Chapter Nineteen #3
Ed looks amused. “Those Eastern powers really did desert you. They’re terrible.” He shows me three low cards. “Now your turn.” He shuffles the pack again, deals out three cards and watches me pick them up.
I’ve got the three of clubs, the four of hearts, and the ace of spades. I study them, then look up with my most inscrutable expression.
“Relax,” says Ed. “Don’t laugh.”
Of course, now he’s said that, I can feel my mouth twitching.
“You have a terrible poker face,” says Ed. “You know that?”
“You’re putting me off!” I wriggle my mouth around a bit, getting rid of the laugh. “OK, then, what have I got?”
Ed’s dark brown eyes lock on mine. We’re both silent and still, gazing at each other.
After a few seconds I feel a weird flip in my stomach.
This feels…strange. Too intimate. Like he can see more of me than he should.
Pretending to cough, I break the spell and turn away.
I take a gulp of wine and look back to see Ed sipping his wine too.
“You have one high card, probably an ace,” he says matter-of-factly. “And two low ones.”
“No!” I put the cards down. “How do you know?”
“Your eyes popped out of your face when you saw the ace.” Ed sounds amused.
“It was totally obvious. Like, ‘Oh wow! A high one!’ Then you looked right and left as though you might have given yourself away. Then you put your hand over the high one and gave me a dirty look.” He’s starting to laugh now.
“Remind me not to give you any state secrets to keep anytime soon.”
I can’t believe it. I thought I was being really inscrutable.
“But, seriously.” Ed begins shuffling the cards again. “Your mind-reading trick. It’s all based on analyzing behavioral traits, isn’t it?”
“Er…that’s right,” I say cautiously.
“That can’t have just deserted you. Either you know that stuff or you don’t. So what’s going on, Lara? What’s the story?”
He leans forward intently, as though waiting for an answer.
I feel a bit thrown. I’m not used to this kind of focused attention.
If he were Josh, I’d have been able to fob him off easily.
Josh always took everything at face value.
He’d have said, “Right, babe,” and I could have moved the subject on quickly and he never would have questioned it or thought about it again… .
Because Josh was never really that interested in me.
It hits me like a drench of cold water. A final, mortifying insight that instantly has the feel and ring of truth to it.
All the time we were together, Josh never challenged me, never gave me a hard time, barely even remembered the fine details of my life.
I thought he was just easygoing and laid-back.
I loved him for it. I saw it as a plus. But now I understand better.
The truth is, he was laid-back because he didn’t really care. Not about me. Not enough, anyway.
I feel like I’m finally stepping out of some trance. I was so busy chasing after him, so desperate, so sure of myself, I never looked closely enough at what I was chasing. I never stopped to ask if he really was the answer. I’ve been such an idiot.
I look up to see Ed’s dark, intelligent eyes still keenly scanning me. And in spite of myself I feel a sudden weird exhilaration that he, someone I barely know, wants to find out more about me. I can see it in his face: He’s not asking for the sake of it. He genuinely wants to know the truth.
Only I can’t tell him. Obviously.
“It’s…quite tricky to explain. Quite complicated.” I drain my glass, stuff a last bite of cake into my mouth, and beam distractingly at Ed. “Come on. Let’s go to the London Eye.”
—
As we arrive at the South Bank, it’s buzzing with Sunday afternoon tourists, buskers, secondhand-book stalls, and lots of those living statues, which always slightly freak me out.
The London Eye is creeping around like a massive Ferris wheel, and I can see people in each transparent pod, peering down at us.
I’m quite excited, actually. I’ve only been in the London Eye once before, and that was at a work do with lots of obnoxious drunk people.
A jazz band is playing an old twenties tune to a crowd of onlookers, and as we pass I can’t help meeting Ed’s eye. He does a couple of Charleston steps and I twirl my beads at him.
“Very good!” says a bearded guy in a hat, approaching us with a bucket for donations. “Are you interested in jazz?”
“Kind of,” I say as I root in my bag for some money.
“We’re interested in the 1920s,” says Ed firmly, and winks at me. “Only the twenties, right, Lara?”
“We’re holding an open-air jazz event in Jubilee Gardens next week,” says the guy eagerly. “You want tickets? Ten percent off if you buy them now.”
“Sure,” says Ed, after glancing at me. “Why not?”
He hands the guy some money, takes two tickets, and we walk on.
“So,” says Ed after a bit. “We could go to this jazz thing…together. If you wanted to.”
“Er…right. Cool. I’d like that.”
He gives me one of the tickets, and a little awkwardly I put it in my bag. For a while I walk on silently, trying to work out what just happened. Is he asking me on a date? Or is this just an extension of the sightseeing? Or…what? What are we doing?
