《Twenties Girl》


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    ONE


    The thing about lying to your parents is, you have to do it to protect them. It¡¯s for their own good. I mean, take my own parents. If they knew the unvarnished truth about my finances/love life/plumbing/council tax, they¡¯d have instant heart attacks and the doctor would say, ¡°Did anyone give them a terrible shock?¡± and it would all be my fault. Therefore, they have been in my flat for approximately ten minutes and already I have told them the following lies:


    1. L &N Executive Recruitment will start making profits soon, I¡¯m sure of it.


    2. Natalie is a fantastic business partner, and it was a really brilliant idea to chuck in my job to become a headhunter with her.


    3. Of course I don¡¯t just exist on pizza, black cherry yogurts, and vodka.


    4. Yes, I did know about interest on parking tickets.


    5. Yes, I did watch that Charles Dickens DVD they gave me for Christmas; it was great, especially that lady in the bonnet. Yes, Peggotty. That¡¯s who I meant.


    6. I was actually intending to buy a smoke alarm at the weekend, what a coincidence they should mention it.


    7. Yes, it¡¯ll be nice to see all the family again.


    Seven lies. Not including all the ones about Mum¡¯s outfit. And we haven¡¯t even mentioned The Subject.


    As I come out of my bedroom in a black dress and hastily applied mascara, I see Mum looking at my overdue phone bill on the mantelpiece.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± I say quickly. ¡°I¡¯m going to sort that out.¡±


    ¡°Only, if you don¡¯t,¡± says Mum, ¡°they¡¯ll cut off your line, and it¡¯ll take ages for you to get it installed again, and the mobile signal is so patchy here. What if there was an emergency? What would you do?¡± Her brow is creased with anxiety. She looks as though this is all totally imminent, as though there¡¯s a woman screaming in labor in the bedroom and floods are rising outside the window and how will we contact the helicopter? How?


    ¡°Er¡­ I hadn¡¯t thought about it. Mum, I¡¯ll pay the bill. Honest.¡±


    Mum¡¯s always been a worrier. She gets this tense smile with distant, frightened eyes, and you just know she¡¯s playing out some apocalyptic scenario in her head. She looked like that throughout my last speech day at school; afterward she confessed she¡¯d suddenly noticed a chandelier hanging above on a rickety chain and became obsessed by what would happen if it fell down on the girls¡¯ heads and splintered into smithereens?


    Now she tugs at her black suit, which has shoulder pads and weird metal buttons and is swamping her. I vaguely remember it from about ten years ago, when she had a phase of going on job interviews and I had to teach her all the really basic computer stuff like how to use a mouse. She ended up working for a children¡¯s charity, which doesn¡¯t have a formal dress code, thank goodness.


    No one in my family looks good in black. Dad¡¯s wearing a suit made out of a dull black fabric which flattens all his features. He¡¯s actually quite handsome, my dad, in a kind of fine-boned, understated way. His hair is brown and wispy, whereas Mum¡¯s is fair and wispy like mine. They both look really great when they¡¯re relaxed and on their own territory-like, say, when we¡¯re all in Cornwall on Dad¡¯s rickety old boat, wearing fleeces and eating pasties. Or when Mum and Dad are playing in their local amateur orchestra, which is where they first met. But today, nobody¡¯s relaxed.


    ¡°So are you ready?¡± Mum glances at my stockinged feet. ¡°Where are your shoes, darling?¡±


    I slump down on the sofa. ¡°Do I have to go?¡±


    ¡°Lara!¡± says Mum chidingly. ¡°She was your great-aunt. She was one hundred and five, you know.¡±


    Mum has told me my great-aunt was 105 approximately 105 times. I¡¯m pretty sure it¡¯s because that¡¯s the only fact she knows about her.


    ¡°So what? I didn¡¯t know her. None of us knew her. This is so stupid. Why are we schlepping to Potters Bar for some crumbly old woman we didn¡¯t even ever meet?¡± I hunch my shoulders up, feeling more like a sulky three-year-old than a mature twenty-seven-year-old with her own business.


    ¡°Uncle Bill and the others are going,¡± says Dad. ¡°And if they can make the effort¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a family occasion!¡± puts in Mum brightly.


    My shoulders hunch even harder. I¡¯m allergic to family occasions. Sometimes I think we¡¯d do better as dandelion seeds-no family, no history, just floating off into the world, each on our own piece of fluff.


    ¡°It won¡¯t take long,¡± Mum says coaxingly


    ¡°It will.¡± I stare at the carpet. ¡°And everyone will ask me about¡­ things.¡±


    ¡°No, they won¡¯t!¡± says Mum at once, glancing at Dad for backup. ¡°No one will even mention¡­ things.¡±

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    There¡¯s silence. The Subject is hovering in the air. It¡¯s as though we¡¯re all avoiding looking at it. At last Dad plunges in.


    ¡°So! Speaking of¡­ things.¡± He hesitates. ¡°Are you generally¡­ OK?¡±


    I can see Mum listening on super-high-alert, even though she¡¯s pretending to be concentrating on combing her hair.


    ¡°Oh, you know,¡± I say after a pause. ¡°I¡¯m fine. I mean, you can¡¯t expect me just to snap back into-¡±


    ¡°No, of course not!¡± Dad immediately backs off. Then he tries again. ¡°But you¡¯re¡­ in good spirits?¡±


    I nod assent.


    ¡°Good!¡± says Mum, looking relieved. ¡°I knew you¡¯d get over¡­ things.¡±


    My parents don¡¯t say ¡°Josh¡± out loud anymore, because of the way I used to dissolve into heaving sobs whenever I heard his name. For a while, Mum referred to him as ¡°He Who Must Not Be Named.¡± Now he¡¯s just ¡°Things.¡±


    ¡°And you haven¡¯t¡­ been in touch with him?¡± Dad is looking anywhere but at me, and Mum appears engrossed in her handbag.


    That¡¯s another euphemism. What he means is, ¡°Have you sent him any more obsessive texts?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I say, flushing. ¡°I haven¡¯t, OK?¡±


    It¡¯s so unfair of him to bring that up. In fact, the whole thing was totally blown out of proportion. I only sent Josh a few texts. Three a day, if that. Hardly any. And they weren¡¯t obsessive. They were just me being honest and open, which, by the way, you¡¯re supposed to be in a relationship.


    I mean, you can¡¯t just switch off your feelings because the other person did, can you? You can¡¯t just say, ¡°Oh right! So your plan is, we never see each other again, never make love again, never talk or communicate in any way. Fab idea, Josh, why didn¡¯t I think of that?¡±


    So what happens is, you write your true feelings down in a text simply because you want to share them, and next minute your ex-boyfriend changes his phone number and tells your parents. He¡¯s such a sneak.


    ¡°Lara, I know you were very hurt, and this has been a painful time for you.¡± Dad clears his throat. ¡°But it¡¯s been nearly two months now. You¡¯ve got to move on, darling. See other young men¡­ go out and enjoy yourself¡­¡±


    Oh God, I can¡¯t face another of Dad¡¯s lectures about how plenty of men are going to fall at the feet of a beauty like me. I mean, for a start, there aren¡¯t any men in the world, everyone knows that. And a five-foot-three girl with a snubby nose and no suntan isn¡¯t exactly a beauty.


    OK. I know I look all right sometimes. I have a heart-shaped face, wide-set green eyes, and a few freckles over my nose. And to top it off, I have this little bee-stung mouth which no one else in my family has. But take it from me, I¡¯m no supermodel.


    ¡°So, is that what you did when you and Mum broke up that time in Polzeath? Go out and see other people?¡± I can¡¯t help throwing it out, even though this is going over old ground. Dad sighs and exchanges glances with Mum.


    ¡°We should never have told her about that,¡± she murmurs, rubbing her brow. ¡°We should never have mentioned it-¡±


    ¡°Because if you¡¯d done that,¡± I continue inexorably, ¡°you would never have got back together again, would you? Dad would never have said that he was the bow to your violin and you would never have got married.¡±


    This line about the bow and the violin has made it into family lore. I¡¯ve heard the story a zillion times. Dad arrived at Mum¡¯s house, all sweaty because he¡¯d been riding on his bike, and she¡¯d been crying but she pretended she had a cold, and they made up their fight and Granny gave them tea and shortbread. (I don¡¯t know why the shortbread is relevant, but it always gets mentioned.)


    ¡°Lara, darling.¡± Mum sighs. ¡°That was very different; we¡¯d been together three years, we were engaged-¡±


    ¡°I know!¡± I say defensively. ¡°I know it was different. I¡¯m just saying, people do sometimes get back together. It does happen.¡±


    There¡¯s silence.


    ¡°Lara, you¡¯ve always been a romantic soul-¡± begins Dad.


    ¡°I¡¯m not romantic!¡± I exclaim, as though this is a deadly insult. I¡¯m staring at the carpet, rubbing the pile with my toe, but in my peripheral vision I can see Mum and Dad, each mouthing vigorously at the other to speak next. Mum¡¯s shaking her head and pointing at Dad as though to say, ¡°You go!¡±


    ¡°When you break up with someone,¡± Dad starts again in an awkward rush, ¡°it¡¯s easy to look backward and think life would be perfect if you got back together. But-¡±

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    He¡¯s going to tell me how life is an escalator. I have to head him off, quick.


    ¡°Dad. Listen. Please.¡± Somehow I muster my calmest tones. ¡°You¡¯ve got it all wrong. I don¡¯t want to get back together with Josh.¡± I try to sound as if this is a ridiculous idea. ¡°That¡¯s not why I texted him. I just wanted closure . I mean, he broke things off with no warning, no talking, no discussion. I never got any answers. It¡¯s like¡­ unfinished business. It¡¯s like reading an Agatha Christie and never knowing whodunnit!¡±


    There. Now they¡¯ll understand.


    ¡°Well,¡± says Dad at length, ¡°I can understand your frustrations-¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s all I ever wanted,¡± I say as convincingly as I can. ¡°To understand what Josh was thinking. To talk things over. To communicate like two civilized human beings.¡±


    And to get back together with him , my mind adds, like a silent, truthful arrow. Because I know Josh still loves me, even if no one else thinks so .


    But there¡¯s no point saying that to my parents. They¡¯d never get it. How could they? They have no concept of how amazing Josh and I were as a couple, how we fit together perfectly. They don¡¯t understand how he obviously made a panicked, rushed, boy-type decision, based on some nonexistent reason probably, and how if I could just talk to him, I¡¯m sure I could straighten everything out and we¡¯d be together again.


    Sometimes I feel streets ahead of my parents, just like Einstein must have done when his friends kept saying, ¡°The universe is straight, Albert, take it from us,¡± and inside he was secretly thinking, ¡°I know it¡¯s curved. I¡¯ll show you one day.¡±


    Mum and Dad are surreptitiously mouthing at each other again. I should put them out of their misery.


    ¡°Anyway, you mustn¡¯t worry about me,¡± I say hastily. ¡°Because I have moved on. I mean, OK, maybe I haven¡¯t moved on totally¡± I amend as I see their dubious expressions, ¡°but I¡¯ve accepted that Josh doesn¡¯t want to talk. I¡¯ve realized that it just wasn¡¯t meant to be. I¡¯ve learned a lot about myself, and¡­ I¡¯m in a good place. Really.¡±


    My smile is pasted on my face. I feel like I¡¯m chanting the mantra of some wacky cult. I should be wearing robes and banging a tambourine.


    Hare hare¡­ I¡¯ve moved on¡­ hare hare¡­ I¡¯m in a good place¡­ .


    Dad and Mum exchange looks. I have no idea whether they believe me, but at least I¡¯ve given us all a way out of this sticky conversation.


    ¡°That¡¯s the spirit!¡± Dad says, looking relieved. ¡°Well done, Lara, I knew you¡¯d get there. And you¡¯ve got the business with Natalie to focus on, which is obviously going tremendously well¡­¡±


    My smile becomes even more cultlike.


    ¡°Absolutely!¡±


    Hare hare¡­ my business is going well¡­ hare hare¡­ it¡¯s not a disaster at all¡­


    ¡°I¡¯m so glad you¡¯ve come through this.¡± Mum comes over and kisses the top of my head. ¡°Now, we¡¯d better get going. Find yourself some black shoes, chop chop!¡±


    With a resentful sigh I get to my feet and drag myself into my bedroom. It¡¯s a beautiful sunshiny day. And I get to spend it at a hideous family occasion involving a dead 105-year-old person. Sometimes life really sucks.


    As we pull up in the drab little car park of the Potters Bar Funeral Center, I notice a small crowd of people outside a side door. Then I see the glint of a TV camera and a fluffy microphone bobbing above people¡¯s heads.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± I peer out the car window. ¡°Something to do with Uncle Bill?¡±


    ¡°Probably.¡± Dad nods.


    ¡°I think someone¡¯s doing a documentary about him,¡± Mum puts in. ¡°Trudy mentioned it. For his book.¡±


    This is what happens when one of your relations is a celebrity. You get used to TV cameras being around. And people saying, when you introduce yourself, ¡°Lington? Any relation to Lingtons Coffee, ha ha?¡± and them being gobsmacked when you say, ¡°Yes.¡±


    My uncle Bill is the Bill Lington, who started Lingtons Coffee from nothing at the age of twenty-six and built it up into a worldwide empire of coffee shops. His face is printed on every single coffee cup, which makes him more famous than the Beatles or something. You¡¯d recognize him if you saw him. And right now he¡¯s even more high profile than usual because his autobiography, Two Little Coins , came out last month and is a bestseller. Apparently Pierce Brosnan might play him in the movie.


    Of course, I¡¯ve read it from cover to cover. It¡¯s all about how he was down to his last twenty pence and bought a coffee and it tasted so terrible it gave him the idea to run coffee shops. So he opened one and started a chain, and now he pretty much owns the world. His nickname is ¡°The Alchemist,¡± and according to some article last year, the entire business world would like to know the secrets of his success.

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    That¡¯s why he started his Two Little Coins seminars. I secretly went to one a few months ago. Just in case I could get some tips on running a brand-new business. There were two hundred people there, all lapping up every word, and at the end we had to hold two coins up in the air and say, ¡°This is my beginning.¡± It was totally cheesy and embarrassing, but everyone around me seemed really inspired. Personally speaking, I was listening hard all the way through and I still don¡¯t know how he did it.


    I mean, he was twenty-six when he made his first million. Twenty-six! He just started a business and became an instant success. Whereas I started a business six months ago and all I¡¯ve become is an instant head case.


    ¡°Maybe you and Natalie will write a book about your business one day!¡± says Mum, as though she can read my mind.


    ¡°Global domination is just around the corner,¡± chimes in Dad heartily.


    ¡°Look, a squirrel!¡± I point hastily out the window. My parents have been so supportive of my business, I can¡¯t tell them the truth. So I just change the subject whenever they mention it.


    To be strictly accurate, you could say Mum wasn¡¯t instantly supportive. In fact, you could say that when I first announced I was giving up my marketing job and taking out all my savings to start a headhunting company, having never been a headhunter in my life or knowing anything about it, she went into total meltdown.


    But she calmed down when I explained I was going into partnership with my best friend, Natalie. And that Natalie was a top executive headhunter and would be fronting the business at first while I did the admin and marketing and learned the skills of headhunting myself. And that we already had several contracts lined up and would pay off the bank loan in no time.


    It all sounded like such a brilliant plan. It was a brilliant plan. Until a month ago, when Natalie went on holiday, fell in love with a Goan beach bum, and texted me a week later to say she didn¡¯t know exactly when she¡¯d be coming back, but the details of everything were in the computer and I¡¯d be fine and the surf was fabulous out here, I should really visit, big kisses, Natalie xxxxx.


    I am never going into business with Natalie again. Ever.


    ¡°Now, is this off?¡± Mum is jabbing uncertainly at her mobile phone. ¡°I can¡¯t have it ringing during the service.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s have a look.¡± Dad pulls in to a parking space, turns off the engine, and takes it. ¡°You want to put it on silent mode.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± says Mum in alarm. ¡°I want it off! The silent mode may malfunction!¡±


    ¡°Here we are, then.¡± Dad presses the side button. ¡°All off.¡± He hands it back to Mum, who eyes it anxiously.


    ¡°But what if it somehow turns itself back on while it¡¯s in my bag?¡± She looks pleadingly at both of us. ¡°That happened to Mary at the boat club, you know. The thing just came alive in her handbag and rang, while she was doing jury duty. They said she must have bumped it, or touched it somehow¡­¡±


    Her voice is rising and becoming breathless. This is where my sister, Tonya, would lose patience and snap, ¡°Don¡¯t be so stupid, Mum, of course your phone won¡¯t turn itself on!¡±


    ¡°Mum.¡± I take it gently from her. ¡°How about we leave it in the car?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± She relaxes a little. ¡°Yes, that¡¯s a good idea. I¡¯ll put it in the glove compartment.¡±


    I glance at Dad, who gives me a tiny smile. Poor Mum. All this ridiculous stuff going on in her head. She really needs to get things in proportion.


    As we approach the funeral center, I hear Uncle Bill¡¯s distinctive drawl carrying on the air, and sure enough, as we make our way through the little crowd, there he is, with his leather jacket and permatan and springy hair. Everyone knows Uncle Bill is obsessed about his hair. It¡¯s thick and luxuriant and jet black, and if any newspaper ever suggests that he dyes it, he threatens to sue them.


    ¡°Family¡¯s the most important thing,¡± he¡¯s saying to an interviewer in jeans. ¡°Family is the rock we all stand on. If I have to interrupt my schedule for a funeral, then so be it.¡± I can see the admiration pass through the crowd. One girl, who¡¯s holding a Lingtons takeaway cup, is clearly beside herself and keeps whispering to her friend, ¡°It¡¯s really him!¡±


    ¡°If we could leave it there for now¡­¡± One of Uncle Bill¡¯s assistants approaches the cameraman. ¡°Bill has to go into the funeral home. Thanks, guys. Just a few autographs¡­¡± he adds to the crowd.


    We wait patiently at the side until everyone has got Uncle Bill to scribble on their coffee cups and funeral programs with a Sharpie, while the camera films them. Then, at last, they melt away and Uncle Bill heads over our way.

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    ¡°Hi, Michael. Good to see you.¡± He shakes Dad¡¯s hand, then immediately turns back to an assistant. ¡°Have you got Steve on the line yet?¡±


    ¡°Here.¡± The assistant hastily hands Uncle Bill a phone.


    ¡°Hello, Bill!¡± Dad is always unfailingly polite to Uncle Bill. ¡°It¡¯s been a while. How are you doing? Congratulations on your book.¡±


    ¡°Thank you for the signed copy!¡± puts in Mum brightly.


    Bill nods briefly at all of us, then says straight into the phone, ¡°Steve, I got your email.¡± Mum and Dad exchange glances. Obviously that¡¯s the end of our big family catch-up.


    ¡°Let¡¯s find out where we¡¯re supposed to be going,¡± murmurs Mum to Dad. ¡°Lara, are you coming?¡±


    ¡°Actually, I¡¯ll stay out here for a moment,¡± I say on impulse. ¡°See you inside!¡±


    I wait until my parents have disappeared, then edge closer to Uncle Bill. I¡¯ve suddenly hatched a demon plan. At his seminar, Uncle Bill said the key to success for any entrepreneur was grabbing every opportunity. Well, I¡¯m an entrepreneur, aren¡¯t I? And this is an opportunity, isn¡¯t it?


    When he seems to have finished his conversation, I say hesitantly, ¡°Hi, Uncle Bill. Could I talk to you for a moment?¡±


    ¡°Wait.¡± He lifts a hand and puts his BlackBerry to his ear. ¡°Hi, Paulo. What¡¯s up?¡±


    His eyes swivel to me and he beckons, which I guess is my cue to speak.


    ¡°Did you know I¡¯m a headhunter now?¡± I give a nervous smile. ¡°I¡¯ve gone into partnership with a friend. We¡¯re called L &N Executive Recruitment. Could I tell you about our business?¡±


    Uncle Bill frowns at me thoughtfully for a moment, then says, ¡°Hold on, Paulo.¡±


    Oh wow! He¡¯s put his phone call on hold! For me!


    ¡°We specialize in finding highly qualified, motivated individuals for senior executive positions,¡± I say, trying not to gabble. ¡°I wondered if maybe I could talk with someone in your HR department, explain our services, maybe put a pitch together-¡±


    ¡°Lara.¡± Uncle Bill lifts a hand to stop me. ¡°What would you say if I put you in touch with my head of recruitment and told her: ¡®This is my niece, give her a chance?¡¯¡±


    I feel an explosion of delight. I want to sing ¡°Hallelujah.¡± My gamble paid off!


    ¡°I¡¯d say thank you very much, Uncle Bill!¡± I manage, trying to stay calm. ¡°I¡¯d do the best job I could, I¡¯d work 24/7, I¡¯d be so grateful-¡±


    ¡°No,¡± he interrupts. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t. You wouldn¡¯t respect yourself.¡±


    ¡°Wh-what?¡± I stop in confusion.


    ¡°I¡¯m saying no.¡± He shoots me a dazzling white smile. ¡°I¡¯m doing you a favor, Lara. If you make it on your own, you¡¯ll feel so much better. You¡¯ll feel you¡¯ve earned it.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± I swallow, my face burning with humiliation. ¡°I mean, I do want to earn it. I do want to work hard. I just thought maybe¡­¡±


    ¡°If I can come from two little coins, Lara, so can you.¡± He holds my gaze for a moment. ¡°Believe in yourself. Believe in your dream. Here.¡±


    Oh no. Please no. He¡¯s reached in his pocket and is now holding out two ten-pence pieces to me.


    ¡°These are your two little coins.¡± He gives me a deep, earnest look, the same way he does on the TV ad. ¡°Lara, close your eyes. Feel it. Believe it. Say, ¡®This is my beginning.¡¯¡±


    ¡°This is my beginning,¡± I mumble, cringing all over. ¡°Thanks.¡±


    Uncle Bill nods, then turns back to the phone. ¡°Paulo. Sorry about that.¡±


    Hot with embarrassment, I edge away. So much for grabbing opportunities. So much for contacts. I just want to get through this stupid funeral and go home.


    I head around the building and through the front glass doors of the funeral center to find myself in a foyer with upholstered chairs and posters of doves and a subdued air. There¡¯s no one about, not even at the reception desk.


    Suddenly I hear singing coming from behind a pale wood door. Shit. It¡¯s started. I¡¯m missing it. I hurriedly push the door open-and, sure enough, there are rows of benches filled with people. The room is so crowded that, as I edge in, the people standing at the back have to jostle to one side, and I find myself a space as unobtrusively as possible.


    As I look around, trying to spot Mum and Dad, I¡¯m overwhelmed by the sheer number of people here. And the flowers. All down the sides of the room there are gorgeous arrangements in shades of white and cream. A woman at the front is singing Pie Jesu , but there are so many people in front of me, I can¡¯t see. Near me, a couple of people are sniffing, and one girl has tears streaming openly down her face. I feel a bit chastened. All these people, here for my great-aunt, and I never even knew her.

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    I didn¡¯t even send any flowers, I realize in sudden mortification. Should I have written a card or something? God, I hope Mum and Dad sorted it all out.


    The music is so lovely and the atmosphere is so emotional that suddenly I can¡¯t help it, I feel my eyes pricking too. Next to me is an old lady in a black velvet hat, who notices and clicks her tongue sympathetically.


    ¡°Do you have a handkerchief, dear?¡± she whispers.


    ¡°No,¡± I admit, and she immediately snaps open her large, old-fashioned patent bag. A smell of camphor rises up, and inside I glimpse several pairs of spectacles, a box of mints, a packet of hairpins, a box labeled String, and half a packet of digestive biscuits.


    ¡°You should always bring a handkerchief to a funeral.¡± She offers me a packet of tissues.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± I gulp, taking one. ¡°That¡¯s really kind. I¡¯m the great-niece, by the way.¡±


    She nods sympathetically. ¡°This must be a terrible time for you. How¡¯s the family coping?¡±


    ¡°Er¡­ well¡­¡± I fold up the tissue, wondering how to answer. I can¡¯t exactly say ¡°No one¡¯s that bothered; in fact, Uncle Bill¡¯s still on his BlackBerry outside.¡±


    ¡°We all have to support each other at this time,¡± I improvise at last.


    ¡°That¡¯s it.¡± The old lady nods gravely as though I¡¯ve said something really wise, as opposed to straight off a Hallmark card. ¡°We all have to support each other.¡± She clasps my hand. ¡°I¡¯d be glad to talk, dear, anytime you want to. It¡¯s an honor to meet any relative of Bert¡¯s.¡±


    ¡°Thank you-¡± I begin automatically, then halt.


    Bert?


    I¡¯m sure my aunt wasn¡¯t called Bert. In fact, I know she wasn¡¯t. She was called Sadie.


    ¡°You know, you look a lot like him.¡± The woman¡¯s surveying my face.


    Shit. I¡¯m in the wrong funeral.


    ¡°Something about the forehead. And you have his nose. Did anyone ever tell you that, dear?¡±


    ¡°Um¡­ sometimes!¡± I say wildly. ¡°Actually, I¡¯ve just got to¡­ er¡­ Thanks so much for the tissue¡­¡± I hastily start making my way back toward the door.


    ¡°It¡¯s Bert¡¯s great-niece.¡± I can hear the old lady¡¯s voice following me. ¡°She¡¯s very upset, poor thing.¡±


    I practically throw myself at the pale wooden door and find myself in the foyer again, almost landing on Mum and Dad. They¡¯re standing with a woman with woolly gray hair, a dark suit, and a stack of leaflets in her hand.


    ¡°Lara! Where were you?¡± Mum looks in puzzlement at the door. ¡°What were you doing in there?¡±


    ¡°Were you in Mr. Cox¡¯s funeral?¡± The gray-haired woman looks taken aback.


    ¡°I got lost!¡± I say defensively. ¡°I didn¡¯t know where to go! You should put signs on the doors!¡±


    Silently, the woman raises her hand and points at a plastic-lettered sign above the door: BERTRAM COX-1:30 P.M. Damn. Why didn¡¯t I notice that?


    ¡°Well, anyway.¡± I try to regain my dignity. ¡°Let¡¯s go. We need to bag a seat.¡±


    TWO


    Bag a seat. What a joke. I¡¯ve never been at anything as depressing as this, my whole entire life.


    OK, I know it¡¯s a funeral. It¡¯s not supposed to be a riot. But at least Bert¡¯s funeral had lots of people and flowers and music and atmosphere. At least that other room felt like something.


    This room has nothing. It¡¯s bare and chilly, with just a closed coffin at the front and SADIE LANCASTER in crappy plastic letters on a notice board. No flowers, no lovely smell, no singing, just some Muzak piped out of speakers. And the place is practically empty. Just Mum, Dad, and me on one side; Uncle Bill, Aunt Trudy, and my cousin Diamant¨¦ on the other.


    I surreptitiously run my gaze over the other side of the family. Even though we¡¯re related, they still seem like a celebrity magazine come to life. Uncle Bill is sprawled on his plastic chair as though he owns the place, typing at his BlackBerry. Aunt Trudy is flicking through Hello! , probably reading about all her friends. She¡¯s wearing a tight black dress, her blond hair is artfully swept around her face, and her cleavage is even more tanned and impressive than last time I saw her. Aunt Trudy married Uncle Bill twenty years ago, and I swear she looks younger today than she does in her wedding pictures.


    Diamant¨¦¡¯s platinum-blond hair sweeps down to her bum, and she¡¯s wearing a minidress covered with a skull print. Really tasteful for a funeral. She has her iPod plugged in and is texting on her mobile and keeps looking at her watch with a sulky scowl. Diamant¨¦ is seventeen and has two cars and her own fashion label called Tutus and Pearls, which Uncle Bill set up for her. (I looked at it online once. The dresses all cost four hundred pounds, and everyone who buys one gets their name on a special ¡°Diamant¨¦¡¯s Best Friends¡± list, and half of them are celebs¡¯ kids. It¡¯s like Facebook, but with dresses.)

 Page 7

    ¡°Hey, Mum,¡± I say. ¡°How come there aren¡¯t any flowers?¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Mum immediately looks anxious. ¡°I spoke to Trudy about flowers, and she said she would do it. Trudy?¡± she calls over. ¡°What happened about the flowers?¡±


    ¡°Well!¡± Trudy closes Hello! and swivels around as though she¡¯s quite up for a chat. ¡°I know we discussed it. But do you know the price of all this?¡± She gestures around. ¡°And we¡¯re sitting here for, what, twenty minutes? You¡¯ve got to be realistic, Pippa. Flowers would be a waste.¡±


    ¡°I suppose so,¡± Mum says hesitantly.


    ¡°I mean, I don¡¯t begrudge the old lady a funeral.¡± Aunt Trudy leans toward us, lowering her voice. ¡°But you have to ask yourself, ¡®What did she ever do for us?¡¯ I mean, I didn¡¯t know her. Did you?¡±


    ¡°Well, it was difficult.¡± Mum looks pained. ¡°She¡¯d had the stroke, she was bewildered a lot of the time-¡±


    ¡°Exactly!¡± Trudy nods. ¡°She didn¡¯t understand anything. What was the point? It¡¯s only because of Bill that we¡¯re here.¡± Trudy glances at Uncle Bill fondly. ¡°He¡¯s too softhearted for his own good. I often say to people-¡±


    ¡°Crap!¡± Diamant¨¦ rips out her earphones and looks at her mother scornfully. ¡°We¡¯re only here for Dad¡¯s show. He wasn¡¯t planning to come ¡¯til the producer said a funeral would ¡®massively up his sympathy quotient.¡¯ I heard them talking.¡±


    ¡°Diamant¨¦!¡± exclaims Aunt Trudy crossly.


    ¡°It¡¯s true! He¡¯s the biggest hypocrite on earth and so are you. And I¡¯m supposed to be at Hannah¡¯s house right now.¡± Diamant¨¦¡¯s cheeks puff out resentfully. ¡°Her dad¡¯s, like, having this big party for his new movie and I¡¯m missing it. Just so Dad can look all ¡®family¡¯ and ¡®caring.¡¯ It¡¯s so unfair.¡±


    ¡°Diamant¨¦!¡± says Trudy tartly. ¡°It¡¯s your father who paid for you and Hannah to go to Barbados, remember? And that boob job you keep talking about-who¡¯s paying for that, do you think?¡±


    Diamant¨¦ draws in breath as though mortally offended. ¡°That is so unfair. My boob job¡¯s for charity.¡±


    I can¡¯t help leaning forward with interest. ¡°How can a boob job be for charity?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going to do a magazine interview about it afterward and give the proceeds to charity,¡± she says proudly. ¡°Like, half the proceeds or something?¡±


    I glance at Mum. She looks so speechless with shock, I almost burst into giggles.


    ¡°Hello?¡±


    We all look up to see a woman in gray trousers and a clerical collar, heading up the aisle toward us.


    ¡°Many apologies,¡± she says, spreading her hands. ¡°I hope you haven¡¯t been waiting too long.¡± She has cropped salt-and-pepper hair, dark-rimmed glasses, and a deep, almost masculine voice. ¡°My condolences on your loss.¡± She glances at the bare coffin. ¡°I don¡¯t know if you were informed, but it¡¯s normal to put up photographs of your loved one¡­¡±


    We all exchange blank, awkward looks. Then Aunt Trudy gives a sudden click of the tongue.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got a photo. The nursing home sent it on.¡±


    She rummages in her bag and produces a brown envelope, out of which she draws a battered-looking Polaroid. As she passes it over, I take a look. It shows a tiny, wrinkled old lady hunched over in a chair, wearing a shapeless pale-mauve cardigan. Her face is folded over in a million lines. Her white hair is a translucent puff of candy floss. Her eyes are opaque, as though she can¡¯t even see the world.


    So that was my great-aunt Sadie. And I never even met her.


    The vicar looks at the print dubiously, then pins it onto a big notice board, where it looks totally sad and embarrassing all on its own.


    ¡°Would any of you like to speak about the deceased?¡±


    Mutely, we all shake our heads.


    ¡°I understand. It can often be too painful for close family.¡± The vicar produces a notebook and pencil from her pocket. ¡°In which case I¡¯ll be glad to speak on your behalf. If you could perhaps just give me some details. Incidents from her life. Tell me everything about Sadie that we should be celebrating.¡±


    There¡¯s silence.


    ¡°We didn¡¯t really know her,¡± Dad says apologetically. ¡°She was very old.¡±


    ¡°One hundred and five,¡± Mum puts in. ¡°She was one hundred and five.¡±


    ¡°Was she ever married?¡± the vicar prompts.


    ¡°Er¡­¡± Dad¡¯s brow is wrinkled. ¡°Was there a husband, Bill?¡±

 Page 8

    ¡°Dunno. Yeah, I think there was. Don¡¯t know what he was called, though.¡± Uncle Bill hasn¡¯t even looked from his BlackBerry. ¡°Can we get on with this?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± The vicar¡¯s sympathetic smile has frozen. ¡°Well, perhaps just some small anecdote from the last time you visited her¡­ some hobby¡­¡±


    There¡¯s another guilty silence.


    ¡°She¡¯s wearing a cardigan in the picture,¡± ventures Mum at last. ¡°Maybe she knitted it. Maybe she liked knitting.¡±


    ¡°Did you never visit her?¡± The vicar is clearly forcing herself to stay polite.


    ¡°Of course we did!¡± says Mum defensively. ¡°We popped in to see her in¡­¡± She thinks. ¡°In 1982, I think it was. Lara was a baby.¡±


    ¡° 1982? ¡± The vicar looks scandalized.


    ¡°She didn¡¯t know us,¡± puts in Dad quickly. ¡°She really wasn¡¯t all there.¡±


    ¡°What about from earlier in her life?¡± The vicar¡¯s voice sounds slightly outraged. ¡°No achievements? Stories from her youth?¡±


    ¡°Jeez, you don¡¯t give up, do you?¡± Diamant¨¦ rips her iPod speakers out of her ears. ¡°Can¡¯t you tell we¡¯re only here because we have to be? She didn¡¯t do anything special. She didn¡¯t achieve anything. She was nobody! Just some million-year-old nobody.¡±


    ¡°Diamant¨¦!¡± says Aunt Trudy in mild reproof. ¡°That¡¯s not very nice.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s true, though, isn¡¯t it? I mean, look!¡± She gestures scornfully around the empty room. ¡°If only six people came to my funeral, I¡¯d shoot myself.¡±


    ¡°Young lady.¡± The vicar takes a few steps forward, her face flushing with anger. ¡°No human on God¡¯s earth is a nobody.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, whatever,¡± says Diamant¨¦ rudely, and I can see the vicar opening her mouth to make another retort.


    ¡°Diamant¨¦.¡± Uncle Bill lifts a hand quickly. ¡°Enough. Obviously I myself regret not visiting Sadie, who I¡¯m sure was a very special person, and I¡¯m sure I speak for all of us.¡± He¡¯s so charming, I can see the vicar¡¯s ruffled feathers being smoothed. ¡°But now what we¡¯d like to do is send her off with dignity. I expect you have a tight schedule, as do we.¡± He taps his watch.


    ¡°Indeed,¡± says the vicar after a pause. ¡°I¡¯ll just prepare. In the meantime, please switch off your mobile phones.¡± With a last disapproving look around at us all, she heads out again, and Aunt Trudy immediately turns in her seat.


    ¡°What a nerve, giving us a guilt trip! We don¡¯t have to be here, you know.¡±


    The door opens and we all look up-but it¡¯s not the vicar, it¡¯s Tonya. I didn¡¯t know she was coming. This day just got about a hundred percent worse.


    ¡°Have I missed it?¡± Her pneumatic drill of a voice fills the room as she strides down the aisle. ¡°I just managed to scoot away from Toddler Gym before the twins had a meltdown. Honestly, this au pair is worse than the last one, and that¡¯s saying something¡­¡±


    She¡¯s wearing black trousers and a black cardigan trimmed with leopard print, her thick highlighted hair pulled back in a ponytail. Tonya used to be an office manager at Shell and boss people around all day. Now she¡¯s a full-time mum of twin boys, Lorcan and Declan, and bosses her poor au pairs around instead.


    ¡°How are the boys?¡± asks Mum, but Tonya doesn¡¯t notice. She¡¯s totally focused on Uncle Bill.


    ¡°Uncle Bill, I read your book! It was amazing! It changed my life. I¡¯ve told everyone about it. And the photo is wonderful, although it doesn¡¯t do you justice.¡±


    ¡°Thanks, sweetheart.¡± Bill shoots her his standard yes-I-know-I¡¯m-brilliant smile, but she doesn¡¯t seem to notice.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it a fantastic book?¡± She appeals around to the rest of us. ¡°Isn¡¯t Uncle Bill a genius? To start with absolutely nothing! Just two coins and a big dream! It¡¯s so inspiring for humanity!¡±


    She¡¯s such a suck-up, I want to hurl. Mum and Dad obviously feel the same way, as neither of them answers. Uncle Bill isn¡¯t paying her any attention either. Reluctantly, she swivels around on her heel.


    ¡°How are you, Lara? I¡¯ve hardly seen you lately! You¡¯ve been hiding!¡± Her eyes start focusing in on me with intent as she comes nearer and I shrink away. Uh-oh. I know that look.


    My sister, Tonya, basically has three facial expressions:


    1) Totally blank and bovine.


    2) Loud, showy-offy laughter, as in ¡°Uncle Bill, you kill me!¡±


    3) Gloating delight masked as sympathy as she picks away at someone else¡¯s misery. She¡¯s addicted to the Real Life channel and books with tragic, scruffy kids on the cover, called things like Please, Grammy, Don¡¯t Hit Me with the Mangle .

 Page 9

    ¡°I haven¡¯t seen you since you split up with Josh. What a shame. You two seemed so perfect together!¡± Tonya tilts her head sorrowfully. ¡°Didn¡¯t they seem perfect together, Mum?¡±


    ¡°Well, it didn¡¯t work out.¡± I try to sound matter-of-fact. ¡°So anyway¡­¡±


    ¡°What went wrong?¡± She gives me that doe-eyed, fake-concerned look she gets when something bad happens to another person and she¡¯s really, really enjoying it.


    ¡°These things happen.¡± I shrug.


    ¡°But they don¡¯t, though, do they? There¡¯s always a reason.¡± Tonya is relentless. ¡°Didn¡¯t he say anything?¡±


    ¡°Tonya,¡± Dad puts in gently. ¡°Is this the best time?¡±


    ¡°Dad, I¡¯m just supporting Lara,¡± Tonya says, in affront. ¡°It¡¯s always best to talk these things through! So, was there someone else?¡± Her eyes swivel back to me.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so.¡±


    ¡°Were you getting on OK?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Then why?¡± She folds her arms, looking baffled and almost accusing. ¡°Why?¡±


    I don¡¯t know why! I want to scream. Don¡¯t you think I¡¯ve asked myself that question a bazillion times?


    ¡°It was just one of those things!¡± I force a smile. ¡°I¡¯m fine about it. I¡¯ve realized that it wasn¡¯t meant to be, and I¡¯ve moved on and I¡¯m in a good place. I¡¯m really happy.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t look happy.¡± Diamant¨¦ observes from across the aisle. ¡°Does she, Mum?¡±


    Aunt Trudy surveys me for a few moments.


    ¡°No,¡± she says at last, in definitive tones. ¡°She doesn¡¯t look happy.¡±


    ¡°Well, I am!¡± I can feel tears stinging my eyes. ¡°I¡¯m just hiding it! I¡¯m really, really, really happy!¡±


    God, I hate all my relatives.


    ¡°Tonya, darling, sit down,¡± Mum says tactfully. ¡°How did the school visit go?¡±


    Blinking hard, I get out my phone and pretend to be checking my messages so no one bothers me. Then, before I can stop it, my finger scrolls down to photos.


    Don¡¯t look , I tell myself firmly. Do not look .


    But my fingers won¡¯t obey me. It¡¯s an overwhelming compulsion. I have to have one quick look, just to keep me going¡­ my fingers are scrabbling as I summon up my favorite picture. Josh and me. Standing together on a mountain slope, arms around each other, both with ski tans. Josh¡¯s fair hair is curling over the goggles thrust up on his head. He¡¯s smiling at me with that perfect dimple in his cheek, that dimple I used to push my finger into, like a toddler with Play-Doh.


    We first met at a Guy Fawkes party, standing around a fire in a garden in Clapham that belonged to a girl I knew at university. Josh was handing out sparklers to everyone. He lit one for me and asked me what my name was and wrote Lara in the darkness with his sparkler, and I laughed and asked his name. We wrote each other¡¯s names in the air until the sparklers went dead, then edged closer to the fire and sipped mulled wine and reminisced about fireworks parties of our childhoods. Everything we said chimed. We laughed at the same things. I¡¯d never met anyone so easygoing. Or with such a cute smile. I can¡¯t imagine him being with anyone else. I just can¡¯t¡­


    ¡°All right, Lara?¡± Dad is glancing over at me.


    ¡°Yes!¡± I say brightly, and jab off the phone before he can see the screen. As organ Muzak begins, I sink back in my chair, consumed with misery. I should never have come today. I should have made up an excuse. I hate my family and I hate funerals and there isn¡¯t even any good coffee and-


    ¡°Where¡¯s my necklace?¡± A girl¡¯s distant voice interrupts my thoughts.


    I glance around to see who it is, but there¡¯s no one behind me. Who was that?


    ¡°Where¡¯s my necklace?¡± the faint voice comes again. It¡¯s high and imperious and quite posh-sounding. Is it coming from the phone? Didn¡¯t I turn it off properly? I pull my phone out of my bag-but the screen is dead.


    Weird.


    ¡°Where¡¯s my necklace?¡± Now the voice sounds as though it¡¯s right in my ear. I flinch and look all around in bewilderment.


    What¡¯s even weirder is, no one else seems to have noticed.


    ¡°Mum.¡± I lean over. ¡°Did you hear something just now? Like¡­ a voice?¡±


    ¡°A voice?¡± Mum looks puzzled. ¡°No, darling. What kind of voice?¡±


    ¡°It was a girl¡¯s voice, just a moment ago¡­¡± I stop as I see a familiar look of anxiety coming over Mum¡¯s face. I can almost see her thoughts, in a bubble: Dear God, my daughter¡¯s hearing voices in her head .

 Page 10

    ¡°I must have misheard,¡± I say hastily, and thrust my phone away, just as the vicar appears.


    ¡°Please rise,¡± she intones. ¡°And let us all bow our heads. Dear Lord, we commend to you the soul of our sister, Sadie¡­¡±


    I¡¯m not being prejudiced, but this vicar has the most monotonous voice in the existence of mankind. We¡¯re five minutes in and I¡¯ve already given up trying to pay attention. It¡¯s like school assembly; your mind just goes numb. I lean back and stare up at the ceiling and tune out. I¡¯m just letting my eyelids close when I hear the voice again, right in my ear.


    ¡°Where¡¯s my necklace?¡±


    That made me jump. I swivel my head around from side to side-but, again, there¡¯s nothing. What¡¯s wrong with me?


    ¡°Lara!¡± Mum whispers in alarm. ¡°Are you OK?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve just got a bit of a headache,¡± I hiss back. ¡°I might go and sit by the window. Get some air.¡±


    Gesturing apologetically, I get up and head to a chair near the back of the room. The vicar barely notices; she¡¯s too engrossed in her speech.


    ¡°The end of life is the beginning of life¡­ for as we came from earth, so we return to earth¡­¡±


    ¡°Where¡¯s my necklace? I need it.¡±


    Sharply, I turn my head from side to side, hoping to catch the voice this time. And then suddenly I see it. A hand.


    A slim, manicured hand, resting on the chair back in front of me.


    I move my eyes along, incredulously. The hand belongs to a long, pale, sinuous arm. Which belongs to a girl about my age. Who¡¯s lounging on a chair in front of me, her fingers drumming impatiently. She has dark bobbed hair and a silky sleeveless pale-green dress, and I can just glimpse a pale, jutting chin.


    I¡¯m too astonished to do anything except gape.


    Who the hell is that?


    As I watch, she swings herself off her chair as though she can¡¯t bear to sit still and starts to pace up and down. Her dress falls straight to the knee, with little pleats at the bottom, which swish about as she walks.


    ¡°I need it,¡± she¡¯s muttering in agitation. ¡°Where is it? Where is it?¡±


    Her voice has a clipped, pinched accent, just like in old-fashioned black-and-white films. I glance wildly over at the rest of my family-but no one else has noticed her. No one has even heard her voice. Everyone else is sitting quietly.


    Suddenly, as though she senses my gaze on her, the girl wheels around and fixes her eyes on mine. They¡¯re so dark and glittering, I can¡¯t tell what color they are, but they widen incredulously as I stare back.


    OK. I¡¯m starting to panic here. I¡¯m having a hallucination. A full-on, walking, talking hallucination. And it¡¯s coming toward me.


    ¡°You can see me.¡± She points a white finger at me, and I shrink back in my seat. ¡°You can see me!¡±


    I shake my head quickly. ¡°I can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°And you can hear me!¡±


    ¡°No, I can¡¯t.¡±


    I¡¯m aware of Mum at the front of the room, turning to frown at me. Quickly, I cough and gesture at my chest. When I turn back, the girl has gone. Vanished.


    Thank God for that. I thought I was going crazy. I mean, I know I¡¯ve been stressed out recently, but to have an actual vision-


    ¡°Who are you?¡± I nearly jump out of my skin as the girl¡¯s voice punctuates my thoughts again. Now suddenly she¡¯s striding down the aisle toward me.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± she demands. ¡°Where is this? Who are these people?¡±


    Do not reply to the hallucination , I tell myself firmly. It¡¯ll only encourage it . I swivel my head away, and try to pay attention to the vicar.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± The girl has suddenly appeared right in front of me. ¡°Are you real?¡± She raises a hand as though to prod my shoulder, and I cringe away, but her hand swishes straight through me and comes out the other side.


    I gasp in shock. The girl stares in bewilderment at her hand, then at me.


    ¡°What are you?¡± she demands. ¡°Are you a dream?¡±


    ¡°Me?¡± I can¡¯t help retorting in an indignant undertone. ¡°Of course I¡¯m not a dream! You¡¯re the dream!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a dream!¡± She sounds equally indignant.


    ¡°Who are you, then?¡± I can¡¯t help shooting back.


    Immediately I regret it, as Mum and Dad both glance back at me. If I told them I was talking to a hallucination, they¡¯d flip. I¡¯d be incarcerated in the Priory tomorrow.


    The girl juts her chin out. ¡°I¡¯m Sadie. Sadie Lancaster.¡±


    Sadie¡­?


    No. No way .


    I can¡¯t quite move. My eyes are flicking madly from the girl in front of me¡­ to the wizened, candy-floss-haired old woman in the Polaroid¡­ and then back again to the girl. I¡¯m hallucinating my dead 105-year-old great-aunt?

 Page 11

    The hallucination girl looks fairly freaked out too. She turns and starts looking around the room as though taking it in for the first time. For a dizzying few seconds, she appears and reappears all over the room, examining every corner, every window, like an insect buzzing around a glass tank.


    I¡¯ve never had an imaginary friend. I¡¯ve never taken drugs. What is up with me? I tell myself to ignore the girl, to blank her out, to pay attention to the vicar. But it¡¯s no good; I can¡¯t help following her progress.


    ¡°What is this place?¡± She¡¯s hovering by me now, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. She¡¯s focusing on the coffin at the front. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    Oh God.


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ nothing,¡± I say hastily. ¡°Nothing at all! It¡¯s just¡­ I mean¡­ I wouldn¡¯t look too closely if I were you¡­¡±


    Too late. She¡¯s appeared at the coffin, staring down at it. I can see her reading the name SADIE LANCASTER on the plastic notice board. I can see her face jolt in shock. After a few moments she turns toward the vicar, who is still droning on in her monotone:


    ¡°Sadie found contentment in marriage, which can be an inspiration to us all¡­¡±


    The girl puts her face right up close to the vicar¡¯s and regards her with disdain.


    ¡°You fool,¡± she says scathingly.


    ¡°She was a woman who lived to a great age,¡± the vicar carries on, totally oblivious. ¡°I look at this picture¡±-she gestures at the photo with an understanding smile-¡°and I see a woman who, despite her infirmity, led a beautiful life. Who found solace in small things. Knitting, for example.¡±


    ¡°Knitting?¡± the girl echoes incredulously.


    ¡°So.¡± The vicar has obviously finished her speech. ¡°Let us all bow our heads for a final moment of silence before we say farewell.¡± She steps down from the podium, and some organ Muzak begins.


    ¡°What happens now?¡± The girl looks around, suddenly alert. A moment later she¡¯s by my side. ¡°What happens now? Tell me! Tell me!¡±


    ¡°Well, the coffin goes behind that curtain,¡± I murmur in an undertone. ¡°And then¡­ er¡­¡± I trail off, consumed by embarrassment. How do I put it tactfully? ¡°We¡¯re at a crematorium, you see. So that would mean¡­¡± I wheel my hands vaguely.


    The girl¡¯s face blanches with shock, and I watch in discomfiture as she starts fading to a weird, pale, translucent state. It almost seems as if she¡¯s fainting-but even more so. For a moment I can almost see right through her. Then, as though making some inner resolution, she comes back.


    ¡°No.¡± She shakes her head. ¡°That can¡¯t happen. I need my necklace. I need it.¡±


    ¡°Sorry,¡± I say helplessly. ¡°Nothing I can do.¡±


    ¡°You have to stop the funeral.¡± She suddenly looks up, her eyes dark and glittering.


    ¡°What?¡± I stare at her. ¡°I can¡¯t!¡±


    ¡°You can! Tell them to stop!¡± As I turn away, trying to tune her out, she appears at my other side. ¡°Stand up! Say something!¡±


    Her voice is as insistent and piercing as a toddler¡¯s. I¡¯m frantically ducking my head in all directions, trying to avoid her.


    ¡°Stop the funeral! Stop it! I must have my necklace!¡± She¡¯s an inch away from my face; her fists are banging on my chest. I can¡¯t feel them, but I still flinch. In desperation, I get to my feet and move back a row, knocking over a chair with a clatter.


    ¡°Lara, are you all right?¡± Mum looks back in alarm.


    ¡°Fine,¡± I manage, trying to ignore the yelling in my ear as I sink down into another seat.


    ¡°I¡¯ll order the car,¡± Uncle Bill is saying to Aunt Trudy. ¡°This should be over in five.¡±


    ¡°Stop it! Stop-it-stop-it-stop-it!¡± The girl¡¯s voice rises to the most penetrating shriek, like feedback in my ear. I¡¯m going schizophrenic. Now I know why people assassinate presidents. There¡¯s no way I can ignore her. She¡¯s like a banshee. I can¡¯t stand this any longer. I¡¯m clutching my head, trying to block her out, but it¡¯s no good. ¡°Stop! Stop! You have to stop-¡±


    ¡°OK! OK! Just¡­ shut up!¡± In desperation, I get to my feet. ¡°Wait!¡± I shout. ¡°Stop, everybody! You have to stop the funeral! STOP THE FUNERAL!¡±


    To my relief, the girl stops shrieking.


    On the downside, my entire family has turned to gape at me as if I¡¯m a lunatic. The vicar presses a button in a wooden panel set in the wall, and the organ Muzak abruptly stops.


    ¡°Stop the funeral?¡± says Mum at last.


    I nod silently. I don¡¯t feel quite in control of my faculties, to be honest.

 Page 12

    ¡°But why?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ um¡­¡± I clear my throat. ¡°I don¡¯t think it¡¯s the right time. For her to go.¡±


    ¡°Lara.¡± Dad sighs. ¡°I know you¡¯re under strain at the moment, but really¡­¡± He turns to the vicar. ¡°I do apologize. My daughter hasn¡¯t been quite herself lately. Boyfriend trouble¡± he mouths.


    ¡°This is nothing to do with that!¡± I protest indignantly, but everyone ignores me.


    ¡°Ah. I understand.¡± The vicar nods sympathetically. ¡°Lara, we¡¯ll finish the funeral now,¡± she says, as though I¡¯m a three-year-old. ¡°And then perhaps you and I will have a cup of tea together and a little talk, how about that?¡±


    She presses the button again and the organ Muzak resumes. A moment later, the coffin starts moving creakily away on its plinth, disappearing behind the curtain. Behind me I hear a sharp gasp, then-


    ¡°Noooo!¡± comes a howl of anguish. ¡°Nooo! Stop! You have to stop!¡±


    To my horror, the girl runs up onto the plinth and starts trying to push the coffin back. But her arms don¡¯t work; they keep sinking through.


    ¡°Please!¡± She looks up and addresses me desperately. ¡°Don¡¯t let them!¡±


    I¡¯m starting to feel a genuine panic here. I don¡¯t know why I¡¯m hallucinating this or what it means. But it feels real. Her torment looks real. I can¡¯t just sit back and witness this.


    ¡°No!¡± I shout. ¡°Stop!¡±


    ¡°Lara-¡± Mum begins.


    ¡°I mean it! There¡¯s a just cause and impediment why this coffin cannot be¡­ fried. You have to stop! Now!¡± I hurry down the aisle. ¡°Press that button or I¡¯ll do it myself!¡±


    Looking flustered, the vicar presses the button again, and the coffin comes to a standstill.


    ¡°Dear, perhaps you should wait outside.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s showing off, as usual!¡± says Tonya impatiently. ¡°¡®Just cause and impediment.¡¯ I mean, how on earth could there be? Just get on with it!¡± she bossily addresses the vicar, who bristles slightly.


    ¡°Lara.¡± She ignores Tonya and turns to me. ¡°Do you have a reason for wanting to stop your great-aunt¡¯s funeral?¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡±


    ¡°And that is¡­¡± She pauses questioningly.


    Oh God. What am I supposed to say? Because a hallucination told me to?


    ¡°It¡¯s because¡­ er¡­¡±


    ¡°Say I was murdered!¡± I look up in shock, to see the girl right in front of me. ¡°Say it! Then they¡¯ll have to put off the funeral. Say it!¡± She¡¯s beside me, shouting in my ear again. ¡°Say it! Say-it-say-it-say-it-¡±


    ¡°I think my aunt was murdered!¡± I blurt out in desperation.


    I have seen my family looking at me, gobsmacked, on a number of occasions in my time. But nothing has ever provoked a reaction like this. They¡¯re all turned in their seats, their jaws hanging in incomprehension like some kind of still-life painting. I almost want to laugh.


    ¡°Murdered?¡± says the vicar at last.


    ¡°Yes,¡± I say forthrightly. ¡°I have reason to believe there was foul play. So we need to keep the body for evidence.¡±


    Slowly, the vicar walks toward me, narrowing her eyes, as though trying to gauge exactly how much of a time-waster I am. What she doesn¡¯t know is, I used to play staring matches with Tonya, and I always won. I gaze back, perfectly matching her grave, this-is-no-laughing-matter expression.


    ¡°Murdered¡­ how?¡± she says.


    ¡°I¡¯d rather discuss that with the authorities,¡± I shoot back, as though I¡¯m in an episode of CSI: Funeral Home .


    ¡°You want me to call the police?¡± She¡¯s looking genuinely shocked now.


    Oh God . Of course I don¡¯t want her to call the bloody police. But I can¡¯t backtrack now. I have to act convincing.


    ¡°Yes,¡± I say after a pause. ¡°Yes, I think that would be best.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t be taking her seriously!¡± Tonya explodes. ¡°It¡¯s obvious she¡¯s just trying to cause a sensation!¡±


    I can tell the vicar is getting a bit pissed off with Tonya, which is quite useful for me.


