‘Thank goodness for the internet,’ Grant said. ‘Useful not only for nailing down the cheapest prices for Viagra and Russian brides, but also for finding out all you need to know about fairies.’
Grant pushed Lard out of the way and started tapping away at his computer. Feeling beads of sweat gathering on his forehead, he could only hope that he was right.
Lard sat down next to him. ‘I feel an excess of calories coming on.’
Chapter Fifty-Nine
I decide to do something mad. Really mad. Leo-type mad. I want my man back and I’m going to shock him into noticing me again. He’ll soon tire of that fluffy, fragile little woman he’s with – she isn’t robust enough to stand the rigours of Leo – but I’m not sure I can wait long enough for nature to take its course. I have to do something desperate.
I look at the huge cardboard box in my lounge. This certainly could be classed as desperate. One of the life-size wire-mesh figures was delivered in it to the gallery, so there’s no doubt that it’s fit for my purpose. As soon as my masterplan popped into my mind, I’d jumped out of bed, sprinted down to the gallery and struggled back with the box through the narrow cobbled streets of Shad Thames, just as the rest of London was emerging from sleep. I also left a note for Caron saying that I’d be late for work – although, with a bit of luck, I won’t be turning up at all today. Explanations can come later.
Now to put phase two into action. Picking up the phone, I make a provisional booking with the specialist delivery company we regularly use at the gallery. They aren’t too shocked by my request – perhaps they’ve seen it all before in the art world – and give me a price that won’t break the bank. And they’re used to handling fragile packages, which is a bonus. When that’s done, I punch in Leo’s work number. ‘Can I speak to Grant Fielding, please?’
After a moment Grant comes on the line.
‘It’s Emma,’ I say.
‘Oh.’ There’s a slight pause. ‘How are you?’
‘Terrible,’ I tell him. ‘And you?’
‘Fine. Fine.’ His voice sounds strained.
‘Look, Grant,’ I say, ‘can you do me a favour?’
‘Anything.’
‘Can you tell me if Leo is in work today?’
Another pause. ‘Not yet.’
‘Is he sick?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Is he at home?’
‘Er . . . yes.’
I sigh. ‘This is like pulling teeth, Grant. I need to know if he’s likely to be alone.’ I can’t imagine that he would have let that woman move in with him. Whatever else Leo is, he’s resolutely a bachelor. We’ve been together for five years and yet he’s managed to avoid any kind of formal commitment at all costs. His new woman is, hopefully, at work – whatever that might entail. ‘Is he alone?’
‘Er . . . yes,’ Grant says.
I sag with relief. That will make life so much easier.
‘Thanks, Grant. I owe you one,’ I say, realising that I probably owe him several.
Hanging up, I eye my cardboard box again, taking a deep breath. This is a bold scheme. I’m going to get myself delivered to Leo. My plan is to spring out of the cardboard box and give him the surprise of his life. I smile at my own ingenuity. I’ll make him realise what he’s been missing! If I was going to be delivered to his office, I would have needed to remain suitably attired. As I’m going directly to his home I can opt for something considerably more risqué.
I pad through to my bedroom. More risqué involves the red silky thong that Leo bought me as a joke last Valentine’s Day. It’s emblazoned with the legend MISS FUNNY FANNY in white embroidery and giggles when you pressed a padded button in a strategic place. Perhaps Leo is right, I have lost my sense of fun. For some reason I didn’t find it remotely amusing when he presented it to me. Perhaps it was because Jo had received a gold bracelet from her current squeeze and Caron had been bombarded with bouquets of red roses from several unidentified admirers.
Now I can see that it has its uses. Slipping off my clothes, I step into the red thong. It certainly isn’t in keeping with my usual underwear style. You can tell the length of a relationship by the lingerie choices, I think. Comfy pants have generally replaced anything sexy or lacy – except on high days and holidays and birthdays, of course. Delving into the drawer once more, I find a big red ribbon that had been round the Easter egg that Leo bought me and I know now that I’ve been wise to save it for a special occasion. It’s just long enough to wind round my ample breasts and tie in a bow at the front.