I reckon Ed must be thinking something along the same lines, because as we join the queue for the Eye, he suddenly looks at me with a kind of quizzical expression.
“Hey, Lara. Tell me something.”
“Er…OK.” I’m instantly nervous. He’s going to ask about me being psychic again.
“Why’d you burst into that conference room?” His forehead crinkles humorously. “Why did you ask me on a date?”
A million times worse. What am I supposed to say?
“That’s…a good question. And…and I have one for you,” I parry. “Why did you come? You could have turned me down!”
“I know.” Ed looks mystified. “You want to know the truth? It’s almost a blur.
I can’t decipher my own thought processes.
A strange girl arrives in the office. Next moment I’m on a date with her.
” He turns to me with renewed focus. “C’mon.
You must have had a reason. Had you seen me around the place or something? ”
There’s an edge of hope to his voice. Like he’s hoping to hear something that will make his day better. I feel a sudden, horrible pang of guilt. He has no idea he’s just being used.
“It was…a dare with a friend.” I stare over his shoulder. “I don’t know why I did it.”
“Right.” His voice is as relaxed as before. “So I was a random dare. Doesn’t sound so good to the grandkids. I’ll tell them you were sent to me by aliens. Right after I tell them about the Duke of Marmaduke’s wigs.”
I know he’s joking. I know this is all banter.
But as I glance up I can see it in his face.
I can see the warmth. He’s falling for me.
No, scratch that, he thinks he’s falling for me.
But it’s all fake. It’s all wrong. It’s another puppet show.
He’s been manipulated by Sadie as much as Josh was.
None of this is real, none of it means anything.
I feel suddenly, ridiculously upset. This is all Sadie’s fault. She creates trouble wherever she goes. Ed is a really, really nice guy and he’s been screwed up enough already, and she’s messed with him and it’s not fair.
“Ed.” I swallow.
“Yes?”
Oh God. What do I say? You haven’t been dating me, you’ve been dating a ghost, she’s been influencing your mind, she’s like LSD without the upside….
“You might think you like me. But…you don’t.”
“I do.” He laughs. “I really like you.”
“You don’t.” I’m struggling here. “You’re not thinking for yourself. I mean…this isn’t real.”
“Feels pretty real to me.”
“I know it does. But…you don’t understand—” I break off, feeling helpless. There’s silence for a moment—then, Ed’s face abruptly changes.
“Oh. I see.”
“You do?” I say doubtfully.
“Lara, you don’t have to soften me with an excuse.” His smile turns wry. “If you’ve had enough, just say. I can cope with an afternoon on my own. It’s been fun and I appreciate the time you’ve taken, thanks very much—”
“No!” I say in dismay. “Stop it! I’m not trying to bail out! I’m having a really good time today. And I want to go on the London Eye.”
Ed’s eyes scan my face, up and down, left and right, as though they’re lie detectors.
“Well, so do I,” he says at last.
“Well…good.”
We’re so engrossed in our conversation, we haven’t noticed the gap growing in the queue ahead of us.
“Get on with it!” A guy behind suddenly prods me. “You’re on!”
“Oh!” I wake up. “Quick, we’re on!” I grab Ed’s hand and we run forward toward the big oval pod. It’s inching its way along the platform, and people are stepping on, amid giggles and shrieks. I step on, still hand in hand with Ed, and we beam at each other, all the awkwardness gone.
“OK, Mr. Harrison.” I revert to my tour-operator voice. “Now you’re going to see London.”
—
It’s brilliant. I mean, it just is brilliant.
We’ve been right up to the top and seen the whole city stretching out below us, like the A–Z map come to life.
We’ve peered down at the little people scurrying around like ants, getting into ant cars and ant buses.
I’ve knowledgeably pointed out St. Paul’s, and Buckingham Palace, and Big Ben.
Now I’ve taken charge of the Historic London guidebook.
It doesn’t have a section on the London Eye, but I’m reading out facts from it anyway, which I’m making up.
“The pod is made of transparent titanium melted down from eyeglasses,” I inform Ed. “If plunged underwater, each pod will automatically convert to a fully operational submarine.”
“I would expect no less.” He nods, gazing out of the glass.
“Each pod could survive underwater for thirteen hours….” I trail off. I can tell he isn’t really listening. “Ed?”
He turns around to face me, his back against the glass wall of the pod. Behind him, the panoramic view of London is shifting slowly, infinitesimally upward. While we’ve been up, the sunshine has disappeared, and solid gray clouds are gathering overhead.