    ¡°My dear,¡± she says curtly, ¡°that decision does not rest with you. Any accusation like this has to be followed up. And your sister is quite right. The body would have to be preserved for forensics.¡±


    I think the vicar¡¯s getting into this. She probably watches TV murder mysteries every Sunday evening. Sure enough, she comes even farther toward me and says in a low voice, ¡°Who do you think murdered your great-aunt?¡±

 Page 13

    ¡°I¡¯d rather not comment at this time,¡± I say darkly. ¡°It¡¯s complicated.¡± I shoot a significant look at Tonya. ¡°If you know what I mean.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Tonya¡¯s face starts turning pink with outrage. ¡°You¡¯re not accusing me .¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not saying anything.¡± I adopt an inscrutable air. ¡°Except to the police.¡±


    ¡°This is bullshit. Are we finishing this or not?¡± Uncle Bill puts his BlackBerry away. ¡°Because, either way, my car¡¯s here and we¡¯ve given this old lady enough time already.¡±


    ¡°More than enough!¡± chimes in Aunt Trudy. ¡°Come on, Diamant¨¦, this is a farce!¡± With cross, impatient gestures, she begins to gather up her celebrity magazines.


    ¡°Lara, I don¡¯t know what the hell you¡¯re playing at.¡± Uncle Bill scowls at Dad as he passes. ¡°She needs help, your daughter. Bloody lunatic.¡±


    ¡°Lara, darling.¡± Mum gets out of her seat and comes over, her brow crinkled in worry. ¡°You didn¡¯t even know your great-aunt Sadie.¡±


    ¡°Maybe I didn¡¯t, maybe I did.¡± I fold my arms. ¡°There¡¯s a lot I don¡¯t tell you.¡±


    I¡¯m almost starting to believe in this murder.


    The vicar is looking flustered now, as though this is all getting out of her league. ¡°I think I¡¯d better call the police. Lara, if you wait here, I think everyone else should probably leave.¡±


    ¡°Lara.¡± Dad comes over and takes my arm. ¡°Darling.¡±


    ¡°Dad¡­ just go.¡± I muster a noble, misunderstood air. ¡°I have to do what I have to do. I¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    Shooting me various looks of alarm, outrage, and pity, my family slowly files out of the room, followed by the vicar.


    I¡¯m left alone in the silent room. And it¡¯s as if the spell has suddenly broken.


    What the bloody hell did I just do?


    Am I going mad?


    Actually, it would explain a lot. Maybe I should just get admitted to some nice, peaceful mental home where you do drawing in a jumpsuit and don¡¯t have to think about your failing business or ex-boyfriend or parking tickets.


    I sink into a chair and exhale. At the front of the room, the hallucination girl has appeared in front of the notice board, staring at the photo of the little hunched old woman.


    ¡°So, were you murdered?¡± I can¡¯t help saying.


    ¡°Oh, I shouldn¡¯t think so.¡± She¡¯s barely acknowledged me, let alone said thank you. Trust me to have a vision with no manners.


    ¡°Well, you¡¯re welcome,¡± I say moodily. ¡°You know. Anytime.¡±


    The girl doesn¡¯t even seem to hear. She¡¯s peering around the room as if she doesn¡¯t understand something.


    ¡°Where are all the flowers? If this is my funeral, where are the flowers?¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± I feel a squeeze of guilt. ¡°The flowers were¡­ put somewhere else by mistake. There were lots, honestly. Really gorgeous.¡±


    She¡¯s not real, I tell myself fervently. This is just my own guilty conscience speaking.


    ¡°And what about the people?¡± She sounds perplexed. ¡°Where were all the people?¡±


    ¡°Some of them couldn¡¯t come.¡± I cross my fingers behind my back, hoping I sound convincing. ¡°Loads wanted to, though-¡±


    I stop as she disappears into thin air, right as I¡¯m talking to her.


    ¡°Where¡¯s my necklace?¡± I jump in fright as her voice comes urgently in my ear again.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know where your bloody necklace is!¡± I exclaim. ¡°Stop bugging me! You realize I¡¯ll never live this down? And you haven¡¯t even said thank you!¡±


    There¡¯s silence and she tilts her face away, like a caught-out child.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she says at last.


    ¡°¡¯s OK.¡±


    The hallucination girl is fidgeting with a metal snake bracelet entwined around her wrist, and I find myself eyeing her more closely. Her hair is dark and shiny, and the tips frame her face as she tilts her head forward. She has a long white neck, and now I can see that her huge, luminous eyes are green. Her cream leather shoes are tiny, size 4 maybe, with little buttons and Cuban heels. I¡¯d say she¡¯s about my age. Maybe even younger.


    ¡°Uncle Bill,¡± she says at last, twisting the bracelet around and around. ¡°William. One of Virginia ¡¯s boys.¡±


    ¡°Yes. Virginia was my grandmother. My dad is Michael. Which makes you my great-aunt-¡± I break off and clutch my head. ¡°This is crazy. How do I even know what you look like? How can I be hallucinating you?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not hallucinating me!¡± She jerks her chin up, looking offended. ¡°I¡¯m real!¡±

 Page 14

    ¡°You can¡¯t be real,¡± I say impatiently. ¡°You¡¯re dead! So what are you, then-a ghost?¡±


    There¡¯s a weird beat of silence. Then the girl looks away.


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe in ghosts,¡± she says disparagingly.


    ¡°Nor do I.¡± I match her tone. ¡°No way.¡±


    The door opens and I start in shock.


    ¡°Lara.¡± The vicar comes in, her face pink and flustered. ¡°I¡¯ve spoken to the police. They¡¯d like you to come down to the station.¡±


    THREE


    It turns out they take murder quite seriously at police stations. Which I suppose I should have guessed. They¡¯ve put me in a little room with a table and plastic chairs and posters about locking your car. They¡¯ve given me a cup of tea and a form to fill in, and a policewoman told me a detective would be along in a moment to talk to me.


    I want to laugh hysterically. Or climb out the window.


    ¡°What am I going to say to a detective?¡± I exclaim, as soon as the door has closed. ¡°I don¡¯t know anything about you! How am I going to say you were murdered? With the candlestick in the drawing room?¡±


    Sadie doesn¡¯t even seem to have heard me. She¡¯s sitting on the window ledge, swinging her legs. Although when I look more closely, I notice that she¡¯s not actually on the ledge, she¡¯s floating about an inch above it. Following my gaze, she sees the gap and flinches with annoyance. She adjusts her position carefully until she looks as though she¡¯s sitting right on the ledge, then insouciantly starts swinging her legs again.


    She¡¯s all in my mind, I tell myself firmly. Let¡¯s be rational here. If my own brain has conjured her up, then my own brain can get rid of her.


    Go away , I think as strongly as I can, holding my breath and clenching my fists. Go away, go away, go away-


    Sadie glances over me and gives a sudden giggle.


    ¡°You do look peculiar,¡± she says. ¡°Do you have a pain in your stomach?¡±


    I¡¯m about to make a retort when the door opens-and my stomach really does twinge. It¡¯s a detective, wearing plain-clothes, which makes it almost more scary than if he was in uniform. Oh God. I am in such trouble.


    ¡°Lara.¡± The detective holds out his hand. He¡¯s tall and broad, with dark hair and a brisk manner. ¡°DI James.¡±


    ¡°Hi.¡± My voice is squeaky with nerves. ¡°Nice to meet you.¡±


    ¡°So.¡± He sits down in a businesslike way and takes out a pen. ¡°I understand you stopped your great-aunt¡¯s funeral.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right.¡± I nod with as much conviction as I can muster. ¡°I just think there was something suspicious about her death.¡±


    DI James makes a note, then looks up. ¡°Why?¡±


    I stare blankly back at him, my heart pounding. I have no answer. I should have made something up, very quickly. I¡¯m an idiot .


    ¡°Well¡­ don¡¯t you think it suspicious?¡± I improvise at last. ¡°Her just dying like that? I mean, people don¡¯t just die out of the blue!¡±


    DI James regards me with an unreadable expression. ¡°I believe she was one hundred and five years old.¡±


    ¡°So what?¡± I retort, gaining confidence. ¡°Can¡¯t people of a hundred and five be murdered too? I didn¡¯t think the police were so ageist.¡±


    DI James¡¯s face flickers, whether with amusement or annoyance I can¡¯t tell.


    ¡°Who do you think murdered your great-aunt?¡± he says.


    ¡°It was¡­¡± I rub my nose, playing for time. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ rather¡­ complicated¡­¡± I glance helplessly up at Sadie.


    ¡°You¡¯re useless!¡± she cries. ¡°You need a story or they won¡¯t believe you! They won¡¯t delay the funeral any longer! Say it was the staff at the nursing home! Say you heard them plotting.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± I exclaim in shock before I can help myself.


    DI James gives me an odd look and clears his throat.


    ¡°Lara, do you have a genuine reason for believing something was amiss with your great-aunt¡¯s death?¡±


    ¡°Say it was the staff at the nursing home!¡± Sadie¡¯s voice is in my ear like a screeching brake. ¡°Say it! Say it! SAY IT!¡±


    ¡°It was the staff at the nursing home,¡± I blurt out in desperation. ¡°I think.¡±


    ¡°What grounds do you have for saying this?¡±


    DI James¡¯s tone is even, but his eyes are alert. In front of him, Sadie is hovering, glowering at me and wheeling her hands around, as though to crank the words out of me. The sight is totally freaking me out.


    ¡°I¡­ er¡­ I overheard them whispering in the pub. Something about poison and insurance. I thought nothing of it at the time.¡± I swallow feebly. ¡°But the next moment, my great-aunt¡¯s dead.¡±

 Page 15

    I¡¯ve lifted this entire plot from a daytime soap opera that I watched last month when I was off sick, I abruptly realize.


    DI James gives me a penetrating look. ¡°You would testify to this.¡±


    Oh God. Testify is one of those very scary words, like tax inspector and lumbar puncture . I cross my fingers under the table and gulp, ¡°Ye-es.¡±


    ¡°Did you see these people?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the name of the nursing home? What area is it in?¡±


    I stare back at him steadily. I have no idea. I glance up at Sadie, who has her eyes closed as though recalling something from a long, long way away.


    ¡°Fairside,¡± she says slowly. ¡°In Potters Bar.¡±


    ¡°Fairside, Potters Bar,¡± I repeat.


    There¡¯s a short silence. DI James has finished writing and is flicking his pen backward and forward.


    ¡°I¡¯m just going to consult with a colleague.¡± He stands up. ¡°I¡¯ll be back in a minute.¡±


    The moment he¡¯s left the room, Sadie gives me a contemptuous look.


    ¡°Is that the best you could do? He¡¯ll never believe you! You were supposed to be helping me.¡±


    ¡°By accusing random people of murder?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be such a goose,¡± she says dismissively. ¡°You didn¡¯t accuse anyone by name. In fact, your story was utterly hopeless. Poison? Whispered conversations in pubs?¡±


    ¡°You try making something up on the spot!¡± I reply defensively. ¡°And that¡¯s not the point! The point is-¡±


    ¡°The point is, we need to delay my funeral.¡± She¡¯s suddenly about two inches away from me, her eyes intense and pleading. ¡°It can¡¯t happen. You can¡¯t let it. Not yet.¡±


    ¡°But-¡± I blink in surprise as she disappears right before my eyes. God, this is annoying. I feel like I¡¯m Alice in Wonderland. Any minute she¡¯ll reappear with a flamingo under her arm, shouting, ¡°Off with her head!¡±


    Leaning gingerly back in my chair, half expecting that to disappear too, I blink a few times, trying to process everything. But it¡¯s too surreal. I¡¯m sitting in a police station, inventing a murder, being bossed around by a nonexistent phantom girl. I never even got any lunch, it occurs to me. Maybe this is all due to low blood sugar. Maybe I¡¯m diabetic and this is the first sign. My mind feels like it¡¯s tying itself up in knots. Nothing makes any sense. There¡¯s no point trying to work out what¡¯s going on. I¡¯ll just have to go with the flow.


    ¡°They¡¯re going to pursue it!¡± Sadie appears again, speaking so fast I can barely follow her. ¡°They think you¡¯re probably deluded, but they¡¯re going to follow it up anyway, just in case.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± I say incredulously.


    ¡°That policeman¡¯s been talking to another policeman,¡± she explains breathlessly. ¡°I followed them. He showed him your notes and said, ¡®Got a right one here.¡¯¡±


    ¡°A ¡®right one¡¯?¡± I can¡¯t help echoing indignantly.


    Sadie ignores me. ¡°But then they started talking about some other nursing home where there was a murder. Sounds too ghastly. And one policeman said maybe they should put in a phone call just in case, and the other agreed. So we¡¯re all right.¡±


    All right?


    ¡°You may be all right! But I¡¯m not!¡±


    As the door swings open, Sadie adds quickly, ¡°Ask the policeman what¡¯s going to be done about the funeral. Ask him. Ask him!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not my problem-¡± I begin, then hastily stop as DI James¡¯s head appears around the door.


    ¡°Lara, I¡¯m going to ask a detective constable to take a statement from you. Then we¡¯ll decide how to progress.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Er¡­ thanks.¡± I¡¯m aware of Sadie glaring meaningfully at me. ¡°And what will happen to¡­¡± I hesitate. ¡°How does it work with the¡­ body?¡±


    ¡°The body will be kept at the mortuary for now. If we decide to proceed with an investigation, it will remain there until we file a report to the coroner, who will demand an inquest, should the evidence be sufficiently credible and consistent.¡±


    He nods briskly, then heads out. As the door closes I subside. I¡¯m suddenly feeling shaky all over. I¡¯ve invented a murder story to a real policeman. This is the worst thing I¡¯ve ever done. Even worse than the time I ate half a packet of biscuits aged eight and, rather than confess to Mum, hid the whole biscuit tin in the garden behind the rosebush and had to watch her search the kitchen for it.


    ¡°You realize I¡¯ve just committed perjury?¡± I say to Sadie. ¡°You realize they might arrest me?¡±

 Page 16

    ¡°¡®They might arrest me,¡¯¡± Sadie echoes mockingly. She¡¯s perched on the window ledge again. ¡°Have you never been arrested before?¡±


    ¡°Of course I haven¡¯t!¡± I goggle at her. ¡°Have you?¡±


    ¡°Several times!¡± she says airily. ¡°The first time was for dancing in the village fountain one night. It was too funny.¡± She starts to giggle. ¡°We had some mock handcuffs, you know, as part of a fancy dress costume, and while the policeman was hauling me out of the pond, my friend Bunty locked her handcuffs round him as a lark. He was livid!¡±


    She¡¯s in paroxysms of laughter by now. God, she¡¯s annoying.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure it was hilarious.¡± I shoot her a baleful look. ¡°But, personally, I¡¯d rather not go to jail and catch some hideous disease, thank you.¡±


    ¡°Well, you wouldn¡¯t have to if you had a better story.¡± Her laughter stops. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen such a ninny. You weren¡¯t credible or consistent. At this rate they won¡¯t even proceed with the investigation. We won¡¯t have any time.¡±


    ¡°Time for what?¡±


    ¡°Time to find my necklace , of course.¡±


    I drop my head down on the table with a clunk. She doesn¡¯t give up, does she?


    ¡°Look,¡± I say at last, raising my head an inch. ¡°Why do you need this necklace so badly? Why this one particular necklace? Was it a present or something?¡±


    For a moment she¡¯s silent, her eyes distant. The only movement in the room is her feet, swinging rhythmically back and forth.


    ¡°It was a present from my parents for my twenty-first birthday,¡± she says at last. ¡°I was happy when I wore it.¡±


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s nice,¡± I say. ¡°But-¡±


    ¡°I had it all my life. I wore it all my life.¡± She sounds suddenly agitated. ¡°No matter what else I lost, I kept that. It¡¯s the most important thing I ever had. I need it.¡±


    She¡¯s fidgeting with her hands, her face tilted down so all I can see is the corner of her chin. She¡¯s so thin and pale, she looks like a drooping flower. I feel a pang of sympathy for her, and am about to say, ¡°Of course I¡¯ll find your necklace,¡± when she yawns elaborately, stretching her skinny arms above her head, and says, ¡°This is too dull. I wish we could go to a nightclub.¡±


    I glare at her, all my sympathy gone. Is this the gratitude I get?


    ¡°If you¡¯re so bored,¡± I say, ¡°we can go and finish your funeral if you like.¡±


    Sadie claps a hand over her mouth and gasps. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°I might.¡±


    A knock at the door interrupts us, and a jolly-looking woman in a dark shirt and trousers puts her head around it. ¡°Lara Lington?¡±


    An hour later, I¡¯ve finished giving my so-called ¡°statement.¡± I¡¯ve never had such a traumatic experience in my life. What a shambles.


    First I forgot the name of the nursing home. Then I got my timings all wrong and had to convince the policewoman it had taken me five minutes to walk half a mile. I ended up saying I was training to be a professional speed walker. Just thinking about it makes me cringey and hot. There¡¯s no way she believed me. I mean, do I look like a professional speed walker?


    Then I said I¡¯d been to my friend Linda¡¯s before visiting the pub. I don¡¯t even have a friend called Linda; I just didn¡¯t want to mention any of my real friends. She wanted Linda¡¯s surname, and I blurted out ¡°Davies¡± before I could stop myself.


    Of course, I¡¯d read it off the top of the form. She was DC Davies.


    At least I didn¡¯t say ¡°Keyser S?ze.¡±


    To her credit, the policewoman didn¡¯t flicker. Nor did she say whether they would proceed with the case. She just thanked me politely and found me the number of a cab firm.


    I¡¯ll probably go to jail now. Great. All I need.


    I glower at Sadie, who¡¯s lying full length on the desk, staring up at the ceiling. It really didn¡¯t help having her in my ear the whole time, constantly correcting me and adding suggestions and reminiscing about the time two policemen tried to stop her and Bunty ¡°racing their motors over the fields¡± and couldn¡¯t catch up with them; it was ¡° too funny.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome,¡± I say. ¡°Again.¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡± Sadie¡¯s voice drifts idly over.


    ¡°Right, well.¡± I pick up my bag. ¡°I¡¯m off.¡±


    In one quick movement, Sadie sits up. ¡°You won¡¯t forget my necklace, will you?¡±


    ¡°I doubt I will, my entire life.¡± I roll my eyes. ¡°However hard I try.¡±

 Page 17

    Suddenly she¡¯s in front of me, blocking my way to the door. ¡°No one can see me except you. No one else can help me. Please.¡±


    ¡°Look, you can¡¯t just say, ¡®Find my necklace!¡¯¡± I exclaim in exasperation. ¡°I don¡¯t know anything about it, I don¡¯t know what it looks like¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s made of glass beads with rhinestones,¡± she says eagerly. ¡°It falls to here¡­¡± She gestures at her waist. ¡°The clasp is inlaid mother-of-pearl-¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± I cut her off. ¡°Well, I haven¡¯t seen it. If it turns up, I¡¯ll let you know.¡±


    I swing past her, push the door open into the police-station foyer, and take out my phone. The foyer is brightly lit, with a grubby linoleum floor and a desk, which right now is empty. Two huge guys in hoodies are having a loud argument while a policeman is trying to calm them down, and I back away to what looks like a safe corner. I get out the minicab firm number DC Davies gave me and start keying it into my phone. I can see there are about twenty voice messages on there, but I ignore them all. It¡¯ll just be Mum and Dad, stressing away¡­


    ¡°Hey!¡± A voice interrupts me and I pause midway through. ¡°Lara? Is that you?¡±


    A guy with sandy hair in a polo neck and jeans is waving at me. ¡°It¡¯s me! Mark Phillipson? Sixth-form college?¡±


    ¡°Mark!¡± I exclaim, suddenly recognizing him. ¡°Oh my God! How are you doing?¡±


    The only thing I remember about Mark is him playing bass guitar in the college band.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine! Great.¡± He comes across with a concerned expression. ¡°What are you doing at the police station? Is everything OK?¡±


    ¡°Oh! Yes, I¡¯m fine. I¡¯m just here for a¡­ you know.¡± I wave it off. ¡°Murder thing.¡±


    ¡°Murder?¡± He looks staggered.


    ¡°Yeah. But it¡¯s no big deal. I mean, obviously it is a big deal¡­¡± I correct myself hastily at his expression. ¡°I¡¯d better not say too much about it¡­ Anyway, how are you doing?¡±


    ¡°Great! Married to Anna, remember her?¡± He flashes a silver wedding ring. ¡°Trying to make it as a painter. I do this stuff on the side.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a policeman?¡± I say disbelievingly, and he laughs.


    ¡°Police artist. People describe the villains, I draw them; it pays the rent¡­ So how about you, Lara? Are you married? With somebody?¡±


    For a moment I just stare back with a rictus smile.


    ¡°I was with this guy for a while,¡± I say at last. ¡°It didn¡¯t work out. But I¡¯m fine about it now. I¡¯m in a really good place, actually.¡±


    I¡¯ve clenched my plastic cup so hard, it¡¯s cracked. Mark looks a bit disconcerted.


    ¡°Well¡­ see you, Lara.¡± He lifts a hand. ¡°Will you be OK getting home?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m calling a cab.¡± I nod. ¡°Thanks. Nice to bump into you.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t let him go!¡± Sadie¡¯s voice in my ear makes me jump out of my skin. ¡°He can help!¡±


    ¡°Shut up and leave me alone,¡± I mutter out of the corner of my mouth, shooting an even brighter smile at Mark. ¡°Bye, Mark. Give my love to Anna.¡±


    ¡°He can draw the necklace! Then you¡¯ll know what you¡¯re looking for!¡± She¡¯s suddenly right in front of me. ¡°Ask him! Quickly!¡±


    ¡°No!¡±


    ¡°Ask him!¡± Her banshee voice is coming back, piercing my eardrum. ¡°Ask-him-ask-him-ask-him-¡±


    Oh, for God¡¯s sake, she¡¯s going to drive me insane.


    ¡°Mark!¡± I call, so loudly that the two guys in hoodies stop fighting and stare at me. ¡°I¡¯ve got this tiny favor to ask you, if you have a moment¡­¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡± Mark shrugs.


    We go into a side room, with cups of tea from the machine. We pull up chairs to a table and Mark gets out his paper and artist¡¯s pencils.


    ¡°So.¡± He raises his eyebrows. ¡°A necklace. That¡¯s a new one.¡±


    ¡°I saw it once at an antiques fair,¡± I improvise. ¡°And I¡¯d love to commission one like it, but I¡¯m so bad at drawing things, and it suddenly occurred to me that maybe you could help¡­¡±


    ¡°No problem. Fire away.¡± Mark takes a sip of tea, his pencil poised over the paper, and I glance up at Sadie.


    ¡°It was made of beads,¡± she says, holding up her hands as though she can almost feel it. ¡°Two rows of glass beads, almost translucent.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s two rows of beads,¡± I say. ¡°Almost translucent.¡±


    ¡°Uh-huh.¡± He nods, already sketching circular beads. ¡°Like this?¡±

 Page 18

    ¡°More oval,¡± says Sadie, peering over his shoulder. ¡°Longer. And there were rhinestones in between.¡±


    ¡°The beads were more oval,¡± I say apologetically. ¡°With rhinestones in between.¡±


    ¡°No problem¡­¡± Mark is already rubbing out and sketching longer beads. ¡°Like this?¡±


    I glance up at Sadie. She¡¯s watching him, mesmerized. ¡°And the dragonfly,¡± she murmurs. ¡°You mustn¡¯t forget the dragonfly.¡±


    For another five minutes, Mark sketches, rubs out, and sketches again, as I relay Sadie¡¯s comments. Slowly, gradually, the necklace comes alive on the page.


    ¡°That¡¯s it,¡± says Sadie at last. Her eyes are shining as she gazes down. ¡°That¡¯s my necklace!¡±


    ¡°Perfect,¡± I say to Mark. ¡°You¡¯ve got it.¡±


    For a moment we all survey it in silence.


    ¡°Nice,¡± says Mark at last, jerking his head at it. ¡°Unusual. Reminds me of something.¡± He frowns at the sketch for a moment, then shakes his head. ¡°No. Lost it.¡± He glances at his watch. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I have to dash-¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s fine,¡± I say quickly. ¡°Thanks so much.¡±


    When he¡¯s gone, I pick up the paper and look at the necklace. It¡¯s very pretty, I have to admit. Long rows of glassy beads, sparkling rhinestones, and a big ornamental pendant in the shape of a dragonfly, studded with even more rhinestones.


    ¡°So this is what we¡¯re looking for.¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡± Sadie looks up, her face full of animation. ¡°Exactly! Where shall we start?¡±


    ¡°You have to be joking!¡± I reach for my jacket and stand up. ¡°I¡¯m not looking for anything now. I¡¯m going home and having a nice glass of wine. And then I¡¯m having a chicken korma with naan. New-fangled modern food,¡± I explain, noticing her bemused expression. ¡°And then I¡¯m going to bed.¡±


    ¡°So what shall I do?¡± says Sadie, suddenly looking deflated.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡±


    I head out of the side room, back into the foyer. A taxi is offloading an elderly couple onto the pavement outside, and I hurry out, calling, ¡°Taxi? Can you take me to Kilburn?¡±


    As the taxi moves off, I spread out the sketch on my lap and look at the necklace again, trying to imagine it in real life. Sadie described the beads as a kind of pale yellow iridescent glass. Even in the drawing, the rhinestones are sparkling all over. The real thing must be stunning. Worth a bit too. Just for a moment I feel a flicker of excitement at the thought of actually finding it.


    But an instant later, sanity checks back into my brain. I mean, it probably doesn¡¯t exist. And even if it did, the chances of finding some random necklace belonging to a dead old lady who probably lost it or broke it years ago are approximately¡­ three million to one. No, three billion to one.


    At last I fold the paper and tuck it in my bag, then flop back on my seat. I don¡¯t know where Sadie is and I don¡¯t care. I close my eyes, ignoring the constant vibrations of my mobile phone, and let myself doze off. What a day.


    FOUR


    The next day the sketch of the necklace is all I have left. Sadie has disappeared and the whole episode feels like a dream. At eight-thirty I¡¯m sitting at my desk, sipping coffee and staring down at the picture. What on earth got into me yesterday? The entire thing must have been my brain cracking up under the strain. The necklace, the girl, the banshee wailing¡­ It was obviously all a figment of my imagination.


    For the first time, I¡¯m starting to sympathize with my parents. I¡¯m worried about me too.


    ¡°Hi!¡± There¡¯s a crash as Kate, our assistant, swings open the door, knocking over a bunch of files, which I¡¯d put on the floor while I got the milk out of the fridge.


    We don¡¯t have the biggest office in the world.


    ¡°So, how was the funeral?¡± Kate hangs up her coat, leaning right back over the photocopier to reach her hook. Luckily, she¡¯s quite gymnastic.


    ¡°Not great. In fact, I ended up at the police station. I had this weird mental flip-out.¡±


    ¡°God!¡± Kate looks horrified. ¡°Are you OK?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. I mean, I think so¡­¡± I have to get a grip. Abruptly, I fold up the necklace sketch, thrust it into my bag, and zip it shut.


    ¡°Actually, I knew something was up.¡± Kate pauses halfway through twisting her blond hair into an elastic. ¡°Your dad called yesterday afternoon and asked me if you¡¯d been particularly stressed recently.¡±


    I look up in alarm. ¡°You didn¡¯t tell him about Natalie leaving.¡±


    ¡°No! Of course not!¡± Kate has been well trained in what to divulge to my parents-i.e., nothing.

 Page 19

    ¡°Anyway,¡± I say with more vigor. ¡°Never mind. I¡¯m fine now. Were there any messages?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Kate reaches for her notebook with a super-efficient manner. ¡°Shireen kept calling all yesterday. She¡¯s going to call you today.¡±


    ¡°Great!¡±


    Shireen is our one piece of good news at L &N Executive Recruitment. We recently placed her as operations director at a software company, Macrosant; in fact, she¡¯s about to start the job next week. She¡¯s probably just calling to thank us.


    ¡°Anything else?¡± I say, just as the phone rings. Kate checks the caller ID and her eyes widen.


    ¡°Oh yes, another thing,¡± she says hurriedly. ¡°Janet from Leonidas Sports called, wanting an update. She said she was going to ring at nine a.m. sharp. This¡¯ll be her.¡± She meets my panicky eyes. ¡°Do you want me to answer?¡±


    No, I want to hide under the desk.


    ¡°Um, yes, you¡¯d better.¡±


    My stomach is bubbling with nerves. Leonidas Sports is our biggest client. They¡¯re a massive sports equipment company with shops all over the UK, and we¡¯ve promised to find them a marketing director.


    Rephrase that. Natalie promised to find them a marketing director.


    ¡°I¡¯ll just put you through,¡± Kate is saying in her best PA voice, and a moment later the phone on my desk rings. I glance desperately at Kate, then pick it up.


    ¡°Janet!¡± I exclaim in my most confident tones. ¡°Good to hear from you. I was just about to call.¡±


    ¡°Hi, Lara,¡± comes Janet Grady¡¯s familiar hoarse voice. ¡°Just phoning for an update. I was hoping to speak to Natalie.¡±


    I¡¯ve never met Janet Grady face-to-face. But in my head she¡¯s about six foot three with a mustache. The first time we ever spoke, she told me the team at Leonidas Sports are all ¡°tough thinkers,¡± ¡°hard players,¡± and have an ¡°iron grip¡± on the market. They sound terrifying.


    ¡°Oh right!¡± I twist the phone cord around my fingers. ¡°Well, unfortunately Natalie¡¯s still¡­ er¡­ poorly.¡±


    This is the story I¡¯ve been spinning ever since Natalie didn¡¯t make it back from Goa. Luckily, you just have to say ¡°She¡¯s been to India,¡± and everyone launches into their own My Horrendous Traveling Illness story without asking any more questions.


    ¡°But we¡¯re making great headway,¡± I continue. ¡°Really marvelous. We¡¯re working through the long list, and there¡¯s a file of very strong candidates right here on my desk. We¡¯ll be looking at a top-class short list, I can assure you. All tough thinkers.¡±


    ¡°Can you give me any names?¡±


    ¡°Not right now!¡± My voice jumps in panic. ¡°I¡¯ll fill you in nearer the time. But you¡¯ll be very impressed!¡±


    ¡°OK, Lara.¡± Janet is one of those women who never waste time on small talk. ¡°Well, as long as you¡¯re on top of it. Best to Natalie. Good-bye.¡±


    I replace the receiver and meet Kate¡¯s eyes, my heart thumping. ¡°Remind me, who do we have as possibles for Leonidas Sports?¡±


    ¡°The guy with the three-year gap in his r¨¦sum¨¦,¡± says Kate. ¡°And the weirdo with the dandruff. And¡­ the kleptomaniac woman.¡±


    I wait for her to continue. She gives a tiny apologetic shrug.


    ¡°That¡¯s all ?¡±


    ¡°Paul Richards pulled out yesterday,¡± she says anxiously. ¡°He¡¯s been offered a position at some American company. Here¡¯s the list.¡± She hands me the sheet of paper and I stare at the three names in total despair. They¡¯re all no-hopers. We can¡¯t send this list in.


    God, headhunting is hard. I had no idea. Before we started up the company, Natalie always made it seem so exciting. She talked about the thrill of the chase, ¡°strategic hiring¡± and ¡°up-skilling¡± and ¡°the tap on the shoulder.¡± We used to meet every few weeks for a drink, and she was full of such amazing stories about her work, I couldn¡¯t help feeling envious. Writing promotional website copy for a car manufacturer seemed really dull in comparison. Plus there were rumors we were going to have big layoffs. So when Natalie suggested a start-up, I jumped at the chance.


    The truth is, I¡¯ve always been a bit in awe of Natalie. She¡¯s so glossy and confident. Even when we were at school, she always had the latest slang and could blag us into pubs. And when we first started off the company, it all worked brilliantly. She brought in some big bits of business for us at once and was constantly out networking. I was writing our website and supposedly learning all the tricks from her. It was all going in the right direction. Until she disappeared and I realized I hadn¡¯t actually learned any tricks at all.

 Page 20

    Natalie¡¯s really into business mantras, and they¡¯re all on Post-its around her desk. I keep sidling over and studying them, as if they¡¯re the runes to some ancient religion, trying to divine what I¡¯m meant to do. For example, The best talent is already in the market is stuck up above her computer. That one I do know: It means you¡¯re not supposed to go through the r¨¦sum¨¦s of all the bankers who were fired from an investment bank last week and try to make them sound like marketing directors. You¡¯re supposed to go after existing marketing directors.


    But how? What if they won¡¯t even speak to you?


    After doing this job for several weeks on my own, I have a few new mantras, which go as follows: The best talent doesn¡¯t answer the phone itself. The best talent doesn¡¯t ring back, even if you leave three messages with its secretary. The best talent doesn¡¯t want to move into sports retail. When you mention the fifty percent employee discount on tennis rackets, the best talent just laughs at you .


    I pull out our original crumpled, coffee-stained long list for the millionth time and flick through it gloomily. Names glitter off the page like shiny sweeties. Employed, bona fide talent. The marketing director of Woodhouse Retail. The European marketing head at Dartmouth Plastics. They can¡¯t all be happy at their jobs, surely. There must be someone out there who would love to work for Leonidas Sports. But I¡¯ve tried every single name and got nowhere. I glance up to see Kate standing on one foot, surveying me anxiously, the other leg wrapped around her calf.


    ¡°We have precisely three weeks to find a tough-thinking, hard-hitting marketing director for Leonidas Sports.¡± I¡¯m trying desperately to stay positive. Natalie landed this deal. Natalie was going to woo all the starry candidates. Natalie knows how to do this. I don¡¯t .


    Anyway. No point dwelling on that now.


    ¡°OK.¡± I slap my hand on the desk. ¡°I¡¯m going to make some calls.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll make you a fresh coffee.¡± Kate springs into action. ¡°We¡¯ll stay here all night if we have to.¡±


    I love Kate. She acts like she¡¯s in a film about some really thrusting multinational company, instead of two people in a ten-foot-square office with moldy carpet.


    ¡°Salary, salary, salary,¡± she says as she sits down.


    ¡°You snooze, you lose,¡± I respond.


    Kate got into reading Natalie¡¯s mantras too. Now we can¡¯t stop quoting them at each other. The trouble is, they don¡¯t actually tell you how to do the job. What I need is the mantra telling you how to get past the question ¡°May I ask what it is in connection with?¡±


    I swing my chair over to Natalie¡¯s desk to get out all the Leonidas Sports paperwork. The cardboard file has fallen off its hangers inside her drawer, so with a muttered curse I gather all the papers together and pull them out. Then suddenly I stop, as I notice an old Post-it which has somehow attached itself to my hand. I¡¯ve never seen this before. James Yates, mobile is written in faded purple felt-tip. And then a number.


    A mobile number for James Yates. I don¡¯t believe it! He¡¯s marketing director at Feltons Breweries! He¡¯s on the long list! He¡¯d be perfect! Whenever I¡¯ve tried his office, I¡¯ve been told he¡¯s ¡°abroad.¡± But wherever he is, he¡¯ll have his mobile, won¡¯t he? Trembling with excitement, I push my chair back to my own desk and dial the number.


    ¡°James Yates.¡± The line is a little crackly but I can still hear him.


    ¡°Hi,¡± I say, trying to sound as confident as possible. ¡°It¡¯s Lara Lington here. Can you talk?¡± This is what Natalie always says on the phone; I¡¯ve heard her.


    ¡°Who is this?¡± He sounds suspicious. ¡°Did you say you¡¯re from Lingtons?¡±


    I give an inward sigh.


    ¡°No, I¡¯m from L &N Executive Recruitment, and I was phoning to see if you¡¯d be interested in a new position, heading up marketing in a dynamic, growing retail company. It¡¯s a very exciting opportunity, so if you¡¯d like to discuss it, perhaps over a discreet lunch at a restaurant of your choice¡­¡± I¡¯m going to die if I don¡¯t breathe, so I stop and gasp for air.


    ¡°L &N?¡± He sounds wary. ¡°I don¡¯t know you.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re a relatively new outfit, myself and Natalie Masser-¡±


    ¡°Not interested.¡± He cuts me off.


    ¡°It¡¯s a marvelous opportunity,¡± I say quickly. ¡°You¡¯ll have a chance to expand your horizons; there¡¯s a lot of exciting potential in Europe -¡±


    ¡°Sorry. Good-bye.¡±


    ¡°And a ten percent discount on sportswear!¡± I call desperately down the dead phone.

 Page 21

    He¡¯s gone. He didn¡¯t even give me a chance.


    ¡°What did he say?¡± Kate approaches, her hands clutched hopefully around a coffee cup.


    ¡°He hung up.¡± I slump in my chair as Kate puts down the coffee. ¡°We¡¯re never going to get anyone good.¡±


    ¡°Yes, we will!¡± says Kate, just as the phone starts ringing. ¡°Maybe this is some brilliant executive who¡¯s longing for a new job¡­¡± She hurries back to her desk and picks up the phone with her best assistant¡¯s manner. ¡°L &N Executive Recruitment¡­ Oh, Shireen! Great to hear from you! I¡¯ll put you through to Lara.¡± She beams at me and I grin back. At least we¡¯ve had one triumph.


    I suppose strictly speaking it was Natalie¡¯s triumph, since she made the placement, but I¡¯ve been doing all the follow-up work. Anyway, it¡¯s a company triumph.


    ¡°Hi, Shireen!¡± I say cheerfully. ¡°All set for the new job? I just know it¡¯s going to be a great position for you-¡±


    ¡°Lara.¡± Shireen interrupts tensely. ¡°There¡¯s a problem.¡±


    My stomach plunges. No. No. Please no problems.


    ¡°Problem?¡± I force myself to sound relaxed. ¡°What kind of problem?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s my dog.¡±


    ¡°Your dog?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m intending to take Flash into work every day. But I just phoned human resources about setting up a basket for him, and they said it was impossible. They said it wasn¡¯t their policy to allow animals in the offices, can you believe it?¡±


    She clearly expects me to be as outraged as she is. I stare at the phone in bewilderment. How has a dog suddenly entered the picture?


    ¡°Lara? Are you there?¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡± I come to. ¡°Shireen, listen to me. I¡¯m sure you¡¯re really fond of Flash. But it¡¯s not usual to take dogs into the workplace-¡±


    ¡°Yes, it is!¡± she interrupts. ¡°There¡¯s another dog in the building. I¡¯ve heard it every time I¡¯ve been in. That¡¯s why I assumed it would be fine! I never would have taken this job otherwise! They¡¯re discriminating against me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure they¡¯re not discriminating,¡± I say hurriedly. ¡°I¡¯ll call them straightaway.¡± I put down the phone, then quickly dial the HR department at Macrosant. ¡°Hi, Jean? It¡¯s Lara Lington here, from L &N Executive Recruitment. I just wanted to clarify a small point. Is Shireen Moore permitted to bring her dog to work?¡±


    ¡°The whole building has a no-dog policy,¡± says Jean pleasantly. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Lara, it¡¯s an insurance thing.¡±


    ¡°Of course. Absolutely. I understand.¡± I pause. ¡°The thing is, Shireen believes she¡¯s heard another dog in the building. Several times.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s mistaken,¡± Jean says after the tiniest of beats. ¡°There are no dogs here.¡±


    ¡°None at all? Not even one little puppy?¡± My suspicions have been aroused by that pause.


    ¡°Not even one little puppy.¡± Jean has regained her smoothness. ¡°As I say, there¡¯s a no-dog policy in the building.¡±


    ¡°And you couldn¡¯t make an exception for Shireen?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid not.¡± She¡¯s polite but implacable.


    ¡°Well, thanks for your time.¡±


    I put the phone down and tap my pencil silently on my notepad for a few seconds. Something¡¯s up. I bet there is a dog there. But what can I do about it? I can¡¯t exactly phone Jean back and say, ¡°I don¡¯t believe you.¡±


    With a sigh, I redial Shireen¡¯s number.


    ¡°Lara, is that you?¡± She picks up straightaway, as though she¡¯s been sitting by the phone, waiting for an answer, which she probably has. She¡¯s very bright, Shireen, and very intense. I can picture her now, drawing that endless crisscross of squares which she obsessively doodles everywhere. She probably needs a dog, just to stay sane.


    ¡°Yes, it¡¯s me. I called Jean and she says no one else in the building has a dog. She says it¡¯s an insurance thing.¡±


    There¡¯s silence as Shireen digests this.


    ¡°She¡¯s lying,¡± she says at last. ¡°There is a dog in there.¡±


    ¡°Shireen¡­¡± I feel like banging my head against the desk. ¡°Couldn¡¯t you have mentioned the dog before? At one of the interviews, maybe?¡±


    ¡°I assumed it would be OK!¡± she says defensively. ¡°I heard the other dog barking! You can tell when there¡¯s a dog in a place. Well, I¡¯m not working without Flash. I¡¯m sorry, Lara, I¡¯ll have to pull out of the job.¡±


    ¡°Nooo!¡± I cry out in dismay before I can stop myself. ¡°I mean¡­ please don¡¯t do anything rash, Shireen! I¡¯ll sort this out, I promise. I¡¯ll call you soon.¡± Breathing heavily, I put the phone down and bury my head in my hands. ¡°Crap!¡±

 Page 22

    ¡°What are you going to do?¡± ventures Kate anxiously. She clearly overheard the whole thing.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I admit. ¡°What would Natalie do?¡±


    Both of us instinctively glance toward Natalie¡¯s desk, gleaming and empty. I have a sudden vision of Natalie sitting there: her lacquered nails tapping on the desk, her voice raised in some high-octane call. Since she¡¯s been gone, the volume level in this office has dropped by about eighty percent.


    ¡°She might tell Shireen she had to take the job and threaten to sue her if she didn¡¯t,¡± says Kate at last.


    ¡°She¡¯d definitely tell Shireen to get over herself.¡± I nod in agreement. ¡°She¡¯d call her unprofessional and flaky.¡±


    I once heard Natalie tearing a strip off some guy who had second thoughts about taking up a position in Dubai. It wasn¡¯t pretty.


    The deep-down truth, which I don¡¯t want to admit to anyone, is that now I¡¯ve got to know the way Natalie thinks and does business¡­ I don¡¯t really relate to a lot of it. What appealed to me about this job was working with people, changing lives. When we used to meet up and Natalie would tell me her stories of finding talent, I was always just as interested in the story behind the deal as the deal itself. I thought it must be so much more satisfying to help people¡¯s careers than to sell cars. But that aspect doesn¡¯t seem to feature highly on our agenda.


    I mean, OK, I know I¡¯m a novice. And maybe I am a bit idealistic, like Dad always says. But your job is one of the most important things in your life, surely. It should be right for you. Salary isn¡¯t everything.


    There again, that¡¯ll be why Natalie¡¯s the successful head-hunter with loads of commission under her belt. And I¡¯m not. And right now we need commission.


    ¡°So what we¡¯re saying is, I should ring Shireen back and give her a hard time,¡± I say reluctantly. There¡¯s silence. Kate looks as pained as I feel.


    ¡°Thing is, Lara,¡± she says hesitantly, ¡°you¡¯re not Natalie. She¡¯s away. So you¡¯re the boss. So you should do things your way.¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡± I feel a surge of relief. ¡°That¡¯s true. I¡¯m the boss. So what I say is¡­ I¡¯ll think about it for a while first.¡±


    Trying to look as though this is a decisive piece of action instead of a cop-out, I push the phone aside and start leafing through the post. A bill for office paper. An offer to send all my staff on a team-building trip to Aspen. And, at the bottom of the pile, Business People , which is like the celebrity magazine of business. I open it and start flipping through the pages, trying to find someone who would make a perfect marketing director for Leonidas Sports.


    Business People is essential reading for a headhunter. It¡¯s basically endless photo spreads of thrusting, super-groomed types who have massive offices with plenty of space to hang up their coats. But God, it¡¯s depressing. As I turn from one highflier to another, my spirits sink lower and lower. What¡¯s wrong with me? I only speak one language. I haven¡¯t been asked to chair any international committees. I don¡¯t have a working wardrobe which pairs Dolce & Gabbana trouser suits with quirky shirts from Paul Smith.


    Dolefully, I close the magazine and slump back, staring at the grimy ceiling. How do they all do it? My uncle Bill. Everyone in this magazine. They decide to run a business and it¡¯s instantly a success, and it looks so easy¡­


    ¡°Yes¡­ yes¡­¡± Suddenly I become aware of Kate making semaphore signals across the room. I look up to see her face all pink with excitement as she talks on the phone. ¡°I¡¯m sure Lara would be able to make space for you in her schedule, if you could just hold on a moment¡­¡±


    She presses Hold and squeaks, ¡°It¡¯s Clive Hoxton! The one who said he wasn¡¯t interested in Leonidas Sports?¡± she adds, at my blank look. ¡°The rugby guy? Well, he might be after all! He wants to have lunch and talk about it!¡±


    ¡°Oh my God! Him!¡± My spirits shoot back up. Clive Hoxton is marketing director at Arberry Stores and used to play rugby for Doncaster. He couldn¡¯t be more perfect for the Leonidas Sports job, but when I first approached him he said he didn¡¯t want to move. I can¡¯t believe he¡¯s got in touch!


    ¡°Play it cool!¡± I whisper urgently. ¡°Pretend I¡¯m really busy interviewing other candidates.¡±


    Kate nods vigorously.


    ¡°Let me just see¡­¡± she says into the phone. ¡°Lara¡¯s schedule is very packed today, but I¡¯ll see what I can do¡­ Ah! Now, what a stroke of luck! She unexpectedly has a vacancy! Would you like to name a restaurant?¡±

 Page 23

    She grins broadly at me and I give her an air high-five. Clive Hoxton is an A-list name! He¡¯s tough-thinking and hard-playing! He¡¯ll totally make up for the weirdo and the kleptomaniac. In fact, if we get him, I¡¯ll ax the kleptomaniac, I decide. And the weirdo isn¡¯t that bad, if we could just get rid of his dandruff¡­


    ¡°All fixed up!¡± Kate puts the phone down. ¡°You¡¯re having lunch today at one o¡¯clock.¡±


    ¡°Excellent! Where?¡±


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s the only thing.¡± Kate hesitates. ¡°I asked him to name a restaurant. And he named-¡± She breaks off.


    ¡°What?¡± My heart starts to thump anxiously. ¡°Not Gordon Ramsay. Not that posh one in Claridge¡¯s.¡±


    Kate winces. ¡°Worse. Lyle Place.¡±


    My insides shrivel. ¡°You have to be kidding.¡±


    Lyle Place opened about two years ago and was instantly christened the most expensive restaurant in Europe. It has a massive lobster tank and a fountain, and loads of celebrities go there. Obviously I¡¯ve never been there. I¡¯ve just read about it in the Evening Standard .


    We should never, never, never have let him name the restaurant. I should have named it. I would have named Pasta Pot, which is around the corner and does a set lunch for ¡ê12.95 including a glass of wine. I daren¡¯t even think how much lunch for two at Lyle Place is going to be.


    ¡°We won¡¯t be able to get in!¡± I say in sudden relief. ¡°It¡¯ll be too busy.¡±


    ¡°He said he can get a reservation. He knows some people. He¡¯ll put it in your name.¡±


    ¡°Damn.¡±


    Kate is nibbling at her thumbnail anxiously. ¡°How much is in the client entertainment kitty?¡±


    ¡°About 50 p,¡± I say in despair. ¡°We¡¯re broke. I¡¯ll have to use my own credit card.¡±


    ¡°Well, it¡¯ll be worth it,¡± says Kate resolutely. ¡°It¡¯s an investment. You¡¯ve got to look like a mover and a shaker. If people see you eating at Lyle Place, they¡¯ll think, Wow, Lara Lington must be doing well if she can afford to take clients here!¡±


    ¡°But I can¡¯t afford it!¡± I wail. ¡°Could we phone him up and change it to a cup of coffee?¡±


    Even as I¡¯m saying it, I know how lame this would look. If he wants lunch, I have to give him lunch. If he wants to go to Lyle Place, we have to go to Lyle Place.


    ¡°Maybe it isn¡¯t as expensive as we think,¡± says Kate hopefully. ¡°I mean, all the newspapers keep saying how bad the economy is, don¡¯t they? Maybe they¡¯ve reduced the prices. Or got a special offer.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s true. And maybe he won¡¯t order very much,¡± I add in sudden inspiration. ¡°I mean, he¡¯s sporty. He won¡¯t be a big eater.¡±


    ¡°Of course he won¡¯t!¡± agrees Kate. ¡°He¡¯ll have, like, one tiny bit of sashimi and some water and dash off. And he definitely won¡¯t drink. Nobody drinks at lunch anymore.¡±


    I¡¯m feeling more positive about this already. Kate¡¯s right. No one drinks at business lunches these days. And we can keep it down to two courses. Or even one. A starter and a nice cup of coffee. What¡¯s wrong with that?


    And, anyway, whatever we eat, it can¡¯t cost that much, can it?


    Oh my God, I think I¡¯m going to faint.


    Except I can¡¯t, because Clive Hoxton has just asked me to run through the specs of the job again.


    I¡¯m sitting on a transparent chair at a white-clothed table. If I look to my right, I can see the famous giant lobster tank, which has crustaceans of all sorts clambering around on rocks and occasionally being scooped out in a metal net by a man on a ladder. Over to the left is a cage of exotic birds, whose cheeping is mingling with the background whooshing sound from the fountain in the middle of the room.


    ¡°Well.¡± My voice is quite faint. ¡°As you know, Leonidas Sports has just taken over a Dutch chain¡­¡±


    I¡¯m talking on autopilot. My eyes keep darting down to the menu, printed on Plexiglas. Every time I spot a price, I feel a fresh swoop of horror.


    Ceviche of salmon, origami style ¡ê34 .


    That¡¯s a starter. A starter .


    Half a dozen oysters ¡ê46 .


    There¡¯s no special offer. There¡¯s no sign of any hard times. All around, diners are merrily eating and drinking as if this is all totally normal. Are they all bluffing? Are they all secretly quailing inside? If I stood on a chair and yelled, ¡°It¡¯s too expensive! I¡¯m not going to take this anymore!¡± would I start a mass walkout?


    ¡°Obviously the board wants a new marketing director who can oversee this expansion¡­¡± I have no idea what I¡¯m blabbering about. I¡¯m psyching myself up to peek at the main courses.

 Page 24

    Fillet of duck with three-way orange mash ¡ê59 .


    My stomach lurches again. I keep doing mental math and reaching three hundred and feeling a bit sick.


    ¡°Some mineral water?¡± The waiter appears at the table and proffers a blue-tinted Plexiglas square to each of us. ¡°This is our water menu. If you like a sparkling water, the Chetwyn Glen is rather fun,¡± he adds. ¡°It¡¯s filtered through volcanic rock and has a subtle alkalinity.¡±


    ¡°Ah.¡± I force myself to nod intelligently, and the waiter meets my eyes without a flicker. Surely they all get back into the kitchen, collapse against the walls, and start snorting with laughter: ¡°She paid fifteen quid! For water!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d prefer Pellegrino.¡± Clive shrugs. He¡¯s a guy in his forties with graying hair, froggy eyes, and a mustache, and he hasn¡¯t smiled once since we sat down.


    ¡°A bottle of each, then?¡± says the waiter.


    Noooo! Not two bottles of overpriced water!


    ¡°So, what would you like to eat, Clive?¡± I smile. ¡°If you¡¯re in a hurry, we could go straight to main courses¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not in any hurry.¡± Clive gives me a suspicious look. ¡°Are you?¡±


    ¡°Of course not!¡± I backtrack quickly. ¡°No hurry at all!¡± I wave a generous hand. ¡°Have whatever you¡¯d like.¡±


    Not the oysters, please, please, please not the oysters¡­


    ¡°The oysters to begin with,¡± he says thoughtfully. ¡°Then I¡¯m torn between the lobster and the porcini risotto.¡±


    I discreetly whip my eyes down to the menu. The lobster is ¡ê90; the risotto, only ¡ê45.


    ¡°Tough choice.¡± I try to sound casual. ¡°You know, risotto is always my favorite.¡±


    There¡¯s silence as Clive frowns at the menu again.


    ¡°I love Italian food,¡± I throw in with a relaxed little laugh. ¡°And I bet the porcini are delicious. But it¡¯s up to you, Clive!¡±


    ¡°If you can¡¯t decide,¡± the waiter puts in helpfully, ¡°I could bring you both the lobster and a reduced-size risotto.¡±


    He could what? He could what? Who asked him to interfere, anyway?


    ¡°Great idea!¡± My voice is two notes shriller than I intended. ¡°Two main courses! Why not?¡±


    I feel the waiter¡¯s sardonic eye on me and instantly know he can read my thoughts. He knows I¡¯m skint.


    ¡°And for madam?¡±


    ¡°Right. Absolutely.¡± I run a finger down the menu with a thoughtful frown. ¡°The truth is¡­ I went for a big power breakfast this morning. So I¡¯ll just have a Caesar salad, no starter.¡±


    ¡°One Caesar salad, no starter.¡± The waiter nods impassively.


    ¡°And would you like to stick to water, Clive?¡± I desperately try to keep any hint of hope out of my voice. ¡°Or wine¡­¡±


    Even the idea of the wine list makes my spine feel all twingey with fear.


    ¡°Let¡¯s see the list.¡± Clive¡¯s eyes light up.


    ¡°And a glass of vintage champagne to start, perhaps,¡± suggests the waiter, with a bland smile.


    He couldn¡¯t just suggest champagne. He had to suggest vintage champagne. This waiter is a total sadist.


    ¡°I could be persuaded!¡± Clive gives a sort of lugubrious chuckle, and somehow I force myself to join in.


    At last the waiter departs, having poured us each a zillion-pound glass of vintage champagne. I feel a bit giddy. I¡¯m going to be paying off this lunch for the rest of my life. But it¡¯ll be worth it. I have to believe that.


    ¡°So!¡± I say brightly, raising my glass. ¡°To the job! I¡¯m so glad you¡¯ve changed your mind, Clive-¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t,¡± he says, swigging about half of his champagne down in one gulp.


    I stare at him, unnerved. Am I going mad? Did Kate take down the message wrong?


    ¡°But I thought-¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a possibility.¡± He starts to break up a bread roll. ¡°I¡¯m not happy with my job at the moment, and I¡¯m considering a move. But there are drawbacks to this Leonidas Sports gig too. Sell it to me.¡±


    For a moment I¡¯m too choked with dismay to answer. I¡¯m spending the price of a small car on this man and he might not even be interested in the job? I take a sip of water, then look up, forcing my most professional smile. I can be Natalie. I can sell this to him.


    ¡°Clive. You¡¯re not happy in your current post. For a man with your gifts, this is a criminal situation. Look at you! You should be in a place which will appreciate you.¡±


    I pause, my heart thumping hard. He¡¯s listening attentively. He hasn¡¯t even buttered his bread roll yet. So far, so good.

 Page 25

    ¡°In my opinion, the job at Leonidas Sports would be the perfect career move for you. You¡¯re a former sportsman-it¡¯s a sporting goods company. You love to play golf-Leonidas Sports has a whole golfwear line!¡±


    Clive raises his eyebrows. ¡°You¡¯ve done your research on me, at any rate.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m interested in people,¡± I say honestly. ¡°And knowing your profile, it seems to me that Leonidas Sports is exactly what you need at this stage. This is a fantastic, unique opportunity to-¡±


    ¡°Is that man your lover?¡± A familiar clipped voice interrupts me, and I jump. That sounded just like-


    No. Don¡¯t be ridiculous . I take a deep breath and resume.


    ¡°As I was saying, this is a fantastic opportunity to take your career to the next level. I¡¯m sure that we could achieve a very generous package-¡±


    ¡°I said, ¡®Is that man your lover?¡¯¡± The voice is more insistent, and before I can stop myself, I swivel my head.


    No.


    This can¡¯t be happening. She¡¯s back. It¡¯s Sadie, perched on a nearby cheese trolley.


    She¡¯s not in the green dress anymore; she¡¯s wearing a pale pink one with a dropped waistband and a matching coat over the top. There¡¯s a black band around her head, and from one of her wrists dangles a little gray silk bag on a beaded chain. The other hand is resting on a glass cheese dome-apart from her fingertips, which have sunk into it. She suddenly notices and pulls them out sharply, carefully positioning them on top of the glass.


    ¡°He¡¯s not terribly handsome, is he? I want some champagne,¡± she adds imperiously, her eyes lighting on my drink.


    Ignore her. It¡¯s a hallucination. It¡¯s all in your head .