Risking a glance in the mirror, I gasp out loud. ‘Oh my word.’ I close my eyes in shock. I look like something that’s wandered out of a Spearmint Rhino establishment. Leo will love it. And although it seems a very good theory, in practice I’m not quite sure that I’m up to this at all. I don’t think I’m a natural temptress. Hasn’t one of the main reasons for loving Leo been that he hasn’t expected very much from me in that department? Well, that’s about to change. I’m going to show him that I can be fun. FUN. FUN. FUN.
Back in the lounge, I call the delivery company to confirm my booking. They agree to pick me up in twenty minutes. Literally.
I try out the cardboard box for size. Perfect fit. Even though I have to curl up in a ball at the bottom to squeeze in. It does, however, feel a bit flimsy. Wire-mesh sculptures, it seems, weigh considerably less than a thirty-year-old flesh and blood woman. What to do? There’s no way I want the humiliation of falling out of the bottom of the box when they pick it up. I ease myself out of the box and go into the kitchen. The seams clearly needed reinforcement and I might have some parcel tape lurking in one of the kitchen drawers.
I pull the blind in case any of my neighbours are at home during the day and wonder what I’m doing in nothing more than sleazy underwear and a gift bow at my kitchen sink. Rummaging through the drawers, I fail in my quest to find parcel tape. I do, however, find a brand new tube of Superglue. That will do the job just as well. Doesn’t it stick anything to anything?
I scuttle back to the lounge, superglue in hand. Time is running out – the delivery company will be here at any moment. One of the reasons why we keep using them is that they’re ultra-punctual – something very rarely found these days, in humans or delivery companies. Snapping the top from the glue as instructed, I smear it along the bottom seam of the box, then along all the side seams, pressing the cardboard together. It oozes out of the seams, but I know better than to try to wipe it off. This stuff is lethal. Standing back, I admire my handiwork. That surely will hold my weight a bit better.
Quickly, I scribble on the top of my box: ‘To Leo, with love.’ And, just as I’ve finished, my doorbell rings. The delivery company has arrived.
This is going to be the embarrassing bit. There’s no way that I can avoid the delivery men seeing me like this. The box is too small for me to be able to put on some other clothes and then shrug out of them before I reveal myself – in more ways than one. I just hope it isn’t Tom and Eric, the usual guys who collect items from the gallery – the young, fit ones – otherwise I’ll never be able to face them again.
The doorbell rings again and I sidle towards it, covering as much of myself as possible with my arms. I hide behind the door as I open it. ‘Hi.’ A gulp travels down my throat. ‘Tom. Eric.’
Their eyes are out on stalks.
‘I need you both to close your eyes while I go and get in the box.’
They both nod, amazement having robbed them of speech.
I run to the cardboard box, not daring to look back to see if Tom and Eric have kept their side of the bargain, and jumping in, I settle myself down in the bottom, curled up in a neat ball. ‘Okay,’ I shout at the delivery guys.
A moment later, Tom and Eric peer over the top of the box. Their eyes shoot out further and I hear Tom clear his throat. ‘Are you sure this is what you want?’
‘Yes,’ I insist. There’ll be no bottling out now. ‘It’s a surprise for my boyfriend.’
‘Well, I hope he’s worth it,’ Eric comments.
‘I think so,’ I say.
‘Shall we carry you downstairs like this?’ Tom asks. ‘Then tape the top shut when we arrive at our destination?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘It’s not far. Ten minutes max, if the traffic behaves. Better to tape the lid up now. If Leo’s looking out of the window, he might see you and wonder what’s going on. I want you to drop me off, ring the bell and then zoom off quickly. I must be on his doorstep in my box before he knows what’s happened. Surprise is the important element.’
Tom and Eric both look unconvinced. Eric sounds nervous. ‘You won’t sue us for this?’
‘Of course not,’ I snap. ‘What could possibly go wrong?’
Another look passes between the guys. ‘Can’t say we’ve ever done this before.’
‘It will be a breeze,’ I reassure them.
Hesitantly, Tom pulls a roll of parcel tape from his back pocket. They both wave at me and I’m sure I can see a tear in Eric’s eye. ‘Bye,’ they both say. ‘Good luck.’
