Talk to Me

by Jules Wake

  I’d only got an inch of water into the kettle before she asked, ‘So where are you going with Ned?’

  No ‘How are you feeling? How’s your arm?’ Trust her to go straight for the jugular. I should have answered her immediately to distract her but I left it that fraction too long. My silence told her everything she needed to know.

  ‘Typical. You haven’t fixed anything up yet, have you?’

  ‘Don’t nag. I was going to do it today.’

  By the time the teabags were being dunked, she had my laptop fired up ready to go. If composing an email with Emily was tortuous, it was nothing compared with trying to write one with my sister peering over my shoulder.

  ‘Let me know, how it goes won’t you?’ Kate said as she rose to leave.

  ‘Yes, Bossy. Sure you don’t want to come and supervise the date properly? In fact, why don’t you cancel your flight home altogether …’

  ‘I’d love to,’ she said, suddenly serious. ‘I’m not …’ She stopped and sighed.

  ‘Kate?’

  ‘I’m fine. Fine.’

  ‘You don’t seem it. What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing. Australia’s a long way away. I miss everyone.’

  ‘Yes, but you’ve got loads of friends, and the super surf-stud.’

  She hesitated. ‘It’s just not the same. Even though they speak the same language – they don’t.’

  ‘You’ve lost me.’

  ‘The Clangers – you remember The Clangers?’ Her hand grasped the top of my good arm.

  ‘Little pink knitted fellas and the Soup dragon.’

  ‘Precisely.’ Her glossy hair slithered forward as she nodded. ‘You know exactly what I’m talking about.’

  ‘Yeeees. Because we watched them together.’

  ‘No! People just know, in this country. They’re almost a national institution.’

  ‘You’ve still lost me.’

  ‘Imagine having to explain to someone you don’t know what a Clanger is, when everyone else does.’ Her voice was rising. ‘How stupid do you feel when everyone laughs at you because you don’t know some stupid kids TV show?’ She bit back a sob. ‘It’s like that all the time. TV programmes, famous people, politicians. Even everyday stuff. I get asked to pass the Gladwrap.’ She raised her palms upward in despair.

  ‘Clingfilm. Do you know what they call Sellotape in Australia? Bloody Durex. How am I supposed to know that?’

  There were tears running down Kate’s face.

  ‘Kate,’ I said soothingly, giving her a big hug, feeling panicky. She was my big sister, always in charge. She hardly ever cried.

  ‘I hate it there,’ she snuffled into my shoulder. ‘It’s so far from home. The news is about places I’ve never heard of. I can’t just pick up the phone and call home because the time difference will be all wrong.’

  ‘Kate,’ I said sadly. ‘Why didn’t you say before?’

  ‘What could I say?’ She shook her head. ‘Everyone wants to go to bloody Australia, don’t they? But to me it’s just so alien. No one’s on the same wavelength. I don’t even have girlfriends. All the women think I’m stuck up and posh.’

  So did a lot of people here but it wasn’t a good time to tell her that. There was a lot to be said for British reserve.

  ‘You don’t have to go back,’ I said tentatively. Big mistake.

  Pulling away, she looked at me astonished. ‘Of course I do,’ she snapped.

  ‘No, you don’t,’ I said soothingly.

  ‘I,’ she said with great emphasis, ‘do.’

  Kate would never admit to failure of any type. I’d had no idea that she was so unhappy.

  ‘Forget I said anything.’ The words rattled out of her mouth quickly. ‘I’m just having an off day. I’ve got a bit of an upset tummy at the moment. For God’s sake don’t say anything to Mum. I’m fine really.’

  ‘Kate—’

  ‘Forget it. Just a wobble. I’d better go. Heaps of stuff to do. See you next week.’ She pulled on her coat, her shoulders straightening and her chin going up. I could almost see her physically pulling herself together.

  ‘Let me know how you get on with Ned. I want all the details.’ She waggled her eyebrows, some of her natural perkiness reasserting itself.

  A classic change-the-subject tactic if ever I heard one.

  ‘Think you’ll be all right? When was the last time—?’