    ¡°Lara? Are you OK?¡±


    ¡°Sorry, Clive!¡± I hastily turn back. ¡°Just got a bit distracted there. By the¡­ cheese trolley! It all looks so delicious!¡±


    Oh God. Clive doesn¡¯t seem amused. I need to get things back on track, quick.


    ¡°The real question to ask yourself, Clive, is this.¡± I lean forward intently. ¡°Will an opportunity like this come along again? It¡¯s a unique chance to work with a great brand, to use all your proven talents and admired leadership skills-¡±


    ¡°I want some champagne!¡± To my horror, Sadie has materialized right in front of me. She reaches for my glass and tries to pick it up, but her hand goes through it. ¡°Drat! I can¡¯t pick it up!¡± She reaches again, and again, then glares at me crossly. ¡°This is so irritating!¡±


    ¡°Stop it!¡± I hiss furiously.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡± Clive knits his heavy brows.


    ¡°Not you, Clive! Just got something caught in my throat¡­¡± I grab my glass and take a gulp of water.


    ¡°Have you found my necklace yet?¡± Sadie demands accusingly.


    ¡°No!¡± I mutter from behind my glass. ¡°Go away.¡±


    ¡°Then why are you sitting here? Why aren¡¯t you looking for it?¡±


    ¡°Clive!¡± I desperately try to focus back on him. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry about that. What was I saying?¡±


    ¡°Admired leadership skills,¡± says Clive, without cracking a smile.


    ¡°That¡¯s right! Admired leadership skills! Um¡­ so the point is¡­¡±


    ¡°Haven¡¯t you looked anywhere?¡± She thrusts her head close to mine. ¡°Don¡¯t you care about finding it?¡±


    ¡°So¡­ what I¡¯m trying to say is¡­¡± It¡¯s taking every ounce of willpower to ignore Sadie and not bat her away. ¡°In my opinion, this job is a great strategic move; it¡¯s a perfect springboard for your future, and furthermore-¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve got to find my necklace! It¡¯s important! It¡¯s very, very-¡±


    ¡°Furthermore, I know the generous benefits package will-¡±


    ¡°Stop ignoring me!¡± Sadie¡¯s face is practically touching mine. ¡°Stop talking! Stop-¡±


    ¡°Shut up and leave me alone!¡±


    Shit.


    Did that just come out of my mouth?


    From the shell-shocked way Clive¡¯s froggy eyes have widened, I¡¯m guessing the answer is yes. At two neighboring tables, conversations have come to a halt, and I can see our supercilious waiter pausing to watch. The buzz of clashing cutlery and conversation seems to have died away all around. Even the lobsters seem to be lined up at the edge of the tank, watching.


    ¡°Clive!¡± I give a strangled laugh. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean¡­ obviously I wasn¡¯t talking to you¡­ ¡±


    ¡°Lara.¡± Clive fixes me with a hostile gaze. ¡°Please do me the courtesy of telling me the truth.¡±


    I can feel my cheeks staining red. ¡°I was just¡­¡± I clear my throat desperately. What can I say?

 Page 26

    I was talking to myself . No.


    I was talking to a vision . No.


    ¡°I¡¯m not a fool.¡± He cuts me off contemptuously. ¡°This isn¡¯t the first time this has happened to me.¡±


    ¡°It isn¡¯t?¡± I peer at him, bemused.


    ¡°I¡¯ve had to put up with it in board meetings, in directors¡¯ lunches¡­ it¡¯s the same everywhere. BlackBerries are bad enough, but these hands-free sets are a bloody menace. You know how many car accidents people like you cause?¡±


    Hands-free-Does he mean¡­


    He thinks I was on the phone!


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t-¡± I begin automatically, then stop myself. Being on the phone is the most sane option available to me. I should go with it.


    ¡°But this really is the pits.¡± He glowers at me, breathing heavily. ¡°Taking a call during a one-to-one lunch. Hoping I might not notice. It¡¯s fucking disrespectful.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I say humbly. ¡°I¡¯ll¡­ I¡¯ll switch it off now.¡± With a fumbling hand, I reach up to my ear and pretend to switch off an earpiece.


    ¡°Where is it, anyway?¡± He frowns at me. ¡°I can¡¯t see it.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s tiny,¡± I say hastily. ¡°Very discreet.¡±


    ¡°Is it the new Nokia?¡±


    He¡¯s peering more closely at my ear. Shit.


    ¡°It¡¯s actually¡­ um¡­ embedded in my earring.¡± I hope I sound convincing. ¡°New technology. Clive, I¡¯m really sorry I was distracted. I¡­ I misjudged the situation. But I am very sincere about wanting to place you with Leonidas Sports. So if I could maybe just recap on what I was trying to say-¡±


    ¡°You have to be joking.¡±


    ¡°But-¡±


    ¡°You think I¡¯m going to do business with you now?¡± He gives a short, unamused laugh. ¡°You¡¯re as unprofessional as your partner, and that¡¯s saying something.¡± To my horror, he pushes back his chair and gets to his feet. ¡°I was going to give you a chance, but forget it.¡±


    ¡°No, wait! Please!¡± I say in panic, but he¡¯s already striding away, between the tables of gawping diners.


    I feel hot and cold as I stare at his empty chair. With a still-shaky hand, I reach for my champagne and take three deep gulps. So that¡¯s that. I¡¯ve fucked up. My best hope is gone.


    And, anyway, what did he mean, I¡¯m ¡°as unprofessional as my partner¡±? Has he heard about Natalie disappearing off to Goa? Does everyone know?


    ¡°Will the gentleman be returning?¡± My trance is interrupted by the waiter approaching the table. He¡¯s holding a wooden platter bearing a dish with a silver dome on it.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so.¡± I stare at the table, my face burning with humiliation.


    ¡°Shall I return his food to the kitchen?¡±


    ¡°Do I still have to pay for it?¡±


    ¡°Unfortunately, madam, yes.¡± He gives me a patronizing smile. ¡°Since it has been ordered, and everything is cooked from fresh-¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯ll have it.¡±


    ¡° All of it?¡± He seems taken aback.


    ¡°Yes.¡± I lift my chin mutinously. ¡°Why not? I¡¯m paying for it; I might as well eat it.¡±


    ¡°Very good.¡± The waiter inclines his head, deposits the platter in front of me, and removes the silver dome. ¡°Half a dozen fresh oysters on crushed ice.¡±


    I¡¯ve never eaten oysters in my life. I¡¯ve always thought they looked gross. Close up they look even grosser. But I¡¯m not admitting that.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± I say curtly.


    The waiter retreats, and I stare fixedly at the six oysters in front of me. I¡¯m determined to see this stupid lunch out. But there¡¯s a tight pressing feeling behind my cheekbones, and my bottom lip would be trembling if I allowed it.


    ¡°Oysters! I adore oysters.¡± To my disbelief, Sadie appears in front of my eyes again. She sinks into Clive¡¯s vacated chair with a languid sideways movement, looks around, and says, ¡°This place is rather fun. Is there a cabaret?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t hear you,¡± I mutter savagely. ¡°I can¡¯t see you. You don¡¯t exist. I¡¯m going to the doctor and getting some drugs and getting rid of you.¡±


    ¡°Where¡¯s your lover gone?¡±


    ¡°He wasn¡¯t my lover,¡± I snap in low tones. ¡°I was trying to do business with him, and it¡¯s all spoiled because of you. You¡¯ve ruined everything. Everything.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± She arches her eyebrows unrepentantly. ¡°I don¡¯t see how I could do that if I don¡¯t exist.¡±


    ¡°Well, you did. And now I¡¯m stuck with these stupid oysters that I don¡¯t want and can¡¯t afford, and I don¡¯t even know how to eat them¡­¡±

 Page 27

    ¡°It¡¯s easy to eat an oyster!¡±


    ¡°No, it isn¡¯t.¡±


    I suddenly notice a blond woman in a print dress at the next table nudging the perfectly groomed woman next to her and pointing at me. I¡¯m talking to thin air. I look like a lunatic. Hastily I reach for a bread roll and start to butter it, avoiding Sadie¡¯s eye.


    ¡°Excuse me.¡± The woman leans over and smiles at me. ¡°I couldn¡¯t help overhearing your conversation. I don¡¯t mean to interrupt, but did you just say your phone is embedded in your earring?¡±


    I stare back at her, my mind scrabbling for an answer other than ¡°yes.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± I say at last.


    The woman claps a hand to her mouth. ¡°That¡¯s amazing. How does it work?¡±


    ¡°It has a special¡­ chip. Very new. Japanese.¡±


    ¡°I have to get one.¡± She¡¯s gazing at my Claire¡¯s Accessories ¡ê5.99 earring, awestruck. ¡°Where do they sell them?¡±


    ¡°Actually, this is a prototype,¡± I say hurriedly. ¡°They¡¯ll be available in a year or so.¡±


    ¡°Well, how did you get one, then?¡± She gives me an aggressive look.


    ¡°I¡­ um¡­ know Japanese people. Sorry.¡±


    ¡°Could I see?¡± She holds out her hand. ¡°Could you take it out of your ear for a moment? Would you mind?¡±


    ¡°A call¡¯s just coming in,¡± I say hastily. ¡°It¡¯s vibrating.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t see anything.¡± She¡¯s peering incredulously at my ear.


    ¡°It¡¯s very subtle,¡± I say desperately. ¡°They¡¯re microvibrations. Er, Hello, Matt? Yes, I can talk.¡±


    I mime apologies to the woman and reluctantly she returns to her meal. I can see her pointing me out to all her friends.


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± Sadie¡¯s eyeing me disdainfully. ¡°How can a telephone be in an earring? It sounds like a riddle.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Don¡¯t you start quizzing me too.¡± I prod an oyster with little enthusiasm.


    ¡°Do you really not know how to eat an oyster?¡±


    ¡°Never eaten one before in my life.¡±


    Sadie shakes her head disapprovingly. ¡°Pick up your fork. The shellfish fork. Go on!¡± Casting her a suspicious look, I do as she says. ¡°Ease it around, make sure it¡¯s detached from the shell¡­ Now give it a squeeze of lemon and pick it up. Like this.¡± She mimes picking up an oyster, and I copy. ¡°Head back and swallow the whole thing. Bottoms up!¡±


    It¡¯s like swallowing a piece of jellified sea. Somehow I manage to slurp down the whole thing, grab my glass, and take a swig of champagne.


    ¡°You see?¡± Sadie is watching me greedily. ¡°Isn¡¯t that too delicious?¡±


    ¡°¡¯s OK,¡± I say reluctantly. I put my glass down and survey her silently for a moment. She¡¯s reclining on the chair as though she owns the place, one arm flung to the side, her beaded bag dangling down.


    She¡¯s all in my head, I tell myself. My subconscious has invented her.


    Except¡­ my subconscious doesn¡¯t know how to eat an oyster. Does it?


    ¡°What is it?¡± She juts out her chin. ¡°Why are you looking at me like that?¡±


    My brain is edging very slowly to a conclusion. To the only possible conclusion.


    ¡°You¡¯re a ghost, aren¡¯t you?¡± I say at last. ¡°You¡¯re not a hallucination. You¡¯re a proper, real-live ghost.¡±


    Sadie gives a remote shrug, as though she¡¯s really not interested in this conversation.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you?¡±


    Again, Sadie doesn¡¯t reply. Her head is tilted and she¡¯s examining her fingernails. Maybe she doesn¡¯t want to be a ghost. Well, too bad. She is.


    ¡°You are a ghost. I know you are. So, what, am I psychic?¡±


    My head is prickling all over as this revelation hits me. I feel a bit shivery. I can talk to the dead. Me, Lara Lington. I always knew there was something different about me.


    Think of the implications. Think what this means! Maybe I¡¯ll start talking to more ghosts. Lots of ghosts. Oh my God, I could have my own TV show. I could go around the world. I could be famous! I have a sudden vision of myself on a stage, channeling spirits while an audience watches avidly. With a surge of excitement, I lean across the table.


    ¡°Do you know any other dead people you could introduce me to?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Sadie folds her arms crossly. ¡°I don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Have you met Marilyn Monroe? Or Elvis? Or¡­ or Princess Diana? What¡¯s she like? Or Mozart!¡± I feel almost dizzy as possibilities pile into my head. ¡°This is mind-blowing. You have to describe it! You have to tell me what it¡¯s like ¡­ there.¡±

 Page 28

    ¡°Where?¡± Sadie tosses her chin.


    ¡°There . You know¡­¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t been anywhere.¡± She glares at me. ¡°I haven¡¯t met anybody. I wake up and it¡¯s as though I¡¯m in a dream. A very bad dream. Because all I want is my necklace, but the only person who can understand me refuses to help me!¡± She looks so accusing, I feel a surge of indignation.


    ¡°Well, maybe if you didn¡¯t come along and ruin everything, that person might want to help you. Did you think of that?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t ruin everything!¡±


    ¡°Yes, you did!¡±


    ¡°I taught you how to eat an oyster, didn¡¯t I?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t want to know how to eat a bloody oyster! I wanted my candidate not to walk out!¡±


    For a moment, Sadie looks cornered-then her chin juts out again. ¡°I didn¡¯t know he was your candidate. I thought he was your lover.¡±


    ¡°Well, my business is probably sunk now. And I can¡¯t afford any of this stupid food. It¡¯s all a disaster and it¡¯s all your fault.¡±


    Morosely, I reach for another oyster and start poking at it with my fork. Then I glance at Sadie. All her spirit seems to have evaporated, and she¡¯s hugging her knees with that droopy-headed-flower look. She meets my eyes, then drops her head down again.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± Her voice is barely above a whisper. ¡°I apologize for causing you so much trouble. If I could communicate with anyone else, I would do so.¡±


    Now, of course, I feel bad.


    ¡°Look,¡± I begin. ¡°It¡¯s not that I don¡¯t want to help-¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s my final wish.¡± As Sadie looks up, her eyes are dark and velvety and her mouth is in a sad little O shape. ¡°It¡¯s my only wish. I don¡¯t want anything else; I won¡¯t ask you for anything else. Just my necklace. I can¡¯t rest without it. I can¡¯t-¡± She breaks off and looks away as though she can¡¯t finish the sentence. Or doesn¡¯t want to finish it, maybe.


    I can tell this is a bit of a sensitive area. But I¡¯m too intrigued to let it go.


    ¡°When you say you ¡®can¡¯t rest¡¯ without your necklace,¡± I venture delicately, ¡°do you mean rest as in sit down and feel relaxed? Or do you mean rest as in pass on to ¡­ there?¡± I catch her stony gaze and amend hastily, ¡°I mean, the Other¡­ I mean, the Better¡­ I mean, the After- ¡± I rub my nose, feeling hot and bothered.


    God, this is a minefield. How am I supposed to put it? What¡¯s the politically correct phrase, anyway?


    ¡°So¡­ how does it work, exactly?¡± I try a different tack.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how it works! I haven¡¯t been given an instruction pamphlet, you know.¡± Her tone is scathing, but I can see an insecure flash in her eye. ¡°I don¡¯t want to be here. I¡¯ve just found myself here. And all I know is, I need my necklace. That¡¯s all I know. And for that¡­ I need your help.¡±


    For a while there¡¯s silence. I swallow another oyster, uncomfortable thoughts jabbing at my conscience. She¡¯s my great-aunt. This is her one and only last wish. You should make an effort with someone¡¯s one and only last wish. Even if it is totally impossible and stupid.


    ¡°Sadie.¡± At last I exhale sharply. ¡°If I find your necklace for you, will you go away and leave me in peace?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°For good?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Her eyes are starting to shine.


    I fold my arms sternly. ¡°If I look for your necklace as hard as I can but can¡¯t find it because it was lost a zillion years ago or, more likely, never existed¡­ will you still go away?¡±


    There¡¯s a pause. Sadie looks sulky.


    ¡°It did exist,¡± she says.


    ¡°Will you?¡± I persist. ¡°Because I¡¯m not spending all summer on some ridiculous treasure hunt.¡±


    For a few moments, Sadie glowers at me, clearly trying to think of some put-down. But she can¡¯t.


    ¡°Very well,¡± she says at last.


    ¡°OK. It¡¯s a deal.¡± I lift my champagne glass toward her. ¡°Here¡¯s to finding your necklace.¡±


    ¡°Come on, then! Start looking!¡± She darts her head around impatiently, as though we might start searching right here and now in the restaurant.


    ¡°We can¡¯t just go randomly looking! We have to be scientific .¡± I reach into my bag, pull out the necklace sketch, and unfold it. ¡°All right. Think back. Where did you last have it?¡±


    FIVE


    Fairside Nursing Home is in a leafy residential road: a redbrick, double-fronted building with net curtains in every single window. I survey it from the other side of the road, then turn to look at Sadie, who has been following me in silence ever since Potters Bar station. She came with me on the tube, but I barely saw her: She spent the whole time flitting along the carriage, looking at people, popping up to ground level and down again.

 Page 29

    ¡°So, that¡¯s where you used to live,¡± I say with an awkward brightness. ¡°It¡¯s really nice! Lovely¡­ garden.¡± I gesture at a couple of mangy shrubs.


    Sadie doesn¡¯t answer. I look up and see a line of tension in her pale jaw. This must be strange for her, coming back here. I wonder how well she remembers it.


    ¡°Hey, how old are you, anyway?¡± I say curiously, as the thought occurs to me. ¡°I mean, I know you¡¯re a hundred and five really. But now. As you are¡­ here.¡± I gesture at her.


    Sadie looks taken aback by the question. She examines her arms, peers at her dress, and thoughtfully rubs the fabric between her fingers.


    ¡°Twenty-three,¡± she says at last. ¡°Yes, I think I¡¯m twenty-three.¡±


    I¡¯m doing mental calculations in my head. She was 105 when she died. Which would mean¡­


    ¡°You were twenty-three in the year 1927.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right!¡± Her face suddenly comes alive. ¡°We had a pajama party for my birthday. We drank gin fizzes all evening and danced ¡¯til the birds started singing¡­ Oh, I miss pajama parties.¡± She hugs herself. ¡°Do you have many pajama parties?¡±


    Does a one-night stand count as a pajama party?


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure they¡¯re quite the same-¡± I break off as a woman¡¯s face glances out of a top-floor window at me. ¡°Come on. Let¡¯s go.¡±


    I head briskly across the road, up the path to the wide front door, and press the security buzzer.


    ¡°Hello?¡± I call into the grille. ¡°I don¡¯t have an appointment, I¡¯m afraid.¡±


    There¡¯s the sound of a key in a lock, and the front door opens. A woman in a blue nurse¡¯s uniform beams at me. She looks in her early thirties, with her hair tied back in a knot, and a plump pale face.


    ¡°Can I help you?¡±


    ¡°Yes. My name¡¯s Lara, and I¡¯m here about a¡­ a former resident.¡± I glance at Sadie.


    She¡¯s gone.


    I hurriedly scan the whole front garden-but she¡¯s totally disappeared. Bloody hell. She¡¯s left me in the lurch.


    ¡°A former resident?¡± The nurse prompts me.


    ¡°Oh. Er¡­ Sadie Lancaster?¡±


    ¡°Sadie!¡± Her face softens. ¡°Come in! I¡¯m Ginny, senior staff nurse.¡±


    I follow her into a linoleum-floored hall smelling of beeswax and disinfectant. The whole place is quiet, apart from the nurse¡¯s rubber shoes squeaking on the floor and the distant sound of the TV. Through a door I glimpse a couple of old ladies sitting in chairs with crocheted blankets over their knees.


    I¡¯ve never really known any old people. Not really, really old.


    ¡°Hello!¡± I wave nervously at one white-haired lady who is sitting nearby, and her face immediately crumples in distress.


    Shit.


    ¡°Sorry!¡± I call quietly. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to¡­ er¡­¡±


    A nurse comes over to the white-haired lady, and in slight relief I hurry after Ginny, hoping she didn¡¯t notice.


    ¡°Are you a relation?¡± she asks, showing me into a little reception room.


    ¡°I¡¯m Sadie¡¯s great-niece.¡±


    ¡°Lovely!¡± says the nurse, flicking on the kettle. ¡°Cup of tea? We¡¯ve been expecting someone to call, actually. Nobody ever picked up her stuff.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m here about.¡± I hesitate, gearing myself up. ¡°I¡¯m looking for a necklace which I believe once belonged to Sadie. A glass-bead necklace, with a dragonfly set with rhinestones.¡± I smile apologetically. ¡°I know it¡¯s a long shot and I¡¯m sure you don¡¯t even-¡±


    ¡°I know the one.¡± She nods.


    ¡°You know the one?¡± I stare at her stupidly. ¡°You mean¡­ it exists?¡±


    ¡°She had a few lovely bits.¡± Ginny smiles. ¡°But that was her favorite. She wore it over and over.¡±


    ¡°Right!¡± I swallow, trying to keep calm. ¡°Could I possibly see it?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯ll be in her box.¡± Ginny nods again. ¡°If I can get you to fill in a form first¡­ Do you have any ID?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± I scrabble in my bag, my heart racing. I can¡¯t believe it. This was so easy!


    As I fill in the form, I keep looking around for Sadie, but she¡¯s nowhere to be seen. Where¡¯s she gone? She¡¯s missing the great moment!


    ¡°Here you are.¡± I thrust the form at Ginny. ¡°So, can I take it away? I¡¯m nearly next of kin¡­¡±


    ¡°The lawyers said the next of kin weren¡¯t interested in having her personal effects,¡± says Ginny. ¡°Her nephews, was it? We never saw them.¡±

 Page 30

    ¡°Oh.¡± I color. ¡°My dad. And my uncle.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve been holding on to them in case they changed their minds¡­¡± Ginny pushes through a swing door. ¡°But I don¡¯t see why you can¡¯t take them.¡± She shrugs. ¡°It¡¯s nothing much, to be honest. Apart from the bits of jewelry¡­¡± She stops in front of a pin board and gestures fondly at a photo. ¡°Here she is! Here¡¯s our Sadie.¡±


    It¡¯s the same wrinkled old lady from the other photo. She¡¯s wrapped in a pink lacy shawl, and there¡¯s a ribbon in her white candy floss hair. I feel a slight lump in my throat as I gaze at the picture. I just can¡¯t relate this tiny, ancient, folded-up face to Sadie¡¯s proud, elegant profile.


    ¡°Her hundred and fifth birthday, that was.¡± Ginny points to another photo. ¡°You know, she¡¯s our oldest ever resident! She¡¯s had telegrams from the queen!¡±


    A birthday cake is in front of Sadie in this photo, and nurses are crowding into the picture with cups of tea and wide smiles and party hats. As I look at them, I feel a crawling shame. How come we weren¡¯t there? How come she wasn¡¯t surrounded by me and Mum and Dad and everyone?


    ¡°I wish I¡¯d been there.¡± I bite my lip. ¡°I mean¡­ I didn¡¯t realize.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s difficult.¡± Ginny smiles at me without reproach, which of course makes me feel a million times worse. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. She was happy enough. And I¡¯m sure you gave her a wonderful send-off.¡±


    I think back to Sadie¡¯s miserable, empty little funeral and feel even worse.


    ¡°Er¡­ kind of-Hey!¡± My attention is suddenly drawn by something in the photograph. ¡°Wait! Is that it?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the dragonfly necklace.¡± Ginny nods easily. ¡°You can have that photo, if you like.¡±


    I take down the photo, light-headed with disbelief. There it is. Just visible, poking out of the folds of Great-Aunt Sadie¡¯s shawl. There are the beads. There¡¯s the rhinestone-studded dragonfly. Just as she described it. It¡¯s real!


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry none of us could make the funeral.¡± Ginny sighs as we resume walking down the corridor. ¡°We had such staff problems this week. But we toasted her at supper¡­ Here we are! Sadie¡¯s things.¡±


    We¡¯ve arrived at a small storeroom lined with dusty shelves, and she hands me a shoe box. There¡¯s an old metal-backed hairbrush inside, and a couple of old paperbacks. I can see the gleam of beads coiled up at the bottom.


    ¡°Is this all ?¡± I¡¯m taken aback, in spite of myself.


    ¡°We didn¡¯t keep her clothes.¡± Ginny makes an apologetic gesture. ¡°They weren¡¯t really hers, so to speak. I mean, she didn¡¯t choose them.¡±


    ¡°But what about stuff from earlier in her life? What about¡­ furniture? Or mementos?¡±


    Ginny shrugs. ¡°Sorry. I¡¯ve only been here five years, and Sadie was a resident for a long while. I suppose things get broken and lost and not replaced.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± Trying to hide my shock, I start unpacking the meager things. Someone lives for 105 years and this is all that¡¯s left? A shoe box?


    As I reach the jumble of necklaces and brooches at the bottom, I feel my excitement rising. I untangle all the strings of beads, searching for yellow glass, for a flash of rhinestones, for the dragonfly¡­


    It¡¯s not there.


    Ignoring a sudden foreboding, I shake the tangle of beads out properly and lay them straight. There are thirteen necklaces in all. None of them is the right one.


    ¡°Ginny. I can¡¯t find the dragonfly necklace.¡±


    ¡°Oh dear!¡± Ginny peers over my shoulder in concern. ¡°It should be there!¡± She lifts up another necklace, made from tiny purple beads, and smiles at it fondly. ¡°This was another favorite of hers-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m really after the dragonfly necklace.¡± I know I sound agitated. ¡°Could it be anywhere else?¡±


    Ginny looks perplexed. ¡°This is strange. Let¡¯s check with Harriet. She did the clear-out.¡± I follow her back down the corridor and through a door marked Staff . Inside is a small, cozy room in which three nurses are sitting on old floral armchairs, drinking cups of tea.


    ¡°Harriet!¡± says Ginny to a pink-cheeked girl in glasses. ¡°This is Sadie¡¯s great-niece Lara. She wants that lovely dragonfly necklace that Sadie used to wear. Have you seen it?¡±


    Oh God. Why did she have to put it like that? I sound like some horrible grasping person out of Scrooge.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want it for me,¡± I say hastily. ¡°I want it for¡­ a good cause.¡±

 Page 31

    ¡°It isn¡¯t in Sadie¡¯s box,¡± Ginny explains. ¡°Do you know where it could be?¡±


    ¡°Is it not?¡± Harriet looks taken aback. ¡°Well, maybe it wasn¡¯t in the room. Now you mention it, I don¡¯t remember seeing it. I¡¯m sorry, I know I should have taken an inventory. But we cleared that room in a bit of a rush.¡± She looks up at me defensively. ¡°We¡¯ve been so stretched¡­¡±


    ¡°Do you have any idea where it could have gone?¡± I look at them helplessly. ¡°Could it have been put somewhere; could it have been given to one of the other residents¡­¡±


    ¡°The jumble sale!¡± pipes up a thin dark-haired nurse sitting in the corner. ¡°It wasn¡¯t sold by mistake at the jumble sale, was it?¡±


    ¡°What jumble sale?¡± I swivel around to face her.


    ¡°It was a fund-raiser, two weekends ago. All the residents and their families donated stuff. There was a bric-a-brac stall with lots of jewelry.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± I shake my head. ¡°Sadie would never have donated this necklace. It was really special to her.¡±


    ¡°Like I say.¡± The nurse shrugs. ¡°They were going from room to room. There were boxes of stuff everywhere. Maybe it was collected by mistake.¡±


    She sounds so matter-of-fact, I suddenly feel livid on Sadie¡¯s behalf.


    ¡°But that kind of mistake shouldn¡¯t happen! People¡¯s stuff should be safe! Necklaces shouldn¡¯t just disappear!¡±


    ¡°We do have a safe in the cellar,¡± Ginny puts in anxiously. ¡°We ask residents to keep anything of real value in that. Diamond rings and so forth. If it was valuable, it should really have been locked up.¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t valuable exactly, I don¡¯t think. It was just¡­ important.¡± I sit down, rubbing my forehead, trying to organize my thoughts. ¡°So can we track it down? Do you know who was at this jumble sale?¡± Doubtful looks are exchanged around the room, and I sigh. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me. You have no idea.¡±


    ¡°We do!¡± The dark-haired nurse suddenly puts down her cup of tea. ¡°Have we still got the raffle list?¡±


    ¡°The raffle list!¡± says Ginny, brightening. ¡°Of course! Everyone who came to the sale bought a raffle ticket,¡± she explains to me. ¡°They all left their names and addresses in case they won. The star prize was a bottle of Baileys,¡± she adds proudly. ¡°And we had a Yardley gift set-¡±


    ¡°Do you have the list?¡± I cut her off. ¡°Can you give it to me?¡±


    Five minutes later I¡¯m clutching a four-page photocopied list of names and addresses. There are sixty-seven in all.


    Sixty-seven possibilities.


    No, possibilities is too strong a word. Sixty-seven outside chances.


    ¡°Well, thanks.¡± I smile, trying not to feel too daunted. ¡°I¡¯ll investigate this lot. And if you do come across it¡­¡±


    ¡°Of course! We¡¯ll all keep an eye out, won¡¯t we?¡± Ginny appeals around the room, and there are three nods.


    I follow Ginny back through the hall, and as we approach the front door she hesitates.


    ¡°We have a visitors¡¯ book, Lara. I don¡¯t know if you¡¯d like to sign it?¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± I hesitate awkwardly. ¡°Er¡­ yes. Why not?¡±


    Ginny takes down a big red-bound book and leafs through it.


    ¡°All the residents have their own page. But Sadie never had very many signatures. So now that you¡¯re here, I thought it would be nice if you signed, even though she¡¯s gone¡­¡± Ginny flushes. ¡°Is that silly of me?¡±


    ¡°No. It¡¯s sweet of you.¡± I feel a renewed guilt. ¡°We should have visited more.¡±


    ¡°Here we are.¡± Ginny¡¯s flipping through the cream pages. ¡°Oh, look! She did have one visitor this year! A few weeks ago. I was on holiday, so I missed it.¡±


    Charles Reece , I read, as I scrawl Lara Lington across the page, nice and big to make up for the lack of other entries. ¡°Who¡¯s Charles Reece?¡±


    ¡°Who knows?¡± She shrugs.


    Charles Reece. I stare at the name, intrigued. Maybe he was Sadie¡¯s dearest friend from childhood. Or her lover. Oh my God, yes. Maybe he¡¯s a sweet old man with a cane who came to hold his dear Sadie¡¯s hand just one more time. And now he doesn¡¯t even know she¡¯s dead and he wasn¡¯t invited to the funeral¡­


    We really are a crap family.


    ¡°Did he leave any contact details, this Charles Reece?¡± I look up. ¡°Was he really old?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I can ask around, though.¡± She takes the book from me, and her face lights up as she reads my name. ¡°Lington! Any relation to the coffee Lington?¡±

 Page 32

    Oh God. I really cannot face it today.


    ¡°No.¡± I smile weakly. ¡°Just a coincidence.¡±


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s been a real pleasure to meet Sadie¡¯s great-niece.¡± As we reach the front door, she gives me a friendly hug. ¡°You know, Lara, I think you have a little of her in you. You both have the same spirit. And I can sense the same kindness.¡±


    The nicer this nurse is to me, the crappier I feel. I¡¯m not kind. I mean, look at me. I never even visited my great-aunt. I don¡¯t do cycle rides for charity. OK, I do buy The Big Issue sometimes, but not if I¡¯m holding a cappuccino and it¡¯s too much hassle to reach for my purse¡­


    ¡°Ginny.¡± A red-haired nurse beckons her. ¡°Can I have a quick word?¡± She draws her to one side and murmurs under her breath. I just catch the odd word ¡­ strange¡­ police .


    ¡°¡­ police?¡± Ginny¡¯s eyes have widened in surprise.


    ¡°¡­ don¡¯t know¡­ number¡­¡±


    Ginny takes the slip of paper, then turns to smile at me again. I manage a rictus grin, totally paralyzed with horror.


    The police. I¡¯d forgotten about the police.


    I told them Sadie was murdered by the staff at the home. These lovely saintly nurses. Why did I say that? What was I thinking?


    This is all Sadie¡¯s fault. No, it¡¯s not. It¡¯s my fault. I should have kept my big trap shut .


    ¡°Lara?¡± Ginny peers at me in alarm. ¡°Are you all right?¡±


    She¡¯s going to be accused of homicide, and she has no idea. And it¡¯s all my fault. I¡¯m going to ruin everyone¡¯s career and the home will be shut and boarded up and all the old people will have nowhere to go¡­


    ¡°Lara?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± I manage at last, in a grainy voice. ¡°Fine. But I have to go.¡± I start backing out of the front door on wobbly legs. ¡°Thanks so much. Bye.¡±


    I wait until I¡¯m down the path and safely back on the pavement, then whip out my phone and speed-dial DI James¡¯s number, almost hyperventilating in panic. I should never have accused anyone of murder. I am never, ever, ever doing that again. I¡¯m going to confess everything, tear up my statement-


    ¡°DI James¡¯s office.¡± A woman¡¯s crisp voice interrupts my thoughts.


    ¡°Oh, hello.¡± I try to sound calm. ¡°This is Lara Lington speaking. Could I speak to DI James or DC Davies?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid they¡¯re both out on calls. Can I take a message? If it¡¯s urgent-¡±


    ¡°Yes, it¡¯s very, very urgent. It¡¯s to do with a murder case. Could you please tell DI James I¡¯ve had a¡­ a¡­ a realization.¡±


    ¡°A realization,¡± she echoes, obviously writing it down.


    ¡°Yes. About my statement. Quite a crucial one.¡±


    ¡°I think perhaps you should talk to DI James personally-¡±


    ¡°No! This can¡¯t wait! You have to tell him it wasn¡¯t the nurses who murdered my great-aunt. They didn¡¯t do a thing. They¡¯re wonderful, and it was all a terrible mistake, and¡­ well¡­ the thing is¡­¡±


    I¡¯m psyching myself up to bite the bullet and admit I invented the whole thing-when suddenly I¡¯m brought up short by a horrible thought. I can¡¯t confess everything. I can¡¯t admit I made the whole thing up. They¡¯ll instantly resume the funeral. I have a flashback to Sadie¡¯s anguished cry at the funeral service, and feel a shiver of anxiety. I can¡¯t let that happen. I just can¡¯t.


    ¡°Yes?¡± says the woman patiently.


    ¡°I¡­ um¡­ the thing is¡­¡±


    My mind is doing double backflips trying to work out a solution that involves both being honest and buying time for Sadie. But I can¡¯t find one. There isn¡¯t one. And the woman¡¯s going to give up waiting in a minute and put the phone down. I have to say something .


    I need a red herring. Just to distract them for a while. Just while I find the necklace.


    ¡°It was someone else,¡± I blurt out. ¡°A¡­ man. It was him I overheard in the pub. I got confused before. He had a plaited goatee beard,¡± I add randomly. ¡°And a scar on his cheek. I remember it really clearly now.¡±


    They¡¯ll never find a man with a plaited goatee and a scar on his cheek. We¡¯re safe. For now.


    ¡°A man with a plaited beard¡­¡± The woman sounds as if she¡¯s trying to keep up.


    ¡°And a scar.¡±


    ¡°And, I¡¯m sorry, what is this man supposed to have done?¡±


    ¡°Murdered my great-aunt! I gave a statement, but it was wrong. So if you could just cancel it out¡­¡±

 Page 33

    There¡¯s a rather long pause-then the woman says, ¡°Dear, we don¡¯t just cancel out statements. I think DI James will probably want to talk to you himself.¡±


    Oh God. The thing is, I really, really don¡¯t want to talk to DI James.


    ¡°Fine.¡± I try to sound cheery. ¡°No problem. As long as he knows the nurses definitely didn¡¯t do it. If you could write that message on a Post-it or something? The nurses didn¡¯t do it.¡±


    ¡°The nurses didn¡¯t do it,¡± she repeats dubiously.


    ¡°Exactly. In big capitals. And put it on his desk.¡±


    There¡¯s another, even longer pause. Then the woman says, ¡°Can I take your name again?¡±


    ¡°Lara Lington. He¡¯ll know who I am.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure he will. Well, as I say, Miss Lington, I¡¯m sure DI James will be in touch.¡±


    I ring off and head down the road, my legs weak. I think I just about got away with it. But, honestly, I¡¯m a nervous wreck.


    Two hours later, I¡¯m not just a nervous wreck. I¡¯m exhausted.


    In fact, I¡¯m taking a whole new jaded view of the British populace. It might seem like an easy project, phoning a few people on a list and asking if they¡¯d bought a necklace. It might seem simple and straightforward, until you actually tried it yourself.


    I feel like I could write a whole book on human nature, and it would be called: People Are Really Unhelpful . First of all, they want to know how you got their name and phone number. Then, when you mention the word raffle , they want to know what they won and even call out to their husband, ¡°Darren, we won that raffle!¡± When you hastily tell them, ¡°You didn¡¯t win anything,¡± the mood instantly turns suspicious.


    Then, when you broach the subject of what they bought at the jumble sale, they get even more suspicious. They get convinced you¡¯re trying to sell them something or steal their credit card details by telepathy. At the third number I tried, there was some guy in the background saying, ¡°I¡¯ve heard about this. They phone you up and keep you talking. It¡¯s an Internet scam. Put the phone down, Tina.¡±


    ¡°How can it be an Internet scam?¡± I wanted to yell. ¡°We¡¯re not on the Internet!¡±


    I¡¯ve only had one woman so far who seemed keen to help: Eileen Roberts. And actually she was a total pain because she kept me on the line for ten minutes, telling me about everything she bought at the jumble sale and saying what a shame it was and had I thought of making a replacement necklace as there was a wonderful bead shop in Bromley?


    Argh.


    I rub my ear, which is glowing from being pressed against the phone, and count the scribbled-out names on my list. Twenty-three. Forty-four to go. This was a crap idea. I¡¯m never going to find this stupid necklace. I stretch out my back, then fold the list up and put it in my bag. I¡¯ll do the rest tomorrow. Maybe.


    I head into the kitchen, pour myself a glass of wine, and am putting a lasagna in the oven when her voice says, ¡°Did you find my necklace?¡± I start, crashing my forehead against the oven door, and look up. Sadie¡¯s sitting on the sill of the open window.


    ¡°Give me some warning when you¡¯re going to appear!¡± I exclaim. ¡°And, anyway, where were you? Why did you suddenly abandon me?¡±


    ¡°That place is deathly.¡± She tosses her chin. ¡°Full of old people. I had to get away.¡±


    She¡¯s speaking lightly, but I can tell she was freaked out by going back there. That must be why she disappeared for so long.


    ¡°You were old,¡± I remind her. ¡°You were the oldest one there. Look, that¡¯s you!¡± I reach in my jacket pocket and produce the picture of her, all wrinkled and white-haired. I see the briefest of flinches on Sadie¡¯s face before she brushes a scornful glance across the image.


    ¡°That¡¯s not me.¡±


    ¡°It is! A nurse at the home gave it to me, she said it was you on your hundred and fifth birthday! You should be proud! You got telegrams from the queen and everything-¡±


    ¡°I mean, it¡¯s not me . I never felt like that. No one feels like that inside. This is how I felt.¡± She stretches out her arms. ¡°Like this. A girl in my twenties. All my life. The outside is just¡­ cladding.¡±


    ¡°Well, anyway, you could have warned me you were leaving. You left me all alone!¡±


    ¡°So did you get the necklace? Do you have it?¡± Sadie¡¯s face lights up with hope, and I can¡¯t help wincing.


    ¡°Sorry. They had a box of your stuff, but the dragonfly necklace wasn¡¯t in there. Nobody knows where it¡¯s gone. I¡¯m really sorry, Sadie.¡±


    I brace myself for the tantrum, the banshee screaming¡­ but it doesn¡¯t come. She just flickers slightly, as though someone turned the voltage down.

 Page 34

    ¡°But I¡¯m on the case,¡± I add. ¡°I¡¯m calling everyone who came to the jumble sale, in case they bought it. I¡¯ve been on the phone all afternoon. It¡¯s been quite hard work, actually,¡± I add. ¡°Quite exhausting.¡±


    I¡¯m expecting some gratitude from Sadie at this point. Some nice little speech about how brilliant I am and how appreciative she is of all my effort. But she sighs impatiently and wanders off, through the wall.


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome,¡± I mouth after her.


    I head into the sitting room and am flicking through the TV channels when she appears again. She seems to have cheered up immensely.


    ¡°You live with some very peculiar people! There¡¯s a man upstairs lying on a machine, grunting.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I stare at her. ¡°Sadie, you can¡¯t spy on my neighbors!¡±


    ¡°What does ¡®shake your booty¡¯ mean?¡± she says, ignoring me. ¡°The girl on the wireless was singing it. It sounds like nonsense.¡±


    ¡°It means¡­ dance. Let it all out.¡±


    ¡°But why your booty?¡± She still looks puzzled. ¡°Does it mean wave your shoe?¡±


    ¡°Of course not! Your booty is your¡­¡± I get up and pat my bum. ¡°You dance like this.¡± I do a few ¡°street¡± dance moves, then look up to see Sadie in fits of giggles.


    ¡°You look as though you¡¯ve got convulsions! That¡¯s not dancing!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s modern dancing.¡± I glare at her and sit down. I¡¯m a bit sensitive about my dancing, as it happens. I take a gulp of wine and look critically at her. She¡¯s peering at the TV now, watching EastEnders with wide eyes.


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡±


    ¡°EastEnders . It¡¯s a TV show.¡±


    ¡°Why are they all so angry with one another?¡±


    ¡°Dunno. They always are.¡± I take another gulp of wine. I can¡¯t believe I¡¯m explaining EastEnders and ¡°shake your booty¡± to my dead great-aunt. Surely we should be talking about something more meaningful?


    ¡°Look, Sadie¡­ what are you?¡± I say on impulse, zapping the TV off.


    ¡°What do you mean, what am I?¡± She sounds affronted. ¡°I¡¯m a girl. Just like you.¡±


    ¡°A dead girl,¡± I point out. ¡°So, not exactly like me.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to remind me,¡± she says frostily.


    I watch as she arranges herself on the edge of the sofa, obviously trying to look natural despite having zero gravity.


    ¡°Do you have any special superhero powers?¡± I try another tack. ¡°Can you make fire? Or stretch yourself really thin?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± She seems offended. ¡°Anyway, I am thin.¡±


    ¡°Do you have an enemy to vanquish? Like Buffy?¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s Buffy?¡±


    ¡°The Vampire Slayer,¡± I explain. ¡°She¡¯s on TV; she fights demons and vampires-¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be ridiculous,¡± she cuts me off tartly. ¡°Vampires don¡¯t exist.¡±


    ¡°Well, nor do ghosts!¡± I retort. ¡°And it¡¯s not ridiculous! Don¡¯t you know anything? Most ghosts come back to fight the dark forces of evil or lead people to the light or something. They do something positive . Not just sit around watching TV.¡±


    Sadie shrugs, as though to say, ¡°What do I care?¡±


    I sip my wine, thinking hard. She¡¯s obviously not here to save the world from dark forces. Maybe she¡¯s going to shed light on mankind¡¯s plight or the meaning of life or something like that. Maybe I¡¯m supposed to learn from her.


    ¡°So, you lived through the whole twentieth century,¡± I venture. ¡°That¡¯s pretty amazing. What was¡­ er¡­ Winston Churchill like? Or JFK! Do you think he really was killed by Lee Harvey Oswald?¡±


    Sadie stares at me as though I¡¯m a moron. ¡°How would I know?¡±


    ¡°Because!¡± I say defensively. ¡°Because you¡¯re from history! What was it like living through World War Two?¡± To my surprise, Sadie looks quite blank.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you remember it?¡± I say incredulously.


    ¡°Of course I remember it.¡± She regains her composure. ¡°It was cold and dreary and one¡¯s friends got killed, and I¡¯d rather not think about it.¡±


    She speaks crisply-but that little hesitation has pricked my curiosity.


    ¡°Do you remember your whole life?¡± I ask cautiously.


    She must have memories spanning more than a hundred years. How on earth can she keep hold of them all?


    ¡°It seems like¡­ a dream,¡± murmurs Sadie, almost to herself. ¡°Some parts are hazy.¡± She¡¯s twirling her skirt around one finger, her expression distant. ¡°I remember everything I need to remember,¡± she says at last.

 Page 35

    ¡°You choose what to remember,¡± I offer.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t say that.¡± Her eyes flash with some unfathomable emotion and she wheels away from my gaze. She comes to rest in front of the mantelpiece and peers at a photo of me. It¡¯s a tourist gimmick from Madame Tussauds and shows me grinning next to the waxwork of Brad Pitt.


    ¡°Is this your lover?¡± She turns around.


    ¡°I wish,¡± I say sardonically.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you have any lovers?¡± She sounds so pitying, I feel a bit piqued.


    ¡°I had a boyfriend called Josh until a couple of months ago. But it¡¯s over. So¡­ I¡¯m single at the moment.¡±


    Sadie looks at me expectantly. ¡°Why don¡¯t you take another lover?¡±


    ¡°Because I don¡¯t want to just take another lover!¡± I say, nettled. ¡°I¡¯m not ready!¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡± She seems perplexed.


    ¡°Because I loved him! And it¡¯s been really traumatic! He was my soul mate; we completely chimed-¡±


    ¡°Why did he break it off, then?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I just don¡¯t know! At least, I have this theory¡­¡± I trail off, torn. It¡¯s still painful talking about Josh. But, on the other hand, it¡¯s quite a relief to have someone fresh to download to. ¡°OK. Tell me what you think.¡± I kick off my shoes, sit crosslegged on the sofa, and lean toward Sadie. ¡°We were in this relationship and it was all going great-¡±


    ¡°Is he handsome?¡± she interrupts.


    ¡°Of course he¡¯s handsome!¡± I pull out my phone, find the most flattering picture of him, and tilt it toward her. ¡°Here he is.¡±


    ¡°Mmm.¡± She makes a so-so gesture with her head.


    Mmm? Is that the best she can do? I mean, Josh is absolutely, definitively good-looking, and that¡¯s not just me being biased.


    ¡°We met at this bonfire party. He¡¯s in IT advertising.¡± I¡¯m scrolling through, showing her other pictures. ¡°We just clicked, you know how you do? We used to spend all night just talking.¡±


    ¡°How dull.¡± Sadie wrinkles her nose. ¡°I¡¯d rather spend all night gambling.¡±


    ¡°We were getting to know each other,¡± I say, shooting her an offended look. ¡°Like you do in a relationship.¡±


    ¡°Did you go dancing?¡±


    ¡°Sometimes!¡± I say impatiently. ¡°That wasn¡¯t the point! The point was, we were the perfect match. We talked about everything. We were wrapped up in each other. I honestly thought this was The One. But then¡­¡± I pause as my thoughts painfully retread old paths. ¡°Well, two things happened. First of all, there was this time when I¡­ I did the wrong thing. We were walking past a jewelers¡¯ shop and I said, ¡®That¡¯s the ring you can buy me.¡¯ I mean, I was joking . But I think it freaked him out. Then, a couple of weeks later, one of his mates broke up from a long-term relationship. It was like shock waves went through the group. The commitment thing hit them and none of them could cope, so they all ran. All of a sudden Josh was just¡­ backing off. Then he broke up with me, and he wouldn¡¯t even talk about it.¡±


    I close my eyes as painful memories start resurfacing. It was such a shock. He dumped me by email. By email .


    ¡°The thing is, I know he still cares about me.¡± I bite my lip. ¡°I mean, the very fact he won¡¯t talk proves it! He¡¯s scared, or he¡¯s running away, or there¡¯s some other reason I don¡¯t know about¡­ But I feel so powerless.¡± I feel the tears brimming in my eyes. ¡°How am I supposed to fix it if he won¡¯t discuss it? How can I make things better if I don¡¯t know what he¡¯s thinking? I mean, what do you think?¡±


    There¡¯s silence. I look up to see Sadie sitting with her eyes closed, humming softly.


    ¡°Sadie? Sadie?¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± She blinks at me. ¡°Sorry. I do tend to go into a trance when people are droning on.¡±


    Droning on?


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t ¡®droning on¡¯!¡± I say with indignation. ¡°I was telling you about my relationship!¡±


    Sadie is surveying me with fascination.


    ¡°You¡¯re terribly serious , aren¡¯t you?¡± she says.


    ¡°No, I¡¯m not,¡± I say at once, defensively. ¡°What does that mean?¡±


    ¡°When I was your age, if a boy behaved badly, one simply scored his name out from one¡¯s dance card.¡±


    ¡°Yes, well.¡± I try not to sound too patronizing. ¡°This is all a bit more serious than dance cards. We do a bit more than dance.¡±


    ¡°My best friend, Bunty, was treated terribly badly by a boy named Christopher one New Year. In a taxi, you know.¡± Sadie widens her eyes. ¡°But she had a little weep, powdered her nose again, and tally-ho! She was engaged before Easter!¡±

 Page 36

    ¡°Tally-ho?¡± I can¡¯t keep the scorn out of my voice. ¡°That¡¯s your attitude toward men? Tally-ho?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with that?¡±


    ¡°What about proper balanced relationships? What about commitment?¡±


    Sadie looks baffled. ¡°Why do you keep talking about commitment? Do you mean being committed to a mental asylum?¡±


    ¡°No!¡± I try to keep my patience. ¡°I mean¡­ Look, were you ever married?¡±


    Sadie shrugs. ¡°I was married for a spell. We had too many arguments. So wearing, and one begins to wonder why one ever liked the chap in the first place. So I left him. I went abroad, to the Orient. That was in 1933. He divorced me during the war. Cited me for adultery,¡± she adds gaily, ¡°but everyone was too distracted to think about the scandal by then.¡±


    In the kitchen, the oven pings to tell me my lasagna¡¯s ready. I wander through, my head buzzing with all this new information. Sadie was divorced. She played around. She lived in ¡°the Orient,¡± wherever that¡¯s supposed to be.


    ¡°D¡¯you mean Asia?¡± I hoick out my lasagna and tip some salad onto my plate. ¡°Because that¡¯s what we call it these days. And, by the way, we work at our relationships.¡±


    ¡°Work?¡± Sadie appears beside me, wrinkling her nose. ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound like any fun. Maybe that¡¯s why you broke up.¡±


    ¡°It isn¡¯t!¡± I feel like slapping her, she¡¯s so annoying. She doesn¡¯t understand anything.


    ¡°Count On Us,¡± she reads off my lasagna packet. ¡°What does that mean?¡±


    ¡°It means it¡¯s low fat,¡± I say, a little reluctantly, expecting the usual lecture that Mum gives me about processed diet foods and how I¡¯m a perfectly normal size and girls these days are far too obsessed about weight.


    ¡°Oh, you¡¯re on a diet.¡± Sadie¡¯s eyes light up. ¡°You should do the Hollywood diet. You eat nothing but eight grapefruit a day, black coffee, and a hard-boiled egg. And plenty of cigarettes. I did it for a month and the weight fell off me. A girl in my village swore she took tapeworm pills,¡± she adds reminiscently. ¡°But she wouldn¡¯t tell us where she got them.¡±


    I stare at her, feeling a bit revolted. ¡°Tapeworms?¡±


    ¡°They gobble up all the food inside one, you know. Marvelous idea.¡±


    I sit down and look at my lasagna, but I¡¯m not hungry anymore. Partly because visions of tapeworms are now lodged in my mind. And partly because I haven¡¯t talked about Josh so openly for ages. I feel all churned up and frustrated.


    ¡°If I could just talk to him.¡± I spear a piece of cucumber and stare at it miserably. ¡°If I could just get inside his head. But he won¡¯t accept my calls, he won¡¯t meet up-¡±


    ¡°More talking?¡± Sadie looks appalled. ¡°How are you going to forget him if you keep talking about him? Darling, when things go wrong in life, this is what you do.¡± She adopts a knowledgeable tone. ¡°You lift your chin, put on a ravishing smile, mix yourself a little cocktail-and out you go.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not as simple as that,¡± I say resentfully. ¡°And I don¡¯t want to forget about him. Some of us have hearts, you know. Some of us don¡¯t give up on true love. Some of us¡­¡±


    I suddenly notice Sadie¡¯s eyes have closed and she¡¯s humming again.


    Trust me to get haunted by the flakiest ghost in the world. One minute shrieking in my ear, the next making outrageous comments, the next spying on my neighbors¡­ I take a mouthful of lasagna and chew it crossly. I wonder what else she saw in my neighbors¡¯ flats. Maybe I could get her to spy on that guy upstairs when he¡¯s making a racket, see what he¡¯s actually doing-


    Wait.


    Oh my God.


    I nearly choke on my food. With no warning, a new idea has flashed into my mind. A fully formed, totally brilliant plan. The plan that will solve everything.


    Sadie could spy on Josh .


    She could get into his flat. She could listen to his conversations. She could find out what he thinks about everything and tell me, and somehow I could work out what the problem is between us and solve it.


    This is the answer. This is it. This is why she was sent to me.


    ¡°Sadie!¡± I leap to my feet, powered by a kind of giddy adrenaline. ¡°I¡¯ve worked it out! I know why you¡¯re here! It¡¯s to get me and Josh back together!¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s not,¡± Sadie objects at once. ¡°It¡¯s to get my necklace.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t be here just for some crummy old necklace.¡± I make a brushing-aside gesture. ¡°Maybe the real reason is you¡¯re supposed to help me! That¡¯s why you were sent!¡±

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    ¡°I wasn¡¯t sent!¡± Sadie appears mortally offended at the very idea. ¡°And my necklace isn¡¯t crummy! And I don¡¯t want to help you. You¡¯re supposed to be helping me .¡±


    ¡°Who says? I bet you¡¯re my guardian angel.¡± I¡¯m getting carried away here. ¡°I bet you¡¯ve been sent back to earth to show me that actually my life is wonderful, like in that movie.¡±


    Sadie looks at me silently for a moment, then surveys the kitchen.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think your life¡¯s wonderful,¡± she says. ¡°I think it¡¯s rather drab. And your haircut¡¯s atrocious.¡±


    I glare at her furiously. ¡°You¡¯re a crap guardian angel!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not your guardian angel!¡± she shoots back.


    ¡°How do you know?¡± I clutch at my chest determinedly. ¡°I¡¯m getting a very strong psychic feeling that you¡¯re here to help me get back together with Josh. The spirits are telling me.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m getting a very strong psychic feeling that I¡¯m not supposed to get you back together with Josh,¡± she retorts at once. ¡°The spirits are telling me .¡±


    She¡¯s got a nerve. What would she know about spirits? Is she the one who can see ghosts?


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m alive, so I¡¯m boss,¡± I snap. ¡°And I say you¡¯re supposed to help me. Otherwise, maybe I won¡¯t have time to look for your necklace.¡±


    I didn¡¯t mean to put it quite as bluntly as that. But then, she forced me into it by being so selfish. I mean, honestly. She should want to help her own great-niece.


    Sadie¡¯s eyes flash angrily at me, but I can tell she knows she¡¯s caught out.


    ¡°Very well,¡± she says at last, and her slim shoulders heave in a huge, put-upon sigh. ¡°It¡¯s a terrible idea, but I suppose I have no choice. What do you want me to do?¡±


    SIX


    I haven¡¯t felt as zippy as this for weeks. For months. It¡¯s eight o¡¯clock the next morning, and I feel like a brand-new person! Instead of waking all depressed, with a picture of Josh clutched in my tearstained hand, a bottle of vodka on the floor, and Alanis Morissette playing on a loop¡­


    OK. That was only the one time.


    But anyway. Just look at me! Energetic. Refreshed. Straight eyeliner. Crisp stripy top. Ready to face the day and spy on Josh and get him back. I¡¯ve even booked a cab, to be efficient.


    I head into the kitchen to find Sadie sitting at the table in yet another dress. This one is mauve, with panels of tulle and a draping effect at the shoulders.


    ¡°Wow!¡± I can¡¯t help gasping. ¡°How come you have all these different outfits?¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it glorious?¡± Sadie looks pleased with herself. ¡°And it¡¯s very easy, you know. I just imagine myself in a particular frock and it appears on me.¡±


    ¡°So was this one of your favorites?¡±


    ¡°No, this belonged to a girl I knew called Cecily.¡± Sadie smooths down the skirt. ¡°I always coveted it.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve pinched another girl¡¯s outfit?¡± I can¡¯t help giggling. ¡°You¡¯ve stolen it?¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t stolen it,¡± she says coldly. ¡°Don¡¯t be ridiculous.¡±


    ¡°How do you know?¡± I can¡¯t resist needling her. ¡°What if she¡¯s a ghost too and she wants to wear it today and she can¡¯t? What if she¡¯s sitting somewhere, crying her eyes out?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not how it works,¡± says Sadie stonily.