Tom closes the lid and suddenly everything goes very black. I’ve never experienced claustrophobia and it’s something I’m now rather glad of. I hear the rasping noise as Tom tapes the top shut. Then it all goes quiet.
I can hear my own heart beat. Thank goodness I won’t be in here for very long. Already I’m struggling to move. My knees are wedged under my chin and my feet are braced against the side of the box. The top presses down on my head.
Then there’s a violent jolt as I feel Tom and Eric hoist me up.
‘Careful,’ Eric says, puffing heavily.
They stagger towards the door with me. This is a good idea, I tell myself. Really it is.
‘Do you think we should have cut some air-holes in it?’ I hear Tom lower his voice to a whisper. ‘How long do you think she’s got before she runs out of oxygen?’
It’s only then that I start to worry.
Chapter Sixty
Leo was cradling Isobel and mopping her brow with a cold flannel. He didn’t know whether she was too hot or too cold – it seemed to change by the minute. But he did know that, whatever was wrong with her, it was much more serious than a touch of the company hangover. What was that old wives’ tale? Feed a cold and starve a fever? Where could you find an old wife when you needed one? Perhaps he should be making Isobel something to eat, even though she didn’t look strong enough. Chicken soup – wasn’t that what was called for?
Bits of Isobel were almost transparent and Leo didn’t think that was a good thing. She looked so weak he could weep. Then the doorbell rang, which made him jump out of his skin, and he wondered who the hell it was.
As Leo kissed Isobel, promising her that he’d be back in a minute, it rang again – someone out there was rather impatient – and so he plodded out of the bedroom to see what all the fuss was about.
When he opened the door, Grant and Lard were standing there. Lard was carrying a large holdall. Leo hoped he wasn’t planning to move in with him. Grant and Leo eyed each other sheepishly.
‘Stonehenge,’ Grant said crisply.
‘The same to you,’ he replied.
‘We’ve got to get there,’ he told Leo. ‘Fast.’
‘And how exactly have you arrived at this conclusion?’
Grant held up a sheaf of papers. ‘Internet. We Googled fairy legends.’
‘Stonehenge is the gateway to the fairy underworld,’ Lard explained as if it was an everyday thing; as if he was telling Leo which bus to catch to Marble Arch. ‘The Land of Light.’
‘And that’s where Isobel is from?’
‘It looks like it,’ Grant confirmed.
Leo shrugged because he didn’t know what else to do. ‘Stonehenge it is.’
They shuffled into the flat and Leo caught Grant’s eye. ‘You’re a mate,’ he said. Relief flooded Grant’s features and Leo clasped his friend to him. ‘You’re a real mate.’
Grant nodded his acknowledgement. ‘We’d better get moving.’
‘I’ll go and get Isobel.’ Leo’s eyes filled with unshed tears. ‘I’ll tell her that the cavalry is here.’
‘I hope we’re right about this,’ Lard leaned in towards Grant and whispered confidentially. He chewed his lip anxiously.
‘So do I,’ Grant admitted, with a tense exhalation of breath. ‘We’re doing our best for Leo. We can’t do any more than that. I just hope it’s enough.’
‘If Isobel has to go back to her home, does that mean that Emma will get back with Leo?’
‘I haven’t a clue,’ Grant said. ‘And I don’t even want to think about that now. Or any other implications of the stuff we’re planning to do.’
Lard flashed a commiserating look at him.
‘This is all getting far too complicated for me. We used to have such a quiet life. You, me, Leo, lots of chocolate, some curry, the odd beer. When did it all start to go pear-shaped?’
‘Why did you tell Emma that Leo was going to be here alone?’
‘I don’t know.’ Grant rubbed his hand over his face. He felt like he’d been up all night. Which partly he had – chatting, very amiably, with Emma’s friend Caron. She was a lovely girl and he hoped that he’d see her again. Very soon. He did, however, wish that all of his cylinders were firing. It wasn’t a good day to be feeling below par. ‘I wasn’t really thinking straight. I just didn’t want to give too much away about Leo’s circumstances. How could I tell her that Isobel was ill? I don’t know what she might have done. As it was, I had a horrible feeling that she might be here when we arrived. It looks as if I was stressing unnecessarily.’ Which seemed to be happening a lot at the moment.
