Chapter Ten
Ten
If anyone I know sees me, I will die. I will die.
As I get out of the taxi, I look quickly up and down the street. No one in sight, thank God. I have never looked so ludicrous in my life. This is what happens when you let a dead great-aunt take control of your looks.
I’m wearing the flapper dress from the shop, which I only just managed to zip up.
Clearly they didn’t go in for boobs in the twenties.
My feet are squished into the dancing slippers.
Six long bead necklaces are jangling around my neck.
Circling my head is a black headband, beaded with jet, and sticking out of that is a feather.
A feather.
My hair has been tortured into a series of old-fashioned-looking waves and curls, which took about two hours to do with the marcel irons. When it was done, Sadie insisted I smother it in some weird pomade stuff that she also found in the vintage shop, and now it feels rock solid to the touch.
And as for my makeup: Did they honestly think this was a good look in the 1920s?
My face is covered in pale powder, with a spot of rouge on each cheek.
My eyes are heavily outlined in black kohl.
My lids are smeared with a lurid green paste, which came out of the old Bakelite case.
I still don’t know exactly what’s on my eyelashes: some weird lump of black goo which Sadie called “Cosmetique.” She made me boil it up in a frying pan and then smear it all over my lashes.
I mean, hello, I have a new Lanc?me mascara.
It’s waterproof, with flexible fibers and everything.
But Sadie wasn’t interested. She was too overexcited by all this stupid ancient makeup and telling me how she and Bunty used to get ready for parties together and pluck each other’s eyebrows and take little swigs from their hip flasks.
“Let me see.” Sadie appears beside me on the pavement and scans me. She’s in a gold dress, with gloves up to her elbows. “You need to touch up your lipstick.”
There’s no point suggesting a nice subtle MAC lip gloss instead. With a sigh, I reach in my bag for the pot of red gunk and pat yet more color onto my exaggerated Cupid’s bow.
Two girls pass by, nudging each other and giving me curious smiles. They obviously think I’m off to a costume party and am going for Most Over the Top outfit.
“You look divine!” Sadie hugs herself with excitement. “You just need a gasper.” She starts looking up and down the street. “Where’s a tobacconist? Oh, we should have bought you a darling little cigarette holder—”
“I don’t smoke,” I cut her off. “And you can’t smoke in public places, anyway. It’s the law.”
“What a ridiculous law.” She looks aggrieved. “How does one hold a cigarette party?”
“We don’t hold cigarette parties! Smoking gives you cancer! It’s dangerous!”
Sadie makes an impatient tchuh noise. “Come on, then!”
I begin to follow her up the street toward the Crowe Bar sign, barely able to walk in my vintage shoes. As I reach the door, I realize she’s disappeared. Where’s she gone?
“Sadie?” I turn around and scan the street. If she’s left me in the lurch I will absolutely murder her—
“He’s in there already!” She suddenly appears, looking even more hyper than before. “He’s absolutely swoonsome.”
My heart sinks. I was hoping he might have stood me up.
“How do I look?” Sadie’s smoothing her hair down, and I feel a sudden pang of compassion for her. It can’t be much fun, going on a date and being invisible.
“You look great,” I say reassuringly. “If he could see you, he’d think you were really hot.”
“Hot?” She looks confused.
“Sexy. Pretty. You’re a hottie. It’s what we say.”
“Oh, good!” Her eyes travel nervously to the door and back. “Now, before we go in, remember this is my date.”
“I know it’s your date,” I say patiently. “You’ve drummed it into me enough times—”
“What I mean is—be me.” She fixes me with an urgent look. “Say whatever I tell you to say. Do whatever I tell you to do. Then I’ll feel as though it’s really me talking to him. Do you understand?”
“Don’t worry! I get it. You feed me the lines and I’ll say them. I promise.”
“Go on, then!” She gestures at the entrance.
I push through the heavy frosted glass doors and find myself in a chic lobby with suede-paneled walls and low-level lighting. There’s another set of double doors ahead, beyond which I can see the bar. As I pass through, I catch a glimpse of myself in a tinted mirror and feel a clench of dismay.
Somehow I feel a million times more ludicrous here than I did in my flat. My necklaces are jangling with every step. My feather is bobbing around in my headdress. I look like a twenties-o-gram. And I’m standing in a minimalist bar full of cool people in understated Helmut Lang.
As I’m edging forward, all prickly with self-consciousness, I suddenly spot Ed. He’s sitting about ten yards away, in a conventional trousers-and-jacket combo, drinking what looks like a conventional gin and tonic. He looks up, glances my way, then does a double take.
“You see?” says Sadie triumphantly. “He’s transfixed by the sight of you!”
He’s transfixed, all right. His jaw has fallen and his face has turned a pale green color.
