. “I’ll go.”
He walks to the gate, his back hunched in defeat, and I feel a sudden pang of guilt mixed with a desperate desire for him to hurry. Then, to my horror, he turns back. “So, who is it?”
“It’s…it’s someone you don’t know,” I say, crossing my fingers behind my back. “Look, we’ll have lunch soon and have a good talk. Or something. I promise.”
“OK,” says Connor, looking more wounded than ever. “Fine. I get the message.”
I watch, unable to breathe, as he shuts the gate behind him and walks slowly along the street. Keep walking, keep walking…Don’t stop…
As Connor finally rounds the corner, Jack’s silver car appears at the other end of the street.
“Bloody hell,” murmurs Lissy. “If Jack had been a minute early…”
“Don’t!” I collapse onto the stone wall. “Lissy, I can’t cope with this.”
I feel all shaky. I think I need a drink. Abruptly I realize I’ve only got mascara on one set of eyelashes.
The silver car pulls up in front of the house, and out gets the same uniformed driver as before. He opens the passenger door, and Jack steps out. The formal jacket and tie have gone—he’s wearing a casual blue shirt over jeans.
“Hi!” he says, looking taken aback to see me. “Am I late?”
“No! I was just, um, sitting here. You know. Taking in the view.” I gesture across the road, where I notice for the first time that a man with a huge belly is changing a tire on his Fiat. “Anyway!” I say, hastily standing up. “Actually…I’m not quite ready. Do you want to come up for a minute?”
“Sure. That would be nice.”
“And send your car away!” I add. “You weren’t supposed to have it!”
“You weren’t supposed to be sitting outside your house and catch me,” counters Jack. “OK, Daniel, that’s it for the night.” He nods to the driver. “I’m in this lady’s hands from now on.”
“This is Lissy, my flatmate,” I say as the driver gets back into the car. “Lissy, Jack.”
“Hi,” says Lissy, looking a bit self-conscious as they shake hands.
As we make our way up the stairs to our flat, I’m suddenly aware of how narrow they are and how the cream paint on the walls is all scuffed and the carpet smells of cabbage. Jack probably lives in some enormous, grand mansion. He probably has a marble staircase or something.
But so what? It’s probably awful. All cold and clattery.
“Emma, if you want to get ready, I’ll fix Jack a drink,” says Lissy, with a smile that says, “he’s nice!”
“Thanks,” I say, shooting back an “isn’t he?” look. I hurry into my room and hurriedly start applying mascara to my other eye.
A few moments later there’s a little knock at my door.
“Hi!” I say, expecting Lissy. But in comes Jack, holding out a glass of sweet sherry.
“Oh, thanks!” I say gratefully. “I could do with a drink.”
“I won’t come in—”
“No, it’s fine. Sit down!”
I gesture to the bed, but it’s covered with clothes. And my dressing table stool is piled high with magazines. Damn, I should have tidied up a bit.
“I’ll stand,” says Jack. He takes a sip of what looks like a whisky and looks around my room in fascination. “So this is your room. Your world.”
“Yes.” I flush slightly, unscrewing my lip gloss. “It’s a bit messy—”
“It’s very nice. Very homey.” I can see him taking in the shoes piled in the corner, the fish mobile hanging from my light, the mirror with necklaces strung over the side, and a new skirt hanging on the wardrobe door.
“Cancer Research?” he says puzzledly, looking at the label. “What does that—”
“It’s a shop,” I say, a little defiant. “A secondhand shop.”
“Ah.” He nods in tactful comprehension. “Nice bedspread,” he adds, smiling.
“It’s ironic,” I say in haste. “It’s an ironic statement.”
God, how embarrassing. I should have changed it.
Now Jack’s staring incredulously at my open dressing table drawer crammed with makeup. “How many lipsticks do you have?”
“Er, a few…” I say, closing it.
Maybe it wasn’t such a great idea to let Jack come in here. Now he’s picking up my Perfectil vitamins and examining them. I mean, what’s so interesting about vitamins?
“Did you grow up in the city?” I say to distract him. “Or in the country?”
“Kind of between.” Jack looks up from the Perfectil pack. “So these are beauty vitamins? You don’t take them for the health benefits?”
“Well.” I clear my throat, feeling a bit shallow. “Obviously I take them for both health and beauty reasons….” I reach for my earring box. “So…which do you prefer? Town or country?”
Jack doesn’t seem to hear. He’s looking at Katie’s crochet belt. “What’s this? A snake?”
“It’s a belt,” I say, screwing up my face as I put in an earring. “I know. It’s hideous. I can’t stand crochet.”
Where’s my other earring? Where?
Oh, OK, here it is. Now what’s Jack doing?
I turn to see him looking in fascination at my exercise chart, which I put up in January after I’d spent the entire Christmas eating chocolates.
“ ‘Monday, seven A.M.’ “he reads aloud. “ ‘Brisk jog around block. Forty sit-ups. Lunch time: yoga class. Evening: Pilates tape. Sixty sit-ups.’ “He takes a sip of whisky. “Very impressive. You do all this?”
“Well,” I say after a pause, “I don’t exactly manage every single…I mean, it was quite an ambitious…you know, er, anyway!” I quickly spritz myself with perfume. “Let’s go!”
I have to get him out of here quickly before he does something like spot a Tampax and ask me what it is. I mean, honestly! Why on earth is he so interested in everything?