    ¡°How do you know what works? How do you know-¡± I break off as a sudden brilliant thought hits me. ¡°Hey! I¡¯ve got it! You should just imagine your necklace. Just picture it in your head and then you¡¯ll have it. Quickly, close your eyes, think hard-¡±


    ¡°Are you always this slow-witted?¡± Sadie interrupts. ¡°I¡¯ve tried that. I tried to imagine my rabbit-fur cape and dancing shoes as well, but I couldn¡¯t get them. I don¡¯t know why.¡±


    ¡°Maybe you can only wear ghost clothes,¡± I say after a moment¡¯s consideration. ¡°Clothes that are dead too. Like, that have been shredded up or destroyed or whatever.¡±


    We both look at the mauve dress for a few moments. It seems sad to think of it being shredded up; in fact, I wish I hadn¡¯t mentioned it.


    ¡°So, are you all set?¡± I change the subject. ¡°If we go soon, we can catch Josh before he leaves for work.¡± I take a yogurt out of the fridge and start spooning it into my mouth. Just the thought of being near Josh again is making me feel fizzy. I can¡¯t even finish my yogurt, I¡¯m so excited. I put the half-eaten pot back in the fridge and dump the spoon in the sink.

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    ¡°Come on. Let¡¯s go!¡± I pick up my hairbrush from its place in the fruit bowl and tug it through my hair. Then I grab my keys and turn to see Sadie studying me. ¡°Goodness , your arms are plump,¡± she says. ¡°I hadn¡¯t noticed before.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re not plump,¡± I say, offended. ¡°That¡¯s solid muscle.¡± I clench my biceps at her and she recoils.


    ¡°Even worse.¡± Complacently, she looks down at her own slender white arms. ¡°I was always renowned for my arms.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well, these days, we appreciate a bit of definition,¡± I inform her. ¡°We go to the gym. Are you ready? The taxi¡¯ll be here in a minute.¡± The buzzer goes and I lift the receiver.


    ¡°Hi! I¡¯m just coming down-¡±


    ¡°Lara?¡± comes a familiar muffled voice. ¡°Darling, it¡¯s Dad. And Mum. Just popped round to check you¡¯re all right. We thought we¡¯d catch you before work.¡±


    I stare at the speakerphone in disbelief. Dad and Mum? Of all the times. And what¡¯s all this with the ¡°popping round,¡± anyway? Mum and Dad never ¡°pop round.¡±


    ¡°Um¡­ great!¡± I try to sound breezy. ¡°I¡¯ll be right down!¡±


    I emerge from my building to find Mum and Dad standing on the pavement. Mum is holding a potted plant and Dad is clutching a full Holland & Barrett bag, and they¡¯re talking in low voices. As they see me, they come forward with fake smiles as though I¡¯m a mental patient.


    ¡°Lara, darling.¡± I can see Dad¡¯s worried eyes scanning my face. ¡°You haven¡¯t replied to any of my texts or messages. We were getting worried!¡±


    ¡°Oh, right. Sorry. I¡¯ve been a bit busy.¡±


    ¡°What happened at the police station, darling?¡± asks Mum, attempting to sound relaxed.


    ¡°It was fine. I gave them a statement.¡±


    ¡°Oh, Michael.¡± Mum closes her eyes in despair.


    ¡°So you really believe Great-Aunt Sadie was murdered?¡± I can tell Dad is as freaked out as Mum.


    ¡°Look, Dad, it¡¯s no big deal,¡± I say reassuringly. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about me.¡±


    Mum¡¯s eyes snap open. ¡°Vitamins,¡± she says, and starts rooting in the Holland & Barrett bag. ¡°I asked the lady at the shop about¡­ behavioral-¡± She stops herself. ¡°And lavender oil¡­ and a plant can help with stress-you could talk to it!¡±


    She tries to give me the potted plant, and I thrust it away again impatiently.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want a plant! I¡¯ll forget to water it and it¡¯ll die.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to have the plant,¡± says Dad in soothing tones, glancing warningly at Mum. ¡°But you¡¯ve obviously been very stressed, what with the new business¡­ and Josh¡­¡±


    They are so going to change their tune. They are so going to realize I was right all along, when Josh and I get back together and get married. Not that I can say this right now, obviously.


    ¡°Dad.¡± I give him a patient, reasonable smile. ¡°I told you, I don¡¯t even think about Josh anymore. I¡¯m just getting on with life. It¡¯s you who keeps bringing him up.¡±


    Ha. That was quite clever. I¡¯m just about to tell Dad that maybe he¡¯s obsessed with Josh, when a taxi pulls up beside us on the pavement and a driver leans out.


    ¡°Thirty-two Bickenhall Mansions?¡±


    Damn. OK, I¡¯ll just pretend I didn¡¯t hear him.


    Mum and Dad are exchanging looks. ¡°Isn¡¯t that where Josh lives?¡± says Mum tentatively.


    ¡°I don¡¯t remember,¡± I say carelessly. ¡°Anyway, it¡¯s for someone else-¡±


    ¡°Thirty-two Bickenhall Mansions?¡± The driver has leaned farther out of his cab, his voice raised higher. ¡°Lara Lington? You book taxi?¡±


    Bugger.


    ¡°Why are you going to Josh¡¯s flat?¡± Mum sounds beside herself.


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ not!¡± I flounder. ¡°It must be some car I booked months ago, finally turning up! They¡¯re always late. You¡¯re six months late! Go away!¡± I shoo at the bemused driver, who eventually puts the car into gear and drives away.


    There¡¯s a kind of tense silence. Dad¡¯s expression is so transparent it¡¯s endearing. He wants to believe the best of me. On the other hand, the evidence is all pointing one way.


    ¡°Lara, do you swear that taxi wasn¡¯t for you?¡± he says at last.


    ¡°I swear.¡± I nod. ¡°On¡­ Great-Aunt Sadie¡¯s life.¡±


    I hear a gasp and look around to see Sadie¡¯s eyes beaming fury at me.


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t think of anything else!¡± I say defensively.

 Page 39

    Sadie ignores me and walks right up to Dad. ¡°You¡¯re fools,¡± she says emphatically. ¡°She¡¯s still smitten with Josh. She¡¯s about to spy on him. And she¡¯s making me do her dirty work.¡±


    ¡°Shut up, you sneak!¡± I exclaim before I can stop myself.


    ¡°Sorry?¡± Dad stares at me.


    ¡°Nothing.¡± I clear my throat. ¡°Nothing! I¡¯m fine.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a lunatic.¡± Sadie swivels around pityingly.


    ¡°At least I¡¯m not haunting people!¡± I can¡¯t help retorting.


    ¡°Haunting?¡± Dad is trying to follow me. ¡°Lara¡­ what on earth¡­¡±


    ¡°Sorry.¡± I smile at him. ¡°Just thinking aloud. In fact¡­ I was actually thinking about poor Great-Aunt Sadie.¡± I sigh, shaking my head pityingly. ¡°She had such sad little twiggy arms.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re not twiggy!¡± Sadie glares back.


    ¡°She probably thought they were really attractive. Talk about deluded!¡± I laugh gaily. ¡°Who wants pipe cleaners for arms?¡±


    ¡°Who wants pillows for arms?¡± Sadie shoots back, and I gasp in outrage.


    ¡°They¡¯re not pillows!¡±


    ¡°Lara¡­¡± says Dad faintly. ¡°What¡¯s not pillows?¡±


    Mum looks like she wants to cry. She¡¯s still clutching on to her potted plant and a book entitled Stress-Free Living: You CAN Achieve It .


    ¡°Anyway, I have to get to work.¡± I give Mum a huge hug. ¡°It¡¯s been brilliant to see you. And I¡¯ll read your book and take some vitamins. And I¡¯ll see you soon, Dad.¡± I hug him too. ¡°Don¡¯t worry!¡±


    I blow them both kisses and hurry off along the pavement. When I reach the corner, I turn to wave-and they¡¯re both still standing there like waxworks.


    I do feel sorry for my parents, I really do. Maybe I¡¯ll buy them a box of chocolates.


    Twenty minutes later I¡¯m standing outside Josh¡¯s building, feeling bubbly with exhilaration. Everything¡¯s going according to plan. I¡¯ve located his window and explained the layout of the flat. Now it¡¯s up to Sadie.


    ¡°Go on!¡± I say excitedly. ¡°Walk through the wall! This is so cool!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need to walk through the wall.¡± She shoots me a disparaging look. ¡°I¡¯ll simply imagine myself inside his flat.¡±


    ¡°OK. Well¡­ good luck. Try to find out as much as you can. And be careful!¡±


    Sadie disappears, and I crane my neck to survey Josh¡¯s window, but I can¡¯t see anything. I feel almost sick with anticipation. This is the nearest I¡¯ve been to Josh in weeks. He¡¯s in there right now. And Sadie¡¯s watching him. And any minute she¡¯ll come out and-


    ¡°He¡¯s not there.¡± Sadie appears in front of me.


    ¡°Not there?¡± I stare at her, affronted. ¡°Well, where is he? He doesn¡¯t usually leave for work ¡¯til nine.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve no idea.¡± She doesn¡¯t sound remotely interested.


    ¡°What did the place look like?¡± I can¡¯t help probing for details. ¡°Is it a real mess? Like, with old abandoned pizza boxes and beer bottles everywhere? Like he¡¯s been letting himself go? Like he doesn¡¯t really care about life anymore?¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s very tidy. Lots of fruit in the kitchen,¡± Sadie adds. ¡°I noticed that.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Well, he¡¯s obviously taking care of himself, then.¡± I hunch my shoulders, a bit discouraged. It¡¯s not that I want Josh to be an emotional wreck on the brink of meltdown, exactly, but¡­


    Well. You know. It would be quite flattering.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± Sadie yawns. ¡°I¡¯ve had enough of this.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not just leaving! Go in again! Look around for clues! Like¡­ are there any photographs of me or anything?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± says Sadie at once. ¡°None. Not a single one.¡±


    ¡°You haven¡¯t even looked.¡± I glare at her resentfully. ¡°Search on his desk. Maybe he¡¯s in the middle of writing a letter to me or something. Go on!¡± Without thinking, I try to push her toward the building, but my hands sink straight through her body.


    ¡°Urgh!¡± I recoil, feeling squeamish.


    ¡°Don¡¯t do that!¡± she exclaims.


    ¡°Did it¡­ hurt?¡± I can¡¯t help glancing at my hands, as though they really have just plunged through her innards.


    ¡°Not exactly,¡± she says grudgingly. ¡°But it¡¯s not pleasant to have someone¡¯s hands poking through my stomach.¡±


    She whisks off again. I try to damp down my agitation and wait patiently. But this is totally unbearable, being stuck outside. If it were me searching, I¡¯d find something, I know I would. Like a diary full of Josh¡¯s thoughts. Or a half-written email, unsent. Or¡­ or poetry . Imagine that.

 Page 40

    I can¡¯t help sliding into a fantasy about Sadie coming across a poem scrawled on some cast-aside piece of paper. Something really simple and direct, just like Josh himself.


    It Was All A Mistake


    God, I miss you, Lara.


    I love your-


    I can¡¯t think of anything to rhyme with Lara.


    ¡°Wake up! Lara?¡± I jump and open my eyes to see Sadie in front of me again.


    ¡°Did you find something?¡± I gasp.


    ¡°Yes. As a matter of fact, I did!¡± Sadie looks triumphant. ¡°Something rather interesting and extremely relevant.¡±


    ¡°Oh my God. What?¡± I can hardly breathe as tantalizing possibilities flash through my mind. A photo of me under his pillow¡­ a diary entry resolving to get back in touch with me-


    ¡°He¡¯s having lunch with another girl on Saturday.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± All my fantasies melt away. I stare at her, stricken. ¡°What do you mean, he¡¯s having lunch with another girl?¡±


    ¡°There was a memorandum pinned up in the kitchen: twelve-thirty lunch with Marie.¡±


    I don¡¯t know anyone called Marie. Josh doesn¡¯t know anyone called Marie.


    ¡°Who¡¯s Marie?¡± I can¡¯t contain my agitation. ¡°Who¡¯s Marie?¡±


    Sadie shrugs. ¡°His new girlfriend?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t say that!¡± I cry in horror. ¡°He hasn¡¯t got a new girlfriend! He wouldn¡¯t have! He said there wasn¡¯t anyone else! He said¡­¡±


    I trail off, my heart thumping. It never even occurred to me that Josh might be seeing another girl already. It never even crossed my mind.


    In his breakup email, he said he wasn¡¯t going to rush into anything new. He said he had to take time out to think about his whole life . Well, he hasn¡¯t thought for very long, has he? If I was going to think about my whole life, I¡¯d take ages longer than six weeks. I¡¯d take¡­ a year! At least! Maybe two or three.


    Boys treat thinking like sex. They think it takes twenty minutes and then you¡¯re done and there¡¯s no point talking about it. They have no idea .


    ¡°Did it say where they¡¯re having lunch?¡±


    Sadie nods. ¡°Bistro Martin.¡±


    ¡°Bistro Martin?¡± I think I¡¯m going to hyperventilate. ¡°That¡¯s where we had our first date! We always used to go there!¡±


    Josh is taking a girl to Bistro Martin. A girl called Marie.


    ¡°Go in again.¡± I wave my hands agitatedly at the building. ¡°Search around! Find out more!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not going in again!¡± objects Sadie. ¡°You¡¯ve found out all you need to know.¡±


    Actually, she has a point.


    ¡°You¡¯re right.¡± Abruptly, I turn and start walking away from the flat, so preoccupied that I nearly bump into an old man. ¡°Yes, you¡¯re right. I know which restaurant they¡¯re going to be at, and what time; I¡¯ll just go along and see for myself-¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Sadie appears in front of me, and I stop in surprise. ¡°That¡¯s not what I meant! You can¡¯t be intending to spy on them.¡±


    ¡°I have to.¡± I look at her, perplexed. ¡°How else am I going to find out if Marie¡¯s his new girlfriend or not?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t find out. You say, ¡®Good riddance,¡¯ buy a new dress, and take another lover. Or several.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want several lovers,¡± I say mulishly. ¡°I want Josh.¡±


    ¡°Well, you can¡¯t have him! Give up!¡±


    I¡¯m so, so, so sick of people telling me to give up on Josh. My parents, Natalie, that old woman I got talking to on the bus once¡­


    ¡°Why should I give up?¡± My words fly out on a swell of protest. ¡°Why does everyone keep telling me to give up? What¡¯s wrong with sticking to one single goal? In every other area of life, perseverance is encouraged! It¡¯s rewarded! I mean, they didn¡¯t tell Edison to give up on lightbulbs, did they? They didn¡¯t tell Scott to forget about the South Pole! They didn¡¯t say, ¡®Never mind, Scotty, there are plenty more snowy wastes out there.¡¯ He kept trying. He refused to give up, however hard it got. And he made it!¡±


    I feel quite stirred up as I finish, but Sadie is peering at me as though I¡¯m an imbecile.


    ¡°Scott didn¡¯t make it,¡± she says. ¡°He froze to death.¡±


    I glare at her resentfully. Some people are just so negative.


    ¡°Well, anyway.¡± I turn on my heel and start stumping along the street. ¡°I¡¯m going to that lunch.¡±


    ¡°The worst thing a girl can do is trail after a boy when a love affair is dead,¡± Sadie says disdainfully. I stump faster, but she has no problem keeping up with me. ¡°There was a girl called Polly in my village -frightful trailer. She was convinced this chap Desmond was still in love with her and followed him around everywhere. So we played the most ripping joke on her. We told her that Desmond was in the garden, hiding behind a bush as he was too shy to talk to her directly. Then, when she came out, one of the boys read out a love letter, supposed to be from him. We¡¯d written it ourselves, you know. Everyone was hiding behind the bushes, simply rocking.¡±

 Page 41

    I can¡¯t help feeling a reluctant interest in her story.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t the other guy sound different?¡±


    ¡°He said his voice was high from nerves. He said her presence reduced him to a trembling leaf. Polly replied that she understood, because her own legs were like aspic.¡± Sadie starts giggling. ¡°We all called her Aspic for ages after that.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s so mean!¡± I say in horror. ¡°She didn¡¯t realize it was a trick?¡±


    ¡°Only when the bushes all started shaking around the garden. Then my friend Bunty rolled out onto the grass, she was laughing so hard, and the game was up. Poor Polly.¡± Sadie gives a sudden giggle. ¡°She was foaming. She didn¡¯t speak to any of us all summer.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not surprised!¡± I exclaim. ¡°I think you were all really cruel! And, anyway, what if their love affair wasn¡¯t dead? What if you ruined her chance of true love?¡±


    ¡°True love!¡± echoes Sadie with a derisive laugh. ¡°You¡¯re so old-fashioned!¡±


    ¡°Old-fashioned?¡± I echo incredulously.


    ¡°You¡¯re just like my grandmother, with your love songs and your sighing. You even have a little miniature of your beloved in your handbag, don¡¯t you? Don¡¯t deny it! I¡¯ve seen you looking at it.¡±


    It takes me a moment to work out what she¡¯s talking about.


    ¡°It isn¡¯t a miniature, actually. It¡¯s called a mobile phone.¡±


    ¡°Whatever it¡¯s called. You still look at it and make goo-goo eyes and then you take your smelling salts out of that little bottle-¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s Rescue Remedy!¡± I say furiously. God, she¡¯s starting to wind me up. ¡°So you don¡¯t believe in love, is that what you¡¯re saying? You weren¡¯t ever in love? Not even when you were married?¡±


    A passing postman shoots me a curious look, and I hastily put a hand to my ear as though adjusting an earpiece. I must start wearing one as camouflage.


    Sadie hasn¡¯t answered me, and as we reach the tube station I stop dead to survey her, suddenly genuinely curious. ¡°You were really never in love?¡±


    There¡¯s the briefest pause, then Sadie flings her arms out with a rattle of bracelets, her head thrown back. ¡°I had fun. That¡¯s what I believe in. Fun, flings, the sizzle¡­¡±


    ¡°What sizzle?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what we called it, Bunty and I.¡± Her mouth curves in a reminiscent smile. ¡°It starts as a shiver, when you see a man for the first time. And then he meets your eye and the shiver runs down your back and becomes a sizzle in your stomach and you think I want to dance with that man .¡±


    ¡°And then what happens?¡±


    ¡°You dance, you have a cocktail or two, you flirt¡­¡± Her eyes are shining.


    ¡°Do you-¡±


    I want to ask, ¡°Do you shag him?¡± but I¡¯m not sure it¡¯s the kind of question you ask your 105-year-old great-aunt. Then I remember the visitor from the nursing home.


    ¡°Hey.¡± I raise my eyebrows. ¡°You can say what you like, but I know there was someone special in your life.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± She stares at me, suddenly tense. ¡°What are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°A certain gentleman by the name of¡­ Charles Reece?¡±


    I¡¯m hoping to provoke a blush or gasp or something, but she looks blank.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of him.¡±


    ¡°Charles Reece! He came to visit you in the nursing home? A few weeks ago?¡±


    Sadie shakes her head. ¡°I don¡¯t remember.¡± The light in her eyes fades as she adds, ¡°I don¡¯t remember much about that place at all.¡±


    ¡°I suppose you wouldn¡¯t¡­¡± I pause awkwardly. ¡°You had a stroke, years ago.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡± She glares at me.


    God, she doesn¡¯t have to be so touchy. It¡¯s not my fault. Suddenly I realize my phone is vibrating. I pull it out of my pocket and see that it¡¯s Kate.


    ¡°Hi, Kate!¡±


    ¡°Lara? Hi! Um, I was wondering¡­ are you coming into work today? Or not?¡± she adds quickly, as though she might have offended me by asking. ¡°I mean, either way is great, everything¡¯s fine¡­¡±


    Shit. I¡¯ve been so absorbed in Josh, I¡¯d almost forgotten about work.


    ¡°I¡¯m on my way in,¡± I say hastily. ¡°I was just doing a bit of¡­ er¡­ research at home. Is anything up?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s Shireen. She wants to know what you¡¯ve done about her dog. She sounded quite upset. In fact, she was talking about pulling out of the job.¡±


    Oh God. I haven¡¯t even thought about Shireen and her dog.

 Page 42

    ¡°Could you phone her back and say I¡¯m on the case and I¡¯ll call her really soon? Thanks, Kate.¡±


    I put my phone away and massage my temples briefly. This is bad. Here I am, out on the street, spying on my ex, completely abandoning my work crisis. I need to reorder my priorities. I need to realize what¡¯s important in life.


    I¡¯ll leave Josh until the weekend.


    ¡°We have to go.¡± I reach for my Oyster card and start hurrying toward the tube. ¡°I¡¯ve got a problem.¡±


    ¡°Another man problem?¡± asks Sadie, wafting effortlessly along beside me.


    ¡°No, a dog problem.¡±


    ¡°A dog?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s my client.¡± I march down the tube steps. ¡°She wants to take her dog to work, and they¡¯re saying no, it¡¯s not allowed, but she¡¯s convinced there¡¯s another dog in the building.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Because she heard barking, more than once. But, I mean, what am I supposed to do about it?¡± I¡¯m almost talking to myself now. ¡°I¡¯m totally stuck. The human-resources department is denying there¡¯s any other dog, and there¡¯s no way to prove they¡¯re lying. I can¡¯t exactly get into the building and search every office-¡±


    I stop in surprise as Sadie appears right in front of me.


    ¡°Maybe not.¡± Her eyes sparkle. ¡°But I can.¡±


    SEVEN


    Macrosant is housed in a massive block on Kingsway, with big steps and a steel globe sculpture and plate-glass windows. From the Costa Coffee across the road, I have a pretty good view of it.


    ¡°Anything doglike,¡± I¡¯m instructing Sadie, behind an open copy of the Evening Standard . ¡°The sound of barking, baskets under desks, dog toys¡­¡± I take a sip of cappuccino. ¡°I¡¯ll stay here. And thanks!¡±


    The building¡¯s so massive, I could be waiting here awhile. I flick through my Evening Standard and slowly nibble my way through a chocolate brownie, and I¡¯ve just ordered a fresh cappuccino when Sadie materializes in front of me. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are shining and she¡¯s glowing all over. I pull out my mobile phone, smile at the girl at the next table, and pretend to dial a number.


    ¡°So?¡± I say into the phone. ¡°Did you find a dog?¡±


    ¡°Oh, that,¡± Sadie says, as though she¡¯d forgotten all about it. ¡°Yes, there¡¯s a dog, but guess what-¡±


    ¡°Where?¡± I cut her off in excitement. ¡°Where¡¯s the dog?¡±


    ¡°Up there.¡± She gestures. ¡°In a basket under a desk. It¡¯s the dearest little Pekingese-¡±


    ¡°Can you get a name? An office number? Anything like that? Thank you!¡±


    She vanishes and I sip my new cappuccino, hugging myself. Shireen was right all along! Jean lied to me! Wait until I get on the phone with her. Just wait. I¡¯m going to demand a full apology and full office rights for Flash and maybe a new dog basket as a goodwill gesture¡­


    I glance through the window and suddenly spot Sadie drifting along the pavement, back toward the coffee shop. I feel a tiny spike of frustration. She doesn¡¯t seem in any hurry at all. Doesn¡¯t she realize how important this is?


    I¡¯m ready with my mobile out as soon as she enters. ¡°Everything OK?¡± I demand. ¡°Did you find the dog again?¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± she says vaguely. ¡°Yes, the dog. It¡¯s on floor fourteen, room 1416, and its owner is Jane Frenshew. I¡¯ve just met the most delicious man.¡± She hugs herself.


    ¡°What do you mean, you¡¯ve met a man?¡± I¡¯m scribbling it all quickly on a piece of paper. ¡°You can¡¯t meet a man. You¡¯re dead. Unless-¡± I look up with a sudden thrill. ¡°Ooh. Have you met another ghost?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not a ghost.¡± She shakes her head impatiently. ¡°But he¡¯s divine. He was talking in one of the rooms I walked through. Just like Rudolph Valentino.¡±


    ¡°Who?¡± I say blankly.


    ¡°The film star, of course! Tall and dark and dashing. Instant sizzle.¡±


    ¡°Sounds lovely,¡± I say absently.


    ¡°And he¡¯s just the right height,¡± Sadie continues, swinging her legs on a bar stool. ¡°I measured myself against him. My head would rest on his shoulder perfectly if we went dancing together.¡±


    ¡°Great.¡± I finish writing, grab my bag, and stand up. ¡°OK. I need to get back to the office and sort this out.¡±


    I head out of the door and start hurrying toward the tube, but to my surprise Sadie blocks my way.


    ¡°I want him.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡± I peer at her, flicking my mobile open out of habit.

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    ¡°The man I just met. I felt it, right here. The sizzle.¡± She presses her concave stomach. ¡°I want to dance with him.¡±


    Is she joking?


    ¡°Well, that would be nice,¡± I say at last, in placatory tones. ¡°But I¡¯ve really got to get to the office-¡±


    As I move forward, Sadie thrusts a bare arm across my path and I stop, taken aback.


    ¡°Do you know how long it¡¯s been since I¡¯ve danced?¡± she says with sudden passion. ¡°Do you know how long it¡¯s been since I¡¯ve¡­ shaken my booty? All those years, trapped in an old woman¡¯s body. In a place with no music, with no life¡­¡±


    I feel a rub of guilt inside as I remember the picture of Sadie, ancient and wrinkled in her pink shawl.


    ¡°OK,¡± I say quickly. ¡°Fair enough. So, let¡¯s dance at home. We¡¯ll put on some music, dim the lights, have a little party-¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to dance at home to the wireless!¡± she says scornfully. ¡°I want to go out with a man and enjoy myself!¡±


    ¡°You want to go on a date,¡± I say disbelievingly, and her eyes light up.


    ¡°Yes! Exactly! A date with a man. With him.¡± She points at the building.


    What exactly is it about being a ghost that she doesn¡¯t understand?


    ¡°Sadie, you¡¯re dead.¡±


    ¡°I know!¡± she says in irritation. ¡°You don¡¯t have to keep reminding me!¡±


    ¡°So you can¡¯t go on a date. Sorry. That¡¯s the way it is.¡± I shrug and start walking on again. Two seconds later, Sadie lands in front of me once more, her jaw set.


    ¡°Ask him for me.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t do it on my own.¡± Her voice is fast and determined. ¡°I need a go-between. If you go out with him on a date, I can go out with him on a date. If you dance with him, I can dance with him too.¡±


    She¡¯s serious. I almost want to burst out laughing.


    ¡°You want me to go on a date for you,¡± I say, to clarify. ¡°With some random guy I don¡¯t know. So you can have a dance.¡±


    ¡°I just want one last little burst of fun with a handsome man while I still have the chance.¡± Sadie¡¯s head falls forward and her mouth pouts into the sad little O shape again. ¡°One more whirl around a dance floor. That¡¯s all I ask before I disappear from this world.¡± Her voice descends to a low, pitiful whisper. ¡°It¡¯s my last desire. My final wish.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not your final wish!¡± I say, a bit indignantly. ¡°You¡¯ve already had your final wish! It was searching for your necklace, remember?¡±


    For an instant Sadie looks caught out.


    ¡°This is my other final wish,¡± she says at last.


    ¡°Look, Sadie.¡± I try to sound reasonable. ¡°I can¡¯t just ask a stranger on a date. You¡¯ll have to do without this one. Sorry.¡±


    Sadie is surveying me with such a silent, quivering, wounded expression that I wonder if I somehow stepped on her foot.


    ¡°You¡¯re really saying no,¡± she says at last, her voice cracking as though with emotion. ¡°You¡¯re really refusing me. One last innocent wish. One tiny request.¡±


    ¡°Look-¡±


    ¡°I was in that nursing home for years. Never any visitors. Never any laughter. Never any life. Just oldness¡­ and loneliness¡­ and misery¡­¡±


    Oh God. She can¡¯t do this to me. It¡¯s not fair.


    ¡°Every Christmas, all alone, never a visitor¡­ never a present¡­¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t my fault,¡± I say feebly, but Sadie ignores me.


    ¡°And now I see the chance of a sliver of happiness. A morsel of pleasure. Yet my own callous, selfish great-niece-¡±


    ¡°OK!¡± I stop in my tracks and rub my forehead. ¡°OK! Whatever! Fine! I¡¯ll do it.¡±


    Everyone in my life thinks I¡¯m a lunatic anyway. Asking a stranger on a date will make no difference; in fact, my dad will probably be delighted.


    ¡°You¡¯re an angel!¡± Sadie¡¯s mood has instantly flipped to giddy excitement. She whirls around on the pavement, the panels on her dress flying out. ¡°I¡¯ll show you where he is! Come on!¡±


    I follow her toward the massive steps and push my way into the huge double-height foyer. If I¡¯m going to do this, I need to do it very quickly, before I change my mind.


    ¡°So where is he?¡± I look around the echoing marble chamber.


    ¡°In a room upstairs! Come on!¡± She¡¯s like a puppy straining the leash.


    ¡°I can¡¯t just walk into an office building!¡± I hiss back, gesturing at the electronic security barriers. ¡°I need a plan. I need an excuse. I need ¡­ aha.¡±

 Page 44

    In the corner is a stand with the sign Global Strategy Seminar . A pair of bored-looking girls are sitting behind a table of name badges. They¡¯ll do.


    ¡°Hi.¡± I approach briskly. ¡°Sorry I¡¯m late.¡±


    ¡°No problem. They¡¯ve only just started.¡± One of the girls sits up and reaches for her list, while the other stares resolutely at the ceiling. ¡°And you are¡­¡±


    ¡°Sarah Connoy,¡± I say, grabbing a name badge at random. ¡°Thanks. I¡¯d better get going.¡±


    I hurry to the security barriers, flash my name badge at the guard, and hurry through into a wide corridor with expensive-looking artwork on the walls. I have no idea where I am. The building holds about twenty different companies, and the only one I¡¯ve ever visited is Macrosant, which is on floors 11-17. ¡°Where¡¯s this guy, then?¡± I murmur to Sadie out of the side of my mouth.


    ¡°Twentieth floor.¡±


    I head for the lifts, nodding in a businesslike way at all the other passengers. At floor 20 I get out of the lift and find myself in another massive reception area. Twenty feet away from where I¡¯m standing is a granite-colored desk manned by a scary-looking woman in a gray suit. A plaque on the wall says Turner Murray Consulting .


    Wow. Turner Murray are the really brainy ones who get asked to sort out big businesses. This guy must be pretty high-powered, whoever he is.


    ¡°Come on!¡± Sadie is dancing ahead toward a door with a security panel. A pair of men in suits stride past, and one of them gives me a curious look. I hold my phone up to my ear to discourage conversation, and follow the men. As we reach the door, one of the men punches in a code.


    ¡°Thanks.¡± I nod in my most businesslike way and follow them in. ¡°Gavin, I¡¯ve told you the European figures don¡¯t make sense,¡± I say into my phone.


    The taller man hesitates as though he¡¯s going to challenge me. Shit. I hastily increase my speed and walk straight past them.


    ¡°I have a meeting in two minutes, Gavin,¡± I say hastily. ¡°I want those updated figures on my BlackBerry. Now I have to go and talk about¡­ er¡­ percentages.¡±


    There¡¯s a ladies¡¯ room on the left. Trying not to run, I hurry into it and duck into a marble-clad cubicle.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Sadie demands, materializing right in the cubicle with me. Honestly. Does she have no idea of privacy?


    ¡°What do you think I¡¯m doing?¡± I reply under my breath. ¡°We need to wait a bit.¡±


    I sit it out for three minutes, then head out of the ladies¡¯. The two men have disappeared. The corridor is empty and quiet, just a long stretch of pale-gray carpet and occasional water machines and blond-wood doors leading off on either side. I can hear the hum of conversation and occasional small computer sounds.


    ¡°So where is he?¡± I turn to Sadie.


    ¡°Hmm.¡± She¡¯s peering around. ¡°One of these doors along here¡­¡±


    She heads along the corridor and I follow cautiously. This is surreal. What am I doing roaming around a strange office building, looking for a strange man?


    ¡°Yes!¡± Sadie appears by my side, glowing. ¡°He¡¯s in there! He has the most penetrating eyes. Absolutely shiversome.¡± She points to a solid wooden door labeled Room 2012 . There isn¡¯t a window or even a tiny glass panel. I can¡¯t see anything inside.


    ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve just been inside! He¡¯s there! Go on! Ask him!¡± Her hands are trying to push me.


    ¡°Wait!¡± I take a few steps away, trying to think this all through. I can¡¯t just blunder in. I have to make a plan.


    1) Knock and enter strange guy¡¯s office.


    2) Say hello in natural, pleasant manner.


    3) Ask him out on date.


    4) Almost die of embarrassment as he calls security.


    5) Leave very, very swiftly.


    6) Do not give my name under any circumstances. That way I can run away and blank the whole thing from my memory and nobody will ever know it was me. Maybe he¡¯ll even think he dreamed it.


    The whole thing will take thirty seconds max and then Sadie will have to stop pestering me. OK, let¡¯s get it over with. I approach the door, trying to ignore the fact that my heart is suddenly galloping with nerves. I take a deep breath, raise my hand, and knock gently.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t make any sound!¡± exclaims Sadie behind me. ¡°Knock harder! Then just walk in. He¡¯s in there! Go on!¡±


    Squeezing my eyes, I rap sharply, twist the door handle, and take a step inside the room.


    Twenty suited people seated around a conference table all turn to look at me. A man at the far end pauses in his PowerPoint presentation.

 Page 45

    I stare back, frozen.


    It¡¯s not an office. It¡¯s a conference room. I¡¯m standing in a company I don¡¯t belong to, in a great big meeting I don¡¯t belong to, and everyone¡¯s waiting for me to speak.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± I stammer at last. ¡°I don¡¯t want to interrupt. Carry on.¡±


    Out of the corner of my eye I¡¯ve noticed a couple of empty seats. Barely knowing what I¡¯m doing, I pull a chair out and sit down. The woman next to me eyes me uncertainly for a moment, then pushes along a pad of paper and pen.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± I murmur back.


    I don¡¯t quite believe this. No one¡¯s told me to leave. Don¡¯t they realize I don¡¯t belong here? The guy at the front has resumed his speech, and a few people are scribbling notes. Surreptitiously, I look around the table. There are about fifteen men in this room. Sadie¡¯s guy could be any of them. There¡¯s a sandy-haired guy across the table who looks cute. The man giving the presentation is quite good-looking too. He has wavy dark hair and pale blue eyes and the same tie I bought Josh for his birthday. He¡¯s gesturing at a graph and talking with an animated voice.


    ¡°¡­ and client satisfaction ratings have increased, year-on-year-¡±


    ¡°Stop right there.¡± A man standing at the window, whom I hadn¡¯t even noticed before, turns around. He has an American accent, a dark suit, and chestnut-colored hair brushed straight back. There¡¯s a deep V-shaped frown between his eyebrows, and he¡¯s looking at the wavy-haired guy as though he represents some great personal disappointment to him. ¡°Client satisfaction ratings aren¡¯t what we¡¯re about. I don¡¯t want to perform work that a client rates as an A. I want to perform work that I rate as an A.¡±


    The man with wavy hair looks wrong-footed, and I feel a stab of sympathy for him.


    ¡°Of course,¡± he mumbles.


    ¡°The emphasis in this room is all wrong.¡± The American guy frowns around the table. ¡°We¡¯re not here to perform tactical quick fixes. We should be influencing strategy. Innovating. Since I¡¯ve been over here¡­¡±


    I tune out as I notice Sadie sliding into the chair next to me. I scribble WHICH MAN? and push my pad across.


    ¡°The one who looks like Rudolph Valentino,¡± she says, as though surprised I even need to ask.


    For God¡¯s sake.


    HOW WOULD I KNOW WHAT BLOODY RUDOLPH VALENTINO LOOKS LIKE? I scribble. WHICH ONE?


    I¡¯m betting on the wavy-haired man. Unless it¡¯s the blond guy sitting right at the front; he looks quite nice. Or maybe that chap with the goatee?


    ¡°Him, of course!¡± Sadie points to the other side of the room.


    THE MAN GIVING THE PRESENTATION? I write, just to confirm it.


    ¡°No, silly!¡± She giggles. ¡°Him!¡± She appears in front of the American man with the frown, and gazes at him longingly. ¡°Isn¡¯t he a dove?¡±


    ¡°Him?¡±


    Oops. I spoke out loud. Everyone turns to look at me, and I hastily try to sound as though I¡¯m clearing my throat: ¡°Hmrrrm hrrrmm.¡±


    SERIOUSLY, HIM? I write on my pad of paper as she returns to my side.


    ¡°He¡¯s delicious!¡± she says in my ear, sounding affronted.


    I survey the American guy dubiously, trying to be fair. I suppose he is quite good-looking in that classic preppy way. His hair springs up from a broad, square brow, he has the hint of a tan, and dark wrist hair is visible inside his immaculate white cuffs. And his eyes are penetrating. He¡¯s got that magnetic quality that leaders always seem to have. Strong hands and gestures. As he speaks, he commands attention.


    But honestly. He¡¯s so totally not my sort. Too intense. Too frowny. And everyone else in the room seems terrified of him.


    ¡°Speaking of which.¡± He picks up a plastic folder and skims it deftly across the table toward the goatee-beard guy. ¡°Last night I put together some points with regard to the Morris Farquhar consultation. Just a memo. Might help.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Goatee-beard guy looks utterly taken aback. ¡°Well¡­ thanks. I appreciate it.¡± He flips through wonderingly. ¡°Can I use this?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the general idea,¡± says the American guy, with a smile so wry and brief you¡¯d miss it if you blinked. ¡°So, regarding the final point¡­¡±


    From my place at the back, I can see goatee-beard guy leafing through the typed pages, agog. ¡°When the hell did he have time to do this?¡± he mutters to his neighbor, who shrugs.


    ¡°I have to go.¡± The American guy suddenly consults his watch. ¡°My apologies for hijacking the meeting. Simon, please continue.¡±


    ¡°I have just one question.¡± The sandy-haired man hurriedly raises his hand. ¡°When you¡¯re talking about innovating procedure, do you mean-¡±

 Page 46

    ¡°Quick!¡± Sadie¡¯s voice suddenly resounds in my ear, making me jump. ¡°Ask him on a date! He¡¯s leaving! You promised! Do it! Do-it-do-it-do-it-¡±


    OK!!!!!! I scrawl, flinching. JUST GIVE ME A SECOND .


    Sadie stalks to the other side of the room and watches me expectantly. After a while she starts making impatient Come on! gestures with her hands. Mr. American Frown has finished answering the sandy-haired guy and is pushing some papers into his briefcase.


    I can¡¯t do this. It¡¯s ludicrous.


    ¡°Go on! Go on!¡± Sadie¡¯s voice blasts my eardrum again. ¡°Ask!¡±


    Blood is pulsating around my head. My legs are trembling under the table. Somehow I force myself to raise a hand.


    ¡°Excuse me?¡± I say in an embarrassed squeak.


    Mr. American Frown turns and surveys me, looking puzzled. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I don¡¯t think we¡¯ve been introduced. You¡¯ll have to excuse me, I¡¯m in a hurry-¡±


    ¡°I have a question.¡±


    Everyone around the table has swiveled to look at me. I can see a man whispering ¡°Who¡¯s that?¡± to his neighbor.


    ¡°OK.¡± He sighs. ¡°One more quick question. What is it?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ um¡­ It¡¯s just¡­ I wanted to ask¡­¡± My voice is jumpy and I clear my throat. ¡°Would you like to go out with me?¡±


    There¡¯s a stunned silence, apart from someone spluttering on their coffee. My face is boiling hot, but I hold steady. I can see a few astounded looks passing between the people at the table.


    ¡°Excuse me?¡± says the American man, looking bewildered.


    ¡°Like¡­ on a date?¡± I risk a little smile.


    Suddenly I¡¯m aware of Sadie beside him. ¡°Say yes !¡± she shrieks into his ear, so loudly that I want to flinch on his behalf. ¡°Say yes! Say yes!¡±


    To my astonishment, I can see the American man reacting. He¡¯s cocking his head as though he can hear some distant radio signal. Can he hear her?


    ¡°Young lady,¡± says a gray-haired man curtly. ¡°This really isn¡¯t the time or place-¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t mean to interrupt,¡± I say humbly. ¡°I won¡¯t take up much time. I just need an answer, one way or the other.¡± I turn to the American man again. ¡°Would you like to go out with me?¡±


    ¡°Say yes! Say yes!¡± Sadie¡¯s yelling increases to an unbearable level.


    This is unreal. The American man can definitely hear something. He shakes his head and takes a couple of steps away, but Sadie follows him, still yelling. His eyes are glazed and he looks like he¡¯s in a trance.


    No one else in the room is moving or speaking. They all seem pinioned by shock; one woman has her hand clapped across her face as though she¡¯s watching a train wreck.


    ¡°Say yes!¡± Sadie¡¯s starting to sound hoarse as she screams. ¡°Right now! Say it! SAY YES!¡±


    It¡¯s almost comical, the sight of her yelling so hard and only getting the faintest reaction. But as I watch, I only feel pity. She looks so powerless, as though she¡¯s shouting behind a sheet of glass and the only one who can hear her properly is me. Sadie¡¯s world must be so frustrating, I find myself thinking. She can¡¯t touch anything, she can¡¯t communicate with anyone, it¡¯s obvious she¡¯s never going to get through to this guy-


    ¡°Yes.¡± The American man nods desperately.


    My pity dies away.


    Yes?


    There¡¯s a gasp all around the table and a hastily stifled giggle. Everyone immediately turns to gape at me, but I¡¯m temporarily too dumbfounded to reply.


    He said yes.


    Does this mean¡­ I actually have to go on a date with him?


    ¡°Great!¡± I try to gather my wits. ¡°So¡­ let¡¯s be in touch, shall we? My name¡¯s Lara Lington, by the way, here¡¯s my card¡­¡± I scrabble in my bag.


    ¡°I¡¯m Ed.¡± The man still looks dazed. ¡°Ed Harrison.¡± He reaches into his inside pocket and produces his own business card.


    ¡°So¡­ um¡­ bye, then, Ed!¡± I pick up my bag and hurriedly beat a retreat, to the sound of a growing hubbub. I can hear someone saying, ¡°Who the bloody hell was that?¡± and a woman saying in an urgent undertone, ¡°You see? You just have to have the guts . You have to be direct with men. Stop the games. Lay it out there. If I¡¯d known at her age what that girl knows¡­¡±


    What I know?


    I don¡¯t know anything except I need to get out of here.


    EIGHT


    I¡¯m still in a state of shock as Sadie catches up with me, halfway across the ground floor reception lobby. My mind keeps rerunning the scene in total disbelief. Sadie communicated with a man. He actually heard her. I¡¯m not sure how much he heard-but obviously enough.

 Page 47

    ¡°Isn¡¯t he a peach?¡± she says dreamily. ¡°I knew he¡¯d say yes.¡±


    ¡°What went on in there?¡± I mutter incredulously. ¡°What¡¯s with the shouting? I thought you couldn¡¯t talk to anyone except me!¡±


    ¡°Talking¡¯s no good,¡± she agrees. ¡°But I¡¯ve noticed that when I really let off a socking great scream right in someone¡¯s ear, most people seem to hear something faint. It¡¯s terribly hard work, though.¡±


    ¡°Have you done this before? Have you spoken to anyone else?¡±


    I know it¡¯s ridiculous, but I feel the tiniest bit jealous that she can get through to other people. Sadie is my ghost.


    ¡°Oh, I had a few words with the queen,¡± she says airily. ¡°Just for fun.¡±


    ¡°Are you serious?¡±


    ¡°Maybe.¡± She shoots me a wicked little smile. ¡°It¡¯s hell on the old vocal cords, though. I always have to give up after a while.¡± She coughs and rubs her throat.


    ¡°I thought I was the only person you were haunting,¡± I can¡¯t help saying childishly. ¡°I thought I was special.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re the only person I can be with instantly,¡± says Sadie after pondering a moment. ¡°I just have to think of you, and I¡¯m with you.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Secretly, I feel quite pleased to hear this.


    ¡°So, where do you think he¡¯ll take us?¡± Sadie looks up, her eyes sparkling. ¡°The Savoy? I adore the Savoy.¡±


    My attention is wrenched back to the present situation. She seriously envisages all three of us going on a date together? A weird, freaky, threesome-with-a-ghost date?


    OK, Lara. Stay sane. That guy won¡¯t really claim a date. He¡¯ll tear up my card and blame the incident on his hangover/drug habit/stress levels and I¡¯ll never see him again. Feeling more confident, I stride toward the exit. That¡¯s enough craziness for one day. I have things to do.


    As soon as I get back to the office, I put a call through to Jean, lean back in my swivel chair, and prepare to relish the moment.


    ¡°Jean Savill.¡±


    ¡°Oh, hi, Jean,¡± I say pleasantly. ¡°It¡¯s Lara Lington here. I¡¯m just calling about your no-dog policy again, which I totally understand and applaud. I can absolutely see why you¡¯d wish to keep your workplace an animal-free zone. But I was just wondering why this rule doesn¡¯t extend to Jane Frenshew in room 1416?¡±


    Ha!


    I¡¯ve never heard Jean so squirmy. At first she denies it altogether. Then she tries to say it¡¯s due to special circumstances and doesn¡¯t set any precedent. But it only takes one mention of lawyers and European rights for her to cave in. Shireen can bring Flash to work! It¡¯s going to be put in her contract tomorrow, and they¡¯re throwing in a dog basket! I put down the phone and dial Shireen¡¯s number. She¡¯s going to be so happy! Finally, this job is fun .


    And it¡¯s even more fun when Shireen gasps incredulously over the phone.


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t imagine anyone at Sturgis Curtis taking the same trouble,¡± she keeps saying. ¡°This is the difference when you work with a smaller outfit.¡±


    ¡°Boutique,¡± I correct her. ¡°We have the personal touch. Tell all your friends!¡±


    ¡°I will! I¡¯m so impressed! How did you find out about the other dog, by the way?¡±


    I hesitate briefly.


    ¡°Ways and means,¡± I say finally.


    ¡°Well, you¡¯re brilliant!¡±


    At last I put the phone down, glowing, and look up to see Kate gazing at me with avid curiosity.


    ¡°How did you find out about the other dog?¡± she says.


    ¡°Instincts.¡± I shrug.


    ¡°Instincts?¡± echoes Sadie derisively, who has been wandering about the office throughout. ¡°You didn¡¯t have any instincts! It was me! You should say, ¡®My marvelous great-aunt Sadie helped me and I¡¯m extremely grateful.¡¯¡±


    ¡°You know, Natalie would never have bothered tracking down a dog,¡± says Kate suddenly. ¡°Never. Not in a million years.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± My glow dims. Suddenly, looking at the whole thing through Natalie-type business eyes, I feel a little unprofessional. Maybe it was a bit ridiculous, to spend so much time and effort on one dog. ¡°Well, I just wanted to save the situation; it seemed the best way-¡±


    ¡°No, you don¡¯t understand.¡± Kate cuts me off, pink in the face. ¡°I meant it in a good way.¡±


    I¡¯m so taken aback, I don¡¯t know what to say. No one¡¯s ever compared me favorably to Natalie before.


    ¡°I¡¯ll go on a coffee run to celebrate!¡± Kate says brightly. ¡°Do you want anything?¡±

 Page 48

    ¡°It¡¯s OK.¡± I smile at her. ¡°You don¡¯t have to do that.¡±


    ¡°Actually¡­¡± Kate looks awkward. ¡°I¡¯m a bit ravenous. I haven¡¯t had a lunch break yet.¡±


    ¡°Oh God!¡± I say, appalled. ¡°Go! Have lunch! You¡¯ll starve!¡±


    Kate leaps up, bashing her head on an open file drawer, and pulls her bag down off a high shelf. The minute she¡¯s closed the door behind her, Sadie comes over to my desk.


    ¡°So.¡± She perches on the edge and regards me expectantly.


    ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°Are you going to ring him?¡±


    ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°Him!¡± She leans right over my computer. ¡°Him!¡±


    ¡°You mean Ed Whatsit? You want me to ring him?¡± I shoot her a pitying glance. ¡°Do you have no idea how things work? If he wants to ring, he can ring.¡± Which he won¡¯t in a million years , I silently add.


    I delete a few emails and type a reply, then look up again. Sadie is sitting on top of a filing cabinet, staring fixedly at the phone. As she sees me looking, she jumps and quickly looks away.


    ¡°Now who¡¯s obsessing over a man?¡± I can¡¯t help a little dig.


    ¡°I¡¯m not obsessing,¡± she says haughtily.


    ¡°If you watch the phone, it doesn¡¯t ring. Don¡¯t you know anything?¡±


    Sadie¡¯s eyes flash angrily at me, but she turns away and starts examining the blinds cord, as though she wants to analyze every fiber. Then she wanders over to the opposite window. Then she looks at the phone again.


    I could really do without a lovelorn ghost trailing around my office when I¡¯m trying to work.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you go sightseeing?¡± I suggest. ¡°You could look at the gherkin building, or go to Harrods¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been to Harrods.¡± She wrinkles her nose. ¡°It looks very peculiar these days.¡±


    I¡¯m about to suggest that she go for a long, long walk in Hyde Park, when my mobile trills. Like lightning, Sadie is by my side, watching eagerly as I check the display.


    ¡°Is it him? Is it him?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know the number.¡± I shrug. ¡°Could be anyone.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s him!¡± She hugs herself. ¡°Tell him we want to go to the Savoy for cocktails.¡±


    ¡°Are you crazy? I¡¯m not saying that!¡±


    ¡°This is my date, and I want to go to the Savoy,¡± she says mulishly.


    ¡°Shut up or I won¡¯t answer!¡±


    We glare at each other as the phone trills again, then Sadie takes a reluctant step backward, her cheeks pouchy.


    ¡°Hello?¡±


    ¡°Is this Lara?¡± It¡¯s a woman I don¡¯t recognize.


    ¡°It¡¯s not him, OK?¡± I hiss at Sadie. I make a shooing-away motion at her, then turn back to the phone.


    ¡°Yes, Lara speaking. Who¡¯s this?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s Nina Martin. You left a message about a necklace? At the old folks¡¯ jumble sale?¡±


    ¡°Oh, yes!¡± I¡¯m suddenly alert. ¡°Did you buy one?¡±


    ¡°I bought two. Black pearls and a red one. Good condition. I can sell them both to you if you like; I was planning to put them on eBay-¡±


    ¡°No.¡± I deflate. ¡°They¡¯re not what I¡¯m looking for. Thanks, anyway.¡±


    I take out the list and scribble off Nina Martin¡¯s name while Sadie watches critically.


    ¡°Why haven¡¯t you tried all the names?¡± she demands.


    ¡°I¡¯ll phone some more this evening. I have to work now,¡± I add at her look. ¡°Sorry, but I do.¡±


    Sadie heaves a huge sigh. ¡°All this waiting is unbearable.¡± She swishes over to my desk and stares at the phone. Then she swishes to the window, then back to the phone.


    There¡¯s no way I can sit here all afternoon with her swishing and sighing. I¡¯m going to have to be brutally honest.


    ¡°Look, Sadie.¡± I wait until she turns. ¡°About Ed. You should know the truth. He won¡¯t call.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean, he won¡¯t call?¡± Sadie retorts. ¡°Of course he will.¡±


    ¡°He won¡¯t.¡± I shake my head. ¡°There¡¯s no way on earth he¡¯s going to call some loony girl who blagged her way into his meeting. He¡¯s going to throw my card away and forget all about it. Sorry.¡±


    Sadie is staring at me with reproach, as though I¡¯ve deliberately set out to dash all her hopes.


    ¡°It¡¯s not my fault!¡± I say defensively. ¡°I¡¯m just trying to let you down lightly.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s going to call,¡± she says with slow determination. ¡°And we¡¯re going to go on a date.¡±

 Page 49

    ¡°Fine. Whatever you think.¡± I turn to my computer and start typing. When I glance up, she¡¯s gone, and I can¡¯t help breathing out in relief. Finally. Some space. Some silence!


    I¡¯m in the middle of typing a confirmation email to Jean about Flash when the phone rings. I pick it up absently and cradle the receiver under my chin. ¡°Hello, Lara speaking.¡±


    ¡°Hi there.¡± An awkward-sounding male voice comes over the phone. ¡°This is Ed Harrison.¡±


    I freeze. Ed Harrison?


    ¡°Um¡­ hi!¡± I look wildly around the office for Sadie, but she¡¯s nowhere.


    ¡°So¡­ I guess we¡¯re going on a date,¡± says Ed stiffly.


    ¡°I¡­ guess we are.¡±


    We sound like a pair of people who¡¯ve won an outing in a raffle and don¡¯t know how to get out of it.


    ¡°There¡¯s a bar in St. Christopher¡¯s Place,¡± he says. ¡°The Crowe Bar. You want to have a drink there?¡±


    I can read his mind instantly. He¡¯s suggesting a drink because that¡¯s about the quickest date you can have. He really doesn¡¯t want to do this. So why did he call? Is he so old-fashioned and polite that he felt he couldn¡¯t blow me off, even though for all he knows I could be a serial killer?


    ¡°Good idea,¡± I say brightly.


    ¡°Saturday night, seven-thirty?¡±


    ¡°See you there.¡±


    As I put the phone down, I feel surreal. I¡¯m actually going on a date with Mr. American Frown. And Sadie has no idea.


    ¡°Sadie.¡± I look around. ¡°Sa-die! Can you hear me? You won¡¯t believe it! He called!¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± comes Sadie¡¯s voice from behind me, and I swivel around to see her sitting on the windowsill, looking totally unruffled.


    ¡°You missed it!¡± I say in excitement. ¡°Your guy called! We¡¯re going on a-¡± I break off as it hits me. ¡°Oh my God. You did this, didn¡¯t you? You went and shouted at him.¡±


    ¡°Of course I did!¡± she says proudly. ¡°It was simply too dreary waiting for him to call, so I decided to give him a little nudge.¡± Her eyebrows lower disapprovingly. ¡°You were right, by the way. He had thrown the card away. It was in his bin, all crumpled up. He wasn¡¯t planning to call you at all!¡±


    She looks so outraged, I have to bite back a laugh.


    ¡°Welcome to twenty-first-century dating. So how did you change his mind?¡±


    ¡°It was terribly hard work!¡± Sadie looks affronted. ¡°First I just told him to call you, but he absolutely ignored me. He kept turning away from me and typing more quickly. Then I got really close and told him if he didn¡¯t call you and fix a date at once, he¡¯d be cursed with illness by the god Ahab.¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s the god Ahab?¡± I ask incredulously.


    ¡°He was in a penny novelette I once read.¡± Sadie looks pleased with herself. ¡°I said he¡¯d lose the use of his limbs and be covered with grotesque warts. I could see him waver, but he was still trying to ignore me. So then I looked at his typewriter-¡±


    ¡°Computer?¡± I interject.


    ¡°Whatever it is,¡± she says impatiently. ¡°I told him it would break down and he would lose his job unless he called you.¡± Her mouth curves into a reminiscent smile. ¡°He moved quite quickly after that. Although, you know, even when he was picking up the card he kept clutching his head and saying to himself, ¡®Why am I calling this girl? Why am I doing this?¡¯ So I yelled in his ear, ¡®You want to call her! She¡¯s very pretty!¡¯¡± Sadie tosses her hair back triumphantly. ¡°And so he telephoned you. Aren¡¯t you impressed?¡±


    I gaze back at her, speechless. She¡¯s blackmailed this guy into going on a date with me. She¡¯s messed with his mind. She¡¯s forced him into a romance that he had no intention of pursuing.


    She is the only woman I¡¯ve ever known who could make a man call. Ever .