Leo appeared carrying Isobel in his arms. She was wrapped in a blanket and looked pale and clammy and, frankly, not long for this world. ‘We’re ready,’ he said.
‘So are we,’ Grant and Lard confirmed.
Leo carried Isobel out of the flat and down to his car, Ethel. Grant and Lard jumped in the back and he laid Isobel down on the front seat. Then he sprinted round to the driver’s seat and slid in.
‘Jeepers, Leo.’ Grant held his nose. ‘What the hell have you been eating in here? It smells like a Greek brothel.’
There was the vague odour of stale lamb. ‘Kebab,’ Leo said, rescuing the crumpled package from underneath his bottom. Though he had no idea when. He couldn’t remember leaving it in there, but he was sure that he must have.
‘You are such a waste of space,’ Grant tutted. And Leo knew that they were back to normal. They were brothers once more.
He wasn’t usually a litter lout, but needs must – and he tossed the greasy paper out on to the street, promising to clear it up later if it was still languishing on the pavement when he returned. Leo suddenly gave an involuntary shudder as he wondered when that might be.
‘Ready?’ he asked everyone. The boys, squashed together in the back, nodded their assent. Lard was chain-eating chocolate already. Isobel moaned softly. Leo squeezed her hand. ‘Not long, darling. Hang on.’
Buckling up, he started the car and, with an anxious glance at Isobel, he set off down the street. Leo attempted the style of top racing driver, Ralf Schumacher and instead got demented kangaroo. ‘Come on, Ethel,’ he urged, patting the steering wheel. ‘Do your worst!’
Chapter Sixty-One
Cobblestones feel very bumpy when you’re banged up in a cardboard box. My bottom is numb already and I’ve lost all feeling from my legs before we’ve hit the end of my street. I’m beginning to regret my rashness.
Tom and Eric career round a corner and my cardboard box slithers to one end of the van. It’s like being on the worst possible theme-park ride that you can imagine.
Then suddenly the van comes to an abrupt halt. It’s either yet another set of traffic lights or we’ve arrived at Leo’s flat. I sincerely hope that it’s the latter. It couldn’t come a moment too soon. My courage is leaving me with the speed of rats diving off a sinking ship. I hear Tom and Eri
c fling open the van doors and my sigh of relief is rapidly replaced by a surge of panic. Leo will find this funny – surely he will. This is the sort of thing he does all the time. It isn’t, however, the sort of thing I do. Ever.
‘You all right in there?’ Tom’s voice whispers close to my ear, slightly muffled by the cardboard.
‘I’m fine,’ I mumble back. Which is just as well, because no sooner do I speak than I’m hoisted into the air again. I can feel Tom and Eric struggling up the half a dozen steps to the main door of Leo’s flat.
‘This will do,’ Tom pants. And I’m unceremoniously dumped on the ground.
‘Oouff,’ I say, and then am gripped by a fit of the giggles as I wonder what it must sound like from outside my box.
‘We’ll be going now,’ Tom says, down by my ear.
‘Right.’ I hear the doorbell ring, much scuttling of feet, the slam of a Transit van door and then the screech of wheels as it roars away.
Then there’s a silence, the like of which I never thought possible to encounter in London. I sit there waiting – excitement and terror mounting in equal measures. What if Leo takes this the wrong way? Then again, how many ways are there to take a woman – an ex-girlfriend – jumping out of a cardboard box on your doorstep dressed only in her underwear and a gift bow?
He should be coming down the stairs by now. I count the steps. Then count them again. Perhaps I’ve caught him while he’s in the loo. I allow for a little time lapse – flush toilet, wash hands, dry hands. Then I count the steps again. Still no Leo. I check my watch, which thankfully, I thought to keep on. Five minutes have passed already. Perhaps he’s nipped out to the newsagents at the end of the street to buy a newspaper or some chocolate or something. Or there’s probably a beer shortage – that’s the usual thing that lures Leo into the great outdoors. Whatever it is, I just wish he’d hurry up. Thankfully the weather is reasonably warm so I’m not likely to freeze to death, sitting here in my skimpies – cardboard is surprisingly cosy – but I’m getting mightily uncomfortable.
It’s a Kind of Magic Page 24
