Chapter Fifteen
Fifteen
As we head out into the balmy evening, I feel light and happy with anticipation. This evening already has a completely different atmosphere from yesterday night. No scary cars; no posh restaurants. It feels more casual. More fun.
I hail a cab, and as we whizz along Upper Street, I feel quite proud of myself.
It just shows, I’m a true Londoner. I can take my guests to little places off the beaten track.
I can find spots that aren’t just the obvious venues to go.
I mean, not that Jack’s restaurant wasn’t amazing.
But how much cooler will this be? A secret club!
And I mean—who knows—Ewan might come back this evening!
We stop at some traffic lights. Outside, plastered across a building, is a huge billboard advertising Panther Cola.
“It must be weird being you,” I say without thinking. Jack looks at me, and I realize that came out wrong. “I just mean…it’s all around you. Everywhere you look, the Panther logo. Like a symbol of your success.”
“Well, sure,” he says, giving me a wry look. “And of course my failures.”
Failures? “You’ve never failed at anything!” I say, affronted. “You’re a successful, creative marketing genius. Everyone knows that.”
Jack laughs. “You think I’ve had nothing but success? You want to hear about some of the great Panther failures? Like…” He considers for a moment. “The Panther tan tattoo.”
“The what?”
“We developed this back in the eighties. A transparent sticky plastic shape. You stuck it on your skin, sunbathed, and…zowee. When you peeled it off at the end of a day in the sun, you had a shape on your back. A pair of lips, a flower, whatever. Let me tell you, this was going to be the latest craze.” He pauses.
“Before skin cancer came in, of course.”
“What happened?”
“We lost half a million dollars,” says Jack simply. “A lot, back then.”
“Blimey.”
I’m utterly taken aback. I’ve never thought of Jack as failing at anything.
“Then there was the Panther pogo stick…and the Panther pool cue. What a disaster.” Jack shakes his head reminiscently.
“Pete’s fault. He started playing pool every night.
Fine. But he couldn’t leave it at that.” He puts on a British accent.
“ ‘Jack, believe me. Every red-blooded male, deep down, wants his own pool cue.’ “Jack gives me a rueful look. “Like hell they do.”
I laugh at his comical expression. Then all of a sudden the light fades from his eyes, and he looks out of the window, frowning. It’s like he’s trying to control himself.
“You still miss Pete?” I say hesitantly.
“Yeah.”
“It must be really hard,” I say, feeling inadequate.
“It’s hard.” He nods. “And it’s tiring. Doing it all alone.
Pete and I…we spoke a kind of shorthand.
We bounced off each other. Gave each other energy.
We worked hard…but it wasn’t all meetings and formality.
” Jack pauses. “You know, we took a vacation together every summer. People didn’t understand it.
But that’s where we got the most work done all year. ”
“He must have been…an amazing person.” I bite my lip.
Jack’s silent, and I feel a dart of nerves. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked about Pete. Maybe I’ve gone too far.
“He had a glow about him,” he says suddenly.
“He had this phenomenal…energy. Pete was the kind of guy who’d walk into a meeting, take the room over, and make a bunch of promises he couldn’t fulfill.
Then somehow…he’d fulfill them.” Jack turns to look at me.
He’s smiling, but his eyes are shiny. “ ‘Don’t Pause.’ That was Pete. ”
“That’ll be eight-fifty,” comes the cabbie’s voice from the front, and I give a startled jump. We’re in Clerkenwell. I’d almost forgotten what we were doing.
As we get out into the fresh air, the intense mood of the taxi ride disappears. I insist on paying the fare and lead Jack down the alley.
“Very interesting!” says Jack, looking around. “So, where are we going?”
“Just wait,” I say enigmatically. I head for the door, press the buzzer, and take Lissy’s key out of my pocket with a little frisson of excitement.
He is going to be so impressed. He is going to be so impressed!
“Hello?” comes a voice.
“Hello,” I say casually. “I’d like to speak to Alexander, please.”
“Who?” says the voice.
“Alexander,” I repeat, and give a little knowing smile. Obviously they have to double-check.
“Ees no Alexander here.”
“You don’t understand. Al-ex-an-der,” I enunciate clearly.
“Ees no Alexander.”
Maybe this is the wrong door, it suddenly occurs to me. I mean, I remember it as being this one—but maybe it was this other one, with the frosted glass. Yes. This one looks quite familiar, actually.
“Tiny hitch.” I smile at Jack and press the new bell.
There’s silence. I wait a few minutes, then try again, and again. There’s no reply.
OK. So…it’s not this one, either.
Fuck.