    OK, it took supernatural powers, but she did it.


    ¡°Great-Aunt Sadie,¡± I say slowly, ¡°you¡¯re brilliant.¡±


    NINE


    Sometimes, when I can¡¯t get to sleep, I imagine all the rules I¡¯d invent if I ever got to be in charge of the world. There are quite a few which involve ex-boyfriends, as it happens, and now I¡¯ve got a new one:


    Ex-boyfriends shall not be allowed to take another girl back to the special restaurant they used to go to with their previous girlfriend .


    I still can¡¯t believe Josh is taking this girl to Bistro Martin. How can he? It¡¯s our place. We had our first date there, for God¡¯s sake. He¡¯s totally betraying all our memories. It¡¯s as if our whole relationship is an Etch A Sketch and he¡¯s deliberately shaking it clean and drawing a new picture, and forgetting all about the old, much better, and more interesting picture which used to be there.

 Page 50

    Besides which, we¡¯ve only just broken up. How can he be dating another girl after only six weeks? Doesn¡¯t he know anything? Rushing blindly into a new relationship is never the answer; in fact, it¡¯ll probably make him really unhappy. I could have told him that, if he¡¯d asked me.


    It¡¯s twelve-thirty on Saturday and I¡¯ve been sitting here for twenty minutes. I know the restaurant so well, I¡¯ve been able to plan things perfectly. I¡¯m in the corner, tucked out of sight, wearing a baseball cap just to be on the safe side. The restaurant¡¯s one of those bustling brasseries with lots of tables and plants and hooks for coats, so I¡¯m easily able to blend away in the background.


    Josh is booked at one of the big wooden tables in the window-I peeked at the reservations list. I have a good view of it from my corner seat, so I¡¯ll be able to study this so-called Marie pretty carefully and watch their body language. Even better, I¡¯ll be able to listen to their conversation, because I¡¯ve bugged the table.


    This isn¡¯t a joke-I¡¯ve genuinely bugged it. Three days ago I went online and bought a tiny remote microphone in a pack called My First Spy Kit. When it arrived, I realized it was designed for ten-year-old boys rather than adult ex-girlfriends, as it also came with a plastic Spy¡¯s Log Book and Cool Code Cracker.


    But so what? I¡¯ve tested it out and it works! It only has a range of twenty feet, but that¡¯s all I need. As soon as my waiter had taken my drink order, I made a pretext of needing the ladies¡¯ room. Casually, I sauntered past, pretended to drop something, and slapped the tiny sticky pad of the microphone on the underside of the table. The earpiece is hidden under my baseball cap. I just have to switch it on when I¡¯m ready.


    And, OK, I know you shouldn¡¯t spy on people. I know I¡¯m doing a morally wrong thing. In fact, I had a big argument with Sadie about it. First she said I shouldn¡¯t come here at all. Then, when it was obvious she was going to lose that one, she said if I was that desperate to know what Josh was going to talk about, I should just sit near the table and eavesdrop. But what¡¯s the difference? If you¡¯re listening in, you¡¯re listening in, whether you¡¯re two feet or ten feet away.


    The point is, when it comes to love there¡¯s a different set of morals. All¡¯s fair in love or war. It¡¯s for the greater good. Like those people at Bletchley, cracking German codes. That was an invasion of privacy, too, if you think about it. But they didn¡¯t care, did they?


    I have an image of myself, happily married to Josh, sitting around at Sunday lunch and saying to my children, ¡°You know, I very nearly didn¡¯t bug Daddy¡¯s table. And then none of you would be here!¡±


    ¡°I think he¡¯s coming now!¡± Sadie suddenly says beside me. I finally talked her into being my assistant, although all she¡¯s done so far is wander about the restaurant saying disparaging things about people¡¯s outfits.


    I risk a tiny glance toward the door and feel a roller-coaster lurch. Oh God, oh God. Sadie¡¯s right-it¡¯s him. And her. They¡¯re together. Why are they together?


    OK, don¡¯t freak out. Don¡¯t imagine them waking up in bed, all sleepy and sex-satisfied. There could be lots of other perfectly reasonable explanations. Maybe they met at the tube or something. I take a deep gulp of wine, then raise my eyes again. I don¡¯t know who to study first, Josh or her.


    Her.


    She¡¯s blond. Quite skinny, in orange pedal pushers and one of those crisp white sleeveless tops that women wear in ads for low-fat yogurt or toothpaste. The kind of top you can only wear if you¡¯re good at ironing, which just shows how tedious she must be. Her arms are tanned and there are streaks in her hair, as though she¡¯s been on holiday.


    As I shift my gaze to Josh, I feel my stomach go all slithery. He¡¯s just¡­ Josh. Same fair floppy hair, same goofy lopsided grin as he greets the ma?tre-d¡¯, same faded jeans, same canvas sneakers (some cool Japanese label I¡¯ve never quite got the hang of pronouncing), same shirt-


    Hang on. I stare at him in disbelieving shock. That¡¯s the shirt I gave him for his birthday.


    How can he be doing this? Does he have no heart? He¡¯s wearing my shirt in our place. And he¡¯s smiling at this girl as though no one exists but her. Now he¡¯s taking her arm and making some joke which I can¡¯t hear but makes her throw back her head and laugh with her toothpaste-ad white teeth.


    ¡°They look very well suited,¡± says Sadie brightly in my ear.


    ¡°No, they don¡¯t,¡± I mutter. ¡°Be quiet.¡±


    The ma?tre-d¡¯ is showing them to the window table. Keeping my head down, I reach into my pocket and switch on the remote control for the microphone.

 Page 51

    The sound is faint and buzzy, but I can just about hear his voice.


    ¡°¡­ totally wasn¡¯t paying attention. ¡¯Course, it turns out the bloody GPS has sent me to completely the wrong Notre Dame.¡± He gives her a charming grin and she giggles.


    I almost want to leap up from my table, I¡¯m so livid. That¡¯s our anecdote! That happened to us! We ended up at the wrong Notre Dame in Paris and we never saw the real one. Has he forgotten he was with me? Is he just editing me out of his life?


    ¡°He looks very happy, don¡¯t you think?¡± observes Sadie.


    ¡°He¡¯s not happy!¡± I give her a venomous glare. ¡°He¡¯s in total denial.¡±


    They¡¯re ordering a bottle of wine. Great. Now I have to watch them get all merry. I take a few olives and munch disconsolately. Sadie has slid into the seat opposite and is watching me with a trace of pity.


    ¡°I warned you, never be a trailer.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not being a trailer! I¡¯m¡­ trying to understand him.¡± I swirl my wine around a few times. ¡°We ended so suddenly. He just cut me off. I wanted to work at our relationship, you know? I wanted to talk things through. Like, was it the commitment thing? Or was there something else? But he wouldn¡¯t. He didn¡¯t give me a chance.¡±


    I glance over at Josh, who is smiling at Marie while the waiter uncorks a bottle. I could be watching our own first date. It was just the same, all smiles and amusing little stories and wine. Where did it go wrong? How did I end up sitting in a corner bugging him?


    And then the solution hits me, with total clarity. I lean over toward Sadie with urgency.


    ¡°Go and ask him.¡±


    ¡°Ask him what?¡± She makes a face.


    ¡°Where it went wrong! Ask Josh what was wrong with me! Get him to speak out loud, the way you did with Ed Harrison. Then I¡¯ll know!¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t do that!¡± she objects at once.


    ¡°Yes, you can! Get inside his head! Make him talk! This is the only way I can get to him-¡± I break off as a waitress approaches the table, her notepad out. ¡°Oh, hi. I¡¯d love some¡­ um¡­ soup. Thanks.¡±


    As the waitress moves off, I gaze entreatingly at Sadie. ¡°Please. I¡¯ve come all this way. I¡¯ve made all this effort.¡±


    There¡¯s a moment¡¯s silence-then Sadie rolls her eyes. ¡°Very well.¡±


    She disappears, then a moment later reappears right by Josh¡¯s table. I watch, my heart galloping. I push my earpiece more firmly into my ear, ignoring the buzz, and listen to Marie¡¯s rippling laugh as she tells some story about horse riding. She¡¯s got a faint Irish brogue, which I didn¡¯t notice before. As I glance over, I see Josh topping up her glass of wine.


    ¡°Your childhood sounds amazing,¡± he¡¯s saying. ¡°You have to tell me more.¡±


    ¡°What do you want to know?¡± She breaks off a piece of bread. But doesn¡¯t put it in her mouth, I notice.


    ¡°Everything.¡± He smiles.


    ¡°Could take a while.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m in no hurry.¡± Josh¡¯s voice has deepened a smidgen. I¡¯m watching in horror. They¡¯ve got that whole eyes-meeting frissony thing going on. Any minute he¡¯ll take her hand, or even worse. What¡¯s Sadie waiting for?


    ¡°Well, I was born in Dublin.¡± She smiles. ¡°Third of three.¡±


    ¡°Why did you break up with Lara?¡± Sadie¡¯s voice is so piercing through my earpiece, I nearly jump out of my chair.


    Josh has heard her, I can tell. His hand has stopped halfway through pouring out fizzy water.


    ¡°My two brothers tormented me, all through my childhood.¡± Marie is still speaking, obviously unaware of anything. ¡°They were so evil¡­¡±


    ¡°Why did you break up with Lara? What went wrong? Talk to Marie about it! Talk, Josh!¡±


    ¡°¡­ found frogs in my bed, in my satchel¡­ once even in my cereal bowl!¡± Marie looks up at Josh, clearly expecting him to respond. But he¡¯s frozen like a statue, as Sadie yells in his ear, ¡°Say it, say it, say it!¡±


    ¡°Josh?¡± Marie waves her hand in front of his face. ¡°Did you hear a word I said?¡±


    ¡°Sorry!¡± He rubs his face. ¡°I don¡¯t know what happened there. What were you saying?¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­ nothing.¡± She shrugs. ¡°Just telling you about my brothers.¡±


    ¡°Your brothers! Right!¡± With an obvious effort, he refocuses on her and smiles charmingly. ¡°So, are they very protective of their little sister?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d better watch out!¡± She smiles back and takes a sip of wine. ¡°How about you, any siblings?¡±

 Page 52

    ¡°Say why you split up with Lara! What was wrong with her?¡±


    I can see Josh glaze over again. He looks as though he¡¯s trying to catch the distant echo of a nightingale across the valleys.


    ¡°Josh?¡± Marie leans forward. ¡°Josh!¡±


    ¡°Sorry!¡± He comes to and shakes his head. ¡°Sorry! It¡¯s weird. I was just thinking about my ex, Lara.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Marie keeps smiling, exactly the same amount of smile, but I can see the muscles tense up a little in her jaw. ¡°What about her?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Josh screws up his face, looking perplexed. ¡°I was just thinking what it was about her and me that went wrong.¡±


    ¡°Relationships end.¡± Marie sips her water. ¡°Who knows why? These things happen.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Josh still has a faraway look in his eyes, which isn¡¯t surprising, as Sadie is yelling like a siren in his ear. ¡°Say why it went wrong! Say it out loud!¡±


    ¡°So.¡± Marie changes the subject. ¡°How was your week? I¡¯ve had a hellish time with that client. Remember the one I was telling you about-¡±


    ¡°I suppose she was a bit intense,¡± Josh blurts out.


    ¡°Who was?¡±


    ¡°Lara.¡±


    ¡°Oh, really?¡± I can see Marie trying to feign interest.


    ¡°She used to read me out ¡®relationship issues¡¯ from some bullshit magazine and want to talk about how similar we were to some other random couple. For hours. That annoyed me. Why did she have to analyze everything? Why did she have to unpick every single row and conversation?¡±


    He gulps at his wine and I stare at him across the restaurant, stricken. I never knew he felt that way.


    ¡°That does sound annoying.¡± Marie nods sympathetically. ¡°Anyway, how did that big meeting go? You said your boss had some announcement to make?¡±


    ¡°What else?¡± Sadie is shrieking at Josh, drowning out Marie. ¡°What else?¡±


    ¡°She used to litter the bathroom with her creams and crap.¡± Josh frowns distantly at the memory. ¡°Every time I tried to shave I had to fight through this thicket of pots. It drove me mad.¡±


    ¡°What a pain!¡± says Marie, overbrightly. ¡°Anyway-¡±


    ¡°It was the little things. Like the way she used to sing in the shower. I mean, I don¡¯t mind singing, but the same song every bloody day? And she didn¡¯t want to open her mind. She¡¯s not interested in traveling, not interested in the same things as me¡­ Like, I once bought her this book of William Eggleston photography; I thought we could talk about it or whatever. But she just flipped through with zero interest-¡± Josh suddenly notices Marie, whose face has almost seized up with the effort of listening politely. ¡°Shit. Marie. I¡¯m sorry!¡± He rubs his face with both hands. ¡°I don¡¯t know why Lara keeps popping into my head. Let¡¯s talk about something else.¡±


    ¡°Yes, let¡¯s do that.¡± Marie smiles stiffly. ¡°I was going to tell you about my client, the really demanding one from Seattle? You remember?¡±


    ¡°Of course I remember!¡± He reaches for his wine-then seems to change his mind and picks up his glass of fizzy water instead.


    ¡°Soup? Excuse me, miss, didn¡¯t you order the soup? Excuse me?¡±


    Suddenly I realize a waiter is standing by my table with a tray of soup and bread. I have no idea how long he¡¯s been trying to get my attention.


    ¡°Oh, right,¡± I say, quickly turning to him. ¡°Yes, thanks.¡±


    The waiter deposits my food and I pick up a spoon, but I can¡¯t eat. I¡¯m too flabbergasted by everything Josh just said. How could he have felt all this and never mentioned it? If he was annoyed by my singing, then why didn¡¯t he say? And as for the photography book, I thought he¡¯d bought it for himself! Not for me! How was I supposed to know it meant so much to him?


    ¡°Well!¡± Sadie bounces up to me and slides into the seat opposite. ¡°That was interesting. Now you know where it all went wrong. I agree about the singing,¡± she adds. ¡°You are rather tuneless.¡±


    Doesn¡¯t she have an ounce of sympathy?


    ¡°Well, thanks.¡± I keep my voice low and gaze morosely into my soup. ¡°You know the worst thing? He never said any of this stuff to my face. None of it! I could have fixed it! I would have fixed it.¡± I start crumbling a piece of bread into pieces. ¡°If he¡¯d just given me a chance-¡±


    ¡°Shall we go now?¡± She sounds bored.


    ¡°No! We haven¡¯t finished!¡± I take a deep breath. ¡°Go and ask him what he liked about me.¡±


    ¡°What he liked about you?¡± Sadie gives me a dubious look. ¡°Are you sure there was anything?¡±

 Page 53

    ¡°Yes!¡± I hiss indignantly. ¡°Of course there was! Go on!¡±


    Sadie opens her mouth as though to speak-then shrugs and heads back across the restaurant. I push my earpiece in more firmly and dart a glance over at Josh. He¡¯s sipping his wine and skewering olives with a metal pick while Marie talks.


    ¡°¡­ three years is a long time.¡± I hear her lilting voice over the buzz and crackle. ¡°And, yes, it was hard to finish, but he wasn¡¯t right, and I¡¯ve never regretted it or looked back. I guess what I¡¯m trying to say is¡­ relationships end, but you have to move forward.¡± She gulps her wine. ¡°You know what I mean?¡±


    Josh is nodding automatically, but I can tell he isn¡¯t hearing a word. He has a bemused look on his face and keeps trying to edge his head away from Sadie, who¡¯s yelling, ¡°What did you love about Lara? Say it! Say it!¡±


    ¡°I loved the way she had so much energy,¡± he says in a desperate rush. ¡°And she was quirky. She always had some cute necklace on, or a pencil stuffed into her hair or something¡­ And she really appreciated stuff. You know, some girls, you do things for them and they just take it as their due, but she never did. She¡¯s really sweet. Refreshing.¡±


    ¡°Are we talking about your ex-girlfriend again, by any chance?¡± There¡¯s a steely edge to Marie¡¯s voice, which makes even me wince. Josh seems to come to.


    ¡°Shit! Marie. I don¡¯t know what¡¯s got into me. I don¡¯t know why I¡¯m even thinking about her.¡± He rubs his brow, looking so freaked out I almost feel sorry for him.


    ¡°If you ask me, you¡¯re still obsessed,¡± Marie says tightly.


    ¡°What?¡± Josh gives a shocked burst of laughter. ¡°I¡¯m not obsessed! I¡¯m not even interested in her anymore!¡±


    ¡°So why are you telling me how great she was?¡± I watch, agog, as Marie throws down her napkin, pushes back her chair, and stands up. ¡°Call me when you¡¯re over her.¡±


    ¡°I am over her!¡± Josh exclaims angrily. ¡°Jesus Christ! This is fucking ridiculous. I hadn¡¯t thought about her until today.¡± He pushes back his chair, trying to get Marie¡¯s full attention. ¡°Listen to me, Marie. Lara and I had a relationship. It was fine, but it wasn¡¯t great. And then it finished. End of.¡±


    Marie is shaking her head.


    ¡°Which is why you bring her up in conversation every five minutes.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t ! ¡± Josh almost yells in frustration, and a few people at nearby tables look up. ¡°Not normally! I haven¡¯t talked about her or thought about her for weeks! I don¡¯t know what the fuck¡¯s wrong with me today!¡±


    ¡°You need to sort yourself out,¡± Marie says, not unkindly. She picks up her bag. ¡°See you, Josh.¡±


    As she moves swiftly between the tables and out of the restaurant, Josh sinks back into his seat, looking shell-shocked. He looks even more gorgeous when he¡¯s hassled than when he¡¯s happy. Somehow I suppress an urge to run over and fling my arms around him and tell him he never wanted to be with such an uptight, toothpaste-ad girl, anyway.


    ¡°Are you satisfied now?¡± Sadie returns to my side. ¡°You¡¯ve ruined the path of true love. I thought that was against your creed.¡±


    ¡°That wasn¡¯t true love.¡± I scowl at her.


    ¡°How do you know?¡±


    ¡°Because I know. Shut up.¡±


    We both watch in silence as Josh pays his bill, reaches for his jacket, and gets up to leave. His jaw is tight and his easy saunter has gone, and I feel a flash of guilt. But I force myself to quell it. I know I¡¯m doing the right thing. Not just for me but for Josh. I can make it work between us, I know I can.


    ¡°Eat your lunch! Hurry up!¡± Sadie interrupts my reverie. ¡°We need to go home now. You need to start getting ready.¡±


    ¡°For what?¡± I look at her, confused.


    ¡°For our date!¡±


    Oh God. That.


    ¡°It¡¯s nearly six hours away,¡± I point out. ¡°And we¡¯re only going for a drink. There¡¯s no rush.¡±


    ¡°I used to take all day getting ready for parties.¡± She shoots me an accusing look. ¡°This is my date. You¡¯re representing me. You need to look divine.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll look as divine as I can, OK?¡± I take a spoonful of soup.


    ¡°But you haven¡¯t even chosen a frock!¡± Sadie is hopping with impatience. ¡°It¡¯s already two o¡¯clock! We need to go home now. Now!¡±


    For God¡¯s sake.


    ¡°Fine. Whatever.¡± I push away my soup-it¡¯s gone cold, anyway. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±

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    All the way home, I¡¯m deep in thought. Josh is vulnerable. He¡¯s confused. It¡¯s the perfect time for me to rekindle our love. But I have to use what I¡¯ve learned. I have to change myself.


    I keep obsessively tracking back over everything he said, trying to remember every detail. And every time I reach one particular phrase, I squirm and wince. It was fine, but it wasn¡¯t great .


    It¡¯s all blindingly clear now. Our relationship wasn¡¯t great because he wasn¡¯t honest with me. He didn¡¯t tell me any of his little niggles. And they all built up in his head and that¡¯s why he chucked me.


    But it doesn¡¯t matter-because now I know what the problems are, I can solve them! All of them! I¡¯ve put together an action plan, and I¡¯m going to start by tidying up my bathroom. As soon as we get back to my flat, I stride in, full of optimism, to find Sadie heading me off.


    ¡°What are you going to wear tonight?¡± she demands. ¡°Show me.¡±


    ¡°Later.¡± I try to get past her.


    ¡°Not later! Now! Now!¡±


    For God¡¯s sake.


    ¡°All right!¡± I head into my bedroom and wrench open the little curtain that hides my wardrobe. ¡°What about¡­ this.¡± At random, I pull out a maxiskirt and my new limited-edition corset top from Topshop. ¡°And some wedge sandals, maybe.¡±


    ¡°Stays?¡± Sadie looks as though I¡¯m brandishing a pig¡¯s corpse. ¡°And a long skirt?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the maxi look, OK? It¡¯s really fashionable, actually. And these aren¡¯t stays, it¡¯s a corset top.¡±


    Sadie touches my corset top with a shudder. ¡°My mother tried to make me wear stays to my aunt¡¯s wedding,¡± she says. ¡°I threw them on the fire, so she shut me in my room and told the servants not to let me out.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± I feel a spark of interest in spite of myself. ¡°So you missed the wedding?¡±


    ¡°I climbed out the window, took the motor, drove to London, and had my hair shingled,¡± she says proudly. ¡°When my mother saw it, she went to bed for two days.¡±


    ¡°Wow.¡± I put the clothes down on the bed and look at Sadie properly. ¡°You were a real rebel. Were you always doing things like that?¡±


    ¡°I did rather torture my parents. But they were so stifling. So Victorian . The whole house was like a museum.¡± She shudders. ¡°My father disapproved of the phonograph, the Charleston, cocktails ¡­ everything . He thought girls should spend their time arranging flowers and doing needlework. Like my sister, Virginia.¡±


    ¡°You mean¡­ Granny?¡± Now I¡¯m fascinated to hear more. I only have hazy memories of Granny, as a gray-haired lady who liked gardening. I can¡¯t even imagine her as a girl. ¡°What was she like?¡±


    ¡°Horribly virtuous.¡± Sadie makes a face. ¡°She wore stays. Even after the whole world had stopped wearing them, Virginia laced herself in and put her hair up and arranged the flowers in church every week. She was the dullest girl in Archbury. And then she married the dullest man in Archbury. My parents were overjoyed.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s Archbury?¡±


    ¡°Where we lived. A village in Hertfordshire.¡±


    This is ringing bells in my mind. Archbury . I know I¡¯ve heard it-


    ¡°Hang on!¡± I say suddenly. ¡°Archbury House. The house that burned down in the 1960s. Was that your house?¡±


    It¡¯s all coming back to me now. Years ago Dad told me about the old family home, Archbury House, and even showed me a black-and-white photo dating from the 1800s. He said that he and Uncle Bill had spent summers there when they were little boys and then moved in when their grandparents died. It was a wonderful place, all old corridors and huge cellars and a great big grand staircase. But after the fire, the land was sold off and a development of new houses was built in its place.


    ¡°Yes. Virginia was living there with her family by then. In fact, she caused the fire. She left a candle alight.¡± There¡¯s a moment¡¯s silence before Sadie adds with an acidic edge, ¡°Not so perfect after all.¡±


    ¡°We drove through the village once,¡± I volunteer. ¡°We saw the new houses. They looked OK.¡±


    Sadie doesn¡¯t seem to hear me. ¡°I lost all my things,¡± she says distantly. ¡°All the things I was keeping there while I was abroad. All destroyed.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s awful,¡± I say, feeling inadequate.


    ¡°What does it matter?¡± She suddenly seems to come to and gives me a brittle smile. ¡°Who cares?¡± She whirls away, toward the wardrobe, and points imperiously. ¡°Get out your clothes. I need to see them all.¡±

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    ¡°Whatever.¡± I grab an armful of hangers and dump them on the bed. ¡°So, tell me about your husband. What was he like?¡±


    Sadie considers for a moment. ¡°He wore a scarlet waistcoat at our wedding. Other than that, I remember very little about him.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s it? A waistcoat?¡±


    ¡°And he had a mustache,¡± she adds.


    ¡°I don¡¯t get you.¡± I throw another armful of clothes onto the bed. ¡°How could you marry someone you didn¡¯t love?¡±


    ¡°Because it was my only way to escape,¡± says Sadie, as though it¡¯s obvious. ¡°I¡¯d had the most terrible row with my parents. My father had stopped my allowance, the vicar called every second day, I was locked in my room every night-¡±


    ¡°What had you done?¡± I say, avid with curiosity. ¡°Had you been arrested again?¡±


    ¡°It¡­ doesn¡¯t matter,¡± says Sadie after a slight pause. She turns away from my gaze and stares out of the window. ¡°I had to leave. Marriage seemed as good a way as any. My parents had already found a suitable young man. And, believe me, they were hardly lining up in droves in those days.¡±


    ¡°Oh, well, I know about that,¡± I say, rolling my eyes in sympathy. ¡°There are no single men in London. None. It¡¯s a well-known fact.¡±


    I look up to see Sadie gazing at me with a kind of blank incomprehension.


    ¡°We lost all ours in the war,¡± she says.


    ¡°Oh. Of course.¡± I swallow. ¡°The war.¡±


    World War I. I hadn¡¯t quite put that together.


    ¡°The ones who survived weren¡¯t the same boys they¡¯d been. They were wounded. Broken to bits. Or full of guilt because they¡¯d survived¡­¡± A shadow passes across her face. ¡°My older brother was killed, you know. Edwin. He was nineteen. My parents never really got over it.¡±


    I stare at her, appalled. I had a great-uncle Edwin who was killed in World War I? Why don¡¯t I know this stuff?


    ¡°What was he like?¡± I ask timidly. ¡°Edwin?¡±


    ¡°He was¡­ funny.¡± Her mouth twists as though she wants to smile but can¡¯t let herself. ¡°He made me laugh. He made my parents more bearable. He made everything more bearable.¡±


    The room is quiet, save for the tinny sound of the TV upstairs. Sadie¡¯s face is immobile, transfixed with memories or thoughts. She almost seems in a trance.


    ¡°But even if there weren¡¯t many men around,¡± I venture, ¡°did you have to settle? Did you have to marry some random guy? What about waiting for the right guy? What about love?¡±


    ¡°¡®What about love!¡¯¡± she mimics me mockingly, snapping out of her reverie. ¡°¡®What about love!¡¯ Goodness, you play a monotonous tune.¡± She surveys the mound of clothes on the bed. ¡°Lay them out so I can see properly. I¡¯ll choose your dress for this evening. And it won¡¯t be a ghastly long skirt to the ground.¡±


    Obviously the reminiscing is over.


    ¡°OK.¡± I start spreading my clothes out on the bed. ¡°You choose.¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯m in charge of your hairstyle and makeup,¡± Sadie adds firmly. ¡°I¡¯m in charge of everything.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± I say patiently.


    As I head back to the bathroom, my head is full of Sadie¡¯s stories. I¡¯ve never been into family trees or history. But somehow this is all quite fascinating. Maybe I¡¯ll get Dad to dig out a few photos of the old family house. He¡¯ll love that.


    I close the door and survey my pots of creams and cosmetics, all balanced on the counter around the basin. Hmm. Perhaps Josh had a point. Maybe I don¡¯t need apricot scrub and oatmeal scrub and sea salt scrub. I mean, how scrubbed should skin be, anyway?


    Half an hour later I¡¯ve got everything organized into rows and have assembled a whole carrier bag of ancient, half-empty pots to chuck out. Already my action plan is under way! If Josh saw this bathroom, he¡¯d be so impressed! I almost feel like taking a picture of it and sending him a text. Feeling delighted with myself, I duck my head back into my bedroom, but Sadie¡¯s not there.


    ¡°Sadie?¡± I call, but there¡¯s no reply. I hope she¡¯s OK. It was obviously hard for her, remembering her brother. Maybe she needed a quiet moment alone.


    I put the bag of pots next to the back door to deal with later and make myself a cup of tea. Next on my list is to find that photography book he was talking about. It must still be around here somewhere. Maybe under the sofa¡­


    ¡°I¡¯ve found it!¡± Sadie¡¯s excited voice springing out of nowhere nearly makes me knock my head on the coffee table.


    ¡°Don¡¯t do that!¡± I sit up and reach for my cup of tea. ¡°Listen, Sadie, I just want to say¡­ are you OK? Do you want to talk? I know things can¡¯t have been easy-¡±

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    ¡°You¡¯re right, it wasn¡¯t easy,¡± she says crisply. ¡°Your wardrobe is very deficient.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean clothes! I meant feelings.¡± I give her an understanding look. ¡°You¡¯ve been through a lot, it must have affected you¡­¡±


    Sadie doesn¡¯t even hear me. Or, if she does, she pretends not to. ¡°I¡¯ve found you a frock,¡± she announces. ¡°Come and see! Hurry up!¡±


    If she doesn¡¯t want to talk, she doesn¡¯t want to talk. I can¡¯t make her.


    ¡°Great. So what did you choose?¡± I get up and start heading toward my bedroom.


    ¡°Not there.¡± Sadie darts in front of me. ¡°We have to go out! It¡¯s in a shop!¡±


    ¡°A shop?¡± I stop and stare at her. ¡°What do you mean, in a shop?¡±


    ¡°I was forced to go out.¡± She lifts her chin defiantly. ¡°There was nothing in your wardrobe. I¡¯ve never seen such bedraggled clothes!¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re not bedraggled!¡±


    ¡°So I went out, and I found an angel of a dress! You simply have to buy it!¡±


    ¡°Where?¡± I¡¯m trying to think where she could have gone. ¡°Which shop? Did you go into central London?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll show you! Come on! Get your purse!¡±


    I can¡¯t help feeling touched at the thought of Sadie wafting around H &M or wherever, trying to find an outfit for me.


    ¡°Well, OK,¡± I say at last. ¡°As long as it doesn¡¯t cost a zillion pounds.¡± I reach for my bag and check I¡¯ve got my keys. ¡°Come on, then. Show me.¡±


    I¡¯m expecting Sadie to lead me to the tube station and drag me to Oxford Circus or somewhere. But instead she veers around the corner and into a grid of backstreets I¡¯ve never explored.


    ¡°Are you sure it¡¯s this way?¡± I hesitate, puzzled.


    ¡°Yes!¡± She tries to drag me forward. ¡°Come on!¡±


    We pass rows of houses and a little park and a college. There¡¯s nothing here that looks like a shop. I¡¯m about to tell Sadie that she must have got her bearings wrong, when she turns a corner and makes a triumphant flourish.


    ¡°There!¡±


    We¡¯re in front of a tiny parade of shops. There¡¯s a newsagent and a dry cleaner and, right at the end, a tiny shop with a wood-painted sign reading Vintage Fashion Emporium . There¡¯s a mannequin in the window wearing a long satin dress, gloves up to the elbow, a hat with a veil, and lots of brooches everywhere. Next to her is a pile of old hatboxes and a dressing table holding a large selection of enamel hairbrushes.


    ¡°This is by far the best shop you have in your area,¡± says Sadie emphatically. ¡°I¡¯ve found everything we need. Come on!¡±


    Before I can say anything, she¡¯s disappeared into the shop. I have no choice but to follow her. The door gives a little ting as I enter, and a middle-aged woman smiles at me from behind a tiny counter. She has straggly dyed hair in a vivid shade of yellow and is wearing what looks like an original seventies caftan in a wild green circular print, together with several amber necklaces strung around her neck.


    ¡°Hello!¡± She smiles pleasantly. ¡°Welcome to the shop. I¡¯m Norah. Have you shopped here before?¡± ¡°Hi.¡± I nod back. ¡°This is my first time.¡± ¡°Were you interested in a particular garment or era?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll¡­ just have a browse.¡± I smile at her. ¡°Thanks.¡± I can¡¯t see Sadie, so I start wandering around. I¡¯ve never been into vintage clothes, but even I can tell there¡¯s some pretty amazing stuff here. A pink psychedelic sixties dress is displayed next to a beehive wig. There¡¯s a whole rack of original-looking boned corsets and petticoats. On a dressmaker¡¯s mannequin is a cream lace wedding dress with a veil and a tiny dried-flower bouquet. A glass case holds some white leather skating boots, all creased and weathered with use. There are collections of fans, handbags, old lipstick cases-


    ¡°Where are you?¡± Sadie¡¯s impatient voice pierces my eardrum. ¡°Come here!¡±


    She¡¯s beckoning from a rack toward the back. Feeling sudden misgivings, I head toward her.


    ¡°Sadie,¡± I say in a low voice. ¡°I agree this stuff is cool and everything. But I¡¯m only going for a casual drink. You can¡¯t possibly think-¡±


    ¡°Look!¡± She gestures in triumph. ¡°Perfect.¡± I¡¯m never letting a ghost give me fashion advice again. Sadie is pointing at a 1920s flapper¡¯s dress. A bronze silk flapper dress with a dropped waist, little beaded capped sleeves, and a matching cape. The store tag reads: Original 1920s dress, made in Paris .

 Page 57

    ¡°Isn¡¯t it darling?¡± She clasps her hands and whirls around, her eyes bright with enthusiasm. ¡°My friend Bunty had one very similar, you know, only in silver.¡±


    ¡°Sadie!¡± I find my voice. ¡°I can¡¯t wear that on a date! Don¡¯t be stupid!¡±


    ¡°Of course you can! Try it on!¡± She¡¯s urging me with her skinny white arms. ¡°You¡¯ll have to cut off all your hair, of course-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not cutting off my hair!¡± I move away in horror. ¡°And I¡¯m not trying it on!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve found you some matching shoes too.¡± She flits eagerly to a rack and points at some little bronze-colored dancing slippers. ¡°And some proper makeup.¡± She whirls over to a glass counter and gestures at a Bakelite case next to a little sign reading: Original 1920s makeup set. Very rare .


    ¡°I had a set just like this.¡± She¡¯s gazing at it fondly. ¡°This is the best lipstick that was ever made. I¡¯ll teach you how to do yours properly.¡±


    For God¡¯s sake.


    ¡°I know how to do my lipstick properly, thanks-¡±


    ¡°You have no idea,¡± she cuts me off crisply. ¡°But I¡¯ll teach you. And we¡¯ll marcel your hair. There are some irons for sale.¡± She points at an old cardboard box inside which I can see some weird-looking ancient metal contraption. ¡°You¡¯ll look so much better if you make an effort.¡± Her head swivels around again. ¡°If we could just find you some decent stockings-¡±


    ¡°Sadie, stop it!¡± I hiss. ¡°You must be crazy! I¡¯m not getting any of this stuff-¡±


    ¡°I still remember that delicious smell of getting ready for parties.¡± She closes her eyes briefly as though transfixed. ¡°Lipstick and singed hair-¡±


    ¡°Singed hair?¡± I squeak in horror. ¡°You¡¯re not singeing my hair!¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t fuss!¡± she says impatiently. ¡°We only singed it sometimes .¡±


    ¡°Are you getting on all right?¡± Norah appears, jangling amber, and I jump in surprise.


    ¡°Oh. Yes, thanks.¡±


    ¡°Are you particularly interested in the 1920s?¡± She heads over to the glass case. ¡°We¡¯ve some marvelous original items here. All fresh in from a recent auction.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± I nod politely. ¡°I was just looking at them.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure what this was for¡­¡± She picks out a little jeweled pot mounted on a circular ring. ¡°Strange little thing, isn¡¯t it? A locket, maybe?¡±


    ¡°A rouge ring,¡± says Sadie, rolling her eyes. ¡°Does no one have any idea about anything anymore?¡±


    ¡°I think it¡¯s a rouge ring,¡± I can¡¯t help saying casually.


    ¡°Ah!¡± Norah looks impressed. ¡°You¡¯re an expert! Maybe you know how to use these old marcel irons.¡± She takes out the metal contraption and hefts it cautiously in her hand. ¡°I believe there was quite a knack to it. Before my time, I¡¯m afraid.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s easy,¡± says Sadie scornfully into my ear. ¡°I¡¯ll show you.¡±


    There¡¯s a ting from the door and two girls come in, oohing and aahing as they look around. ¡°This place is wicked,¡± I hear one of them saying.


    ¡°Excuse me.¡± Norah smiles. ¡°I¡¯ll let you keep browsing. If you¡¯d like to try anything on, let me know.¡±


    ¡°I will.¡± I smile back at her. ¡°Thanks.¡±


    ¡°Tell her you want to try the bronze dress on!¡± Sadie shoos me forward. ¡°Go on!¡±


    ¡°Stop it!¡± I hiss as the woman disappears. ¡°I don¡¯t want to try it on!¡±


    Sadie looks bemused. ¡°But you have to try it. What if it doesn¡¯t fit?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t have to, because I¡¯m not wearing it!¡± My frustration bubbles over. ¡°Get real! This is the twenty-first century! I¡¯m not using some ancient old lipstick and curling irons! I¡¯m not wearing a flapper¡¯s dress on a date! It¡¯s just not happening!¡±


    For a few moments Sadie seems too taken aback to reply.


    ¡°But¡­ you promised.¡± She fixes me with huge, wounded eyes. ¡°You promised I could choose your dress.¡±


    ¡°I thought you meant normal clothes!¡± I say in exasperation. ¡°Twenty-first-century clothes! Not this.¡± I pick up the dress and brandish it at her. ¡°It¡¯s ridiculous! It¡¯s a costume!¡±


    ¡°But if you don¡¯t wear the dress I choose, then it might as well not be my date at all. It might as well be your date!¡± Sadie¡¯s voice starts rising; I can tell she¡¯s cranking up into a scream. ¡°I might as well stay at home! Go out with him on your own!¡±

 Page 58

    I sigh. ¡°Look, Sadie-¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s my man! It¡¯s my date!¡± she cries passionately. ¡°Mine! With my rules! This is my last chance to have some fun with a man, and you want to spoil it by wearing some frightful dreary outfit-¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to spoil it-¡±


    ¡°You promised to do things my way! You promised!¡±


    ¡°Stop shouting at me!¡± I pull away, clutching my ear. ¡°Jesus!¡±


    ¡°Is everything all right back here?¡± Norah appears again and eyes me suspiciously.


    ¡°Yes!¡± I try to compose myself. ¡°I was just¡­ er¡­ on the phone.¡±


    ¡°Ah.¡± Her face clears. She nods toward the bronze silk flapper dress, still in my arms. ¡°You want to try that on? Wonderful piece. Made in Paris. Have you seen the mother-of-pearl buttons? They¡¯re exquisite.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ um¡­¡±


    ¡°You promised!¡± Sadie¡¯s about three inches from me, her chin set, her eyes fiery. ¡°You promised! It¡¯s my date! Mine! Mine!¡±


    She¡¯s like a relentless fire-engine siren. I jerk my head away, trying to think straight as best I can. There¡¯s no way I can cope with a whole evening of Sadie yelling at me. My head will explode.


    And let¡¯s face it. Ed Harrison thinks I¡¯m a nutter anyway. What difference does it make if I turn up in a flapper dress?


    Sadie¡¯s right. It¡¯s her evening. I might as well do it her way.


    ¡°All right!¡± I say at last, cutting across Sadie¡¯s insistent voice. ¡°You¡¯ve talked me around. I¡¯ll try on the dress.¡±


    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-

 Page 59

    ¡°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?¡±

 Page 60

    ¡°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.


    ¡°I¡¯m a headhunter.¡±


    Immediately, Ed looks wary. ¡°You¡¯re not with Sturgis Curtis, are you?¡±


    ¡°No, I have my own company, L &N Executive Recruitment.¡±


    ¡°Good. I wouldn¡¯t have liked to offend you.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with Sturgis Curtis?¡± I can¡¯t resist asking.


    ¡°They¡¯re vultures from hell.¡± He has such a look of horror on his face, I almost want to giggle. ¡°They pester me every day. Do I want this job? Am I interested in that job? They use tricks to get past my secretary¡­ I mean, they¡¯re good.¡± He shudders. ¡°They even asked me to sit at their table at the Business People dinner.¡±


    ¡°Oh, wow.¡± I can¡¯t help sounding impressed. I¡¯ve never been to the Business People dinner, but I¡¯ve seen it written up in the magazine. It¡¯s always held at a big hotel in London, and it¡¯s pretty glam. ¡°So¡­ are you going?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m speaking at it.¡±


    He¡¯s speaking? Oh my God, he must be really important. I had no idea. I look up to raise an eyebrow at Sadie, but she¡¯s disappeared.


    ¡°Are you going?¡± he asks politely.


    ¡°Er¡­ not this year.¡± I try to imply this is just a temporary blip. ¡°My firm wasn¡¯t quite able to make up a table this year.¡±


    Bearing in mind tables hold twelve people and cost five thousand pounds. And L &N Executive Recruitment has precisely two people and about minus five thousand pounds.


    ¡°Ah.¡± He inclines his head.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll be there next year, though,¡± I say quickly.

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    ¡°We¡¯ll probably make up two tables. You know, do it properly. We¡¯ll probably have expanded by then¡­¡± I trail off. I don¡¯t know why I¡¯m making any effort to impress this guy. He clearly isn¡¯t interested in anything I say.


    As I swizzle my drink again, I realize the music has stopped. I turn to look at the barman, and he¡¯s standing by the CD player behind the bar, obviously experiencing a momentous struggle between his own will and the sound of Sadie shrieking something in his ear. What is she up to?


    At last, with a visible capitulation, the barman takes a CD from its box and slides it into the machine. The next minute, some scratchy, old-fashioned Cole Porter-type band music fills the air. Sadie sweeps up behind Ed¡¯s chair, a beam of satisfaction on her face.


    ¡°At last! I knew that man would have something suitable in his drawer. Now ask Lara to dance!¡± she instructs Ed, and bends close to his ear. ¡°Ask her to dance!¡±


    Oh God. No way.


    Resist her , I silently message Ed. Don¡¯t listen. Be strong . I¡¯m sending him my strongest telepathic signals. But it¡¯s no good. As Sadie bellows in his ear, a pained, confused look is coming over Ed¡¯s face. He looks like someone who really, really doesn¡¯t want to vomit but is having no choice.


    ¡°Lara.¡± He clears his throat and rubs his face. ¡°Would you like to¡­ dance?¡±


    If I refuse him, Sadie will wreak her revenge on me, I know it. This is what she wanted; this is why we¡¯re all here. So she can dance with Ed.


    ¡°OK.¡±


    Hardly able to believe what I¡¯m doing, I put down my glass and stand up. I follow Ed to a tiny patch of spare floor next to the bar stools, and he turns to face me. For a moment we both just stare at each other, paralyzed by the enormity of the situation.


    This is a one hundred percent nondancing scenario. We¡¯re not on a dance floor. This isn¡¯t a club, it¡¯s a bar. No one else is dancing. The jazz band is still playing its scratchy music through the speakers, and some bloke is singing about his fancy shoes. There¡¯s no beat, there¡¯s no nothing. There¡¯s no way we can dance.


    ¡°Dance!¡± Sadie is flitting between us like quicksilver, a whirlwind of impatience. ¡°Dance together! Dance!¡±


    With a look of desperation in his eyes, Ed starts moving awkwardly from side to side, trying as best he can to follow the music. He looks so miserable, I start copying him, just to make him feel better. I¡¯ve never seen less convincing dancing in my life.


    Out of the corner of my eye I can see everyone turning to watch us. My dress is swishing backward and forward, and my necklaces are jangling. Ed¡¯s eyes are focused far ahead, as though he¡¯s having an out-of-body experience.


    ¡°Excuse me.¡± A member of the bar staff, carrying a plate of dim sum, ducks between us.


    Not only are we not on a dance floor, we¡¯re in the way of everyone. This is the most excruciating experience of my life.


    ¡°Dance properly!¡± I turn my head to see Sadie regarding me in horror. ¡°That¡¯s not dancing!¡±


    What does she expect us to do, the waltz?


    ¡°You look as though you¡¯re trudging through mud! This is how to dance.¡±


    She starts some twenties Charleston-type dance, all flying legs and elbows and knees. Her face is beatific, and I can hear her humming along to the music. At least someone¡¯s having fun.


    As I watch, she shimmies right up to Ed and places a slender hand on each of his shoulders. Now she¡¯s running a hand adoringly down his cheek.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t he blissful?¡± She runs both her hands down his chest, circling his waist and skimming down his back.


    ¡°Can you feel him?¡± I murmur incredulously, and Sadie flinches, as though I¡¯ve caught her out.


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ not the point,¡± she says defensively. ¡°And it¡¯s none of your business.¡±


    OK, so she can¡¯t. Well, whatever rocks her boat, I suppose. But do I have to watch?


    ¡°Sadie!¡± I hiss as her hands travel even further down his body. ¡°Get a room!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, what did you say?¡± With an obvious effort, Ed focuses on me. He¡¯s still dancing from side to side, totally oblivious to the fact that he has a twenty-three-year-old flapper running her hands voraciously all over his body.


    ¡°I said¡­ let¡¯s stop.¡± I avert my eyes from Sadie, who¡¯s trying to nibble his ear.


    ¡°No!¡± protests Sadie furiously. ¡°More!¡±


    ¡°Great idea,¡± says Ed at once, and starts back toward our chairs.


    ¡°Ed? Ed Harrison?¡± A blond woman interrupts his path. She¡¯s wearing beige trousers and a white shirt and an expression of incredulous glee. At the table behind her, I can see several other well-groomed business types watching avidly. ¡°I thought that was you! Were you just¡­ dancing?¡±

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    As Ed surveys all the faces at the table, it¡¯s obvious his nightmare has just got about fifty times worse. I almost feel sorry for him.


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ that¡¯s right,¡± he says at last, as though he can¡¯t quite believe it himself. ¡°We were dancing.¡± He seems to come to. ¡°Lara, do you know Genevieve Bailey from DFT? Genevieve, Lara. Hello, Bill, Mike, Sarah¡­¡± He¡¯s nodding at all the people sitting round the table.


    ¡°Your dress is adorable.¡± Genevieve flicks a condescending glance over my outfit. ¡°Going for the twenties look, obviously.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s original.¡± I nod.


    ¡°I have no doubt!¡±


    I smile as best I can, but she¡¯s touched a nerve. I don¡¯t want to be dressed up like something out of a Daily Mail vintage-dolls collection series. Especially not in front of what¡¯s clearly a collection of high-profile businesspeople.


    ¡°I¡¯ll just touch up my makeup.¡± I force another smile. ¡°I¡¯ll be back in a minute.¡±


    In the ladies¡¯ room, I get out a tissue, wet it, and frantically scrub at my face. But nothing seems to be coming off.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Sadie appears behind me. ¡°You¡¯ll ruin your face!¡±


    ¡°Just trying to tone down the color,¡± I say between jerky rubs.


    ¡°Oh, that rouge won¡¯t come off,¡± says Sadie airily. ¡°It¡¯s indelible. Lasts for days. The lipstick too.¡±


    Indelible?


    ¡°Where did you learn to dance?¡± Sadie inserts herself between me and the mirror.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t. You don¡¯t learn to dance. You just pick it up.¡±


    ¡°Well, it shows. You¡¯re terrible.¡±


    ¡°Well, you¡¯re totally over the top,¡± I retort, stung. ¡°You looked like you wanted to jump his bones right there!¡±


    ¡°¡®Jump his bones.¡¯¡± Sadie frowns. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°It means¡­ You know.¡± I stop awkwardly. I¡¯m not sure bone-jumping is something I want to be discussing with my great-aunt.


    ¡°What?¡± Sadie says impatiently. ¡°What does it mean?¡±


    ¡°You do it with someone else.¡± I choose my words carefully. ¡°It¡¯s like a pajama party. Except you take off your pajamas.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that.¡± Her face clicks with recognition. ¡°You call it ¡®jumping his bones¡¯?¡±


    ¡°Sometimes.¡± I shrug.


    ¡°What an odd phrase. We used to call it sex.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± I say, discomfited. ¡°Well. We do too-¡±


    ¡°Or barney-mugging,¡± she adds.


    Barney-mugging? And she has the nerve to call jump his bones an odd phrase?


    ¡°Well, whatever you call it.¡± I take off one of my shoes and rub my sore toes. ¡°You looked like you wanted to do it with him right there in the bar.¡±


    Sadie smirks and adjusts her headband, looking in the mirror. ¡°You must admit he¡¯s handsome.¡±


    ¡°On the outside, maybe,¡± I say grudgingly. ¡°But he doesn¡¯t have any personality.¡±


    ¡°Yes, he does!¡± says Sadie, looking offended.


    How would she know? It was me who had to make all the bloody conversation with him!


    ¡°No, he doesn¡¯t! He¡¯s lived in London for months, but he hasn¡¯t bothered to see anything!¡± I wince as I put my shoe back on. ¡°What kind of narrow-minded person does that? What kind of person isn¡¯t interested in one of the greatest cities in the world?¡± My voice is rising with indignation. ¡°He doesn¡¯t deserve to live here.¡±


    As a Londoner, I¡¯m taking this quite personally. I look up to see what Sadie thinks, but her eyes are closed and she¡¯s humming. She¡¯s not even bloody listening to me.


    ¡°Do you think he¡¯d like me?¡± She opens her eyes. ¡°If he could see me. If he could dance with me.¡±


    Her face is so hopeful and glowing, all my outrage dies away. I¡¯m being stupid. What does it matter what this guy is like? He¡¯s got nothing to do with me. This is Sadie¡¯s evening.


    ¡°Yes,¡± I say as convincingly as I can. ¡°I think he¡¯d love you.¡±


    ¡°I think so too.¡± She looks satisfied. ¡°Your headdress is crooked, did you realize?¡±


    I tug at it and survey my reflection grumpily.


    ¡°I look so ridiculous.¡±


    ¡°You look divine. You¡¯re the prettiest girl in the place. Apart from me,¡± she adds airily.


    ¡°Do you know how stupid I feel?¡± I rub at my cheeks again. ¡°No, of course not. All you care about is your date.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you something,¡± says Sadie, watching me critically in the mirror. ¡°You¡¯ve got a film star¡¯s mouth. In my day, all the girls died to have a mouth like that. You could have been in the pictures.¡±

 Page 63

    ¡°Yeah, right.¡± I roll my eyes.


    ¡°Look at yourself, you ninny. You look like a film heroine!¡±


    Reluctantly, I face the mirror again, trying to imagine myself in flickery black and white, tied to a railway line while a piano bashes out some menacing tune. Actually¡­ she¡¯s right. I do quite look the part.


    ¡°Oh, sir, please spare me!¡± I adopt a pose in front of the mirror, batting my eyelashes.


    ¡°Exactly! You¡¯d have been a darling of the silver screen.¡± Sadie meets my eyes, and I can¡¯t help grinning back. This has been the weirdest, stupidest date of my life, but somehow her mood is infectious.


    As we head back out to the bar, I see that Ed is still chatting to Genevieve. She¡¯s leaning elegantly against a chair in a ¡°casual¡± pose, which I instantly realize is designed to show off her tall, slim figure to Ed. I also instantly realize that he hasn¡¯t even noticed, which slightly endears him to me.


    Sadie¡¯s noticed, though. She keeps crossly trying to elbow Genevieve out of the way, and yelling ¡°Move!¡± in her ear-but Genevieve¡¯s ignoring her completely. She must be made of strong stuff.


    ¡°Lara!¡± Genevieve greets me with a fake smile. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry. I don¡¯t want to disrupt your evening ¨¢ deux with Ed!¡±


    ¡°No worries.¡± I give her an equally fake smile.


    ¡°Have you known each other long?¡± She gestures between Ed and me with an elegant, silk-cuffed wrist.


    ¡°Not long, no.¡±


    ¡°So how did you two meet?¡±


    I can¡¯t help a surreptitious glance at Ed. He looks so uneasy at the question that I want to giggle.


    ¡°It was in the office, wasn¡¯t it?¡± I say, to help him out.


    ¡°In the office. Yes.¡± Ed nods in relief.


    ¡°Well!¡± Genevieve laughs-the kind of bright, trilling laugh you give when you¡¯re really quite annoyed about something. ¡°Ed, you are secretive! I had no idea you had a girlfriend!¡±


    For a split second, Ed and I meet eyes. I can see he¡¯s about as keen on that idea as I am.


    ¡°She¡¯s not my girlfriend,¡± he says at once. ¡°I mean, that¡¯s not-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not his girlfriend,¡± I chime in hastily. ¡°We¡¯re just¡­ it¡¯s kind of a one-off-¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re just having a drink,¡± Ed supplies.


    ¡°We¡¯ll probably never see each other again.¡±


    ¡°Probably not,¡± Ed affirms. ¡°Definitely not.¡±


    We¡¯re both nodding in total agreement. In fact, I think we¡¯ve bonded for the first time.


    ¡°I¡­ see.¡± Genevieve looks totally confused.


    ¡°Let me get you another drink, Lara.¡± Ed gives me the warmest smile he has all evening.


    ¡°No, I¡¯ll get them!¡± I beam back at him. There¡¯s nothing like knowing you only have to spend ten more minutes with someone to make you feel suddenly generous toward them.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± A voice is shrieking behind me, and as I turn I see Sadie heading toward me. Her glow has disappeared; she¡¯s a whirl of fury. ¡°It¡¯s not a one-off! You made a promise!¡±


    She¡¯s got a nerve. How about ¡°Thank you for dressing up and looking like a fool, Lara¡±?


    ¡°I kept my promise!¡± I hiss out of the side of my mouth as I approach the bar. ¡°I¡¯ve done my side of the deal.¡±


    ¡°No, you haven¡¯t!¡± She glares at me in outrage. ¡°You haven¡¯t even danced properly with him! You¡¯ve just shuffled around dismally.¡±


    ¡°Too bad.¡± I get out my phone and pretend to be speaking into that. ¡°You said you wanted a date, I¡¯ve given you one. The end. A glass of champagne and a G &T please,¡± I add to the barman, and reach into my bag for some money. Sadie¡¯s silent, which probably means she¡¯s gearing up for a banshee moment¡­ But as I look up, she¡¯s gone. I swivel around and see her back beside Ed.


    She¡¯s yelling in his ear. Oh God. What¡¯s she doing?


    I pay for the drinks as quickly as I can and hurry back across the bar. Ed is staring into the middle distance, that glazed, transfixed look on his face again. Genevieve is in the middle of an anecdote about Antigua and doesn¡¯t even seem to have noticed Ed¡¯s faraway expression. Or maybe she thinks he¡¯s transfixed by admiration for her.


    ¡°And then I saw my bikini top!¡± She trills with laughter. ¡°In the sea! I never lived that one down.¡±


    ¡°Here you are, Ed,¡± I say, and hand him his G &T.


    ¡°Oh. Thanks.¡± He seems to come to.


    ¡°Do it now!¡± Sadie suddenly swoops forward and shrieks in his ear. ¡°Ask her NOW!¡±

 Page 64

    Ask me? Ask me what? This had better not be about another date, because it¡¯s not happening, no way, whatever Sadie wants-


    ¡°Lara.¡± Ed focuses on me with what looks like some difficulty, his forehead furrowed more deeply than ever. ¡°Would you like to be my guest at the Business People dinner?¡±


    I do not believe it.


    In shock, I swivel my eyes up to Sadie¡¯s-and she¡¯s looking at me with an expression of triumph, her arms folded across her chest.


    ¡°Don¡¯t say yes on my account,¡± she says carelessly. ¡°It¡¯s up to you. Entirely.¡±


    Ooh. She¡¯s good . She¡¯s a lot smarter than I thought. I didn¡¯t even realize she was paying attention to the conversation.


    This is impossible. There¡¯s no way I can turn down an invitation to the Business People dinner. It¡¯s such a huge event. It¡¯ll be stuffed full of important business types¡­ I¡¯ll be able to network¡­ make contacts¡­ It¡¯s a massive opportunity. I can¡¯t say no. I just can¡¯t.


    Damn her.


    ¡°Yes,¡± I say at last, stiffly. ¡°Thank you, Ed, that¡¯s very kind of you. I¡¯d love to come.¡±


    ¡°Good. That¡¯s great. I¡¯ll send you the details.¡±


    We both sound as though we¡¯re reading lines from cards. Genevieve is looking back and forth between our faces, bewildered.


    ¡°So¡­ you are a couple,¡± she says.


    ¡°No!¡± we reply in unison.


    ¡°No way,¡± I add for emphasis. ¡°Not at all. I mean¡­ never. Not in a million years.¡± I take a sip and glance over at Ed. Is it my imagination, or does he look just the tiniest bit offended?