  ‘Don’t go there.’ I was not going to discuss that with her. Some things are best kept private.

  ‘Hopefully that’s going to change,’ she lowered her voice with a deliberately naughty grin, her tears forgotten. ‘It is just like riding a bicycle, you don’t—’

  ‘Kate, bugger off,’ I said exasperated, any second she’d start handing me a pile of condoms.

  ‘You know you’re going to miss me,’ she said archly.

  ‘Really?’ I asked dryly.

  Giving me one of her trademark dazzling grins – how did she bounce back so quickly? – she patted me gently on my cheek. ‘Don’t worry you can always text me.’

  Talk about mood swings. Rolling my eyes, I gave her one last hug, watching as her high heels tapped across the pavement to Mum’s car. She settled into the driver’s seat, checking her make-up in the mirror before giving me a cheery wave and roaring off down the street.

  I watched the car disappear. Kate’s outburst was just not like her. I couldn’t help but be worried.

  The final edit of my reply to Ned’s email went like this:

  To: N.Hillard@yahoo.com

  From: ORMiddleton@hotmail.com

  Subject: Second Hand Invisibility Cloaks

  Hi Ned

  While rescuing a child from a burning building I narrowly escaped death when an explosion sent glass flying everywhere. Although a main artery was almost severed, I survived to tell the tale. Sadly my injuries preclude a shoplifting expedition, which is just as well as I’ve heard those second-hand invisibility cloaks aren’t much cop. However a medicinal drink is required. I think copious quantities of wine might help. Know any good watering holes? I’ll be the one wearing the bandage.

  All the best

  Olivia

  … which was how I came to be zigzagging my way through Covent Garden, trying to avoid idle tourists ambling through the midday sunshine. Ned had suggested meeting at a pub he knew.

  The outside of the pub told me everything I needed to know before I even got in the door. My heart sank, even more so when I stepped inside. It was one of those ‘below average places’, grubby with too many spillages on the carpet, where men outnumbered women five to one and the wine came out of a box above the bar. A long way from my imaginary wine bar.

  ‘Thought you were joking about the bandage,’ said Ned, picking my drink up for me but only after he realised I couldn’t manage. Wearing a beige cord jacket and baggy jeans he looked slightly rumpled, as if he hadn’t been up for long.

  ‘Better than a rolled up Times and a pink carnation,’ I said, attempting to be perky. It came out a bit flat. When the painkillers were at full throttle I could forget about my arm. The gaps between paracetamol and ibruprofen weren’t much fun though as the wound was still raw. It preferred inactivity and plenty of rest. Traipsing across London was not part of the prescription.

  ‘What happened? You weren’t really leaping into burning buildings and rescuing children, were you? Don’t tell me you’re …’ he looked furtively around the pub dropping his voice to a whisper, ‘Supergirl?’

  I gave him a dim smile; the best I could manage. ‘No, I’m not.’ I wrinkled my nose. ‘Some kid was practising his shot putting technique. If they make vandalism an Olympic sport, he’ll be on the British team. His brick shattered my window and I got glass in my arm.’

  ‘Nasty,’
said Ned. ‘I thought you said you lived in Earlsfield. Isn’t it civilised round there?’

  ‘Normally, yes.’ I hesitated very slightly.

  Ned picked up on it. He tilted his head to one side. ‘Wild partying upset the neighbours?’

  ‘No, our parties are very staid.’

  ‘Shame, I like a good party. So what happened?’ He raised his eyebrows prompting me to go on.

  ‘I’m not sure. It’s probably just coincidence.’ I took a sip of wine, weighing up whether I should confide in him.

  Ned leaned back comfortably in his chair. ‘You don’t sound convinced.’ He looked searchingly at me over the top of his pint before taking a deep swallow.

  I met his eyes. They were darker than I’d remembered and the brow of his hair slightly further back. Hopefully he would laugh laddishly at my silly fears and tell me I was being a girl.

  ‘Remember the speed-date? Sorry, ’course you do.’

  He grinned. ‘I’ve drunk out on it quite a few nights. Most of my mates fancy being invisible. You should hear some of the conversations we’ve had …’ he trailed off, smirking. ‘Then again. Possibly not.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ I said dryly. ‘Do you remember any of the other guys at the speed-date?’