Very slowly, as though forcing himself through noxious mud, he gets to his feet and approaches me. I can see the bar staff nudging one another as I walk through the bar, and from a nearby table comes a sudden gasp of hilarity.
“Smile at him!” Sadie is insisting loudly in my ear. “Walk toward him with a shimmy and say, ‘Hello, Daddy-O!’ ”
Daddy-O?
It’s not my date, I remind myself feverishly. It’s Sadie’s. I’m only acting a part.
“Hello, Daddy-O!” I say brightly as he draws near.
“Hi,” he says faintly. “You look…” He moves his hands helplessly.
All around, the buzz of conversation has died to a halt. The whole bar is watching us. Great.
“Say some more!” Sadie is hopping around in excitement, clearly oblivious to the awkwardness. “Say, ‘You look pretty dapper yourself, you old thing.’ And twirl your necklace.”
“You look pretty dapper yourself, you old thing!” I fix him with a rictus smile, swinging my beads around so hard that one of the necklaces catches me in the eye.
Ow. That hurt.
“OK.” Ed seems barely able to talk for embarrassment. “Well. Can I…get you a drink? A glass of champagne?”
“Ask for a swizzle stick!” instructs Sadie. “And smile! You haven’t laughed once!”
“Could I have a swizzle stick?” I give a high-pitched giggle. “I simply adore swizzle sticks!”
“A swizzle stick?” Ed frowns. “Why?”
Fuck knows why. I dart a helpless look at Sadie.
“Say, ‘To stir the bubbles out, darling!’ ” she hisses.
“To stir the bubbles out, darling!” I giggle brightly again, and twirl my necklaces for good measure.
Ed looks like he wants to sink into the floor. I don’t blame him.
“Why don’t you take a seat?” he says in a strained voice. “I’ll bring over the drinks.”
I head over to the table where he was sitting and pull up a suede upholstered chair.
“Sit like this,” commands Sadie, adopting an affected pose with her hands on her knee, and I copy as best I can.
“Open your eyes wider!” She looks restlessly around at all the clusters of people sitting in groups and standing at the bar.
The hum of chatter has resumed, and there’s a low throbbing of lounge-style music.
“When does the band arrive? When will the dancing start?”
“There isn’t any band,” I mutter. “There isn’t any dancing. It’s not that kind of place.”
“No dancing?” she says fretfully. “But there has to be dancing! Dancing is the whole point! Don’t they have any snappier music? Don’t they have anything with a bit of life?”
“I don’t know,” I say sarcastically. “Ask him.” I jerk my head toward the barman, just as Ed appears before me with a glass of champagne and what looks like another gin and tonic. I should think it’s a treble. He sits down opposite, puts down the drinks, then lifts his glass.
“Cheers.”
“Chin chin!” I say with a dazzling smile, give my champagne a brisk stir with a plastic swizzle stick, and take a glug. I look up for Sadie’s approval—but she’s disappeared. I surreptitiously look around and spot her behind the bar, yelling something in the barman’s ear.
Oh God. What havoc is she causing now?
“So…did you have far to come?”
My attention is wrenched away. Ed’s talking to me. And there’s no Sadie to feed me any lines. Great. I’m actually going to have to make conversation.
“Er…not too far. Kilburn.”
“Ah. Kilburn.” He nods as though I’ve said something really profound.
While I’m trying to think of something to say, I run my eyes over him.
Nice charcoal jacket, I have to admit. He’s taller than I remember, with a broader, firmer frame, in an expensive-looking shirt.
A hint of five o’clock shadow; the same V of frown lines that he had in the office.
For God’s sake. It’s the weekend, he’s on a date, yet he looks as if he’s at some really serious board meeting where everyone’s about to be fired and lose all their bonuses.
I feel a flash of irritation. He could at least try to look like he’s having a good time.
“So! Ed.” I make a heroic effort and smile at him. “From your accent I’m guessing you’re American?”
“That’s right.” He nods but doesn’t volunteer any more.
“How long have you been over?”
“Five months.”
“How do you like London?”
“Haven’t seen much of it.”
“Oh, you must!” I can’t help my natural enthusiasm pouring out. “You should go to the London Eye, and Covent Garden, and then you should take a boat to Greenwich….”
“Maybe.” He gives me a tight smile and takes a slug of his drink. “I’m pretty busy at work.”
That is the lamest thing I ever heard. How can you move to a city and not bother to get to know it? I knew I didn’t like this guy. I glance up to see Sadie by my side, her arms folded sulkily.
“That barman is very stubborn,” she says. “Go and tell him to change the music.”
Is she nuts? Shooting her a discreet glare, I turn back to Ed and smile politely.
“So, Lara, what do you do?” Clearly he feels he’s got to join in this conversation too.