    I last about another twenty minutes, listening to Genevieve show off about every single holiday she¡¯s ever been on, practically. Then Ed glances at me, and my empty glass, and says, ¡°Don¡¯t let me keep you.¡±


    Don¡¯t let me keep you . It¡¯s a good thing I¡¯m not into this guy. If that isn¡¯t code for I can¡¯t stand a moment more in your company , I don¡¯t know what is.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you have dinner plans,¡± he adds politely.


    ¡°Yes!¡± I say brightly. ¡°I do, as it happens. Absolutely. Dinner plans.¡± I do a pantomime sweep of my watch in front of my eyes. ¡°Goodness, is that the time? I must run. My dinner companions will be waiting.¡± I resist the temptation to add, ¡°At Lyle Place, with champagne.¡±


    ¡°Well, I have plans too.¡± He nods. ¡°So maybe we should¡­¡±


    He made dinner plans. Of course he did. He probably has a whole other, superior date lined up.


    ¡°Yes, let¡¯s. It¡¯s been¡­ fun.¡±


    We both stand up, make general parting gestures at the businesspeople, and head out of the bar onto the pavement.


    ¡°So.¡± Ed hesitates. ¡°Thanks for¡­¡± He makes as though to lean in for a peck on the cheek, then clearly decides against it and holds out his hand instead. ¡°That was great. I¡¯ll let you know about the Business People dinner.¡±


    His face is so easy to read it¡¯s almost pitiful. He¡¯s already wondering how the hell he got himself into this one-but, having invited me in front of a crowd, he can hardly back out now.


    ¡°So¡­ I¡¯m going this way¡­¡± he adds.


    ¡°I¡¯m going the other way,¡± I respond at once. ¡°Thanks again. Bye!¡± I quickly turn on my heel and start striding down the street. What a fiasco.


    ¡°Why are you going home so early?¡± says Sadie crossly in my ear. ¡°You should have suggested going to a nightclub!¡±


    ¡°I have dinner plans, remember?¡± I say pointedly. ¡°And so does he.¡± I stop dead on the pavement. I was in so much of a hurry to be off, I¡¯m heading in totally the wrong direction. I turn around and look up the road, but there¡¯s no sign of Ed. He must have legged it as quickly as I did.


    I¡¯m feeling pretty starving, and a bit sorry for myself. I should have made real dinner plans, I think as I head back up the road. I go into a Pret A Manger and start perusing the sandwich bar. I¡¯ll get myself a wrap and a carton of soup, and a chocolate brownie, I decide. Go all out.


    I¡¯m just reaching for a smoothie when a familiar voice comes across the gentle buzz of customers.


    ¡°Pete. Hey, buddy. How¡¯s it going?¡±


    Sadie and I lock eyes in startled recognition.


    Ed?


    Instinctively I shrink back, trying to hide behind a rack of healthy crisps. My eyes scan the queues of people and land on an expensive overcoat. There he is. Buying a sandwich and talking on the phone. These are his so-called dinner plans?


    ¡°He didn¡¯t have plans at all!¡± I mutter. ¡°He lied!¡±

 Page 65

    ¡°So did you.¡±


    ¡°Yes, but¡­¡± I feel slightly outraged by this. I¡¯m not sure why.


    ¡°That¡¯s good. How¡¯s Mom?¡± Ed¡¯s voice is unmistakable over the hubbub.


    I surreptitiously look around, trying to plan an escape route. But there are massive mirrors everywhere in this shop. He¡¯s bound to spot me. I¡¯ll have to sit it out here until he¡¯s gone.


    ¡°Tell her I read the letter from the lawyer. I don¡¯t think they have a case. I¡¯ll send her an email later on tonight.¡± He listens for a moment. ¡°Pete, it¡¯s no trouble; it¡¯ll take five minutes max¡­¡± There¡¯s another, longer silence. ¡°I am having a good time. It¡¯s great. It¡¯s¡­¡± He sighs, and when he speaks again he sounds a little weary. ¡°C¡¯mon. It is what it is. You know that. I had a weird evening.¡±


    My hand tightens around my smoothie in anticipation. Is he going to talk about me?


    ¡°I just wasted too much of my life with the most obnoxious woman in the world.¡±


    I can¡¯t help feeling a pang of hurt. I wasn¡¯t obnoxious! OK, so I¡¯m dressed a bit differently-


    ¡°You may have met her. Genevieve Bailey? DFT?¡­ No, it wasn¡¯t a date. I was with-¡± He hesitates. ¡°It was a strange situation.¡±


    I¡¯m so engrossed in trying to blend into the healthy-crisp stand, I¡¯ve stopped watching Ed. But all of a sudden I¡¯m aware that he¡¯s made his purchase and is striding out of Pret, holding a takeaway bag. He¡¯s heading past me. Right past me, feet away¡­ please don¡¯t look¡­


    Shit .


    As though he can hear my thoughts, he glances over to the right-and meets my eyes. He registers surprise but no embarrassment.


    ¡°Later, buddy,¡± he says, and slides his phone shut. ¡°Hi there.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Hi!¡± I try to sound casually nonchalant, as though it was always the plan to be found lurking in Pret, clutching a wrap and a smoothie. ¡°Fancy¡­ um¡­ seeing you here. My dinner plans¡­ fell through.¡± I clear my throat. ¡°At the last minute. My friends called and canceled, so I thought I¡¯d grab a bite to eat¡­ The wraps are great here¡­¡±


    Somehow I force myself to stop babbling. Why should I be embarrassed, anyway? Why isn¡¯t he embarrassed? He¡¯s been caught out as much as I have.


    ¡°So, I thought you had dinner arrangements,¡± I say lightly, raising my eyebrows. ¡°What happened to your plan? Was it canceled too? Or is it such a fancy dinner you¡¯re worried you won¡¯t get fed properly?¡± I glance at his takeaway bag with a little laugh, waiting for him to look discomfited.


    He doesn¡¯t even flicker. ¡°This was my plan. Buy some food and get some work done. I have to fly to Amsterdam first thing tomorrow for a conference. I¡¯m giving a paper.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± I say, thrown.


    His face is dead straight. I have a feeling he¡¯s telling the truth. Damn.


    ¡°Right,¡± I say. ¡°Well¡­¡±


    There¡¯s an awkward pause, then Ed nods politely. ¡°Have a good evening.¡± He strides out of the Pret A Manger, and I watch him go, feeling wrong-footed.


    Josh would never wrong-foot me. I knew I didn¡¯t like this guy.


    ¡°Big Issue?¡± A voice interrupts my thoughts.


    ¡°Oh.¡± I focus on the skinny man in front of me. He¡¯s unshaven and wearing a woollen hat and an official Big Issue seller¡¯s badge. Feeling bad for all the times I¡¯ve walked by because it¡¯s too much hassle, I decide to make amends. ¡°I¡¯ll buy five copies,¡± I say firmly. ¡°Thanks very much.¡±


    ¡°Cheers, love.¡± The man nods at my vintage outfit. ¡°Nice dress.¡±


    I hand over the money and take five magazines, then pick up my supper items and head to the checkout. I¡¯m still trying to work out exactly the witty, snappy thing I should have said to Ed. I should have given a lighthearted laugh and said, ¡°Next time you make dinner plans, Ed, remind me to-¡±


    No, I should have said, ¡°Really, Ed, when you said dinner- ¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the Big Issue?¡± Sadie¡¯s voice breaks me out of my trance. I blink a few times, feeling suddenly annoyed with myself. Why am I wasting brain space on him? Who cares what he thinks?


    ¡°It¡¯s a street magazine,¡± I explain. ¡°The money goes to projects for the homeless. It¡¯s a really good cause.¡±


    I can see Sadie digesting this.


    ¡°I remember people living on the streets,¡± she says, her eyes distant. ¡°After the war. It seemed as though the country would never find its footing again.¡±

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    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, sir, you can¡¯t sell that in here.¡± I notice a girl in uniform escorting the Big Issue seller out of the sandwich shop. ¡°We do appreciate the work you do, but it¡¯s company policy¡­¡±


    I watch the man through the glass door. He seems utterly resigned to being ejected, and after a moment I can see him offering copies to passersby, all of whom ignore him.


    ¡°Can I help you?¡± I realize a cashier is calling out to me, and I hurry forward to the till. My credit card has lodged itself right at the bottom of my bag, so I take a while paying and lose track of where Sadie is.


    ¡°What the-¡±


    ¡°Bloody hell! What¡¯s going on?¡±


    Suddenly I become aware that all the cashiers are exclaiming and exchanging looks. Slowly, I turn around to see what they¡¯re looking at. I don¡¯t quite believe my eyes.


    There¡¯s an exodus of customers from the shop. They¡¯re all piling out onto the pavement and accosting the Big Issue seller. I can see some holding several copies in their hands, others thrusting money at him.


    There¡¯s one last customer remaining in the shop. Sadie is floating next to him, her face intense, her mouth to his ear. A moment later, with a startled look, he puts down the sushi box he¡¯s holding and hurries to join the throng outside, already pulling out his wallet. Sadie just stands back and watches, her arms folded in satisfaction. After a moment she glances at me, and I can¡¯t help giving her a huge beam.


    ¡°You rock, Sadie!¡± I mouth. The next moment she¡¯s right beside me, looking puzzled.


    ¡°Did you say I¡¯m a rock?¡±


    ¡°You rock!¡± I pick up my bag and start walking. ¡°It means¡­ you¡¯re great. You did a really good thing.¡± I gesture at the customers outside, all milling around the Big Issue seller. Passersby are now joining the crowd to see what¡¯s up, and the seller looks overwhelmed. We watch them for a moment, then turn and start heading down the street together, an easy silence between us.


    ¡°You rock too,¡± says Sadie in a rush, and I look up in surprise.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡±


    ¡°You did a good thing too. I know you didn¡¯t want to wear this dress tonight, but you did. For me.¡± Her gaze is resolutely ahead. ¡°So thank you.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s OK.¡± I shrug and take a bite of chicken wrap. ¡°It wasn¡¯t that bad in the end.¡±


    I¡¯m not going to admit it to Sadie, because then she¡¯d crow over me and be unbearable. But actually, this whole twenties look is kind of growing on me.


    Kind of.


    ELEVEN


    Things are on the up! I feel it in my bones. Even this second date with Ed is a positive thing. One has to seize one¡¯s opportunities, like Uncle Bill said. And that¡¯s what this is all about. Going to the Business People dinner will be a great chance for me to meet loads of senior professionals, give out my card, and impress people. Natalie always said she had to be ¡°out there¡± and keep her profile up. Well, now I¡¯ll be ¡°out there¡± too.


    ¡°Kate!¡± I say as I enter the office on Monday morning. ¡°I need all my business cards, and I need to buy one of those little holders, and I need all the back issues of Business People- ¡± I break off in surprise. She¡¯s clutching the phone with one hand and circling the air wildly with the other. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the police!¡± She claps her hand over the receiver. ¡°They¡¯re on the phone. They want to come and see you.¡±


    ¡°Oh, right.¡±


    A chunk of ice seems to descend nastily into my stomach. The police. I was hoping the police might just forget all about me.


    I glance around to see if Sadie¡¯s here, but there¡¯s no sign of her. She was talking about some vintage shop in Chelsea at breakfast time, so maybe she¡¯s gone off there.


    ¡°Shall I put them through?¡± Kate is agog.


    ¡°Yes, why not?¡± I try to sound confident and unconcerned, like I¡¯m someone who deals with police matters every day. Like Jane Tennison or someone. ¡°Hello, Lara Lington speaking.¡±


    ¡°Lara, it¡¯s DC Davies here.¡± As soon as I hear her voice, I have a flashback to myself sitting in that room, telling her I¡¯m a speed walker training for the Olympics, while she took notes, her face utterly impassive. What was I thinking?


    ¡°Hi! How are you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m well, thanks, Lara.¡± She¡¯s pleasant but brisk. ¡°I¡¯m in the area and was wondering if I could pop by your office for a chat. Are you free now?¡±


    Oh God. A chat? I don¡¯t want to chat.


    ¡°Yes, I¡¯m free.¡± My voice has risen to a petrified squeak. ¡°Look forward to it! See you then!¡±

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    I put the receiver down, hot around the face. Why is she following this up? Aren¡¯t the police always supposed to be chasing car fines and ignoring murders? Why couldn¡¯t they ignore this murder?


    I look up to see Kate staring at me, her eyes like saucers. ¡°What do the police want? Are we in trouble?¡±


    ¡°Oh, no,¡± I say quickly. ¡°Nothing to worry about. It¡¯s just about my aunt¡¯s murder.¡±


    ¡°Murder?¡± Kate claps a hand over her mouth.


    I keep forgetting how murder sounds when you just drop it into a sentence.


    ¡°Er¡­ yes. So, anyway! What were you up to over the weekend?¡±


    My distraction ruse doesn¡¯t work. Kate¡¯s boggled expression doesn¡¯t change; in fact, it becomes even more boggled.


    ¡°You never told me your aunt was murdered! The aunt whose funeral you went to?¡±


    ¡°Mmm-hmm.¡± I nod.


    ¡°No wonder you were so upset! Oh, Lara, that¡¯s awful. How was she killed?¡±


    Oh God. I really don¡¯t want to go into the details. But I¡¯m not sure how else to get out of this conversation.


    ¡°Poison,¡± I mumble at last.


    ¡°By who?¡±


    ¡°Well.¡± I clear my throat. ¡°They don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°They don¡¯t know?¡± Kate sounds totally outraged. ¡°Well, are they looking? Did they take fingerprints? God, the police are useless! They spend their whole time giving you parking tickets and then someone¡¯s actually murdered and they don¡¯t even care-¡±


    ¡°I think they¡¯re doing the best they can,¡± I say hastily. ¡°They¡¯re most likely giving me an update report. In fact, they¡¯ve probably found the culprit.¡±


    Even as I¡¯m speaking, the most horrific thought is hitting me. What if that¡¯s true?


    What if DC Davies is coming here to tell me they¡¯ve found the man with the scar and the plaited beard? What do I do then?


    I have a sudden image of a gaunt, bearded man with wild eyes and a scar, locked up in a police cell, banging on the door, shouting, ¡°You¡¯ve made a mistake! I never knew the old lady!¡± while a young police officer watches through a two-way window, folding his arms in satisfaction and saying, ¡°He¡¯ll crack soon enough.¡±


    For a moment I feel quite hollow with guilt. What have I started?


    The buzzer goes, and Kate leaps up to answer it.


    ¡°Shall I make some tea?¡± she says when she¡¯s pressed the buzzer. ¡°Shall I stay or go? Do you want moral support?¡±


    ¡°No, you go.¡± Trying to stay calm, I push my chair back, knock over a pile of post with my elbow, and scrape my hand picking it up. ¡°I¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    It¡¯ll all be fine , I tell myself fervently. It¡¯s no big deal .


    But I can¡¯t help it. As soon as I see DC Davies walking in the door, with her clumpy shoes and sensible trousers and air of authority, I can feel my calmness disintegrating into childlike panic.


    ¡°Have you found the murderer?¡± I blurt out anxiously. ¡°Have you locked anyone up?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± DC Davies says, giving me a strange look. ¡°We haven¡¯t locked anyone up.¡±


    ¡°Thank God.¡± I subside in relief, then realize how that might sound. ¡°I mean¡­ why not? What are you doing all day?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll give you some privacy,¡± says Kate, backing out, while simultaneously mouthing ¡°Useless!¡± behind DC Davies¡¯s back.


    ¡°Have a seat.¡± I gesture to a chair and retreat behind my desk, trying to regain a professional air. ¡°So, how are things progressing?¡±


    ¡°Lara.¡± DC Davies gives me a long, hard look. ¡°We have conducted some preliminary inquiries, and we have found no evidence to suggest that your aunt was murdered. According to the doctor¡¯s report, she died of natural causes. Essentially, old age.¡±


    ¡°Old age?¡± I adopt a shocked expression. ¡°Well, that¡¯s just¡­ ludicrous.¡±


    ¡°Unless we can find any evidence to suggest otherwise, the case will be closed. Do you have any other evidence?¡±


    ¡°Um¡­¡± I pause as though considering the question carefully from all sides. ¡°Not what you¡¯d call evidence . Not as such.¡±


    ¡°What about this phone message you left?¡± She pulls out a piece of paper. ¡°¡®The nurses didn¡¯t do it.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Oh, that. Yes.¡± I nod several times, playing for time. ¡°I realized I¡¯d got a tiny detail wrong in my statement. I just wanted to clarify things.¡±


    ¡°And this ¡®man with a beard¡¯? A man who didn¡¯t even appear in your original statement?¡±

 Page 68

    The sarcasm in her voice is unmistakable.


    ¡°Absolutely.¡± I cough. ¡°Well, it suddenly came back to me. I remembered seeing him in the pub at the time and thinking he looked suspicious¡­¡± I trail off, my face hot. DC Davies is looking at me like a teacher who¡¯s caught you cheating in the geography exam.


    ¡°Lara, I¡¯m not sure you¡¯re aware of this,¡± she says in calm, even tones. ¡°But wasting police time is a criminal offense which can carry a penalty of imprisonment. If you have made a malicious accusation-¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t being malicious!¡± I say in horror. ¡°I was just¡­¡±


    ¡°What, exactly?¡±


    Her eyes are fixed on mine. She isn¡¯t going to let me off the hook. Now I¡¯m really scared.


    ¡°Look, I¡¯m sorry,¡± I say in total panic. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to waste your time. I just had this very strong instinct that my great-aunt was murdered. But maybe¡­ thinking about it in the cold light of day¡­ I got it wrong. Maybe she did die of old age. Please don¡¯t prosecute me,¡± I add in a rush.


    ¡°We¡¯re not going to charge you this time.¡± DC Davies lifts her eyebrows. ¡°But consider this a warning.¡±


    ¡°All right,¡± I gulp. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°The case is closed. I¡¯d like you to sign this form, confirming that we¡¯ve had this talk.¡±


    She proffers a piece of paper with a printed paragraph which basically says I, the undersigned, have had a telling-off and understood it and I won¡¯t pester the police again . In so many words.


    ¡°OK.¡± I nod humbly and scribble my signature. ¡°So what will happen now with the¡­ the¡­¡± I can hardly bring myself to say it. ¡°What happens to my great-aunt?¡±


    ¡°The body will be handed back to the responsibility of the next of kin in due course,¡± says DC Davies in a businesslike way. ¡°Presumably they¡¯ll then arrange another funeral.¡±


    ¡°And how soon will that be?¡±


    ¡°The paperwork might take a while.¡± She zips up her bag. ¡°Maybe two weeks, maybe a little longer.¡±


    Two weeks? I feel a jolt of horror. What if I can¡¯t find the necklace by then? Two weeks is nothing. I need more time. Sadie needs more time.


    ¡°Can that be¡­ delayed at all?¡± I try to sound casual.


    ¡°Lara.¡± DC Davies gives me a long look, then sighs. ¡°I¡¯m sure you were very fond of your great-aunt. I lost my gran last year; I know what it¡¯s like. But delaying her funeral and wasting everyone¡¯s time is not the answer.¡± She pauses, then adds more gently, ¡°You have to accept it. She¡¯s gone.¡±


    ¡°She isn¡¯t!¡± I say before I can stop myself. ¡°I mean¡­ she needs more time.¡±


    ¡°She was one hundred and five.¡± DC Davies smiles kindly. ¡°I think she had enough time, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°But she-¡± I exhale in frustration. There¡¯s nothing I can say. ¡°Well¡­ thanks for all your help.¡±


    After DC Davies has left, I sit staring blankly at my computer until I hear Sadie¡¯s voice behind me.


    ¡°Why were the police here?¡±


    I swivel around in alarm to see her sitting on top of a filing cabinet, dressed in a low-waisted cream dress and matching cream hat with blue-black feathers sweeping around to tickle her cheek. ¡°I¡¯ve been shopping! I¡¯ve just found you the most divine little wrap. You must buy it.¡± She adjusts her fur collar, then blinks at me. ¡°Why were the police here?¡±


    ¡°Did you hear our conversation at all?¡± I ask casually.


    ¡°No. I told you, I¡¯ve been shopping.¡± She narrows her eyes. ¡°Is something wrong?¡±


    I gaze back at her, stricken. I can¡¯t tell her the truth. I can¡¯t tell her she has only two weeks left before they¡¯re going to¡­ before¡­


    ¡°Nothing! Just a routine visit. They wanted to check a few details. I like your hat,¡± I add, to distract her. ¡°Go and find me a hat like that.¡±


    ¡°You couldn¡¯t wear a hat like this,¡± says Sadie complacently. ¡°You don¡¯t have the cheekbones.¡±


    ¡°Well, a hat that would suit me, then.¡±


    Sadie¡¯s eyes widen in surprise. ¡°You promise to buy whatever I choose? And wear it?¡±


    ¡°Yes! Of course! Go on! Shop!¡±


    As soon as she¡¯s disappeared, I yank open my desk drawer. I have to find Sadie¡¯s necklace. Now. I can¡¯t waste any more time. I pull out the list of names and rip off the back sheet.


    ¡°Kate,¡± I say as she comes back into the office. ¡°New job. We¡¯re trying to find a necklace. Long, glass beads with a dragonfly pendant. Any of these people might have bought it at a jumble sale at the Fairside Nursing Home. Can you ring this lot?¡±

 Page 69

    There¡¯s a tiny flicker of surprise in her eyes, then she takes the list and nods without any questions, like some loyal army lieutenant. ¡°Absolutely!¡±


    I run my finger down past all the scribbled-out names and dial the next number. After a few rings a woman picks up.


    ¡°Hello?¡±


    ¡°Hi there! My name¡¯s Lara Lington, you don¡¯t know me¡­¡±


    It¡¯s two hours later before I finally put the phone down and look up wearily at Kate. ¡°Any luck?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± She sighs. ¡°Sorry. How about you?¡±


    ¡°Nothing.¡±


    I slump back in my chair and rub my telephone-red cheeks. My adrenaline evaporated about an hour ago. As I neared the end of the list, it was turning to a heavy kind of disappointment. We¡¯ve ruled out every single number. I don¡¯t have anywhere else to turn. What am I going to do now?


    ¡°Shall I go on a sandwich run?¡± says Kate tentatively.


    ¡°Oh. Yeah.¡± I muster a smile. ¡°Chicken and avocado please. Thanks so much.¡±


    ¡°No problem!¡± She bites her lip anxiously. ¡°I hope you find it.¡±


    As she leaves, I sink my head forward and rub my aching neck. I¡¯ll just have to go back to the nursing home and ask more questions. There have to be more avenues to explore. There has to be an answer. It just doesn¡¯t make sense. The necklace was there, around Sadie¡¯s neck, and now it¡¯s gone¡­


    A thought suddenly strikes me. That visitor she had, Charles Reece. I never followed him up. I might as well tick every box. Fishing for my mobile, I find the number for the nursing home and wearily dial.


    ¡°Hello, Fairside Nursing Home,¡± answers a female voice.


    ¡°Hi! This is Lara Lington, Sadie Lancaster¡¯s great-niece.¡±


    ¡°Oh, yes?¡±


    ¡°I was just wondering¡­ can anyone tell me anything more about a visitor she had just before she died? A Charles Reece?¡±


    ¡°Just a moment.¡±


    As I¡¯m waiting, I get out the sketch of the necklace and study it as though for clues. I¡¯ve looked at this picture so many times, I could practically draw each bead by heart. The more I¡¯ve got to know it, the more beautiful it seems. I can¡¯t bear it if Sadie never gets it back.


    Maybe I should secretly have a copy made, I find myself thinking. An exact replica. I could get it distressed, tell Sadie it¡¯s the original, she might just fall for it-


    ¡°Hello?¡± A cheerful voice rouses me from my thoughts. ¡°Lara? It¡¯s Sharon here, one of the nurses. I was with Sadie when Charles Reece visited; in fact, I signed him in. What do you want to know about him?¡±


    I just want to know, has he got her necklace?


    ¡°Well¡­ what exactly happened during his visit?¡±


    ¡°He sat with her for a bit, then he left. That¡¯s it.¡±


    ¡°In her room?¡±


    ¡°Oh, yes,¡± she says at once. ¡°Sadie didn¡¯t really leave her room much in those last weeks.¡±


    ¡°Right. So¡­ could he have taken a necklace from her?¡±


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s possible.¡± She sounds doubtful.


    It¡¯s possible. That¡¯s a start.


    ¡°Can you tell me what he was like? How old was he?¡±


    ¡°In his fifties or so, I¡¯d say. Nice-looking chap.¡±


    This gets more and more intriguing. Who on earth is he? Sadie¡¯s boy toy?


    ¡°If he visits again or calls, could you let me know?¡± I scribble down Charles Reece-50s on my notepad. ¡°And could you get his address?¡±


    ¡°I can try. Can¡¯t promise.¡±


    ¡°Thanks.¡± I sigh, feeling a bit dispirited. How am I ever going to track this guy down? ¡°And there¡¯s nothing else you can tell me about him?¡± I add as a last-ditch attempt. ¡°Nothing¡­ distinctive? Nothing at all that you noticed?¡±


    ¡°Well.¡± She laughs. ¡°It¡¯s just funny, you being called Lington.¡±


    ¡°How come?¡± I stare at the phone, puzzled.


    ¡°Ginny says you¡¯re not related to that Bill Lington off the coffee cups? Millionaire bloke?¡±


    ¡°Er¡­ why do you ask?¡± I¡¯m suddenly alert.


    ¡°Because that¡¯s exactly who he looked like! I said it at the time, to the girls. Even though he had dark glasses on and a scarf, you could see it. He was the spitting image of Bill Lington.¡±


    TWELVE


    It makes no sense. None. It¡¯s crazy, whichever way you look at it.


    Was ¡°Charles Reece¡± really Uncle Bill? But why would he visit Sadie? Why would he use a fake name? And why wouldn¡¯t he mention it?


    And as for the idea that he might have had anything to do with her necklace disappearing¡­ I mean, hello? He¡¯s a multimillionaire. Why would he need some old necklace?

 Page 70

    I feel like banging my head against the window, to make all the pieces fall into place. But since at this very minute I¡¯m sitting in a plushy chauffeur-driven limo provided by Uncle Bill, I probably won¡¯t. Just to get this far has been a total hassle. I don¡¯t want to jeopardize things.


    I¡¯ve never phoned up Uncle Bill in my life, so at first I wasn¡¯t sure how to get in touch with him. (Obviously I couldn¡¯t ask Mum and Dad, or they¡¯d want to know why I needed to see Uncle Bill and why had I been visiting Sadie¡¯s nursing home and what was I talking about, what necklace?) So I rang Lingtons head office, eventually persuaded someone that I was for real, got through to one of the assistants, and asked if I could make an appointment to see Uncle Bill.


    It was as if I¡¯d asked to see the president. Within the hour, about six assistants started sending me emails, coordinating a time, changing the time, changing the location, organizing a car, asking me to bring ID, telling me I couldn¡¯t overrun my slot, asking what Lingtons beverage I¡¯d prefer in the car¡­


    All for a ten-minute meeting.


    The car is pretty rock-star, I have to admit. It¡¯s got two rows of seats facing each other and a TV, and a chilled strawberry smoothie was waiting for me, just like I asked for. I¡¯d be more grateful, except that Dad once said Uncle Bill always sends cars for people so that the minute he¡¯s had enough of them he can send them away again.


    ¡°William and Michael,¡± Sadie pipes up thoughtfully from the seat opposite. ¡°I left everything to those boys in my will.¡±


    ¡°Oh, right.¡± I nod. ¡°Yes, I think I heard that.¡±


    ¡°Well, I hope they were grateful. There must have been a fair amount.¡±


    ¡°Loads!¡± I lie hastily, remembering a conversation I once heard between Mum and Dad. Apparently everything was swallowed up by the nursing-home fees, but Sadie wouldn¡¯t want to hear that. ¡°And they were really thrilled.¡±


    ¡°So they should be.¡± She sits back in satisfaction. A moment later the car pulls off the road and approaches a pair of enormous gates. As the car stops by the gatehouse and a security guard approaches, Sadie peers past me at the mansion.


    ¡°Goodness.¡± She looks at me uncertainly, as though someone must be playing a joke. ¡°That¡¯s a rather large house. How on earth did he become so rich?¡±


    ¡°I told you,¡± I say under my breath, as I give my passport to the driver. He hands it to the security guard, and they confer as though I¡¯m some sort of terrorist.


    ¡°You said he ran coffee shops.¡± Sadie wrinkles her nose.


    ¡°Yes. Thousands of them. All around the world. He¡¯s really famous.¡±


    There¡¯s a pause, then Sadie says, ¡°I should have liked to be famous.¡±


    There¡¯s a trace of wistfulness in her voice, and I open my mouth to say automatically, ¡°Maybe you will be one day!¡± Then, as the truth hits me, I close it again, feeling a bit sad. There isn¡¯t a ¡°one day¡± for her anymore, is there?


    By now the car is purring up the drive, and I can¡¯t help gazing out of the window like a child. I¡¯ve only been to Uncle Bill¡¯s mansion a few times in my life, and I always forget how impressive and intimidating it is. It¡¯s a Georgian house with about fifteen bedrooms and a basement with two swimming pools in it. Two .


    I¡¯m not going to get nervous , I tell myself firmly. It¡¯s just a house. He¡¯s just a person .


    But, oh God . Everything¡¯s so grand. There are lawns everywhere and fountains sprinkling, and gardeners snipping hedges. As we approach the entrance, a tall guy in a black suit and shades with a discreet earpiece is coming down the spotless white steps to greet me.


    ¡°Lara.¡± He clasps my hand as though we¡¯re old friends. ¡°I¡¯m Damian. I work for Bill. He¡¯s looking forward to seeing you. I¡¯ll take you round to the office wing.¡± As we start to crunch over the gravel, he adds lightly, ¡°What exactly was it you wanted to talk to Bill about? Nobody seems very clear.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ um¡­ private. Sorry.¡±


    ¡°No problem.¡± He flashes a smile. ¡°Great. Just approaching, Sarah,¡± he says into his earpiece.


    The side building is as impressive as the main house, just in a different style, all glass and modern art and a stainless-steel water feature. As if by clockwork, a girl comes out to greet us, also dressed immaculately in a black suit.


    ¡°Hi, Lara. Welcome. I¡¯m Sarah.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll leave you here, Lara.¡± Damian flashes me his teeth again and crunches back over the gravel.


    ¡°So, it¡¯s an honor to meet Bill¡¯s niece!¡± says Sarah as she leads me into the building.

 Page 71

    ¡°Oh. Well¡­ er, thanks.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if Damian mentioned this.¡± Sarah ushers me to a seat and sits down opposite me. ¡°But I was wondering if you could tell me the subjects you¡¯d like to discuss with Bill. It¡¯s something we ask all his visitors. So we can prep him, do any necessary research¡­ It makes life easier for everyone.¡±


    ¡°Damian did ask. But it¡¯s kind of private, sorry.¡±


    Sarah¡¯s pleasant smile doesn¡¯t falter for an instant.


    ¡°If you could just indicate the broad areas? Give us an idea?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t really want to get into it.¡± I can feel myself flushing. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. It¡¯s kind of a¡­ family thing.¡±


    ¡°Of course! That¡¯s fine. Excuse me a moment.¡±


    She moves away into a corner of the reception area, and I can see her muttering into her earpiece. Sadie glides over to Sarah for a minute or two, then appears back by my side. To my astonishment, she¡¯s cracking up with laughter.


    ¡°What is it?¡± I demand under my breath. ¡°What was she saying?¡±


    ¡°She said she didn¡¯t think you looked violent but maybe they should call extra security anyway.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I can¡¯t help exclaiming, and Sarah immediately whips around to survey me.


    ¡°Sorry.¡± I wave at her cheerily. ¡°Just¡­ er¡­ sneezed. What else did she say?¡± I hiss as Sarah turns away again.


    ¡°Apparently you have a grudge against Bill? Something about a job he didn¡¯t give you?¡±


    Grudge? Job? I stare at her baffled for a second-before the penny drops. The funeral. Of course .


    ¡°The last time Uncle Bill saw me, I was announcing a murder in the middle of a funeral. He must have told everyone I¡¯m a total psychopath!¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it a wheeze?¡± Sadie giggles.


    ¡°It¡¯s not funny!¡± I say crossly. ¡°They probably all think I¡¯ve come to assassinate him or something! You realize this is all your fault?¡± I hastily break off as Sarah approaches again.


    ¡°Hi, Lara!¡± Her voice is bright but tense. ¡°So¡­ one of Bill¡¯s team will sit in with you during the meeting. Just to take notes. Is that OK?¡±


    ¡°Look. Sarah.¡± I try to sound as sane and calm as possible. ¡°I¡¯m not a nutter. I don¡¯t have a grudge against anyone. I don¡¯t need any notes taken. I just want to have a chat with my uncle, one to one. Five minutes. That¡¯s all I want.¡±


    There¡¯s silence for a moment. Sarah still has a vivid smile pasted on, but her eyes keep swiveling to the door and back again.


    ¡°OK, Lara,¡± she says at last. ¡°We¡¯ll do things your way.¡±


    As she sits down, I can see her touching her earpiece as though for reassurance.


    ¡°So¡­ how¡¯s Aunt Trudy?¡± I say conversationally. ¡°Is she here?¡±


    ¡°Trudy¡¯s at the house in France for a few days,¡± Sarah says at once.


    ¡°How about Diamant¨¦? Maybe we could have a quick coffee or something.¡± I don¡¯t really want to have coffee with Diamant¨¦, I only want to prove how friendly and normal I am.


    ¡°You want to see Diamant¨¦?¡± Sarah¡¯s eyes have gone even more swively. ¡°Now?¡±


    ¡°Just for a coffee, if she¡¯s around.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll call her assistant.¡± She leaps up, hurries away to the corner, and mutters in her earpiece, then almost immediately comes back to the seating area. ¡°I¡¯m afraid Diamant¨¦¡¯s getting a manicure at the moment. She says maybe next time?¡±


    Yeah, right. She never even put the call through. I¡¯m feeling quite sorry for this Sarah, actually. She looks as nervous as if she¡¯s babysitting a lion. I have a wicked urge to yell ¡°Hands up!¡± and see how quickly she throws herself to the floor.


    ¡°I love your bracelet,¡± I say instead. ¡°It¡¯s really unusual.¡±


    ¡°Oh, yes.¡± She extends her arm warily and shakes the two little silver disks on their chain. ¡°Haven¡¯t you seen these yet? They¡¯re from the new Two Little Coins line. There¡¯s going to be a stand of products in each Lingtons coffee shop starting next January. I¡¯m sure Bill will give you one. There¡¯s a pendant, too, and T-shirts¡­ gift sets of two little coins in a treasure box¡­¡±


    ¡°Sounds great,¡± I say politely. ¡°It must be doing well.¡±


    ¡°Oh, Two Little Coins is huge,¡± she assures me earnestly. ¡°Huge. It¡¯ll be as big a brand as Lingtons. You know it¡¯s going to be a Hollywood film?¡±


    ¡°Uh-huh.¡± I nod. ¡°Pierce Brosnan as Uncle Bill, I heard.¡±

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    ¡°And of course the reality show will be a big hit. It¡¯s such an empowering message. I mean, anyone can follow Bill¡¯s path.¡± Sarah¡¯s eyes are shining, and she seems to have forgotten all about being scared of me. ¡°Anyone can pick up two little coins and decide to change their future. And you can apply it to families, businesses, economies¡­ You know, lots of really senior politicians have called Bill since the book came out. They¡¯re, like, how can we apply your secret to our country?¡± She lowers her voice reverentially. ¡°Including the President of the United States.¡±


    ¡°The president phoned Uncle Bill?¡± I¡¯m awed, in spite of myself.


    ¡°His people.¡± She shrugs and shakes her bracelet out. ¡°We all think Bill should get into politics himself. He has so much to offer the world. It¡¯s such a privilege to work for him.¡±


    She¡¯s totally signed up for the cult. I glance at Sadie, who has been yawning throughout Sarah¡¯s speech.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to explore,¡± she announces, and before I can say anything, she¡¯s disappeared.


    ¡°OK.¡± Sarah¡¯s listening to her earpiece. ¡°On our way. Bill¡¯s ready to see you, Lara.¡±


    She gets up and beckons me to follow. We make our way down a corridor lined with what look suspiciously like real Picassos, then pause in another, smaller reception area. I tug at my skirt and take a few deep breaths. It¡¯s ridiculous to feel nervous. I mean, this is my uncle. I have a right to see him. There¡¯s no need to feel anything except relaxed-


    I can¡¯t help it. My legs are wobbling.


    I think it¡¯s because the doors are so big. They¡¯re not like normal doors. They tower up to the ceiling, great blocks of pale polished wood that swing open silently every now and again as people come in and out.


    ¡°Is that Uncle Bill¡¯s office?¡± I nod at the door.


    ¡°That¡¯s the outer office.¡± Sarah smiles. ¡°You¡¯ll be seeing him in the inner office.¡± She listens to her earpiece again, suddenly alert, then murmurs, ¡°Bringing her in now.¡±


    She pushes open one of the tall doors and leads me through an airy, glass-walled office space with a couple of cool-looking guys at workstations, one of whom is wearing a Two Little Coins T-shirt. They both look up and smile politely but don¡¯t stop typing. We reach another set of giant doors and pause. Sarah glances at her watch-then, as though timing it to the second, knocks and pushes the door open.


    It¡¯s a vast, light room with a vaulted ceiling and a glass sculpture on a podium and a sunken seating area. Six men in suits are getting up from chairs, as though finishing a meeting. And there, behind his massive desk, is Uncle Bill, looking lithe in a gray polo neck and jeans. He¡¯s more tanned than he was at the funeral, his hair as glossy black as ever, and he¡¯s cradling a Lingtons coffee mug in one hand.


    ¡°Thanks very much for your time, Bill,¡± one of the men is saying fervently. ¡°We appreciate it.¡±


    Uncle Bill doesn¡¯t even reply, just lifts a hand like the pope. As the men file out, three girls in black uniforms appear from nowhere and clear the table of coffee cups in about thirty seconds flat, while Sarah ushers me forward to a chair.


    All of a sudden she looks nervous too.


    ¡°Your niece Lara,¡± she murmurs to Uncle Bill. ¡°She wants a one to one. Damian made the decision to give her five minutes, but we don¡¯t have any prep notes. We have Ted standing by.¡± Sarah lowers her voice further. ¡°I can call extra security-¡±


    ¡°Thanks, Sarah, we¡¯ll be fine.¡± Uncle Bill cuts her off and turns his attention to me. ¡°Lara. Have a seat.¡±


    As I sit down, I¡¯m aware of Sarah moving away and the soft swoosh of the door closing behind me.


    There¡¯s silence, apart from Uncle Bill tapping something into his BlackBerry. To pass the time, I look at the wall of pictures of Uncle Bill with famous people. Madonna. Nelson Mandela. The whole England football team.


    ¡°So, Lara.¡± At last he looks up. ¡°What can I do for you?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ um¡­¡± I clear my throat. ¡°I was¡­¡±


    I had all sorts of punchy openers prepared. But now that I¡¯m actually here, in the inner sanctum, they¡¯re all drying up on my lips. I feel paralyzed. This is Bill Lington we¡¯re talking about. Huge, jet-setting tycoon with a million important things to do, like telling the president how to run his country. Why would he go to an old people¡¯s home and take a necklace from an old lady? What have I been thinking?


    ¡°Lara?¡± He frowns questioningly


    Oh God. If I¡¯m going to do this, I need to do it. It¡¯s like jumping off the diving board. Hold your nose, deep breath, go.

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    ¡°I went to Aunt Sadie¡¯s nursing home last week,¡± I say in a rush. ¡°And apparently she had this visitor a few weeks ago who looked just like you, called Charles Reece, and it didn¡¯t make any sense to me, so I thought I¡¯d come and ask you¡­¡±


    I trail off. Uncle Bill is looking at me with as much enthusiasm as if I¡¯d whipped out a hula skirt and started dancing.


    ¡°Jesus Christ,¡± he mutters. ¡°Lara, are you still claiming Sadie was murdered? Is that what this is about? Because I really don¡¯t have time-¡± He reaches for the telephone.


    ¡°No, that¡¯s not it!¡± My face is boiling, but I force myself to persevere. ¡°I don¡¯t really think she was murdered. I went there because¡­ because I felt bad that no one had ever shown any interest in her. When she was alive, I mean. And there was another name in the visitors¡¯ book, and they said the guy looked exactly like you, and I was just¡­ wondering. You know. Just wondering.¡±


    My heart is pounding in my ears as I finish.


    Slowly, Uncle Bill replaces the telephone receiver and there¡¯s silence. For a few moments he looks as though he¡¯s weighing up exactly what to say.


    ¡°Well, it looks as though both of us had the same instincts,¡± he says at last, leaning back in his chair. ¡°You¡¯re right. I did go to see Sadie.¡±


    My jaw drops in astonishment.


    Result! Total, instant result! I think I should become a private detective.


    ¡°But why did you use the name Charles Reece?¡±


    ¡°Lara.¡± Uncle Bill gives a patient sigh. ¡°I have a lot of fans out there. I¡¯m a celebrity. There are a lot of things I do that I don¡¯t trumpet. Charity work, hospital visits¡­¡± He spreads his hands. ¡°Charles Reece is the name I take when I want to stay anonymous. Can you imagine the fuss if it were known that Bill Lington had personally come to visit an old lady?¡± He meets my eyes with a friendly twinkle, and for a moment I can¡¯t help smiling back.


    It kind of makes sense. Uncle Bill is such a rock star. Taking a pseudonym is the sort of thing he¡¯d do.


    ¡°But why didn¡¯t you tell any of the family? At the service, you said you¡¯d never visited Aunt Sadie.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡± Uncle Bill nods. ¡°And I had my reasons for that. I didn¡¯t want to make the rest of the family feel in any way guilty or defensive about not having visited themselves. Especially your father. He can be¡­ prickly.¡±


    Prickly? Dad¡¯s not prickly.


    ¡°Dad¡¯s fine,¡± I say tightly.


    ¡°Oh, he¡¯s great,¡± Bill says immediately. ¡°An absolutely fantastic guy. But it can¡¯t be easy being Bill Lington¡¯s big brother. I feel for him.¡±


    Indignation surges through me. He¡¯s right. It¡¯s not easy being Bill Lington¡¯s big brother, because Bill Lington is such an arrogant tosser .


    I should never have smiled at him. In fact, I wish there were a way to take smiles back.


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to feel sorry for Dad,¡± I say as politely as I can. ¡°He doesn¡¯t feel sorry for himself. He¡¯s done really well in life.¡±


    ¡°You know, I¡¯ve started using your dad as an example in my seminars.¡± Uncle Bill adopts a musing tone. ¡°Two boys. Same upbringing. Same education. The only difference between them was, one of them wanted it. One of them had the dream.¡±


    He sounds like he¡¯s rehearsing a speech for some promotional DVD. God, he¡¯s up himself. Who says everyone wants to be Bill Lington, anyway? Some people¡¯s dream would be not to have their face plastered across coffee cups all over the world.


    ¡°So, Lara.¡± He focuses back on me. ¡°It was a pleasure to see you; Sarah will show you out.¡±


    That¡¯s it? My audience is over? I haven¡¯t even got to the bit about the necklace yet.


    ¡°There¡¯s something else,¡± I say hastily.


    ¡°Lara-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be really quick, I promise! I just wondered, when you visited Aunt Sadie¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡± I can see him trying to keep his patience. He glances at his watch and touches a key on his keyboard.


    Oh God. How am I going to put this?


    ¡°Do you know anything about¡­¡± I¡¯m stumbling over my words. ¡°I mean, did you see¡­ or possibly take, by accident¡­ a necklace? A long necklace with glass beads and a dragonfly pendant?¡±


    I¡¯m expecting another patronizing sigh, a blank look, and a dismissive comment. I¡¯m not expecting him to freeze. I¡¯m not expecting his eyes to become suddenly sharp and wary.


    As I stare back, I feel almost breathless with shock. He knows what I¡¯m talking about. He knows .

 Page 74

    The very next moment, the wariness has disappeared out of his eyes and he¡¯s back to empty politeness. I could almost think I imagined that other expression.


    ¡°A necklace?¡± He takes a sip of coffee and types something at his keyboard. ¡°Do you mean something of Sadie¡¯s?¡±


    The back of my neck is prickling all over. What¡¯s going on? I saw the recognition in his eyes, I know I did. Why is he pretending he doesn¡¯t know about it?


    ¡°Yes, it¡¯s an old piece I¡¯m trying to track down.¡± Some instinct tells me to act cool and unconcerned. ¡°The nurses at the home said it had disappeared, so¡­¡± I watch Uncle Bill sharply for a reaction, but his bland mask is perfectly in place.


    ¡°Interesting. Why do you want it?¡± he asks lightly.


    ¡°Oh, no particular reason. I just saw a photo of Sadie wearing it at her hundred and fifth birthday and I thought it would be nice to find it.¡±


    ¡°Fascinating.¡± He pauses. ¡°Can I see the photo?¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t got it on me, I¡¯m afraid.¡±


    This conversation is so weird. It feels like a game of tennis, where we¡¯re both lobbing balls very gently into the air and resisting the urge to wallop a winner.


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about.¡± Uncle Bill puts his mug down with an air of finality. ¡°I¡¯m pressed for time, so we¡¯ll have to leave it there.¡±


    He pushes back his chair but I don¡¯t move. He knows something about it. I¡¯m sure he does. But what do I do? What options do I have?


    ¡°Lara?¡± He¡¯s standing by my chair, waiting. Reluctantly I get to my feet. As we approach the door, it opens as though by magic. We¡¯re greeted by Sarah, with Damian hovering behind, his BlackBerry out.


    ¡°All done?¡± he says.


    ¡°All done.¡± Uncle Bill nods firmly. ¡°Give my best to your dad, won¡¯t you, Lara? Good-bye.¡±


    Sarah puts a hand to my elbow and starts gently edging me out of the room. My chance is ebbing away. In desperation, I grip onto the door frame.


    ¡°It¡¯s a shame about the necklace, don¡¯t you think?¡± I look directly at Uncle Bill, trying to provoke a response. ¡°What do you think happened to it?¡±


    ¡°Lara, I¡¯d forget about the necklace,¡± says Uncle Bill smoothly. ¡°It was probably lost a long time ago. Damian, come in.¡±


    Damian hurries past me, and the two men head to the other side of the room. The door is already closing. I stare after Uncle Bill, almost exploding with frustration.


    What¡¯s going on? What is it with this necklace?


    I need to speak to Sadie, right now. This minute. I swivel my head back and forth, but there¡¯s no sign of her. Typical. She¡¯s probably found some hunky gardener to lust after.


    ¡°Lara,¡± says Sarah with a tense smile. ¡°Could you please remove your fingers from the door frame? We can¡¯t close the door.¡±


    ¡°All right!¡± I say, lifting up my hands. ¡°Don¡¯t panic! I¡¯m not going to stage a sit-in protest!¡±


    Sarah¡¯s eyes jump in fear at the word protest , which she immediately covers with a fake little laugh. She should really give up working for Uncle Bill. She¡¯s way too nervous.


    ¡°Your car is waiting for you at the front. I¡¯ll take you there now.¡±


    Damn. If she escorts me out, there¡¯s no way I can sidle off or poke around any drawers or anything.


    ¡°A coffee for the ride?¡± asks Sarah as we pass through the lobby.


    I quell an urge to say, ¡°Yes, please, a Starbucks.¡±


    ¡°No, thanks.¡± I smile.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s been so great to see you, Lara!¡± Her fake gushiness makes me wince. ¡°Come back soon!¡±


    Yeah, right. By which you mean ¡°please never set foot in this place again, ever.¡±


    The limo driver opens the door, and I¡¯m about to step in when Sadie appears right in front of me, blocking the way. Her hair is a little disheveled and she¡¯s breathing hard.


    ¡°I¡¯ve found it!¡± she says dramatically.


    ¡°What?¡± I stop, foot halfway into the car.


    ¡°It¡¯s in the house! I saw it in a bedroom upstairs, on a dressing table! It¡¯s here! My necklace is here!¡±


    I stare at her, gripped. I knew it, I knew it!


    ¡°You¡¯re absolutely sure it¡¯s yours?¡±


    ¡°Of course I¡¯m sure!¡± Her voice rises shrilly and she starts gesturing at the house. ¡°I could have picked it up! I tried to pick it up! Of course, I couldn¡¯t¡­¡± She clicks her tongue in frustration.


    ¡°Lara, is there a problem?¡± Sarah is hurrying down the stairs again. ¡°Is there something wrong with the car? Neville, is everything OK?¡± she snaps at the driver.

 Page 75

    ¡°Everything¡¯s fine!¡± he replies defensively, and jerks his head at me. ¡°She just started talking to thin air.¡±


    ¡°Would you like a different car, Lara?¡± I can see it¡¯s taking Sarah a supreme effort to keep up her pleasant manner. ¡°Or to go to a different location? Neville can take you anywhere. Perhaps you¡¯d like the use of him for the rest of the day?¡±


    She really, really wants to get rid of me.


    ¡°This car¡¯s fine, thanks,¡± I say brightly. ¡°Get in the car,¡± I mutter to Sadie out of the side of my mouth. ¡°Can¡¯t talk here.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡± Sarah frowns.


    ¡°Just¡­ on the phone. Tiny earpiece.¡± I tap my ear and quickly slide into the car.


    The car door clunks and we glide away toward the gates. I check that the glass partition is closed, then flop back and look at Sadie.


    ¡°This is unbelievable! How did you find it?¡±


    ¡°I just went looking.¡± She shrugs. ¡°I looked in all the cupboards and the drawers and the safe-¡±


    ¡°You went in Uncle Bill¡¯s safe?¡± I¡¯m agog. ¡°Wow. What¡¯s in there?¡±


    ¡°Bits of paper and hideous jewels,¡± says Sadie impatiently. ¡°I was about to give up, when I walked past a dressing table and there it was.¡±


    I can¡¯t believe it. I¡¯m popping with anger. Uncle Bill just sat in front of me and said he didn¡¯t know anything about any dragonfly necklace. He¡¯s a lying ¡­ liar . We have to make an action plan. As quickly as I can, I reach inside my bag for a notebook and pen.


    ¡°Something¡¯s going on,¡± I say, writing Action Plan at the top of a page. ¡°There has to be a reason he took it and a reason he¡¯s lying.¡± I rub my brow in frustration. ¡°But what? Why is it so important to him? Do you know anything else about it? Does it have some kind of history¡­ or collectors¡¯ value-¡±


    ¡°Is this all you¡¯re going to do?¡± Sadie¡¯s voice explodes. ¡°Talk, talk, drone, drone? We need to get it! You need to climb through the window and get it! At once!¡±


    ¡°Er¡­¡± I look up from my notebook.


    ¡°It¡¯ll be quite easy,¡± Sadie adds confidently. ¡°You can take off your shoes.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡±


    I¡¯m nodding. But truth be told, I don¡¯t feel absolutely prepared for this. Break in to Uncle Bill¡¯s house right now? Without making a plan?


    ¡°The only thing is,¡± I venture after a moment, ¡°he¡¯s got lots of security guards and alarms and stuff.¡±


    ¡°So what?¡± Sadie¡¯s eyes narrow. ¡°Are you frightened of a few alarms?¡±


    ¡°No!¡± I say at once. ¡°Of course not.¡±


    ¡°I bet you are!¡± she cries derisively. ¡°I¡¯ve never known such a ninny in all my life! You won¡¯t smoke because it¡¯s dangerous! You wear a safety belt in the motor because it¡¯s dangerous! You won¡¯t eat butter because it¡¯s dangerous!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think butter¡¯s dangerous,¡± I retort indignantly. ¡°It¡¯s just, you know, olive oil spread has got better fats¡­¡±


    I trail off at the contemptuous look on Sadie¡¯s face.


    ¡°Are you going to climb in through the window and get my necklace?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± I say, after only a split-second pause. ¡°Of course I am.¡±


    ¡°Well, come on, then! Stop the car!¡±


    ¡°Stop bossing me about!¡± I say resentfully. ¡°I was just about to.¡±


    I lean forward and open the glass partition between us and the driver. ¡°Excuse me? I¡¯m feeling carsick. Could you let me out, please? I¡¯ll go home by tube. I¡¯m not dissing your driving or anything,¡± I add hastily, as I see him frowning into the rearview mirror. ¡°You¡¯re great. Really¡­ er¡­ smooth action.¡±


    The car pulls over and the driver looks around dubiously. ¡°I¡¯m supposed to take you home to your door.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry!¡± I say, clambering out. ¡°Honestly, I just need some fresh air, thanks so much¡­¡±


    I¡¯m already on the pavement. I bang the door shut and give the driver a little wave. He shoots me one last suspicious glance, then does a three-point turn and heads back toward Uncle Bill¡¯s house. As soon as he¡¯s out of sight, I start retracing my path, keeping unobtrusively to the side of the road. I round the corner, see Uncle Bill¡¯s gates ahead, and pause.


    The gates are closed and they¡¯re massive. The security guard is there in his glass box. CCTV cameras are everywhere. You don¡¯t just march straight in to Uncle Bill¡¯s house. I need a strategy. I take a deep breath and approach the gates, looking as innocent as possible.

 Page 76

    ¡°Hi! It¡¯s me again, Lara Lington,¡± I say into the pedestrian intercom. ¡°I left my umbrella behind. Silly me!¡± After a moment, the guard opens the pedestrian gate for me and leans out of his window.


    ¡°I¡¯ve spoken to Sarah. She doesn¡¯t know anything about an umbrella, but she¡¯s coming down.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll meet her, save her the trouble!¡± I say brightly, and hurry past before he can protest. OK. I¡¯m past one hurdle.


    ¡°Tell me the minute he looks away,¡± I mutter to Sadie out of the side of my mouth. ¡°Say ¡®Now.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Now!¡± she says suddenly, and I dodge to the side of the path. I take a few steps across the grass, then drop down, roll behind a hedge, and come to a stop like someone in an action film.


    My heart¡¯s thumping hard. I don¡¯t even care that I¡¯ve run my tights. Through the hedge I can see Sarah crunching swiftly down the drive, a perturbed expression on her face.


    ¡°Where is she?¡± I hear her voice drifting up from the front gates.


    ¡°¡­ saw her a moment ago¡­¡± The guard sounds baffled.


    Ha!


    Actually, not ha. They might start looking for me with Rottweilers in a minute.


    ¡°Where is it?¡± I whisper to Sadie. ¡°Guide me. And keep a lookout!¡±


    We start making our way over the lawn toward the house, dodging from hedge to water feature to prizewinning sculpture. I keep freezing as people walk down the drive. But so far no one¡¯s spotted me.


    ¡°There!¡± We turn the corner and Sadie nods at a set of French doors on the second-floor level. They¡¯re ajar, and open onto a terrace with steps up to it from the garden. I won¡¯t need to clamber up the ivy after all. I¡¯m almost disappointed.


    ¡°Keep guard!¡± I mutter to Sadie. I creep toward the steps, slip off my wedges, and run up them silently. Cautiously, I approach the ajar French doors-and catch my breath.


    There it is.


    It¡¯s lying on a dressing table, just inside the room. A long double row of beads in shimmering yellow glass, with the most exquisite carved dragonfly, inlaid with mother-of-pearl and studded with rhinestones. It¡¯s Sadie¡¯s necklace. Iridescent and magical, just as she described it, although it¡¯s longer than I imagined and a few of the beads are a little battered.


    As I gaze at it, I feel overcome by emotion. After all this time. After all the hunting, the hoping; after secretly wondering if it even existed anymore¡­ here it is. Only a few feet away from me. I could practically lean over and touch it without even entering the room.