  ‘Not really, I was looking at you lot.’

  I raised an eyebrow and he grinned unrepentantly.

  ‘The ladies.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘I did notice there were quite a few prats in suits. Arsington-Smythe types.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know. Smug gits who like to chuck their money about but do bugger all to earn it.’

  Barney’s City friends weren’t my cup of tea but Ned’s chippy attitude made me cringe.

  ‘This guy wasn’t in a suit. He was ordinary. Small, dark, a little bit like Tom Cruise, although without the glow-in-the-dark teeth.’

  ‘Really? He looked like that and he was on a speed-date?’

  ‘I said a little – we’re talking fractions.’ I held up a thumb and finger. ‘He took a shine to my friend Emily. Emailed her a couple of times but she wasn’t interested.’

  ‘I thought the deal was that you only got paired up if you both ticked boxes.’

  Not if you’re related to Barney, I thought, taking great interest in a chip on the base of my glass.

  ‘Administrative error,’ I said tightly. ‘Emily kept getting emails from this guy. Then he turned nasty.’ I explained about the day of the screen saver and the coincidental timing of the brick through my window.

  ‘Sorry.’ Ned frowned and shook his head. ‘I don’t buy that coincidence stuff. It doesn’t sound right to me. Let’s face it. He’s a nutter.’

  ‘Nooo,’ I said, pulling a face. This wasn’t the response I wanted. He was supposed to be on the side of reason and scepticism. Allay my fears, not make them worse. I stared at him, the wine in my stomach rolling uncomfortably.

  ‘Yeah! No matter how pissed off you are – a normal bloke does not blag his way into an office. Let alone start leaving messages on computers. That’s psycho territory. You need to tell someone.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ I asked in a small voice.

  ‘See that,’ he pointed to the bandages on my arm. ‘Don’t take any more chances. I’d punch the bastard just for the screen saver. If he chucked that brick, you want to make frigging sure he’s not going to do anything else.’

  ‘But what if wasn’t him?’

  He gave an exasperated tut and rolled his eyes. ‘And what if it was him? He knows where you live.’

  Fear iced down my spine, the hairs on my arm rising. Ned’s cold, clear male logic made my stomach contract.

  ‘Do you think I should go to the police?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes. You want another drink?’

  Obviously we’d covered that topic, it was time to move on.

  Halfway into my second glass of wine I asked him what had made him go on a speed-date.

  He looked sheepish. ‘It was sort of … a challenge. We were down the Nag’s Head. Me and my mates, Graham and Midge.’

  I got the impression he spent a lot of time there.

  ‘We were moaning that none of us had had a sh … girlfriend for ages. My mate, Gram, decided we needed to do something about it. We each had to choose a different method.’

  ‘Choose?’

  He smiled weakly. ‘We wrote on beer mats different ways of finding a bird – I mean girlfriend – then had to pick one out of the hat. Gram got online-dating. I got speed-dating and Midge had to go to a bar to try to pull someone.’

  ‘Right – and who’s winning?’ I asked, and immediately wished I hadn’t. ‘Sorry, that’s a bit of a leading question, ignore that.’

  He looked at me and shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’m the only one who’s managed to get a date so far. Why d’you go? You seem well … quite good-looking …’ He blushed toying with his empty pint glass, ‘and pretty normal.’

  ‘What and you’re not normal?’ I asked laughing, trying to keep things light, pleased at the ‘good-looking’ bit. He was still fiddling with the empty glass so I asked, ‘Would you like another drink?’

  He looked at his watch and almost squirmed in his seat. ‘Erm, wouldn’t mind but not here. Thing is. There’s a match on. Big one. Starts soon and the screen here’s broken. Do you fancy going somewhere else?’

  I paused for a second, football was not my thing.

  ‘To be honest, I might head off. My arm’s not feeling too good; I’m between painkillers at the moment.’

  His jacket was on before I drained my glass. I caught him checking his watch again.

  ‘Big match is it?’