I am a moron. Why didn’t I check the address? I was just so sure I’d remember where it was.
“Is there a problem?” says Jack.
“No!” I say at once. “I’m just not entirely sure…”
I look up and down the street, trying not to panic. Which one was it? Am I going to have to ring every doorbell in the street? I take a few steps along the pavement to trigger my memory. And suddenly, through an arch, I spy another alley almost identical to this one.
I feel cold with horror. Am I in the right alley, even? I dart forward and peer into the other alley. It looks exactly the same: rows of nondescript doors and blanked-out windows.
What am I going to do? I can’t try every single doorbell in every bloody alley in the vicinity. It never once occurred to me that this might happen. Not once. I never even thought to—
OK, I’m being stupid. I’ll call Lissy! She’ll tell me.
I pull out my mobile and dial home, but immediately it clicks onto voice mail.
“Hi, Lissy, it’s me,” I say, trying to sound light and casual. “A small problem has arisen, which is that I can’t remember exactly which door the club is behind. Or actually…which alley it’s in, either. So if you get this, could you give me a call? Thanks!”
I switch off, then turn to Jack with the brightest, most I’m-in-control expression I can muster.
“Just a slight glitch,” I say, and give a relaxed little laugh. “There’s this secret club along here somewhere, but I can’t quite remember where.”
“Never mind,” says Jack. “These things happen.”
I feel a sinking sensation at his polite voice. He’s just being kind. These things never happen to him. Of course they don’t.
I jab the number for home again, but it’s still engaged. Quickly I dial Lissy’s mobile number, but it’s switched off.
Oh, fuck. Fuck. We can’t stand here in the street all night.
“Emma,” says Jack, “would you like me to make a reservation at—”
“No!” I jump as though stung. Jack’s not going to reserve anything. I’ve said I’ll organize this evening, and I will. “No, thanks. It’s OK.” I make a snap decision. “Change of plan. We’ll go to Antonio’s instead.”
“I could call the car—” begins Jack.
“We don’t need the car!” I stride toward the main road, and, thank God, a taxi’s coming toward us with its light on. I flag it down, open the door for Jack, and say to the driver, “Hi, Antonio’s on Sanderstead Road in Clapham, please.”
Hurrah. I have been grown-up and decisive and saved the situation.
“What’s Antonio’s?” says Jack as the taxi begins to speed away.
“It’s a bit out of the way, in south London. But it’s really nice. Lissy and I used to go there when we lived in Wandsworth. It’s got huge pine tables and gorgeous food and sofas and stuff. And they never chivvy you.”
“It sounds perfect,” says Jack.
—
OK, it should not take this long to get from Clerkenwell to Clapham. We should have gotten there ages ago. I mean, it’s only down the road! After we’ve sat in one solid congested patch of traffic for five minutes, I lean forward and say to the driver yet again, “Is there a problem?”
“Traffic, love.” He gives an easy shrug. “What can you do?”
You can find a clever traffic-avoiding back route like taxi drivers are supposed to! I want to yell furiously. But instead I say politely, “So…how long do you think it’ll be before we get there?”
“Who knows?”
I lean back on my seat, feeling my stomach churning with frustration. We should have gone somewhere in Clerkenwell. Or Covent Garden. I am such a moron…
“I’m sorry,” I mumble. “This hasn’t been one of my greatest successes…”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I had it all planned out—”
“Emma, really. Don’t worry. Everything’s fine.”
Just then the taxi swings sharply around a corner, and I’m thrown up against Jack.
Without my intending to, my brain immediately catalogs that his shirt is crisp, that his body feels hard and muscular, that he’s got the faintest five o’clock shadow, that the skin of his neck is completely different from Connor’s, that I have the strongest urge to reach up and touch him…
“Sorry!” I laugh. “These taxis…” I pull away and start to fumble with my seat belt, aware that my cheeks are flaming.
I really am taking the prize for least cool date in the universe.
“Since we’re on the subject,” says Jack, as though nothing just happened. “What have been your greatest successes?”
“My what?”
“Just off the top of your head. Since I told you about my failures…” He gives me a wry look.
“Well…OK.”
I think for a moment. My successes in life. It’s not exactly a long list. “I suppose the first would be getting my job. Second would be…” I come to a halt.
“Or something you’re proud of,” puts in Jack. “Anything.”
“Getting Lissy out of her room after her boyfriend chucked her,” I reply promptly. “She was a total wreck. She didn’t wash her hair and she didn’t eat, and she had this big case she had to prepare for, but she just kept crying and saying she didn’t care anymore…”
“So, what did you do?” Jack sits up, looking intrigued.