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ stunning.¡± I turn back to Sadie, my voice a little choked. ¡°It¡¯s absolutely the most beautiful thing I¡¯ve ever-¡±


    ¡°Get it!¡± She¡¯s whirling her arms in frustration, her beads jangling. ¡°Stop talking! Get it!¡±


    ¡°OK, OK!¡±


    I swing the French doors open, take a tentative step inside, and am just reaching toward the necklace, when I hear footsteps approaching the room. In what seems like a nanosecond, the door is thrown open. Shit. Someone¡¯s coming in.


    In panic, I reverse onto the terrace and duck to one side.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± demands Sadie from below. ¡°Get the necklace!¡±


    ¡°Someone¡¯s in there! I¡¯ll wait ¡¯til they¡¯ve gone!¡±


    In an instant, Sadie is up on the terrace and poking her head through the glass into the room.


    ¡°It¡¯s a maid.¡± She glares at me. ¡°You should have grabbed it!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll get it in a minute when she¡¯s gone! Don¡¯t stress! Just keep a lookout!¡±


    I back right against the wall, praying that the maid or whoever she is doesn¡¯t decide to come out on the terrace for a breath of fresh air and madly thinking of excuses if she does.


    Suddenly my heart jumps as the French doors start moving-but they¡¯re not opening. They close with a firm clunk . The next thing I hear is the click of a key being turned.


    Oh no.


    Oh no, oh no.


    ¡°She¡¯s locked you out!¡± Sadie darts into the room, then out again. ¡°Now she¡¯s gone! You¡¯re stuck! You¡¯re stuck!¡±


    I rattle the French doors, but they¡¯re well and firmly locked.


    ¡°You idiot!¡± Sadie is beside herself with fury. ¡°You absolute fool! Why didn¡¯t you just grab it?¡±


    ¡°I was about to!¡± I retort defensively. ¡°You should have gone to check if anyone was coming!¡±


    ¡°Well, what are we going to do?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know! I don¡¯t know !¡±


    There¡¯s silence as we face each other, panting slightly.


    ¡°I need to put my shoes on,¡± I say at last. I head down the steps and slip on my wedges. Above, Sadie is still darting in and out of the room in frustration, as though she can¡¯t bear to relinquish her necklace. At last she gives up and joins me on the grass. For a few moments neither of us meets the other¡¯s eye.

 Page 77

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry I wasn¡¯t quicker at grabbing it,¡± I mumble at last.


    ¡°Well,¡± says Sadie, clearly making a supreme effort. ¡°I suppose it wasn¡¯t completely your fault.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s go around the house. We may be able to slip in somewhere. Go inside and see if the coast is clear.¡±


    As Sadie disappears, I creep cautiously over the grass and start moving along the wall of the house. I¡¯m making slow progress, because every time I pass a window I duck down and crawl on my stomach. Although that won¡¯t exactly help if one of the security guards comes along-


    ¡°There you are!¡± Sadie pops out of the wall beside me. ¡°Guess what?¡±


    ¡°Jesus!¡± I clasp my chest. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s your uncle! I¡¯ve been watching him! He¡¯s just been to his safe in his bedroom. He looked in it, but he couldn¡¯t find what he wanted. Then he banged it shut and started shouting for Diamant¨¦. The girl. Odd name.¡± She wrinkles her nose.


    ¡°My cousin.¡± I nod. ¡°Another of your great-nieces.¡±


    ¡°She was in the kitchen. He said he needed a private word and sent all the staff away. Then he demanded, had she been going in his safe and taking things? Then he said an old necklace was missing and did she know anything about it?¡±


    ¡°Oh my God.¡± I stare back at her. ¡°Oh my God! What did she say?¡±


    ¡°She said no, but he didn¡¯t believe her.¡±


    ¡°Maybe she¡¯s lying.¡± My mind is working overtime. ¡°Maybe that¡¯s her bedroom, where the necklace was.¡±


    ¡°Exactly! So we have to get it now, before he realizes where it is and locks it away again. There¡¯s no one around. All the staff have got out of the way. We can go through the house.¡±


    I haven¡¯t got time to think about whether this is a good idea or not. My heart pumping, I follow Sadie to a side door and in through a laundry room as big as my whole flat. She beckons me through a pair of swing doors, down a passage, then holds up a hand as we reach the hall, her eyes widening warily. I can hear Uncle Bill shouting, his voice increasing in volume.


    ¡°¡­ private safe¡­ personal security¡­ how dare you¡­ code was for emergencies only¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­ not bloody fair! You never let me have anything!¡±


    It¡¯s Diamant¨¦¡¯s voice, and it¡¯s getting closer. On instinct, I dart behind a chair and sink down, my knees trembling. The next moment she strides into the hall, wearing a strange asymmetrical pink miniskirt and a teeny-tiny T-shirt.


    ¡°I¡¯ll buy you a necklace.¡± Uncle Bill comes striding in after her. ¡°That¡¯s no problem. Tell me what you need, Damian will find it-¡±


    ¡°You always say that!¡± she shrieks at him. ¡°You never listen! That necklace is perfect! I need it for my next Tutus and Pearls show! My whole new collection is based on butterflies and insects and stuff! I¡¯m a creative , in case you hadn¡¯t realized-¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯re so creative, my love,¡± says Uncle Bill with a sarcastic edge, ¡°why have I hired three designers to work on your dresses?¡±


    For a moment I¡¯m gobsmacked. Diamant¨¦ uses other designers? The next minute I can¡¯t believe I didn¡¯t work that one out before.


    ¡°They¡¯re¡­ fucking ¡­ assistants!¡± she screams back. ¡°It¡¯s my vision! And I need that necklace-¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not using it, Diamant¨¦.¡± Uncle Bill¡¯s voice is ominous. ¡°And you¡¯re never going in my safe again. You¡¯re going to give it back to me right now-¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯m not! And you can tell Damian to fuck off, he¡¯s a git.¡± She runs up the stairs, closely followed by Sadie.


    Uncle Bill looks so furious, it¡¯s as though he¡¯s not quite in possession of his faculties. He¡¯s breathing heavily and thrusting his hands through his hair as he gazes up the grand staircase. He looks so uncool and out of control, I almost want to giggle.


    ¡°Diamant¨¦!¡± he shouts. ¡°You come back here!¡±


    ¡°Fuck off!¡± comes a distant cry.


    ¡°Diamant¨¦!¡± Uncle Bill starts to stride up the stairs himself. ¡°That¡¯s it. I won¡¯t have this-¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s got it!¡± Sadie¡¯s voice is suddenly in my ear. ¡°She¡¯s taken it! We need to catch her! You go round the back. I¡¯ll guard the front stairs.¡±


    With scrambling legs I get to my feet, run back down the passage, through the laundry room, and out onto the lawn. I sprint breathlessly around the house, not caring if anyone sees me-and stop dead in dismay.

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    Shit .


    Diamant¨¦ is in a black, open-top Porsche, heading down the gravel at speed toward the front gates, which are hastily being opened by the security guard.


    ¡°Noooo!¡± I wail before I can stop myself.


    As Diamant¨¦ pauses to exit, she flicks a V-sign back at the house and the next minute is out on the street. In her other hand I can just see Sadie¡¯s necklace, wrapped around her fingers, glinting in the sunshine.


    THIRTEEN


    There¡¯s only one possibility: They¡¯re not rhinestones, they¡¯re diamonds. The necklace is studded with rare antique diamonds and worth millions of pounds. It¡¯s got to be that. There¡¯s no other reason I can think of that Uncle Bill would be so interested in it.


    I¡¯ve Googled all sorts of websites on diamonds and jewelry, and it¡¯s amazing what people will pay for a 10.5-carat D-color diamond mined in 1920.


    ¡°How big was the biggest stone in the necklace?¡± I say yet again to Sadie. ¡°About.¡±


    Sadie sighs noisily. ¡°Half an inch or so?¡±


    ¡°Was it very sparkly? Did it look flawless at all? That could affect its value.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re terribly interested in the value of my necklace all of a sudden.¡± Sadie gives me a resentful look. ¡°I didn¡¯t think you were so mercenary.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not mercenary!¡± I say indignantly. ¡°I¡¯m just trying to work out why Uncle Bill was after it! He wouldn¡¯t waste his time unless it was valuable.¡±


    ¡°What difference does it make if we can¡¯t lay our hands on it?¡±


    ¡°We will lay our hands on it.¡±


    I have a plan, and it¡¯s a pretty good one. I¡¯ve been using all my detective skills in the few days since we got back from Uncle Bill¡¯s house. First of all, I found out about Diamant¨¦¡¯s next Tutus and Pearls catwalk show. It¡¯s this Thursday at the Sanderstead Hotel, 6:30 p.m., private guest list. The only trouble was, I couldn¡¯t see Diamant¨¦ putting me on the private guest list in a million years, bearing in mind I¡¯m not a photographer from Hello! or one of her celebrity chums or have four hundred quid to spend on a dress. So then came my master stroke. I emailed Sarah in a friendly way and said I¡¯d really like to support Diamant¨¦ in her fashion venture and could I come and talk to Uncle Bill about it? Maybe I would just drop over to the house on spec, I suggested. Maybe tomorrow!!! And I added a few smiley faces for good measure.


    Sarah immediately emailed back that Bill was a little busy right now and I shouldn¡¯t come tomorrow, but she could talk to Diamant¨¦¡¯s personal assistant. And the next thing I knew, two tickets were biked to my door. Honestly, it¡¯s so easy to get what you want from people if they think you¡¯re a psycho.


    The only downer is that the second and crucial part of my plan-talk to Diamant¨¦ and persuade her to give me the necklace straight after the show-has failed so far. Her assistant won¡¯t tell me where she is or give me her mobile phone number. She did allegedly pass on a message, but obviously I haven¡¯t heard anything. I mean, why would Diamant¨¦ bother to call her nonentity of a nonmillionaire cousin?


    Sadie¡¯s tried going to Diamant¨¦¡¯s office in Soho, to see if she can catch her and the necklace-but apparently Diamant¨¦ never sets foot there. It¡¯s staffed by assistants, and all the clothes are made by some company in Shoreditch. So that¡¯s no good.


    There¡¯s only one thing for it. I¡¯m going to have to go along to the show, wait until it¡¯s over, then grab Diamant¨¦ and somehow talk her there and then into giving the necklace to me.


    Or, you know. Pinch it.


    With a sigh, I close down the jewelry website and swivel around to survey Sadie. Today she¡¯s wearing a silver dress which apparently she desperately wanted when she was twenty-one, but her mother wouldn¡¯t buy it for her. She¡¯s sitting on the sill of the open window, her feet dangling above the street below. The dress is backless except for two thin silver straps over her slender shoulders, and there¡¯s a rosette at the small of her back. Of all the ghost dresses she¡¯s worn, this is my favorite.


    ¡°The necklace would look amazing with that dress,¡± I say impulsively.


    Sadie nods but doesn¡¯t say anything. There¡¯s a low-slung, dispirited cast to her shoulders, which isn¡¯t exactly surprising. We were so near to it. We saw it. And then we lost it.


    I watch her anxiously for a moment. I know Sadie hates ¡°droning on about things.¡± But maybe she¡¯d feel better if she talked. Just a little bit.


    ¡°Tell me again -why is the necklace so special to you?¡±


    For a while Sadie says nothing, and I wonder if she even heard the question.

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    ¡°I told you,¡± she says at last. ¡°When I wore it, I felt beautiful. Like a goddess. Radiant.¡± She leans against the window frame. ¡°You must have something in your wardrobe that makes you feel like that.¡±


    ¡°Er¡­¡± I hesitate.


    I can¡¯t honestly say I¡¯ve ever felt like a goddess. Or particularly radiant, come to that.


    As if she can read my thoughts, Sadie turns and surveys my jeans dubiously. ¡°Maybe you don¡¯t. You should try wearing something beautiful for a change.¡±


    ¡°These are nice jeans!¡± I pat them defensively. ¡°Maybe they¡¯re not beautiful, exactly-¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re blue.¡± She¡¯s regained her spirit by now and shoots me a scathing look. ¡°Blue! The ugliest color in the rainbow. I see the whole world, walking around with hideous blue legs. Why blue?¡±


    ¡°Because¡­¡± I shrug, nonplussed. ¡°Dunno.¡±


    Kate has left the office early to go to the orthodondist, and all the phones are quiet. Maybe I¡¯ll leave too. It¡¯s nearly time, anyway. I glance at my watch and feel a shot of anticipation.


    I adjust the pencil stuffed into my hair, stand up, and check over my outfit. Quirky printed T-shirt from Urban Outfitters. Cute little pendant of a frog. Jeans and ballet pumps. Not too much makeup. Perfect.


    ¡°So¡­ I thought we could go for a walk, maybe,¡± I say super-casually to Sadie. ¡°It¡¯s such a nice day.¡±


    ¡°A walk?¡± She peers at me. ¡°What kind of walk?¡±


    ¡°Just¡­ a walk!¡± Before she can say any more, I close down my computer, set the office answering machine, and grab my bag. Now that my plan is about to come to fruition, I¡¯m quite excited.


    It only takes twenty minutes to get to Farringdon, and as I hurry up the tube steps I glance at my watch-5:45. Perfect.


    ¡°What are we doing?¡± Sadie¡¯s suspicious voice follows me. ¡°I thought you said we were going for a walk.¡±


    ¡°We are. Kind of.¡±


    I half wish I¡¯d ditched Sadie. The trouble is, I think I might need her in reserve if things get tricky. I head to the corner of the main road and pause.


    ¡°What are you waiting for?¡±


    ¡°No one,¡± I say, a little too defensively. ¡°I¡¯m not waiting for anyone. I¡¯m just¡­ hanging out. Watching the world go by.¡± I lean casually against a pillar-box to prove my point, then hastily move away as a woman approaches to post a letter.


    Sadie appears in front of me and scans my face, then suddenly inhales as she sees the book in my hand. ¡°I know what you¡¯re doing! You¡¯re trailing! You¡¯re waiting for Josh! Aren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m taking control of my life.¡± I avoid her eye. ¡°I¡¯m showing him I¡¯ve changed. When he sees me, he¡¯ll realize his mistake. You wait.¡±


    ¡°This is a very bad idea. A very, very bad idea.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not. Shut up.¡± I check my reflection and apply more lip gloss, then blot it off.


    I¡¯m not going to listen to a word Sadie says. I¡¯m totally psyched and ready to go. I feel empowered. All those times I tried to get inside Josh¡¯s head, all those times I tried to ask him what he really wanted out of our relationship, he kept batting me away. But now, finally, I know what he wants! I know how to make things work!


    Ever since that lunch, I¡¯ve totally transformed myself. I¡¯ve kept the bathroom tidy. I¡¯ve stopped singing in the shower. I¡¯ve made a resolution never to mention anyone else¡¯s relationship, ever. I¡¯ve even looked at that William Eggleston photography book, but I think it would seem a bit of a coincidence to be actually holding it. Which is why I¡¯m clutching a book called Los Alamos , another collection by him. Josh is going to see me so differently. He¡¯s going to be amazed! Now I just have to bump into him accidentally-on-purpose as he leaves his office. Which is about two hundred yards away.


    Keeping my eyes fixed on the entrance, I head toward a tiny alcove next to a shop where I have a good view of everybody as they head toward the tube station. A couple of Josh¡¯s colleagues hurry past, and I feel a clench of nerves in my stomach. He¡¯ll be here soon.


    ¡°Listen.¡± I turn urgently to Sadie. ¡°You might possibly have to help me out a bit.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean, help you?¡± she says haughtily.


    ¡°Prompt Josh a bit. Tell him he likes me. Just to make sure.¡±


    ¡°Why will he need telling?¡± she retorts. ¡°You said he was going to realize his mistake when he saw you.¡±


    ¡°He will,¡± I say impatiently. ¡°But he might not realize it straightaway . He might need¡­ a nudge. A kick-start. Like old cars,¡± I add in a moment of inspiration. ¡°Like in your times. Remember? You wound the handle round and round and then suddenly the engine caught and off it went. You must have done that millions of times.¡±

 Page 80

    ¡°To motors,¡± she says. ¡°Not men!¡±


    ¡°Same thing! Once he¡¯s up and running, everything will be fine, I know it¡­¡± I catch my breath. Oh my God. There he is.


    He¡¯s sauntering along, his iPod in his ears, carrying a bottle of water and a new, cool-looking laptop bag. My legs are suddenly trembling, but there¡¯s no time to lose. I take a step out from my hiding place, and then another and another, until I¡¯m right in his path.


    ¡°Oh!¡± I try to adopt a tone of surprise. ¡°Er¡­ hi, Josh!¡±


    ¡°Lara.¡± He rips out his earphones and gazes at me warily.


    ¡°I¡¯d completely forgotten you work around here!¡± I plaster a bright smile on my face. ¡°What a coincidence!¡±


    ¡°Ye-esss,¡± he says slowly.


    Honestly. He needn¡¯t look quite so suspicious.


    ¡°I was just thinking about you the other day,¡± I continue hurriedly. ¡°About that time we went to the wrong Notre Dame. D¡¯you remember? When the GPS got it wrong? Wasn¡¯t it funny?¡±


    I¡¯m gabbling. Slow down.


    ¡°That¡¯s weird,¡± says Josh after a pause. ¡°I was thinking about that the other day too.¡± His eyes alight on the book in my hand, and I can see the jolt of surprise. ¡°Is that ¡­ Los Alamos?¡±


    ¡°Oh, yes,¡± I say carelessly. ¡°I was looking through this fantastic book called Democratic Camera the other day. The pictures were so amazing, I just had to go and buy this.¡± I pat it fondly, then look up. ¡°Hey, didn¡¯t you quite like William Eggleston too?¡± I wrinkle my brow innocently. ¡°Or was that someone else?¡±


    ¡°I love William Eggleston,¡± says Josh slowly. ¡°It was me who gave you Democratic Camera.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s right.¡± I slap my head. ¡°I¡¯d forgotten.¡±


    I can see bewilderment in his face. He¡¯s on the back foot. Time to press home my advantage.


    ¡°Josh, I¡¯ve been meaning to say¡­¡± I give him a rueful smile. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for all those texts I sent you. I don¡¯t know what got into me.¡±


    ¡°Well¡­¡± Josh coughs awkwardly.


    ¡°Will you let me buy you a quick drink? Just to make it up? No hard feelings?¡±


    There¡¯s silence. I can almost see his thought processes. It¡¯s a reasonable suggestion. It¡¯s a free drink. She looks sane enough .


    ¡°OK.¡± He puts his iPod away. ¡°Why not?¡±


    I shoot a triumphant look at Sadie, who is shaking her head and making deathlike finger-across-the-throat gestures. Well, I don¡¯t care what she thinks. I march Josh into a nearby pub, order a white wine for me and a beer for him, and find a table in the corner. We raise our glasses and sip, and I open some crisps.


    ¡°So.¡± I smile at Josh and offer him the packet.


    ¡°So.¡± He clears his throat, obviously feeling awkward. ¡°How are things?¡±


    ¡°Josh.¡± I lean my elbows on the table and look at him seriously. ¡°You know what? Let¡¯s not analyze everything. God, I¡¯m sick of people who analyze everything to death. I¡¯m sick of unpicking conversations. Just live. Enjoy life. Don¡¯t think about it!¡±


    Josh stares at me over his beer, looking totally confused. ¡°But you used to love analyzing. You used to read that magazine Analyze .¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve changed.¡± I shrug simply. ¡°I¡¯ve changed in so many ways, Josh. I buy less makeup. My bathroom is totally empty. I was thinking I might like to travel. To Nepal maybe.¡±


    I¡¯m sure I remember him mentioning Nepal, one of those times.


    ¡°You want to go traveling?¡± He seems taken aback. ¡°But you never said-¡±


    ¡°It came to me recently,¡± I say earnestly. ¡°Why am I so unadventurous? There¡¯s so much out there to see. Mountains¡­ cities¡­ the temples of Kathmandu-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d love to see Kathmandu,¡± he says, looking animated. ¡°You know, I was thinking about going there next year.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± I beam at him. ¡°That¡¯s amazing!¡±


    For the next ten minutes we talk about Nepal. At least, Josh talks about Nepal and I agree with everything he says, and the time just whizzes by. We both have color in our cheeks and are laughing as he glances at his watch. We look like a happy couple. I know, because I keep checking out our reflection in the mirror.


    ¡°I¡¯d better shoot,¡± Josh suddenly says, looking at his watch. ¡°I¡¯ve got a squash practice. It¡¯s been good to see you, Lara.¡±


    ¡°Oh, right,¡± I say, taken aback. ¡°Great to see you too.¡±


    ¡°Thanks for the drink.¡± I watch in slight panic as he picks up his laptop case. This isn¡¯t how it¡¯s supposed to go.

 Page 81

    ¡°This was a good idea, Lara.¡± He smiles, then bends to kiss my cheek. ¡°No hard feelings. Let¡¯s stay in touch.¡±


    Stay in touch?


    ¡°Have another drink!¡± I try not to sound desperate. ¡°Just a quick one!¡±


    Josh considers for a moment, then looks at his watch again. ¡°OK, a quick one. Same?¡± He heads toward the bar. The minute he¡¯s out of earshot I hiss, ¡°Sadie!¡± and beckon her over from the bar stool where she¡¯s been sitting throughout, wedged between two businessmen with stripy-shirted guts.


    ¡°Tell him he loves me!¡±


    ¡°But he doesn¡¯t love you,¡± says Sadie, as though explaining something very simple to someone very stupid.


    ¡°He does! He does, really! He¡¯s just scared to admit it, even to himself. But you saw us. We were getting on amazingly. If he only had a little nudge in the right direction¡­ please¡­ please¡­¡± I gaze at her entreatingly. ¡°After everything I¡¯ve done for you ¡­ please .¡±


    Sadie gives an exasperated sigh. ¡°All right.¡±


    A microsecond later she¡¯s at Josh¡¯s side, bellowing in his ear, ¡°You still love Lara! You made a mistake! You still love Lara!¡±


    I can see him stiffen and shake his head, trying to rid himself of the noise. He brushes his ear a few times, breathes heavily, and rubs his face. At last I see him turn and survey me. He looks so dazed that if I wasn¡¯t feeling so anxious I¡¯d laugh.


    ¡°You still love Lara! You still love Lara!¡±


    As Josh carries the drinks over and sits down next to me, he seems transfixed. I shoot Sadie a grateful smile and sip my wine, waiting for Josh to declare himself. But he sits rigid, his eyes distant.


    ¡°Is there something on your mind, Josh?¡± I prompt at last in a soft voice. ¡°Because if there is, you can tell me. I¡¯m an old friend. You can trust me.¡±


    ¡°Lara-¡± He stops.


    I look desperately at Sadie for more help. He¡¯s nearly there, he¡¯s so nearly there¡­


    ¡°You love Lara! Don¡¯t fight it, Josh! You love her!¡±


    Josh¡¯s brow is clearing. He¡¯s drawing breath. I think he¡¯s going to-


    ¡°Lara.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Josh?¡± I can hardly manage the words.


    Go on, go on, go on¡­


    ¡°I think maybe I made a mistake.¡± Josh swallows hard. ¡°I think I still love you.¡±


    Even though I knew he was going to say it, there¡¯s a huge, romantic swell in my heart, and tears start pricking my eyes.


    ¡°Well¡­ I still love you, Josh,¡± I say, my voice trembling. ¡°I always did.¡±


    I¡¯m not sure if he kisses me or I kiss him, but suddenly our arms are wrapped around each other, and we¡¯re devouring each other. (OK, I think I kissed him.) As we draw apart eventually, Josh looks even more dazed than before.


    ¡°Well,¡± he says after a bit.


    ¡°Well.¡± I lovingly mesh my fingers with his.


    ¡°Lara, I have this squash thing.¡± He glances at his watch, looking uncomfortable. ¡°I need to¡­¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± I say generously. ¡°Go. We can talk later.¡±


    ¡°OK.¡± He nods. ¡°I¡¯ll text you my new number.¡±


    ¡°Great.¡± I smile.


    I won¡¯t bring up the fact that I think it was a total overreaction to change his mobile number just because of a few texts I sent him. We can talk about that another time. No hurry.


    As he flips open his phone, I glance over his shoulder-and feel a jolt of sheer amazement. He¡¯s still got a photo of us on his screen. Him and me. Standing on a mountain in our skiwear at sunset. We¡¯re in silhouette, but I remember the moment vividly. We¡¯d been skiing all day, and the sunset was spectacular. We asked this German guy to take a picture, and he spent about half an hour lecturing Josh about the settings on his phone. And Josh kept the photo! All this time!


    ¡°Nice picture,¡± I say in a deadpan, casual way, nodding at it.


    ¡°Yeah.¡± Josh¡¯s face softens as he gazes at it. ¡°Makes me feel good whenever I look at it.¡±


    ¡°Me too,¡± I say breathlessly.


    I knew it. I knew it. He does love me. He just needed a nudge, he just needed a confidence boost, he just needed that inner voice to tell him it was OK.


    My phone burbles with a text, and Josh¡¯s number pops up on my screen. I can¡¯t help a tiny sigh of satisfaction. I¡¯ve got him back again. He¡¯s mine!


    We head out of the pub, hands tightly clasped, and pause at the corner.


    ¡°I¡¯ll get a cab,¡± says Josh. ¡°Do you want to-¡±


    I¡¯m about to say, ¡°Great! I¡¯ll share it with you!¡± But then the new Lara stops me. Don¡¯t be too eager. Give him space .

 Page 82

    I shake my head. ¡°No, thanks. I¡¯m going the other way. Love you.¡± I kiss his fingers, one by one.


    ¡°Love you.¡± He nods. A cab stops, and Josh bends to kiss me again before getting in.


    ¡°Bye!¡± I wave as it pulls off, then turn away, hugging myself, zinging all over with triumph. We¡¯re back together! I¡¯m back with Josh!


    FOURTEEN


    I can never resist telling people good news. I mean, why not brighten someone else¡¯s life too? So by the following morning I¡¯ve texted all my friends that Josh and I are back together. And some of his friends, just because I happened to have their numbers programmed in my phone. And the guy at Dial-a-Pizza. (That was a mistake. He was pleased for me, though.)


    ¡°Oh my God, Lara!¡± Kate¡¯s voice bursts through the office door at the same time as she does. ¡°You made up with Josh?¡±


    ¡°Oh, you got my text,¡± I say nonchalantly. ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s cool, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s amazing! I mean¡­ it¡¯s incredible!¡±


    She doesn¡¯t need to sound quite so surprised. But it¡¯s nice to have someone pleased for me. Sadie¡¯s such a downer on the whole thing. She hasn¡¯t said she¡¯s happy for me once, and every time I got a text back from one of my friends last night, she huffed. Even now she¡¯s gazing disapprovingly at me from her perch on top of the filing cabinet. But I don¡¯t care, because I¡¯ve got my most important phone call of all to make, and I am so looking forward to it. I dial the number, lean back, and wait for Dad to pick up. (Answering the phone makes Mum anxious, because it might be kidnappers. Don¡¯t ask.)


    ¡°Michael Lington.¡±


    ¡°Oh, hi, Dad, it¡¯s Lara,¡± I say in the casual tone I¡¯ve been practicing all morning. ¡°I just thought I¡¯d let you know that Josh and I are back together again.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± says Dad after a pause.


    ¡°Yes, we bumped into each other yesterday,¡± I say airily. ¡°And he said he still loved me and he¡¯d made a huge mistake.¡±


    There¡¯s another silence at the other end of the phone. Dad must be too gobsmacked to answer.


    Ha. This is such a sweet moment! I want to relish it forever. After all those weeks of people telling me I was sad and deluded and should move on. They were all wrong .


    ¡°So it looks like I was right, doesn¡¯t it?¡± I can¡¯t resist adding. ¡°I said we were meant to be together.¡± I shoot Sadie a gloating look.


    ¡°Lara¡­¡± Dad doesn¡¯t sound as happy as I thought he would. In fact, he sounds pretty stressed, bearing in mind his younger daughter has found happiness in the arms of the man she loves. ¡°Are you absolutely sure that you and Josh¡­¡± He hesitates. ¡°Are you sure that¡¯s what he meant?¡±


    Honestly. Does he think I¡¯ve made it up or something?


    ¡°You can call him if you like! You can ask him! We bumped into each other, and we had a drink and talked about stuff, and he said he still loves me. And now we¡¯re back together. Just like you and Mum.¡±


    ¡°Well.¡± I can hear Dad breathing out. ¡°That¡¯s quite¡­ incredible. Wonderful news.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡± I can¡¯t help smiling complacently. ¡°It just goes to show. Relationships are complicated things, and other people shouldn¡¯t barge in and think they know all about it.¡±


    ¡°Indeed,¡± he says faintly.


    Poor Dad. I think I¡¯ve practically given him a heart attack.


    ¡°Hey.¡± I cast around for something to cheer him up. ¡°Dad, I was thinking about our family history the other day. And I was wondering, have you got any pictures of Great-Aunt Sadie¡¯s house?¡±


    ¡°Sorry, darling?¡± Dad sounds like he¡¯s having trouble keeping up.


    ¡°The old family house that burned down. In Archbury. You showed me a photograph of it once. Have you still got it?¡±


    ¡°I think so.¡± Dad¡¯s voice is wary. ¡°Lara, you seem a bit obsessed by Great-Aunt Sadie.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not obsessed,¡± I say resentfully. ¡°All I¡¯m doing is showing a little interest in my heritage. I thought you¡¯d be pleased.¡±


    ¡°I am pleased,¡± says Dad quickly. ¡°Of course I am. I¡¯m just¡­ surprised. You¡¯ve never been interested in family history before.¡±


    This is a fair point. He brought out some old photo album last Christmas and I fell asleep while he was showing it to me. (In my defense, I had eaten quite a few liqueur chocolates.)


    ¡°Yes, well¡­ people change, don¡¯t they? And I¡¯m interested now. I mean, that photo¡¯s the only thing we¡¯ve got left of the house, isn¡¯t it?¡±

 Page 83

    ¡°Not quite the only thing,¡± says Dad. ¡°You know, the oak desk in the hall came from that house.¡±


    ¡°In our hall?¡± I stare at the phone in surprise. ¡°I thought everything was lost in the fire.¡±


    ¡°A very few things were salvaged.¡± I can tell Dad¡¯s relaxed a little. ¡°They were put in a storage unit and left there for years. Nobody could face dealing with it. It was Bill who sorted it all out, after your grandfather died. He was at a loose end. I was doing my accountancy exams. Strange to imagine, but Bill was the idler in those days.¡± Dad laughs, and I can hear him take a sip of coffee. ¡°That was the year your mother and I got married. That oak desk was our first piece of furniture. It¡¯s a wonderful piece of original art nouveau.¡±


    ¡°Wow.¡±


    I¡¯m riveted by this story. I¡¯ve walked past that desk about ten thousand times, but it¡¯s never once occurred to me to wonder where it came from. Maybe it was Sadie¡¯s own desk! Maybe it has all her secret papers in it! As I put the phone down, Kate is working industriously. I can¡¯t send her on yet another coffee run. But I¡¯m desperate to tell Sadie what I just heard.


    Hey, Sadie! I type in a new document. Not everything was lost in the fire! There were some things in a storage unit! Guess what? We have a desk from your old house!


    Maybe it has a hidden drawer full of all her lost treasures, I¡¯m thinking excitedly. And only Sadie knows how to open it. She¡¯ll tell me the secret code, and I¡¯ll gently tug it open and blow off the dust, and inside will be¡­ something really cool. I gesticulate at her and point at my screen.


    ¡°I know that desk was saved,¡± says Sadie, after reading my message. She sounds deeply unimpressed by the news. ¡°I was sent a list of things at the time, in case I wanted to claim anything. Hideous crockery. Dull bits of pewter. Dreadful furniture. None of it interested me.¡±


    It¡¯s not dreadful furniture , I type, a little indignantly. It¡¯s a wonderful piece of original art nouveau .


    I look up at Sadie, and she¡¯s sticking a finger down her throat. ¡°It¡¯s minging,¡± she says, and I can¡¯t help giggling.


    Where did you learn that word? I type.


    ¡°Picked it up.¡± Sadie gives an insouciant shrug.


    So I told my dad about Josh , I type, and look at Sadie for a reaction. But she rolls her eyes and disappears.


    Fine. Be like that. I don¡¯t care what she thinks, anyway. I lean back, take out my mobile, and flip to one of Josh¡¯s texts. I feel all warm and content, as though I just drank a cup of hot chocolate. I¡¯m back with Josh, and all¡¯s right with the world.


    Maybe I¡¯ll text Josh and tell him how pleased everyone is for us.


    No. I don¡¯t want to hound him. I¡¯ll leave it half an hour or so.


    Across the room, the phone rings, and I wonder if maybe it¡¯s him. But a moment later Kate says, ¡°I¡¯ll put you on hold,¡± and looks up anxiously. ¡°Lara, it¡¯s Janet from Leonidas Sports. Shall I put her through?¡±


    All the hot chocolate drains out of my stomach.


    ¡°Yes. OK, I¡¯ll speak to her. Just give me thirty seconds.¡± I psych myself up, then lift the phone with my breeziest top-recruitment-consultant manner. ¡°Hi, Janet! How are you? Did you get the short list all right?¡±


    Kate emailed the short list to Janet last night. I should have known she¡¯d call. I should have gone out for the day or pretended to have lost my voice.


    ¡°I hope you¡¯re as excited by it as I am,¡± I add brightly.


    ¡°No, I¡¯m not,¡± Janet says in her usual hoarse, peremptory tones. ¡°Lara, I don¡¯t understand. Why¡¯s Clive Hoxton on the list?¡±


    ¡°Ah, Clive,¡± I say, trying to sound confident. ¡°What a man. What a talent.¡±


    OK, so here¡¯s the thing. I know my lunch with Clive didn¡¯t end brilliantly. But the truth is, he¡¯d be perfect for the job. And I might be able to talk him around before the interview. So I put him on the list anyway, with provisional after his name in small letters.


    ¡°Clive¡¯s a really bright executive, Janet.¡± I launch into my spiel. ¡°He¡¯s experienced in marketing, very dynamic, ripe for a move-¡±


    ¡°I know all that.¡± Janet cuts me off. ¡°But I bumped into him at a reception last night. He said he¡¯d made it clear he wasn¡¯t interested. In fact, he was shocked to learn he was on the short list.¡±


    Fuck .


    ¡°Really?¡± I summon tones of astonishment. ¡°How¡­ strange. How very strange. That¡¯s not the impression I got at all. As far as I was aware, we had a great meeting, he was enthusiastic-¡±

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    ¡°He told me he walked out,¡± says Janet flatly.


    ¡°He¡­ left the meeting, obviously.¡± I cough. ¡°As we both did. You could say we both walked out-¡±


    ¡°He told me you were on the phone to another client throughout and he never wanted to do business with you again.¡±


    My face flushes red. Clive Hoxton is a mean sneak.


    ¡°Well.¡± I clear my throat. ¡°Janet, I¡¯m baffled. All I can say is we must have had mixed messages-¡±


    ¡°What about this Nigel Rivers?¡± Janet has clearly moved on. ¡°Is he the man with the dandruff? Applied to us once before?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a lot better these days,¡± I say hastily. ¡°I think he¡¯s using Head and Shoulders.¡±


    ¡°You know our MD has strong views on personal hygiene?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ er¡­ was not aware of that, Janet. I¡¯ll make a note of it-¡±


    ¡°And what about this Gavin Mynard?¡±


    ¡°Very, very talented,¡± I lie at once. ¡°A very talented, creative guy who has been¡­ overlooked. His r¨¦sum¨¦ doesn¡¯t reflect his¡­ wealth of experiences.¡±


    Janet sighs. ¡°Lara¡­¡±


    I stiffen with apprehension. Her tone is unmistakable. She¡¯s going to fire me right now. I can¡¯t let it happen, I can¡¯t, we¡¯ll be finished¡­


    ¡°And, of course-I have another candidate!¡± I hear myself saying in a rush.


    ¡°Another candidate? You mean, not on the list?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Much better than any of the others! In fact, I¡¯d say this candidate is definitely your person.¡±


    ¡°Well, who is it?¡± says Janet suspiciously. ¡°Why don¡¯t I have the details?¡±


    ¡°Because¡­ I need to firm things up first.¡± I¡¯m crossing my fingers so hard they hurt. ¡°It¡¯s all very confidential. This is a high-profile person we¡¯re talking about, Janet. Very senior, very experienced-believe me, I¡¯m excited.¡±


    ¡°I need a name!¡± she barks angrily. ¡°I need a r¨¦sum¨¦! Lara, this is all highly unprofessional. Our in-house meeting is on Thursday. Can I speak to Natalie, please?¡±


    ¡°No!¡± I say in panic. ¡°I mean¡­ Thursday. Absolutely! You¡¯ll have all the information on Thursday. I promise. And all I can say is, you¡¯ll be bowled over by the caliber of this particular candidate. Janet, I must dash, great to talk.¡± I put the phone down, my heart thumping.


    Shit. Shit . What am I going to do now?


    ¡°Wow!¡± Kate looks up, eyes shining. ¡°Lara, you¡¯re such a star. I knew you¡¯d do it! Who¡¯s this amazing high-profile candidate?¡±


    ¡°There isn¡¯t one!¡± I say desperately. ¡°We have to find one!¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± Kate starts looking urgently around the office, as though a top-level marketing executive might be hiding in the filing cabinet. ¡°Er¡­ where?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡± I thrust my fingers through my hair. ¡°There aren¡¯t any!¡±


    There¡¯s a shrill electronic burble as my phone receives a text, and I grab it, hoping for one mad moment that it¡¯s a top marketing executive asking me if I have any jobs in sports retail going. Or maybe Josh, asking me to marry him. Or maybe Dad, saying he now realizes I was right all along and would like to apologize for ever having doubted me. Or even Diamant¨¦, saying she doesn¡¯t need that old dragonfly necklace after all, should she send it around by courier?


    But it¡¯s none of them. It¡¯s Natalie.


    Hi babe! Am doing some yoga on the beach. It¡¯s so mellow here. Have sent u a pic, look at the view. Awesome, huh? Nataliexxxx PS Everything OK in the office?


    I feel like hurling it out of the window.


    By seven o¡¯clock my neck is aching and my eyes are red-rimmed. I¡¯ve made a new, emergency long list of candidates, using old issues of Business People , the Internet, and a copy of Marketing Week I made Kate run out and buy. But none of them will even take my call-let alone talk about a job, let alone allow me to quickly slap them onto a short list. I have less than forty-eight hours. I¡¯m going to have to invent a top marketing director. Or impersonate one.


    On the plus side, they had a half-price offer on pinot grigio at Oddbins.


    The minute I get home, I turn on the TV and start glugging down the wine at speed. By the time EastEnders starts, I¡¯ve got through half a bottle, the room is swinging from side to side, and my work troubles are receding nicely.


    After all. I mean. All that really matters is love, isn¡¯t it?


    You have to get things in perspective. In proportion. Love is the thing. Not work. Not marketing directors. Not scary conversations with Janet Grady. I just need to cling on to that and I¡¯ll be OK.

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    I¡¯m cradling my phone in my lap, and every so often I turn on my texts to read them again. I¡¯ve been texting Josh all day, just to keep my spirits up. And he¡¯s sent two texts back! Quite short ones, but even so. He¡¯s at some dreary work conference in Milton Keynes and he said he can¡¯t wait to be back home.


    Which obviously means he can¡¯t wait to see me!


    I¡¯m debating whether to send him another light, friendly text, asking him what he¡¯s doing, when I glance up and notice Sadie sitting on the fireplace in a pale gray chiffony dress.


    ¡°Oh, hi,¡± I say. ¡°Where did you get to?¡±


    ¡°At the cinema. I watched two films.¡± She shoots me an accusing look. ¡°You know, it gets very lonely during the day. You¡¯re so preoccupied with your work.¡±


    She¡¯d be preoccupied if she had Janet Grady on her tail.


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m very sorry I have to earn a living,¡± I reply, a little sarcastically. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I¡¯m not a lady of leisure and can¡¯t watch movies all day-¡±


    ¡°Have you got the necklace yet?¡± she says, right over me. ¡°Have you done anything more about it?¡±


    ¡°No, Sadie,¡± I say tetchily. ¡°I haven¡¯t. I¡¯ve had a few other problems today, as it happens.¡± I wait for her to ask what those problems are, but she just gives a distant shrug. Isn¡¯t she even going to ask me what happened? Isn¡¯t she going to offer me any sympathy? Some guardian angel she is.


    ¡°Josh has been texting me; isn¡¯t that great?¡± I add, to annoy her.


    She gives me a baleful look. ¡°It¡¯s not great. The whole thing is absolutely false.¡±


    She glares at me and I glare back. Obviously, neither of us is in a brilliant mood tonight.


    ¡°It¡¯s not false. It¡¯s real. You saw him kiss me; you heard what he said.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s a puppet,¡± says Sadie dismissively. ¡°He said whatever I told him to say. I could have told him to make love to a tree and he would have done. I¡¯ve never known anyone so weak-willed! I barely had to whisper at him and he jumped.¡±


    She¡¯s so arrogant. Who does she think she is, God?


    ¡°That¡¯s rubbish,¡± I say coldly. ¡°OK, I know you nudged him a bit. But he would never say he loved me unless there was a basis of truth. He was obviously expressing what he really feels, deep down.¡±


    Sadie gives a sarcastic laugh. ¡°¡®What he really feels deep down.¡¯ Darling, you¡¯re too amusing. He doesn¡¯t have any feelings for you.¡±


    ¡°He does!¡± I spit. ¡°Of course he does! He had my picture on his phone, didn¡¯t he? He¡¯d been carrying it around all this time! That¡¯s love.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not love. Don¡¯t be ridiculous.¡± Sadie seems so sure of herself, I feel a swell of absolute fury.


    ¡°Well, you¡¯ve never even been in love! So what would you know about it? Josh is a real man, with real feelings and real love, something you know nothing about. And you can think what you like, but I really believe I can make things work, I really believe Josh has deep feelings for me-¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not enough to believe!¡± Sadie¡¯s voice is suddenly passionate, almost savage. ¡°Don¡¯t you see that, you stupid girl? You could spend your whole life hoping and believing! If a love affair is one-sided, then it¡¯s only ever a question, never an answer. You can¡¯t live your life waiting for an answer.¡±


    She flushes and swivels away.


    There¡¯s a sharp silence, except for two EastEnders laying into each other on-screen. My mouth has dropped open in astonishment, and I notice I¡¯m about to tip wine all over the sofa. I right my hand and take a gulp. Bloody hell. What was that outburst all about?


    I thought Sadie didn¡¯t care about love. I thought she only cared about having fun and tally-ho and the sizzle. But just then she sounded as if¡­


    ¡°Is that what happened to you, Sadie?¡± I say tentatively to her back. ¡°Did you spend your whole life waiting for an answer?¡±


    Instantly, she disappears. No warning, no ¡°see you later.¡± She just vanishes.


    She can¡¯t do this to me. I have to know more. There¡¯s got to be a story here. I switch off the TV and call loudly into thin air. All my annoyance has evaporated; I¡¯m consumed by curiosity instead.


    ¡°Sadie! Tell me! It¡¯s good to talk about things!¡± The room is silent, but somehow I¡¯m sure she¡¯s still there. ¡°Come on,¡± I say, wheedling. ¡°I¡¯ve told you everything about me. And I¡¯m your great-niece. You can trust me. I won¡¯t tell anyone.¡±


    Still nothing.


    ¡°Whatever.¡± I shrug. ¡°Thought you had more guts than that.¡±

 Page 86

    ¡°I do have guts.¡± Sadie appears in front of me, looking furious.


    ¡°So tell me.¡± I fold my arms.


    Sadie¡¯s face is motionless, but I can see her eyes flickering to me and away again.


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing to tell,¡± she says finally, her voice low. ¡°It¡¯s simply that I do know what it¡¯s like to think you¡¯re in love. I know what it¡¯s like to squander all your hours and all your tears and all your heart on something which turns out to be¡­ nothing. Don¡¯t waste your life. That¡¯s all.¡±


    That¡¯s all? Is she kidding? She can¡¯t leave it there! There was a something. What was the something?


    ¡°What happened? Did you have a love affair? Was there some guy when you were living abroad? Sadie, tell me!¡±


    For a moment Sadie looks as though she¡¯s still not going to answer, or else disappear again. Then she sighs, turns away, and walks toward the mantelpiece.


    ¡°It was a long time ago. Before I went abroad. Before I was married. There was¡­ a man.¡±


    ¡°The big row with your parents!¡± I suddenly put two and two together. ¡°Was that because of him?¡±


    Sadie tilts her head forward about a millimeter in assent. I should have known it was a man. I try to picture her with a boyfriend. Some dapper twenties guy in a boater, maybe. With one of those old-fashioned mustaches.


    ¡°Did your parents catch you together or something? Were you¡­ barney-mugging?¡±


    ¡°No!¡± She bursts into laughter.


    ¡°So what happened? Tell me! Please!¡±


    I still can¡¯t quite get over the fact that Sadie¡¯s been in love. After giving me such a hard time about Josh. After pretending she didn¡¯t care about anything.


    ¡°They found sketches.¡± Her laughter dies away and she hugs her skinny chest. ¡°He was a painter. He liked to paint me. My parents were scandalized.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with him painting you?¡± I say, puzzled. ¡°They should have been pleased! I mean, it¡¯s a compliment, an artist wanting to-¡±


    ¡°Naked.¡±


    ¡°Naked?¡±


    I¡¯m gobsmacked. And kind of impressed. I would never pose naked for a painting. Not in a million years! Not unless the painter could do some kind of airbrushing.


    Brushing, maybe. Whatever artists do.


    ¡°I had a drape over me. But, even so, my parents¡­¡± Sadie presses her lips together. ¡°That was a dramatic day, the day they found the sketches.¡±


    My hand is clapped over my mouth. I know I shouldn¡¯t laugh, I know it¡¯s not really funny, but I can¡¯t help it.


    ¡°So they saw you-your-¡±


    ¡°They became absolutely hysterical.¡± She gives a tiny snort, almost a laugh. ¡°It was funny-but it was dreadful too. His parents were as angry as mine. He was supposed to be going into law.¡± She shakes her head. ¡°He would never have made a lawyer. He was a great big shambles of a man. He painted all night, and drank wine, and smoked gaspers back to back, stubbed them out on his palette¡­ We both did. I used to spend all night with him at his studio. In his parents¡¯ shed. I used to call him Vincent, after van Gogh. He called me Mabel.¡± She gives another tiny snort.


    ¡°Mabel?¡± I wrinkle my nose.


    ¡°There was a maid at his house called Mabel. I told him I thought it was the ugliest name I¡¯d ever heard and they should make her change it. So he instantly started calling me Mabel. Cruel beast that he was.¡±


    Her tone is half jokey, but there¡¯s a strange flickering in her eyes. I can¡¯t tell if she wants to remember all this or not.


    ¡°Did you¡­¡± I begin-then chicken out before I can finish the question. I wanted to ask, ¡°Did you really love him?¡± But Sadie¡¯s lost in her own thoughts, anyway.


    ¡°I used to creep out of the house when everyone was asleep, climb down the ivy¡­¡± She trails away, her eyes distant. Suddenly she looks really sad. ¡°When we were discovered, everything changed. He was sent to France, to some uncle, to ¡®get it all out of his system.¡¯ As if anyone could ever stop him painting.¡±


    ¡°What was his name?¡±


    ¡°His name was Stephen Nettleton.¡± Sadie breathes out heavily. ¡°I haven¡¯t said that name aloud for¡­ seventy years. At least.¡±


    Seventy years?


    ¡°So what happened? After that?¡±


    ¡°We were never in touch with each other, ever again,¡± says Sadie matter-of-factly.


    ¡°Why not?¡± I say in horror. ¡°Didn¡¯t you write to him?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I wrote.¡± She gives a brittle smile that makes me wince. ¡°I sent letter after letter to France. But I never heard from him. My parents said I was a nave little simpleton. They said he¡¯d used me for what he could get. I wouldn¡¯t believe them at first, hated them for saying it. But then¡­¡± She looks up, her chin set, as though defying me to pity her. ¡°I was like you. ¡®He does love me, he really does!¡¯¡± She puts on a mocking, high-pitched voice. ¡°¡®He¡¯ll write! He¡¯ll come back for me. He loves me!¡¯ Do you know how it felt when I finally came to my senses?¡±

 Page 87

    There¡¯s a taut silence.


    ¡°So¡­ what did you do?¡± I hardly dare speak.


    ¡°Got married, of course.¡± I can see the flash of defiance. ¡°Stephen¡¯s father conducted the service. He was our vicar. Stephen must have known, but he didn¡¯t even send a card.¡±


    She lapses into silence, and I sit there, my thoughts teeming. She got married to Waistcoat Guy out of revenge. It¡¯s obvious. It¡¯s awful. No wonder it didn¡¯t last.


    I¡¯m totally deflated. I wish I hadn¡¯t pressed Sadie so hard now. I didn¡¯t want to stir up all these painful memories. I just thought she¡¯d have some fun, juicy anecdote and I could find out what sex was like in the 1920s.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t you ever think about following Stephen to France?¡± I can¡¯t help asking.


    ¡°I had my pride.¡± She gives me a pointed look, and I feel like retorting, ¡°Well, at least I got my guy back!¡±


    ¡°Did you keep any of the sketches?¡± I¡¯m desperately casting around for an upside.


    ¡°I hid them.¡± She nods. ¡°There was a big painting too. He smuggled it to me, just before he left for France, and I hid it in the cellar. My parents had no idea. But then, of course, the house was burned and I lost it.¡±


    ¡°Oh God.¡± I sag in disappointment. ¡°What a shame.¡±


    ¡°Not really. I didn¡¯t care. Why should I care?¡±


    I watch her for a minute pleating her skirt, over and over, obsessively, her eyes busy with memories.


    ¡°Maybe he never got your letters,¡± I say hopefully.


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sure he did.¡± There¡¯s an edge to her voice. ¡°I know they went into the post. I had to smuggle them out of the house and into the postbox myself.¡±


    I can¡¯t bear this. Smuggling letters, for God¡¯s sake. Why didn¡¯t they have mobile phones in the 1920s? Think how many misunderstandings in the world could have been avoided. Archduke Ferdinand could have texted his people -I think a weirdo¡¯s following me- and he wouldn¡¯t have got assassinated. World War I wouldn¡¯t have happened. And Sadie could have called her man; they could have talked it through¡­


    ¡°Is he still alive now?¡± I¡¯m gripped by irrational hope. ¡°We could track him down! We could Google him, we could go to France, I bet we¡¯d find him-¡±


    ¡°He died young.¡± Sadie cuts me off, her voice remote. ¡°Twelve years after he left England. They brought home his remains and had a funeral in the village. I was living abroad by then. I wasn¡¯t invited, anyway. And I wouldn¡¯t have gone.¡±


    I¡¯m so horrified, I can¡¯t reply. Not only did he leave her, he died . This is a rubbish story with a terrible ending, and I wish I¡¯d never asked.


    Sadie¡¯s face is drawn as she gazes out of the window. Her skin seems paler than ever, and there are shadows under her eyes. In her silver-gray dress she looks like a vulnerable little wisp. I feel tears spring to my eyes. She loved this artist. It¡¯s obvious. Underneath all the bravado and the back chat, she really loved him. All her life, probably.


    How could he not have loved her back? Bastard. If he were alive now I¡¯d go and find him and beat him up. Even if he was some quavery million-year-old man with twenty grandchildren. ¡°It¡¯s so sad.¡± I rub my nose. ¡°It¡¯s just so sad.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not sad,¡± she retorts at once, her old flippant air returning. ¡°It¡¯s the way things are. There are other men, there are other countries, there are other lives to live. But that¡¯s why I know.¡± She suddenly rounds on me. ¡°I know, and you have to believe me.¡±


    ¡°Know what?¡± I¡¯m not following her at all. ¡°Believe what?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll never work things out with your chap. Your Josh.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± I glare back at her defensively. Trust her to bring Josh into it.


    ¡°Because you can want and want and want.¡± She turns away, hugging her knees. I can see the bony line of her spine through her dress. ¡°But if he doesn¡¯t want you back¡­ you might as well wish the sky were red.¡±


    FIFTEEN


    I¡¯m not panicking. Even though it¡¯s Wednesday and I still don¡¯t have a solution and Janet Grady is on the warpath.


    I¡¯m kind of beyond panic. I¡¯m in an altered state. Like a yogi.


    I¡¯ve been dodging calls from Janet all day. Kate¡¯s told her I¡¯m in the loo, at lunch, trapped in the loo, and then at last I heard her saying desperately, ¡°I can¡¯t disturb her, I really can¡¯t disturb her¡­ Janet, I don¡¯t know who the candidate is¡­ Janet, please don¡¯t threaten me¡­¡±

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    She put the phone down, shaking. Apparently Janet¡¯s in a vicious mood. I think she¡¯s become a bit obsessed by this short list. So am I. R¨¦sum¨¦s are swimming in front of my eyes, and the phone feels like it¡¯s welded to my ear.


    Yesterday I had a flash of inspiration. At least, it felt like inspiration. Maybe it was just desperation. Tonya! She¡¯s tough and hard and ironlike and all those scary qualities. She¡¯d be a total match for Janet Grady.


    So I called up and casually asked if she¡¯d thought about returning to work, now the twins had turned two. Had she thought about moving into marketing, maybe? In sportswear, perhaps? Tonya was quite senior at Shell before she had the boys. I bet her r¨¦sum¨¦ looks really impressive.


    ¡°But I¡¯m on a career break,¡± she objected. ¡°Mag-da! NOT those fish fingers. Look in the bottom drawer of the freezer-¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve had enough of a break, surely. A woman with your talents-you must be dying to get back to work.¡±


    ¡°Not really.¡±


    ¡°But your brain will go soggy!¡±


    ¡°It won¡¯t go soggy!¡± She sounded affronted. ¡°You know, I do Suzuki music every week with the boys. It¡¯s stimulating for both children and parents, and I¡¯ve met some other great mums there.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re telling me you¡¯d rather do Suzuki music and drink cappuccinos than be a top marketing director.¡± I tried to inject an incredulous note, even though I would a million times rather be doing Suzuki music and drinking cappuccinos right now than dealing with all this.


    ¡°Yes,¡± she said flatly. ¡°I would. Why are you approaching me, anyway, Lara?¡± Suddenly her voice was more alert. ¡°What¡¯s going on? Have you got a problem? Because you can always talk to me about it, you know, if things are going wrong¡­¡±


    Oh God. Not the fake-o sympathy.


    ¡°Nothing¡¯s going wrong! Just trying to do my big sister a favor.¡± I left it a moment or two before adding casually, ¡°So, those mums you¡¯ve met at Suzuki music. None of them used to be a top marketing director, did they?¡±


    You¡¯d think out of eight formerly professional mothers there¡¯d have been one marketing director with retail experience who wanted to return to work at once. You¡¯d think.


    Anyway. So much for that bright idea. In fact, so much for all my ideas. The only possibility I¡¯ve found is a guy in Birmingham who might move if Leonidas Sports pays for his helicopter commute every week. Which is never going to happen in a million years. I¡¯m doomed. All in all, you¡¯d think now would not be the best time to be glammed up and going to a party.


    Nevertheless, here I am in a taxi, glammed up and going to a party.


    ¡°We¡¯re here! Park Lane!¡± Sadie peers out of the window. ¡°Pay the driver! Let¡¯s go!¡±


    Bright flashes from cameras are filling our taxi, and I can hear the hubbub of people greeting one another. I see a group of about ten people in evening dress arriving on the red carpet leading up to the Spencer Hotel, where the Business People dinner is taking place. According to the Financial Times , four hundred of the top business talents in London are going to be gathered here tonight.


    As one of those talents, I was all set to cancel, for many, many reasons:


    1. I¡¯m back with Josh now and shouldn¡¯t be attending dinners with other men.


    2. I¡¯m too stressed out by work.


    3. I mean, really stressed out.


    4. Janet Grady might be here and yell at me.


    5. Clive Hoxton, ditto. Not to mention:


    6. Have to talk to Mr. American Frown all night.


    But then it hit me. Four hundred businesspeople, all together in one room. Some of them have got to be top-level marketing executives. And some of them have got to want a new job. Surely.