  He rubbed at a bald patch on his cords, a faint flush colouring his cheeks.

  ‘Tottenham v Arsenal – local derby and grudge match. We hate the Spurs.’ He might as well have been talking Swahili. I had no idea what he was on about. I good-naturedly rolled my eyes at him as he surreptitiously tried and failed to look at the time again.

  ‘Sorry.’ He grinned mischievously and led the way to the door, oblivious to my struggles to get my jacket on.

  ‘Well, it was nice seeing you,’ he said, as we stood outside the pub, me still trying to wriggle my arm into place. His foot was tapping.

  ‘And you,’ I responded politely, as he did another quick time check. I gave an Oscar winning ‘boys-will-be-boys’ laugh. ‘You’d better go. You don’t want to miss kick-off.’

  ‘I’ll be in touch.’ He half-raised his hand, put it down, raised it again, thought better and lunged in quickly. I felt a brush of stubble on my cheek and then he was gone with the words, ‘I’ll email … Maybe we could go for a drink on Friday … See you,’ floating over his shoulder as he scurried off.

  Friday, I thought ruefully was probably Nag’s Head night with Gram and Midge.

  Chapter Nine

  ‘Do these belong to you?’ rasped a voice from behind a pair of bright blue, daisy-festooned wellies.

  They were mine and were being held up by the big, big boss, David. The MD. Surely I hadn’t been summoned to his office on the top floor to discuss my taste in footwear?

  ‘Yes,’ I answered guardedly. What was he doing with them? They normally lived in the back of the company pool car. I’d bought them several months ago because there’s nothing worse than getting to a muddy construction site and having to borrow warm, sweaty boots.

  David smiled his crooked gangster smile, his bright blue eyes piercing. As usual he was perfectly attired in a charcoal-grey suit with a tiny pinstripe running through the beautifully cut fabric. It was worth every penny, hiding his barrel-chested, dumpy shape to perfection.

  ‘No wonder those bastards at Collingwood Construction love you so much. A dolly bird turning up in girly wellies must brighten the lads’ day up
no end.’ He guffawed with laughter. ‘They’re gonna have to do without you for a coupla weeks though. That lazy sod Max will have to get off his arse for a change.’

  He shot me a shrewd look. ‘Didn’t think I’d noticed who did all the work on that account, did you?’

  Poor Max, my immediate boss, a brilliant thinker but rubbish doer.

  I didn’t answer, not that David expected me to.

  Why had I been summoned? David wasn’t great on welfare; he didn’t do touchy feely stuff, so it was nothing to do with the bandage on my arm. I would bet my entire annual salary that dealings with HR brought him out in hives.

  It was only when a very red-eyed Fiona knocked at the door of David’s palatial office that all became clear. She was head of the beauty team and Emily’s boss. As always she was dressed in a tight-fitting designer suit, the skirt skimming her knee to make the most of her ten-denier clad legs. Only her puffy lids spoilt the look.

  ‘You’re taking over Fiona’s team. She’s got a domestic crisis.’ In David speak this had to be a death in the family at the very least.

  Without thinking I blurted out, ‘The beauty side! I don’t know anything about beauty stuff.’

  ‘What’s to know?’ dismissed David blithely, receiving a weary glare from Fiona. The poor girl looked completely done in.

  ‘Bright girl like you can manage that bunch of airheads. As of now you’re hanging up your wellies for a couple of weeks. You’re acting Account Director. Fiona’ll brief you. And if you wondering about your flower power boots, I’ve had to pinch the pool car – you won’t need it for a while. Some arsehole ran into the Porsche.’

  With that he tossed the boots at my feet leaving me with Fiona.

  ‘Arrogant so and so,’ she said with feeling. ‘Unfortunately he’s right. I can’t trust them to get on with anything. Luckily, there’s nothing major on. Apart from the Luscious Lips launch.’

  She sat down heavily in David’s chair, smoothing the tight skirt down her thighs. ‘I realise Emily’s your friend, but unfortunately you’re going to have to find a way to manage her.’ Fiona shook her head, her lips curling. ‘Her attention to detail is truly appalling. We’re launching this season’s new colours …’