    So this is my last-ditch plan. I¡¯m going to find a candidate for Leonidas Sports tonight, at the dinner.


    I double-check that my evening bag is well stocked with business cards and glance at my reflection in the window. Needless to say, Sadie took charge of my outfit again. I¡¯m in a black sequined vintage dress with fringed sleeves and beaded Egyptian-style medallions at the shoulders. Over this I¡¯m wearing a cloak. My eyes are heavily kohled, I have a long gold snake bracelet, and even a pair of original stockings, just like Sadie used to wear, apparently. And on my head is a close-fitting diamant¨¦ mesh cap, which Sadie found at some antique market.


    Tonight I feel a lot more confident, though. For a start, everyone else will be dressed up too. And even though I protested about the cap, I secretly think I look quite cool. I look kind of glam and retro.


    Sadie¡¯s dolled up too, in a fringed dress, all turquoise and green, with a peacock feather shawl. She¡¯s wearing about ten necklaces, and on her head is the most ludicrous headdress, with a diamant¨¦ waterfall cascading past her ear. She keeps flipping her evening bag open and shut and seems in a manic mood. In fact, she¡¯s been manic ever since she told me that story about her old dead lover. I¡¯ve tried to ask her more about it, but no dice. She just glides away or vanishes or changes the subject. So I¡¯ve given up.

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    ¡°Let¡¯s go!¡± Her legs are twitching. ¡°I can¡¯t wait to start dancing!¡±


    For God¡¯s sake. She¡¯s obsessed. And if she thinks I¡¯m dancing with Ed in the middle of the bar for a second time, she needs to think again.


    ¡°Sadie, listen,¡± I say firmly. ¡°It¡¯s a business dinner. There won¡¯t be any dancing. I¡¯m here to work.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll find some,¡± she says confidently. ¡°You can always find dancing.¡±


    Yeah. Whatever.


    As I get out, people in evening dress are everywhere, shaking hands confidently and laughing and posing for the cameras. Several of them I recognize from Business People photo spreads. For a moment I feel all twingey with nerves. But then I glance at Sadie and raise my chin, just like she does. So what if they¡¯re important? I¡¯m as good as they are. I¡¯m a partner in my own company. Even if it consists of two people and a dodgy coffee machine.


    ¡°Hi. Lara.¡± Ed¡¯s voice greets me from behind, and I turn. There he is, looking as square-cut and handsome as I might have expected. His dinner jacket fits him perfectly; his dark hair is brushed back perfectly.


    Josh never wears a standard DJ. He always wears something offbeat, like a Nehru jacket over jeans. But then, Josh is really cool.


    ¡°Hi.¡± I take Ed¡¯s hand before he gets any idea of kissing me. Not that I think he would. He¡¯s looking my outfit up and down with a quizzical expression.


    ¡°You look very¡­ twenties.¡±


    Well spotted, Einstein . ¡°Yes, well.¡± I shrug. ¡°I like twenties clothes.¡±


    ¡°No kidding,¡± he says, deadpan.


    ¡°You look delicious!¡± says Sadie joyfully to Ed. She flings herself at him, wraps both arms around his chest, and nuzzles his neck.


    Urgh. Is she going to do that all night?


    We¡¯re approaching a small group of photographers, and at a signal from a lady with an earpiece, Ed stops with a slight roll of his eyes. ¡°Sorry. I have to do this, I¡¯m afraid.¡±


    ¡°Shit!¡± I say in panic as the camera flashes blind me. ¡°What do I do?¡±


    ¡°Stand a little side-on,¡± he murmurs reassuringly. ¡°Chin up and smile. Don¡¯t worry, it¡¯s natural to freak out. I did media training for this stuff. The first time, I was so stiff I looked like a Thunderbird puppet.¡±


    I can¡¯t help smiling. Actually, he does look a bit like a Thunderbird, with his square jaw and dark brows.


    ¡°I know what you¡¯re thinking,¡± he says, as the flashes keep coming. ¡°I look like a Thunderbird anyway. It¡¯s OK. I can take the truth.¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t thinking that!¡± I say unconvincingly. We move on to another group of photographers. ¡°How come you know about Thunderbirds , anyway?¡±


    ¡°Are you kidding? I saw it when I was a kid. I was obsessed. I wanted to be Scott Tracy.¡±


    ¡°I wanted to be Lady Penelope.¡± I glance up at him. ¡°So you¡¯re interested in one piece of British culture, at least.¡±


    I¡¯m not sure if a children¡¯s TV show counts as ¡°culture,¡± but I can¡¯t resist making my point. Ed looks surprised and draws breath as though to answer-but before he can, the earpiece lady comes to escort us onward, and the moment¡¯s gone.


    As we head into the hotel, I¡¯m looking around, trying to suss out all the people, trying to see if there¡¯s anyone I could approach about the Leonidas Sports job. I have to circulate quickly, before everyone sits down to eat.


    Meanwhile, Sadie has been glued to Ed¡¯s side, stroking his hair and rubbing her face against his and running her hand over his chest. As we come to a halt in front of a reception table, she suddenly dips down and pokes her head into his dinner jacket pocket. I¡¯m so disconcerted, I jump.


    ¡°Sadie!¡± I mutter furiously behind Ed¡¯s back. ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    ¡°Having a look at his things!¡± she says, standing up. ¡°There wasn¡¯t anything very interesting, just some papers and a pack of cards. I wonder what¡¯s in his trouser pockets¡­ hmm¡­¡± Her eyes focus on his crotch, and a gleam appears.


    ¡°Sadie!¡± I hiss in horror. ¡°No!¡±


    ¡°Mr. Harrison!¡± A woman in a chic navy cocktail dress has swooped down on Ed. ¡°I¡¯m Sonia Taylor, head of PR at Dewhurst Publishing. We¡¯re so looking forward to your speech.¡±


    ¡°Pleased to be here.¡± Ed nods. ¡°May I introduce Lara Lington, my¡­¡± He looks at me dubiously, as though searching for the word. ¡°Date.¡±


    ¡°Hello, Lara.¡± Sonia turns to me with a warm smile. ¡°What line are you in?¡±

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    Oh wow. The head of PR at Dewhurst Publishing.


    ¡°Hi, Sonia.¡± I shake her hand in my most professional manner. ¡°I¡¯m in recruitment; do let me give you my card -No!¡± An involuntary cry leaves my lips.


    Sadie has bent down and plunged her face into Ed¡¯s trouser pocket.


    ¡°Are you all right?¡± Sonia Taylor looks concerned.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine!¡± My eyes are darting all around, anywhere but at the sight in front of me. ¡°Fine. Really, really fine¡­¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s good.¡± Sonia gives me a slightly strange look. ¡°I¡¯ll just find your name badges.¡±


    Sadie¡¯s head reappears briefly, then plunges back in again. What¡¯s she doing in there?


    ¡°Lara, is something wrong?¡± Ed turns to me with a puzzled frown.


    ¡°Um¡­ no!¡± I manage. ¡°It¡¯s all good, all good¡­¡±


    ¡°Goodness!¡± Sadie¡¯s head suddenly reappears. ¡°I got a good view there.¡±


    I clap a hand over my mouth. Ed eyes me suspiciously.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± I manage. ¡°Just¡­ coughing.¡±


    ¡°Here we are!¡± Sonia turns back from the table and hands us each a badge. ¡°Ed, can I steal you for a moment to run through the order of events?¡± She smiles stiffly, then leads Ed away.


    At once, I pull out my phone as camouflage, then wheel around to Sadie.


    ¡°Don¡¯t do that again! You put me off! I didn¡¯t know where to look!¡±


    Sadie raises her eyebrows wickedly. ¡°Just wanted to satisfy my curiosity.¡±


    I¡¯m not even going to ask what that means.


    ¡°Well, don¡¯t! That woman Sonia thinks I¡¯m a complete flake now. She didn¡¯t even take my business card.¡±


    ¡°So what?¡± Sadie gives an insouciant shrug. ¡°Who cares what she thinks?¡±


    It¡¯s as if a switch flips inside me. Doesn¡¯t she realize how desperate I am? Hasn¡¯t she noticed me and Kate working thirteen-hour days?


    ¡°I care!¡± I round on her furiously and she shrinks back. ¡°Sadie, why d¡¯you think I¡¯m here? I¡¯m trying to build up my business! I¡¯m trying to meet important people!¡± I gesture around at the milling hall. ¡°I¡¯ve got to find a candidate for Leonidas Sports by tomorrow! If I don¡¯t do something soon, we¡¯ll go bust. We practically are bust. I¡¯ve been totally stressed out and you don¡¯t even care. You haven¡¯t even noticed.¡± My voice is suddenly shaking a bit, which must be because of all the double-shot lattes I¡¯ve drunk today. ¡°Anyway. Whatever. Do what you like. Just stay away from me.¡±


    ¡°Lara-¡± Sadie starts to speak, but I stride away from her toward the double doors to the main banqueting room. Ed and Sonia are on the podium, and I can see her explaining the microphone to him. Around me, tables are filling up with dynamic-looking men and women. I can hear snatches of conversation about markets and retail sectors and TV campaigns.


    This is my big chance. Come on, Lara . Plucking up all my courage, I take a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, then approach a group of business types, all laughing merrily away about something.


    ¡°Hi!¡± I plunge in brightly. ¡°I¡¯m Lara Lington, L &N Executive Recruitment. Let me give you my card!¡±


    ¡°Hello,¡± says a friendly-looking man with red hair. He makes introductions around the group, and I hand cards to everyone. From their name badges, it seems they all work for software companies.


    ¡°So, does anyone here work in marketing?¡± I ask casually. All eyes turn to a blond-haired man.


    ¡°Guilty.¡± He smiles.


    ¡°Would you like a new job?¡± I blurt out. ¡°It¡¯s at a sports-equipment company-great benefits, a really fab opportunity!¡±


    There¡¯s silence. I can¡¯t breathe for hope. Then everyone bursts into laughter.


    ¡°I like your style,¡± says the red-haired guy, and turns to his neighbor. ¡°Can I interest you in an Asian software subsidiary, only ten years on the clock?¡±


    ¡°One careful owner,¡± quips another guy, and there¡¯s more laughter.


    They think I¡¯m joking. Of course they do.


    I hastily join in the laughter too. But inside, I feel like a total moron. I¡¯m never going to find a candidate. This was a ridiculous idea. After a little while I excuse myself and move away, to find Ed approaching me across the floor.


    ¡°How¡¯s it going? Sorry to abandon you.¡±


    ¡°No worries. I was¡­ you know. Networking.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re at table one.¡± He leads me toward the stage and I feel a flicker of pride, in spite of my low mood. Table 1 at the Business People dinner!

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    ¡°Lara, I have a question,¡± says Ed as we walk. ¡°Please don¡¯t take this the wrong way.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure I won¡¯t,¡± I say. ¡°Fire ahead.¡±


    ¡°I just want to get something straight. You don¡¯t want to be my girlfriend. Is that right?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right.¡± I nod. ¡°And you don¡¯t want to be my boyfriend.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± he says, emphatically shaking his head. ¡°Uh-uh.¡± We¡¯ve arrived at the table by now. Ed folds his arms and surveys me as though mystified. ¡°So what are we doing here together?¡±


    ¡°Er¡­ well. Good question.¡±


    I¡¯m not sure how to answer. The truth is, there is no sane reason.


    ¡°Friends?¡± I suggest at last.


    ¡°Friends,¡± he echoes doubtfully. ¡°I guess we could be friends.¡±


    He pulls out my chair and I sit down. By every place is a program with Guest Speaker: Ed Harrison written across the bottom.


    ¡°Are you nervous?¡±


    Ed¡¯s eyes flicker, then he gives me a tiny smile. ¡°If I were I wouldn¡¯t say.¡±


    I flick to the back of the program and feel a little kick when I find my own name in the list. Lara Lington, L &N Executive Recruitment .


    ¡°You don¡¯t strike me as a typical headhunter,¡± says Ed, following my gaze.


    ¡°Really?¡± I¡¯m not quite sure how to react. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?


    ¡°You don¡¯t seem obsessed with money, for a start.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d like to make more money,¡± I say honestly. ¡°Lots more. But I suppose that isn¡¯t the main point for me. I¡¯ve always seen headhunting as a bit like-¡± I break off, embarrassed, and take a sip of wine.


    I once told my headhunting theory to Natalie, and she said I was crazy and to shut up about it.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Well. Like matchmaking. Matching the perfect person with the perfect job.¡±


    Ed looks amused. ¡°That¡¯s a different way of looking at it. I¡¯m not sure most people around here would say they were having a love affair with their jobs.¡± He gestures around the crowded room.


    ¡°Maybe they would if it was the right job, though,¡± I say eagerly. ¡°If you could just match people up with exactly what they want¡­¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯d be Cupid.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re laughing at me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not.¡± He shakes his head firmly. ¡°I like it as a theory. How does it work in practice?¡±


    I sigh. There¡¯s something about Ed that makes me lower my guard. Maybe it¡¯s because I honestly don¡¯t care what he thinks of me.


    ¡°Not great. In fact, right now, pretty shit.¡±


    ¡°That bad, huh?¡±


    ¡°Even worse.¡± I take another drink of my wine, then look up to see Ed watching me quizzically.


    ¡°You¡¯re in a partnership, right?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°So¡­ how did you decide who to go into partnership with?¡± he says lightly. ¡°How did that all happen?¡±


    ¡°Natalie?¡± I shrug. ¡°Because she¡¯s my best friend and I¡¯ve known her forever and she¡¯s a very talented top headhunter. She used to work for Price Bedford Associates, you know. They¡¯re huge.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡± He seems to think for a moment. ¡°Out of interest, who told you she was a very talented top headhunter?¡±


    I stare at him, feeling slightly wrong-footed. ¡°No one had to tell me. She just is . I mean¡­¡± I meet his skeptical gaze. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s none of my business. But when you and I first¡­¡± Again he hesitates, as though searching for the word. ¡°Met.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± I nod impatiently.


    ¡°I did a little asking around. Nobody had even heard of you.¡±


    ¡°Great.¡± I take a slug of champagne. ¡°There you go.¡±


    ¡°But I have a contact at Price Bedford, and he told me a little about Natalie. Interesting.¡±


    I feel a sudden foreboding at his expression. ¡°Oh, really?¡± I say defensively. ¡°Because I bet they were pissed off to lose her. So whatever he said-¡±


    Ed lifts his hands. ¡°I don¡¯t want to get into this. It¡¯s your partnership, your friend, your choices.¡±


    OK. Now I have a bad feeling.


    ¡°Tell me.¡± I put my glass down, all my bravado gone. ¡°Please, Ed. Tell me. What did he say?¡±


    ¡°Well.¡± Ed shrugs. ¡°The story went that she lured a number of high-profile people onto a list for some anonymous ¡®blue-chip job¡¯ that didn¡¯t exist. Then she tried to offer them up to some less-than-blue-chip client and claim this was the job she¡¯d meant all along. The shit hit the fan, big-time. The senior partner at her firm had to step in, calm things down. That¡¯s why she was fired.¡± Ed hesitates. ¡°But you knew this, right?¡±

 Page 92

    I stare at him, speechless. Natalie was fired? She was fired ?


    She told me she¡¯d decided to quit Price Bedford because she was undervalued and she could make far more money working for herself.


    ¡°Is she here tonight?¡± He¡¯s looking around the room. ¡°Will I meet her?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± I eventually manage to find my voice. ¡°She¡¯s¡­ not around at the moment.¡±


    I can¡¯t tell him she¡¯s left me in the lurch to run the company all by myself. I can¡¯t admit that it¡¯s even worse than he thinks. Blood is ebbing in and out of my face as I try to process all this.


    She never told me she¡¯d been fired. Never. I can still remember her first pitching the idea of our company to me, over champagne at some fancy bar. She told me everyone in the industry was dying to set up with her, but she wanted to link up with someone she really trusted. An old friend. Someone she could have fun with. She painted such an amazing picture and dropped so many big names, I was bowled over. I quit my job the next week and took out all my savings. I¡¯m such a gullible ¡­ idiot . I feel tears trembling on the brink of my lashes and quickly take a gulp of champagne.


    ¡°Lara?¡± Sadie¡¯s shrill voice comes in my ear. ¡°Lara, come quick! I need to talk to you.¡±


    I really don¡¯t feel like talking to Sadie. But nor can I keep sitting here with Ed looking at me with so much concern. I think he¡¯s guessed this is all a total shock to me.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be back in a second!¡± I say overbrightly, and push my chair back. I head across the crowded room, trying to ignore Sadie, who¡¯s pursuing me, jabbering in my ear.


    ¡°I¡¯m very sorry,¡± she¡¯s saying. ¡°I thought about it and you¡¯re right, I was selfish and thoughtless. So I decided to help you, and I have! I¡¯ve found you a candidate! A wonderful, perfect candidate!¡± Her words interrupt my painful, circular thought pattern.


    ¡°What?¡± I turn. ¡°What did you say?¡±


    ¡°You may think I¡¯m not interested in your work, but I am,¡± she announces. ¡°You need a trophy, and I¡¯ve found you one. Aren¡¯t I clever?¡±


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been listening in on everyone¡¯s conversations!¡± she says proudly. ¡°I was starting to think it was hopeless, but then I heard a woman called Clare whispering to her friend in a corner. She¡¯s not happy. It¡¯s the power games, you know.¡± Sadie opens her eyes at me impressively. ¡°Things are getting so bad at her place, she¡¯s thinking of quitting.¡±


    ¡°Right. So the point is-¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s a head of marketing, of course!¡± Sadie says triumphantly. ¡°It was on her badge. I knew that¡¯s what you wanted, a head of marketing. She won an award last month, you know. But her new ¡®chief exec¡¯ didn¡¯t even congratulate her. He¡¯s a total pig,¡± she adds confidingly. ¡°That¡¯s why she wants to leave.¡±


    I swallow several times, trying to stay calm. A marketing head who wants to move jobs. An award-winning marketing head who wants to move jobs. Oh God. I would die and go to heaven.


    ¡°Sadie¡­ is this for real?¡±


    ¡°Of course! She¡¯s over there!¡± Sadie gestures at the other side of the room.


    ¡°Is she into sports? Exercise?¡±


    ¡°Brawny calves,¡± says Sadie. ¡°I noticed them at once.¡±


    I hurry to a nearby board and look through the list of guests. Clare¡­ Clare¡­


    ¡°Clare Fortescue, marketing director of Shepherd Homes?¡± I feel a jab of excitement. ¡°She was on my new long list! I wanted to talk to her, but I couldn¡¯t get through!¡±


    ¡°Well, she¡¯s here! Come on, I¡¯ll show her to you!¡±


    My heart is thumping as I cross the crowded room, searching all the faces for someone looking like a Clare.


    ¡°There!¡± Sadie is pointing at a woman with glasses in a royal blue dress. She has cropped dark hair, a mole on her nose, and is on the short side. I probably wouldn¡¯t even have spotted her if Sadie hadn¡¯t pointed her out to me.


    ¡°Hi!¡± I walk up to her and take a deep breath. ¡°Clare Fortescue?¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡± she says briskly.


    ¡°May I have a quick word?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­ OK.¡± Looking a bit puzzled, Clare Fortescue allows me to draw her away from the group she¡¯s in.


    ¡°Hi.¡± I give her a nervous smile. ¡°My name¡¯s Lara, and I¡¯m a recruitment consultant. I¡¯ve been meaning to make contact with you. Your reputation has spread, you know.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± She looks suspicious.

 Page 93

    ¡°Of course! In fact¡­ I must congratulate you on your recent award!¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± A pink tinge comes to Clare Fortescue¡¯s ears. ¡°Thanks very much.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m recruiting for a marketing director position right now¡±-I lower my voice discreetly-¡°and I just wanted to mention it. It¡¯s a really exciting sportswear company with massive potential, and I think you¡¯d be perfect. You¡¯d be my number-one pick.¡± I pause, then add lightly, ¡°But, of course, you may be very happy where you are right now¡­¡±


    There¡¯s silence. I can¡¯t tell what¡¯s going on behind Clare Fortescue¡¯s glasses. My whole body is so tense, I can¡¯t even breathe.


    ¡°Actually¡­ I have been thinking about a move,¡± she says at last, so quietly I can barely hear. ¡°I might very well be interested. But it would have to be the right situation.¡± She gives me a bulletlike look. ¡°I¡¯m not compromising myself. I have standards.¡±


    Somehow I manage not to whoop. She¡¯s interested and she¡¯s tough!


    ¡°Great!¡± I smile. ¡°Maybe I can call you in the morning. Or if you had a few minutes to spare right now?¡± I try not to sound desperate. ¡°We could have a chat? Just quickly?¡±


    Please¡­ please¡­ please please please¡­


    Ten minutes later I walk back to the table, giddy with joy. She¡¯s going to send me her r¨¦sum¨¦ tomorrow. She used to play right wing in hockey! She¡¯s a perfect match!


    Sadie seems even more thrilled than I am as we head back to the table.


    ¡°I knew it!¡± she keeps saying. ¡°I knew she¡¯d be right!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a star,¡± I say joyfully. ¡°We¡¯re a team. High-five!¡±


    ¡°High what?¡± Sadie looks perplexed.


    ¡°High-five! Don¡¯t you know what a high-five is? Hold up your hand¡­¡±


    OK. It turns out high-fiving a ghost is a mistake. That woman in red thought I was trying to hit her. Hastily, I resume walking. I arrive at the table and beam at Ed. ¡°I¡¯m back!¡±


    ¡°So you are.¡± He gives me a quizzical look. ¡°How¡¯s it going?¡±


    ¡°Brilliantly, since you ask.¡±


    ¡°Brilliantly!¡± echoes Sadie, and jumps into his lap. I reach for my champagne glass. Suddenly I¡¯m in the mood for a party.


    SIXTEEN


    Tonight is turning out to be one of the best evenings of my life. The dinner is delicious. Ed¡¯s speech goes down fantastically. Afterward, people keep coming over to congratulate him, and he introduces me to everyone. I¡¯ve given out all my business cards and set up two meetings for next week, and Clare Fortescue¡¯s friend has just come over to ask discreetly if there¡¯s anything I can do for her .


    I¡¯m euphoric. Finally I feel like I¡¯m getting myself on the map!


    The only slight pain is Sadie, who¡¯s got bored by business talk and has started on about dancing again. She¡¯s been out exploring, and according to her there¡¯s some tiny nightclub down the street which is perfect and we have to go there immediately.


    ¡°No!¡± I mutter, as she pesters me yet again. ¡°Shh! The magician¡¯s doing another trick!¡±


    As we all sip our coffee, a magician is doing the rounds of the tables. He¡¯s just pushed a bottle of wine through the table, which was quite amazing. Now he¡¯s asking Ed to choose a shape on a card and saying he¡¯ll mind read it.


    ¡°OK,¡± says Ed, choosing a card. I glance over his shoulder, and it shows a squiggle shape. It was between the squiggle, a square, a triangle, a circle, or a flower.


    ¡°Focus on the shape and nothing else.¡± The magician, who is wearing a jeweled jacket, fake tan, and eyeliner, fixes his gaze firmly on Ed. ¡°Let The Great Firenzo use his mysterious powers and read your mind.¡±


    The magician¡¯s name is The Great Firenzo. He¡¯s mentioned this fact about ninety-five times; plus, all his props have The Great Firenzo written on them in big swirly red writing.


    There¡¯s a hush around the table. The Great Firenzo takes both hands up to his head, as though in a trance.


    ¡°I am communing with your mind,¡± he says, his voice low and mysterious. ¡°The message is coming in. You have chosen¡­ this shape!¡± With a flourish, he produces a card which exactly matches Ed¡¯s.


    ¡°Correct.¡± Ed nods and shows his card to the table.


    ¡°Amazing!¡± gasps a blond woman opposite.


    ¡°Pretty impressive.¡± Ed is turning his own card over, examining it. ¡°There¡¯s no way he could have seen what I picked.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the power of the mind,¡± intones the magician, swiftly collecting the card from Ed. ¡°It¡¯s the power of¡­ The Great Firenzo!¡±

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    ¡°Do it to me!¡± begs the blond woman excitedly. ¡°Read my mind!¡±


    ¡°Very well.¡± The Great Firenzo turns to face her. ¡°But beware. When you open your mind to me, I can read all your secrets. Every deepest, darkest one.¡± His eyes flash and she giggles.


    She totally fancies The Great Firenzo, it¡¯s obvious. She¡¯s probably beaming her deepest, darkest secrets at him right now.


    ¡°I find the ladies¡¯ minds are often easier to ¡­ penetrate.¡± The Great Firenzo raises an eyebrow suggestively. ¡°They are weaker, softer¡­ but more delightful within.¡± He grins toothily at the blond woman, who gives an embarrassed laugh.


    Ugh. He¡¯s revolting. I glance at Ed, who has an expression of distaste on his face.


    We all watch as the blond woman picks a card, studies it for a moment, then says decidedly, ¡°I¡¯ve chosen.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the triangle,¡± says Sadie, with interest. She¡¯s bobbing behind the back of the blond woman, looking down at the card. ¡°I thought she¡¯d choose the flower.¡±


    ¡°Relax.¡± The Great Firenzo is focusing intently on the blond woman. ¡°Years of study in the East have made me attuned to the thought waves of the human mind. Only The Great Firenzo can penetrate the brain to such a degree. Do not resist, sweet lady. Let Firenzo probe your thoughts. I promise¡­¡± He gives the toothy smile again. ¡°I¡¯ll be gentle.¡±


    Eeuuww. He thinks he¡¯s so hot, but he¡¯s a total sleazeball. and sexist.


    ¡°Only The Great Firenzo has such powers,¡± he says dramatically, looking around the table at us all. ¡°Only The Great Firenzo can achieve such a feat. Only The Great Firenzo can-¡±


    ¡°Actually, I can too,¡± I say brightly. I¡¯ll show him who¡¯s got a weaker mind.


    ¡°What?¡± The Great Firenzo shoots me a look of dislike.


    ¡°I can commune with the mind too. I know what card she chose.¡±


    ¡°Please, young lady.¡± The Great Firenzo gives me a savage smile. ¡°Do not interrupt the work of The Great Firenzo.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just saying.¡± I shrug. ¡°I know what it is.¡±


    ¡°No, you don¡¯t,¡± says the blond woman, a little aggressively. ¡°Don¡¯t be ridiculous. You¡¯re spoiling it for everyone. Has she had too much to drink?¡± She turns to Ed.


    What a nerve.


    ¡°I do know!¡± I say indignantly. ¡°I¡¯ll draw it if you like. Does anyone have a pen?¡± A nearby man holds out a pen, and I start drawing on my napkin.


    ¡°Lara,¡± says Ed in a low voice. ¡°What exactly are you doing?¡±


    ¡°Magic,¡± I say confidently. I finish my triangle and thrust the napkin at the blond woman. ¡°Is that right?¡±


    The blond woman¡¯s jaw drops. She looks incredulously at me, then down at the napkin again.


    ¡°She¡¯s right.¡± She turns her card over and there¡¯s a gasp around the table. ¡°How did you do that?¡±


    ¡°I told you, I can do magic. I, too, have mysterious powers granted to me from the East. They call me The Great Lara.¡± I catch Sadie¡¯s eye and she smirks.


    ¡°Are you a member of the Magic Circle?¡± The Great Firenzo looks livid. ¡°Because our protocol states-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not in any circle,¡± I say in a pleasant tone. ¡°But my mind¡¯s pretty strong, I think you¡¯ll find. For a lady.¡±


    The Great Firenzo looks totally put out and starts gathering his props.


    I glance over at Ed, who raises his dark eyebrows. ¡°Very impressive. How d¡¯you do that?¡±


    ¡°Magic.¡± I shrug innocently. ¡°I told you.¡±


    ¡°The Great Lara, huh?¡±


    ¡°Yes. That¡¯s what my disciples call me. But you can call me Greatie for short.¡±


    ¡°Greatie.¡± His mouth is twitching, and I see a smile pop out at one corner. A real, genuine smile.


    ¡°Oh my God!¡± I point at him in triumph. ¡°You smiled! Mr. American Frown actually smiled!¡±


    Oops. Maybe I have had too much to drink. I didn¡¯t mean to call him Mr. American Frown out loud. For an instant Ed looks a bit taken aback-then he shrugs, as deadpan as ever.


    ¡°Must have been a mistake. I¡¯ll speak to someone about it. Won¡¯t happen again.¡±


    ¡°Well, good. Because you could do your face an injury, just smiling like that.¡±


    Ed doesn¡¯t reply, and for a moment I wonder whether I¡¯ve gone too far. He does seem quite sweet. I don¡¯t want to offend him.


    Suddenly I hear a pompous-looking guy in a white tuxedo holding forth to his friend. ¡°It¡¯s simply a balance of probabilities, nothing more. Any one of us could work out the likelihood of picking the triangle, with a bit of practice-¡±

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    ¡°No, you couldn¡¯t!¡± I interrupt him indignantly. ¡°OK, I¡¯ll do another trick. Write down anything. Anything. Like, a shape, a name, a number. I¡¯ll read your mind and tell you what you wrote.¡±


    ¡°Very well.¡± The man gives a little raised-eyebrows smile around the table, as though to say, ¡°I¡¯ll indulge her,¡± and takes a pen out of his pocket. ¡°I¡¯ll use my napkin.¡±


    He lowers his napkin onto his lap so it¡¯s completely out of view. I glance meaningfully at Sadie, who immediately hovers behind his back and leans forward to watch.


    ¡°He¡¯s writing down¡­ Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness.¡± She makes a face. ¡°Dreadful handwriting.¡±


    ¡°All right.¡± The pompous man looks up. ¡°Tell me what shape I¡¯ve drawn.¡±


    Oh, very sneaky.


    I smile sweetly back and lift my hands toward him, just like The Great Firenzo did.


    ¡°The Great Lara will now read your mind. A shape, you say. Hmm¡­ What shape could it be? Circle¡­ square¡­ I¡¯m getting a square¡­¡±


    The pompous man is exchanging smug smiles with the guy next to him. He thinks he¡¯s so clever.


    ¡°Open your mind, sir!¡± I shake my head reproachfully at him. ¡°Get rid of those thoughts saying I¡¯m better than everyone at this table! They¡¯re blocking me!¡±


    The man¡¯s face has turned red.


    ¡°Really-¡± he begins.


    ¡°I have it.¡± I cut him off firmly. ¡°I have read your mind, and you did not draw a shape. No one can fool The Great Lara. On your napkin is written¡­¡± I pause, wishing I had a drum roll. ¡°Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness . Show the table your napkin, please.¡±


    Ha! The pompous man looks like he swallowed a fish. Slowly, he holds up the napkin, and there¡¯s a massive gasp, followed by applause.


    ¡°Fucking hell,¡± says his neighbor bluntly. ¡°How did you do that?¡± He appeals to the table. ¡°There¡¯s no way she could have known that.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a trick,¡± the pompous man is saying, but he¡¯s sounding less convinced.


    ¡°Do it again! Do it to someone else!¡± A man opposite is beckoning to the next table. ¡°Hey, Neil, you have to see this. What¡¯s your name again?¡±


    ¡°Lara,¡± I say proudly. ¡°Lara Lington.¡±


    ¡°Where did you train?¡± The Great Firenzo is by my side, breathing heavily as he murmurs in my ear. ¡°Who taught you that?¡±


    ¡°No one,¡± I say. ¡°I told you, I have special powers. Female powers,¡± I can¡¯t help adding. ¡°Which means they¡¯re especially strong.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± he snaps. ¡°Forget it. I¡¯m speaking to the union about you.¡±


    ¡°Lara, let¡¯s go.¡± Sadie has appeared on my other side and is stroking Ed¡¯s chest with her hand. ¡°I want to dance. Come on!¡±


    ¡°Just do a few more tricks,¡± I mutter under my breath as guests start gathering around the table to watch. ¡°Look at all these people! I can talk to them, give out my cards, make a few contacts-¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care about your contacts!¡± She pouts. ¡°I want to shake my booty!¡±


    ¡°A couple more.¡± I speak sidelong under camouflage of my wineglass. ¡°Then we¡¯ll go. Promise.¡±


    But I¡¯m in such demand that before I know it, nearly an hour has whizzed by. Everyone wants to have their mind read. Everyone in the room knows my name! The Great Firenzo has packed up and gone. I feel a bit bad about him, but then, he shouldn¡¯t have been so obnoxious, should he?


    Several tables have been pushed aside, chairs have been dragged forward, and an audience has assembled. By now I¡¯ve refined my act so that I go off into a little side room, and the person writes down whatever it is and shows the whole audience. Then I come back in and guess. So far I¡¯ve had names, dates, Bible verses, and a drawing of Homer Simpson. (Sadie described it to me. Luckily I got it.)


    ¡°And now.¡± I look impressively around the little crowd. ¡°The Great Lara will perform a yet more astounding feat. I will read¡­ five minds at once!¡±


    There¡¯s a satisfying gasp and spatter of applause.


    ¡°Me!¡± A girl rushes forward. ¡°Me!¡±


    ¡°And me!¡± Another girl is scrambling over the chairs.


    ¡°Sit on that chair.¡± I gesture with a flourish. ¡°The Great Lara will now retire and then return to read your mind!¡±


    There¡¯s a round of applause and a few cheers, and I beam modestly. I head off into the side room and take a swig of water. My face is glowing and I¡¯m totally wired. This is fantastic! We should do it full-time!

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    ¡°All right,¡± I say as soon as the door closes. ¡°We¡¯ll do them in order; it should be quite easy-¡± I break off in surprise. Sadie has planted herself right in front of me.


    ¡°When are we going to leave?¡± she demands. ¡°I want to dance. This is my date.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡± I¡¯m redoing my lip gloss quickly. ¡°And we will.¡±


    ¡°When?¡±


    ¡°Sadie, come on. This is so much fun. Everyone¡¯s having a brilliant time. You can dance anytime!¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t dance anytime!¡± Her voice rises in fury. ¡°Who¡¯s being selfish now? I want to go! Now!¡±


    ¡°We will! I promise. One more trick-¡±


    ¡°No! I¡¯ve had enough of helping you! You¡¯re on your own.¡±


    ¡°Sa-¡± I stop dead as she disappears before my eyes. ¡°Sadie, don¡¯t joke.¡± I wheel around, but there¡¯s no answer or sight of her. ¡°OK, very funny. Come back.¡±


    Great. She¡¯s in a huff.


    ¡°Sadie.¡± I adopt a humbler tone. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I can understand you¡¯re annoyed. Please come back and let¡¯s talk about it.¡±


    There¡¯s no response. The little room is dead. I look around, feeling a bit more alarmed.


    She can¡¯t have gone.


    I mean, she can¡¯t have just left me.


    I jump as there¡¯s a knock at the door and Ed comes in. Ed¡¯s turned into my unofficial assistant. He¡¯s been marshaling the requests and handing out pens and paper.


    ¡°Five minds at once, huh?¡± he says as he enters.


    ¡°Oh.¡± I hastily plaster on a smile. ¡°Er¡­ yes! Why not?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s quite a crowd out there. All the people who were in the bar have come in to watch. Standing room only.¡± He gestures at the door. ¡°Ready?¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Instinctively I back away. ¡°I mean, I might take a moment first. I need to get my head straight. Have a breather.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not surprised. Must take a lot of concentration.¡± Ed leans against the door frame and surveys me for a moment. ¡°I¡¯ve been watching you as hard as I can, but I still can¡¯t figure it out. However you do it¡­ it¡¯s awesome.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Er¡­ thanks.¡±


    ¡°See you out there.¡± The door closes behind Ed, and I wheel around.


    ¡°Sadie,¡± I call desperately. ¡°Sadie! Sadie!¡±


    OK. I¡¯m in trouble.


    The door opens and I give a small squeak of fright. Ed looks in again, a bit puzzled.


    ¡°I forgot-do you want a drink from the bar?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± I smile weakly. ¡°Thanks.¡±


    ¡°Everything OK?¡±


    ¡°Yes! Of course. I¡¯m just¡­ focusing my powers. Getting into the zone.¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡± He nods understandingly. ¡°I¡¯ll leave you be.¡± The door closes again.


    Fuck. What am I going to do? In a minute they¡¯ll start demanding I come out. They¡¯ll expect me to mind read. They¡¯ll expect me to do magic. My chest is tight with fear.


    There¡¯s only one option: I have to escape. I look desperately around the little room, which is obviously used to store spare banquet furniture. No window. There¡¯s a fire escape door in the far corner, but it¡¯s blocked by a massive stack of gold chairs about ten feet high. I try to pull the chairs aside, but they¡¯re too heavy. Fine. I¡¯ll climb over them.


    Determinedly, I put one foot on a chair and haul myself up. Then another. The gold lacquer is a bit slippery, but I¡¯m managing. It¡¯s like a ladder. A wonky, rickety ladder.


    The only trouble is, the higher I get, the more the chairs are swaying. By the time I¡¯m about eight feet up, the stack of chairs is teetering at quite a scary angle. It¡¯s like the Leaning Tower of Gold Chairs, with me crouching in terror near the top.


    If I took just one more huge step, I¡¯d be over the summit and I could quickly scramble down the other side to the fire exit. But every time I move my foot, the stack wobbles so much I withdraw it in fright. I try shifting to the side-but the stack lurches even more. I clutch another chair desperately, not daring to look down. The whole thing feels like it¡¯s going to fall, and the ground seems a really long way away.


    I take a deep breath. I can¡¯t stay here frozen forever. There¡¯s nothing for it. I have to be brave and go over the top. I take a massive step up, placing my foot on a chair about three from the top. But as I shift my weight, the stack leans back so far I can¡¯t help screaming.


    ¡°Lara!¡± The door bursts open and Ed appears. ¡°What the hell-¡±


    ¡°Heeelp!¡± The whole stack of chairs is collapsing. I knew I should never have moved-

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    ¡°Jesus Christ!¡± Ed rushes forward as I tumble down. He doesn¡¯t exactly catch me in his arms so much as break my fall with his head.


    ¡°Ow!¡±


    ¡°Oof!¡± I crash to the floor. Ed grabs my hand and helps me to my feet, then rubs his chest with a wince. I think I kicked it by mistake on the way down.


    ¡°Sorry.¡±


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± He stares at me incredulously. ¡°Is something wrong?¡±


    I shoot an agonized glance at the door to the banquet room. Following my gaze, he goes and shuts it. ¡°What¡¯s up?¡± he says more gently.


    ¡°I can¡¯t do magic,¡± I mumble, staring at my feet.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t do magic!¡± I look up in desperation.


    Ed eyes me uncertainly. ¡°But¡­ you did it.¡±


    ¡°I know. But I can¡¯t do it anymore.¡±


    Ed surveys me silently for a few seconds, his eyes flickering as they meet mine. He looks deadly grave, as if some massive worldwide company is facing collapse and he¡¯s working out a master plan to save it.


    At the same time, he quite looks like he wants to laugh.


    ¡°You¡¯re saying your mysterious Eastern mind-reading powers have deserted you,¡± he says at last.


    ¡°Yes,¡± I say in a small voice.


    ¡°Any idea why?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± I scuff my toe, not wanting to look at him.


    ¡°Well. Just go out there and tell everybody.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t!¡± I wail in horror. ¡°Everyone will think I¡¯m a flake. I¡¯ve been The Great Lara. I can¡¯t just go and say, ¡®Sorry, I can¡¯t do it anymore.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Sure you can.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± I shake my head firmly. ¡°No way. I have to go. I have to escape.¡±


    I start heading toward the fire exit again, but Ed grabs my arm.


    ¡°No escaping,¡± he says firmly. ¡°No running away. Turn the situation around. You can do it. C¡¯mon.¡±


    ¡°But how?¡± I say hopelessly.


    ¡°Play with them. Make it an entertainment. So you can¡¯t read their thoughts-you can make them laugh. And then we leave, right away, and you¡¯re still The Great Lara in everyone¡¯s mind.¡± His gaze bores firmly into mine. ¡°If you run away now, you really will be The Great Flake.¡±


    He¡¯s right. I don¡¯t want him to be right, but he is.


    ¡°OK,¡± I say at last. ¡°I¡¯ll do it.¡±


    ¡°D¡¯you need some more time?¡±


    ¡°No. I¡¯ve had enough time. I just want to get it over with. And then we go?¡±


    ¡°Then we go. Deal.¡± A tiny grin pops through again. ¡°Good luck.¡±


    ¡°Thanks.¡± That¡¯s two smiles , I want to add. (But don¡¯t.)


    Ed strides through the door and I follow him, somehow managing to hold my head high. There¡¯s a buzz of chatter, which dies down as I appear, and turns to a roar of applause. I can hear wolf whistles from the back, and someone¡¯s even videoing me on their phone. I¡¯ve been out so long, they obviously think I¡¯ve been building up to some amazing finale.


    The five victims are sitting on chairs, each holding a piece of paper and a pen. I smile at them, then look at the crowd.


    ¡°Ladies and gentlemen, forgive my leave of absence. I have been opening my mind to a number of thought waves tonight. And quite frankly¡­ I¡¯m shocked at what I¡¯ve discovered. Shocked! You.¡± I wheel around to the first girl, who¡¯s holding her piece of paper close to her chest. ¡°Obviously I know what you¡¯ve drawn.¡± I make a brushing-aside gesture, as though what she¡¯s drawn is neither here nor there. ¡°But far more interesting is the fact that there¡¯s a man in your office who you think is rather delicious. Don¡¯t deny it!¡±


    The girl flushes, and her reply is drowned by a roar of laughter. ¡°It¡¯s Blakey!¡± someone yells, and there¡¯s more laughter.


    ¡°You, sir!¡± I turn to a cropped-haired guy. ¡°They say most men think about sex once every thirty seconds, but with you it¡¯s far, far more frequent than that.¡± There are gales of laughter, and I hastily turn to the next man. ¡°Whereas you, sir, think about money every thirty seconds.¡±


    The man bursts into laughter. ¡°She is a bloody mind reader!¡± he calls out.


    ¡°Your thoughts were unfortunately too steeped in alcohol for me to make out.¡± I smile kindly at the portly guy sitting on the fourth chair. ¡°And as for you¡­¡± I pause as I face the girl on the fifth chair. ¡°I suggest you never, ever tell your mother what you were just thinking.¡± I raise my eyebrows teasingly, but she doesn¡¯t rise.

 Page 98

    ¡°What?¡± She frowns. ¡°What are you talking about?¡±


    Shit.


    ¡°You know.¡± I force myself to hold my smile steady. ¡°You know¡­¡±


    ¡°No.¡± She shakes her head stolidly. ¡°I¡¯ve got no idea what you¡¯re on about.¡±


    The audience¡¯s chatter has died away. Faces are turned to us with interest.


    ¡°Do I have to spell it out?¡± My smile is becoming forced. ¡°Those¡­ thoughts? Those particular thoughts you were just having¡­¡± I¡¯m nearing the end of my rope here. ¡°Just now¡­¡±


    Suddenly her face snaps in horror. ¡°Oh God. That. You¡¯re right.¡±


    Somehow I manage not to expire with relief.


    ¡°The Great Lara is always right!¡± I make an elaborate bow. ¡°Farewell, and see you all again.¡±


    I head quickly through the applauding audience toward Ed.


    ¡°I got your bag,¡± he murmurs above the clapping. ¡°One more bow, then we¡¯re out.¡±


    I don¡¯t breathe until we¡¯re safely out on the street. The air is clear and there¡¯s a warmish breeze. The hotel doorman is surrounded by groups of people waiting for taxis, but I don¡¯t want to risk anyone from the dinner catching up with me, so I hastily walk down onto the pavement.


    ¡°Well done, Greatie,¡± says Ed as we fall into step.


    ¡°Thanks.¡±


    ¡°Shame about the magic powers.¡± He¡¯s looking at me inquiringly, but I pretend not to notice.


    ¡°Yes, well.¡± I shrug casually. ¡°They come, they go, that¡¯s the mystery of the East. Now, if we walk this way¡±-I squint at a street sign-¡°we should be able to pick up a taxi.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m in your hands,¡± says Ed. ¡°I don¡¯t know this area.¡±


    This not-knowing-London is really starting to annoy me.


    ¡°Is there any area you do know?¡±


    ¡°I know my route to work.¡± Ed shrugs. ¡°I know the park opposite my building. I know the way to Whole Foods.¡±


    OK, I¡¯ve had it. How dare he come to this great city and show zero interest in it?


    ¡°Don¡¯t you think that¡¯s really narrow-minded and arrogant?¡± I stop dead. ¡°Don¡¯t you think if you come and live in a city you should respect it enough to get to know it? London is one of the most fascinating, historic, amazing cities in the world! And bloody Whole Foods! That¡¯s an American shop! Couldn¡¯t you try Waitrose?¡± My voice rises. ¡°I mean, why did you take a job here if you weren¡¯t interested in the place? What were you planning to do?¡±


    ¡°I was planning to explore it with my fianc¨¦e,¡± Ed says calmly.


    His answer slightly takes the wind out of my sails.


    Fianc¨¦e. What fianc¨¦e?


    ¡°Until she broke up with me, a week before we were supposed to come,¡± Ed continues conversationally. ¡°She asked her company to transfer her London placement to someone else. So, you see, I had a dilemma. Come to England, stay focused, and do the best I could, or stay in Boston, knowing I¡¯d see her almost every day. She worked in the same building as me.¡± He pauses a second before adding, ¡°And her lover.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± I stare at him in dismay. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I¡­ didn¡¯t realize.¡±


    ¡°No problem.¡±


    His face is so impassive, it almost seems like he doesn¡¯t care-but I¡¯m getting to understand his deadpan style. He does care, of course he does. Suddenly his frown is making more sense. And that closed-up expression. And that weary voice he had in the restaurant. God, what a bitch his fianc¨¦e must be. I can see her now. Big white American teeth and swingy hair and killer heels. I bet he bought her a massive ring. I bet she¡¯s kept it.


    ¡°That must have been horrible,¡± I say feebly as we start walking again.


    ¡°I had the guidebooks.¡± He¡¯s gazing resolutely ahead. ¡°I had the itineraries. I had a million projects planned. Stratford-upon-Avon¡­ Scotland¡­ Oxford¡­ But they were all planned with Corinne. Kind of takes the fun out of it.¡±


    A vision comes to me of a pile of guidebooks, all scribbled and annotated with their exciting plans. And then shut away. I feel so sorry for him, I think I should probably shut up now and stop giving him a hard time. But some stronger instinct makes me push on.


    ¡°So you just go your route to work and back again every day,¡± I say. ¡°You never look left or right. You go to Whole Foods and the park and back again and that¡¯s it.¡±


    ¡°Works for me.¡±


    ¡°How long have you been over here again?¡±


    ¡°Five months.¡±


    ¡°Five months?¡± I echo in horror. ¡°No. You can¡¯t exist like that. You can¡¯t lead your life in tunnel vision. You have to open your eyes and look around. You have to move on.¡±

 Page 99

    ¡°Move on,¡± he echoes, in mock-amazed tones. ¡°Wow. Right. Not a phrase anyone¡¯s said to me much.¡±


    OK, so obviously I¡¯m not the only one who¡¯s given him a pep talk. Well, too bad.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be gone in two more months,¡± he adds curtly. ¡°It hardly matters whether I get to know London or not-¡±


    ¡°So, what, you¡¯re just treading water, just existing, waiting until you feel better? Well, you never will! Not unless you do something about it!¡± All my frustration with him pours out in a stream. ¡°Look at you, doing memos for other people, and emails for your mum, and solving everyone else¡¯s problems because you don¡¯t want to think about your own! Sorry, I overheard you in Pret A Manger,¡± I add sheepishly as Ed¡¯s head jerks up. ¡°If you¡¯re going to live in a place, doesn¡¯t matter how long, you need to engage with it. Otherwise you¡¯re not really living. You¡¯re just functioning. I bet you haven¡¯t even unpacked properly, have you?¡±


    ¡°As it happens¡­ ¡± He pauses for a few steps. ¡°My housekeeper unpacked for me.¡±


    ¡°There you go.¡± I shrug, and we walk on a little more in silence, our footsteps almost in time. ¡°People break up,¡± I say at last. ¡°It¡¯s just the way things are. And you can¡¯t dwell on what might have been. You have to look at what is.¡±


    As I¡¯m saying the words, I have a weird flash of d¨¦j¨¤ vu. I think Dad said something to me like this once about Josh. In fact, he might even have used those exact words.


    But that was different. I mean, obviously it¡¯s an entirely different scenario. Josh and I weren¡¯t planning a trip, were we? Or to move cities. And now we¡¯re back together again. Totally different.


    ¡°Life is like an escalator,¡± I add wisely.


    When Dad says that to me, I get all annoyed because he just doesn¡¯t understand. But somehow it¡¯s different when I¡¯m giving advice.


    ¡°An escalator,¡± echoes Ed. ¡°Thought it was a box of chocolates.¡±


    ¡°No, definitely an escalator. You see, it carries you on regardless.¡± I mime an escalator. ¡°And you might as well enjoy the view and seize every opportunity while you¡¯re passing. Otherwise it¡¯ll be too late. That¡¯s what my dad told me when I broke up with this¡­ this guy.¡±


    Ed walks on a few paces. ¡°And did you take his advice?¡±


    ¡°Er¡­ well¡­¡± I brush my hair back, avoiding his eye. ¡°Kind of.¡±


    Ed stops and looks at me gravely. ¡°Did you ¡®move on¡¯? Did you find it easy? Because I sure as hell haven¡¯t.¡±


    I clear my throat, playing for time. What I did isn¡¯t really the point here, surely?


    ¡°You know, there are lots of definitions of ¡®move on.¡¯¡± I try to maintain my wise tone. ¡°Many different variations. Everyone has to move on in their own way.¡±


    I¡¯m not sure I want to get into this conversation, actually. Maybe now is the moment to find a cab.


    ¡°Taxi!¡± I wave my hand at a passing cab, but it sails past, even though its light is on. I hate when they do that.


    ¡°Let me.¡± Ed approaches the curb, and I take out my mobile phone. There¡¯s a pretty good minicab company that I use. Maybe they could come and pick us up. I retreat into a doorway, dial the number, and wait on hold, before I eventually discover that all the cabs are out tonight and it¡¯ll be a half-hour wait.


    ¡°No good.¡± I come out of the doorway to see Ed standing stock still on the pavement. He¡¯s not even trying to hail a cab. ¡°No luck?¡± I say in surprise.


    ¡°Lara.¡± He turns to me. His face is confused and his eyes are a little glassy. Has he been taking drugs or something? ¡°I think we should go dancing.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I peer at him, perplexed.


    ¡°I think we should go dancing.¡± He nods. ¡°It would be a perfect way to round off the evening. It just came to me out of the blue.¡±


    I don¡¯t believe it. Sadie .


    I whirl around on the pavement, searching the darkness, and suddenly spot her, floating by a lamppost.


    ¡°You!¡± I exclaim furiously, but Ed doesn¡¯t even seem to notice.


    ¡°There¡¯s a nightclub near here,¡± he¡¯s saying. ¡°Come on. Let¡¯s have a quick dance. It¡¯s a great idea. I should have thought of it before.¡±


    ¡°How do you know there¡¯s a nightclub here?¡± I retort. ¡°You don¡¯t know London!¡±


    ¡°Yeah, right.¡± He nods, looking a bit flummoxed himself. ¡°But I¡¯m pretty sure there¡¯s a nightclub down that street.¡± He gestures. ¡°Down there, third left. We should go check it out.¡±

 Page 100

    ¡°I¡¯d love to,¡± I say sweetly. ¡°But I must just make a call. There¡¯s a conversation I need to have.¡± I direct the words meaningfully at Sadie. ¡°If I don¡¯t have this conversation, I won¡¯t be able to dance.¡±


    Sulkily, Sadie descends to the pavement, and I pretend to punch a number into my phone. I¡¯m so angry with her, I almost don¡¯t know where to start.


    ¡°How could you just leave me like that?¡± I spit in an undertone. ¡°I was completely lost!¡±


    ¡°No, you weren¡¯t! You did very well. I was watching.¡±


    ¡°You were there?¡±


    ¡°I felt rather bad,¡± says Sadie, looking distantly over my shoulder. ¡°I came back to see if you were all right.¡±


    ¡°Well, thanks a lot,¡± I say sarcastically. ¡°You really helped. And now what¡¯s all this?¡± I gesture at Ed.


    ¡°I want to dance!¡± she says with defiance. ¡°I had to take extreme measures.¡±


    ¡°What have you done to him? He looks shell-shocked!¡±


    ¡°I made some¡­ threats,¡± she says evasively.


    ¡°Threats?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t look at me like that!¡± She suddenly rounds on me. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t need to if you weren¡¯t so selfish. I know your career¡¯s important, but I want to go dancing! Proper dancing! You know I do. That¡¯s why we¡¯re here. It¡¯s supposed to be my evening. But you take over and I don¡¯t get a look in! It¡¯s not fair!¡±


    She sounds almost tearful. And suddenly I feel bad. It was supposed to be her evening, and I did kind of hijack it.


    ¡°OK. You¡¯re right. Come on, let¡¯s go dancing.¡±


    ¡°Wonderful! We¡¯ll have such a good time. This way¡­¡± Her spirits restored, Sadie directs me through some tiny Mayfair streets I¡¯ve never been down before. ¡°Nearly there¡­ Here!¡±


    It¡¯s a tiny place called the Flashlight Dance Club. I¡¯ve never heard of it. Two bouncers are standing outside, looking half asleep, and they let us in, no question.


    We descend a set of dim wooden steps and find ourselves in a large room carpeted in red, with chandeliers, a dance floor, a bar, and two guys in leather trousers sitting morosely at the bar. A DJ on a tiny stage is playing some JLo track. No one¡¯s dancing.


    Is this the best Sadie could find?


    ¡°Listen, Sadie,¡± I mutter as Ed goes up to the neon-lit bar. ¡°There are better clubs than this. If you really want to dance, we should go somewhere a bit more happening-¡±


    ¡°Hello?¡± A voice interrupts me. I turn to see a slim, high-cheeked woman in her fifties, wearing a black top and gauze skirt over leggings. Her faded red hair is up in a knot, her eyeliner is crooked, and she looks anxious. ¡°Are you here for the Charleston lesson?¡±


    Charleston lesson?


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry,¡± the woman continues. ¡°I suddenly remembered we had an arrangement.¡± She stifles a yawn. ¡°Lara, is it? You¡¯re certainly wearing the right clothes!¡±


    ¡°Excuse me.¡± I smile, haul out my phone, and turn to Sadie.


    ¡°What have you done?¡± I mutter. ¡°Who¡¯s this?¡±


    ¡°You need lessons,¡± Sadie says unrepentantly. ¡°This is the teacher. She lives in a little room upstairs. Normally the lessons are during the day.¡±


    I stare at Sadie incredulously. ¡°Did you wake her up?¡±


    ¡°I must have forgotten to put the appointment in my diary,¡± the woman is saying as I turn back. ¡°It¡¯s not like me-thank goodness I remembered! Out of the blue, it came to me that you would be waiting here.¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡± I shoot daggers at Sadie. ¡°Amazing, the powers of the human brain.¡±


    ¡°Here¡¯s your drink.¡± Ed arrives by my side. ¡°Who¡¯s this?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m your dance instructor, Gaynor.¡± She holds out her hand and Ed takes it, looking bewildered. ¡°Have you always been interested in the Charleston?¡±


    ¡°The Charleston?¡± Ed looks mystified.


    I feel a bit hysterical. The truth is, Sadie always gets her way. She wants us to dance the Charleston. We¡¯re going to dance the Charleston. I owe it to her. And it might as well be here and now.


    ¡°So!¡± I smile winningly at Ed. ¡°Ready?¡±


    The thing about the Charleston is, it¡¯s more energetic than you realize. And it¡¯s really complicated. And you have to be really coordinated. After an hour, my arms and legs are aching. It¡¯s relentless. It¡¯s worse than my Legs Bums and Tums class. It¡¯s like running a marathon.


    ¡°And forward and back¡­¡± the dance instructor is chanting. ¡°And swivel those feet¡­¡±