‘I see …’ she heard Humphrey say as she tuned back in to their chat. ‘So you’ve only recently transferred to work with Abraham and … what’s his name, the limp-wristed Australian?’
Cold fury pooled in the pit of her stomach.
‘The only Australian in the office is Greg O’Connor,’ Rachel said, her voice clear and cool. ‘He’s our overall head of client services and a very close colleague of mine. A good friend, in fact.’
Humphrey stared at her for a moment, then turned back to Jack as though she hadn’t said anything worth responding to. Rachel was too incensed to focus on what they were discussing.
Then Humphrey rang a bell. An actual bell. Mrs Davidson rematerialised with Jack and Rachel’s coats and stood by, ready to show them out.
Humphrey seized Jack’s hand for another hearty shake, then took Rachel’s clenched fist to his lips and kissed the back of it with wet lips. Her toes curled inside her boots. She was certain he’d done it just to make her uncomfortable.
It wasn’t until she and Jack were safely sealed inside the MG, emerging from Humphrey’s private road onto a winding country lane, that Rachel let herself sigh. In a single, angry exhale, she released a deep breath that she felt she’d been holding for hours.
Jack looked sideways at her, an impish, impatient smile playing on his lips.
‘So that was Sir Humphrey Caldwell,’ Rachel said, shaking her head. ‘What a truly repellent human being.’
‘Honestly, Jack,’ Rachel said after he’d stopped laughing. ‘I don’t know whether to be impressed or revolted by you right now.’
‘Ouch!’ he replied. ‘Revolted seems a bit harsh.’
‘How can you make nice with a person so totally, irredeemably loathsome?’ Rachel groaned. ‘He’s every bit as awful as Isaac – sorry, Abraham – said he’d be. Sexist, leering, puffed up … Clearly troubled by the fact that Isaac’s Jewish – hence the name confusion, which I’m not at all convinced is an accident, by the way. And then there’s the blatant homophobia … So grim. He needs to be voted off the island.’
‘Have you finished?’
Jack grinned at her indulgently and rolled his eyes. Rachel wanted to hit him.
‘This is agency life, Rachel,’ he said, spreading a placatory palm as he indicated to turn a corner. ‘Isaac said it himself when he gave us this account. Plenty of clients are vile in their own ways, but – so long as they pay us and don’t actually assault anyone – they pretty much get away with it.’
‘Well, Humphrey is the worst,’ Rachel said. ‘I’ve never been in a professional situation so awkward and unpleasant. I wanted to chuck something at him.’
‘I’m glad you didn’t. I’m not sure even I could have saved things if you’d drawn blood,’ Jack said.
Urgh. Even when he was sending himself up, his complacency infuriated her. Rachel stared pointedly out of the passenger window.
‘What did you want me to do?’ Jack asked, his voice mild and his eyes full of mischief. ‘Should I have challenged him to a duel for ogling your bosom? Given him a lecture on gay rights?’
Rachel felt her whole face ignite at the word bosom. ‘Do NOT laugh at me,’ she said through gritted teeth.
‘I’m not laughing,’ he said, but his smile was irrepressible. ‘This is the game, Rach. This is just how it’s played.’
‘Firstly, do not call me Rach,’ she instructed. ‘Consider this your daily reminder that we are not friends. Secondly, I don’t need you to tell me how “the game” is played – I’ve worked for this agency for four years. And thirdly, why is everything a game with you? Do you never take anything seriously?’
Jack sighed, a little agitated now. ‘Fine. Rachel. But don’t you think you’re being a bit naive? It’s my job to “make nice” with clients, whether I like them or not – it’s literally what I get paid for. In this case, I was uniquely qualified to get Humphrey on side; I used his rampant snobbery to our advantage. Is that serious enough for you?’
Rachel scoffed. ‘Used it to your advantage, perhaps. And you’re a patronising arse, by the way.’
Jack threw her a withering look. ‘Don’t be obtuse – you’re smart, it doesn’t suit you. We might not be friends, but from Monday to Friday you and I are a team. I thought we’d established that, despite your misgivings. As far as work’s concerned, what benefits me benefits you – and that includes sucking up to foul clients whose politics you hate. Also, it’s worth noting that neither Greg nor Isaac have felt the need to physically injure Sir Humphrey, but in fact are actively pursuing his business. Ergo, it’s our job to win it.’
Rachel scowled at him. Ergo, for fuck’s sake. Bollocks to Jack, to Harrow and to Latin.
‘The truth is, you enjoy it,’ she said savagely. ‘All of it – the chasing, the endless flattery … The reeling people in.’
Rachel had gone too far, she knew; this wasn’t about work any more. She’d wanted to embarrass him into shutting up. She rapidly realised she’d miscalculated. Jack pushed his jaw out a little, narrowed his eyes at her, let his mouth quirk in amusement. He was eager for the fight.
‘I may not be quite the cad I used to be, but I’m still me,’ he replied, defiant. His lips curled completely into the smile they’d been promising, and Rachel hated how much she didn’t hate it. ‘I do this job because I’m good at it,’ he added. ‘You know as well as anyone that I’m built for persuading people. Coaxing, inveigling … Seducing.’
The colour in Rachel’s cheeks flared again. Fuck. He was doing this on purpose.
There was something arch and challenging in his tone too – almost as if he was daring her to disagree with him. Was he trying to tease her into saying she was impervious, too smart to be sucked in by him a second time?
She needed to get out of this car. How could they still be over an hour away from London?
‘You know, I’m more like my father than I ever intended to be,’ Jack went on, filling the silence that stretched between them. He sounded bitter now. ‘He’s always been brilliant at establishing relationships, useless at the middle bits and spectacularly bad at endings. Again, I guess you’re well qualified to agree that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.’
Rachel’s stomach squirmed.
They lapsed into silence as they drove down the M40. Rachel checked her work emails and, at Jack’s request, composed a message to Isaac to let him know that the meeting with Humphrey had gone well. The atmosphere in the car was weird; charged. Jack’s grip on the steering wheel was too tight, and the set of his shoulders looked rigid.
As they neared Stroud Green, he cleared his throat and turned to her, eyes intense. ‘Listen … I’m sorry I said you were naive before. You’re not – you’re just a nicer person than I am.’ He smiled a less smug smile than she was used to. ‘You always were.’
Rachel felt a sudden tension in her chest and looked down at her hands, twisting them in her lap. ‘Er – thanks?’ she said.
‘Was that your boyfriend this morning? The really tall guy with the beard?’
It took a second for her to realise Jack’s misconception. ‘What? No! That’s Will. He’s Anna’s boyfriend.’
‘Right.’
Why was he asking? What was it to him? He was married, for God’s sake – and it was none of his business. Rachel refrained from saying any of this, and deliberately didn’t explain that she was single.
They turned a corner, then crawled up Rachel and Anna’s street until Jack found a space to pull the car into. It was only around 4 p.m., but the sun had disappeared and the sky was a dull, deep grey.
‘Goodnight, then,’ Jack said, and looked at her with an intensity that made her insides ache.
The thing that had been missing between Rachel and Laurence was suddenly abundant inside this small, dark space.
Rachel allowed this knowledge to shimmer briefly in her peripheral vision, like a migraine aura. Then she heaved it out of the way, making space for salient facts about the situation: Jack
had a wife. Rachel didn’t trust him. In many ways, she didn’t even like him that much.
‘See you Monday,’ she mumbled without looking at him. She pulled the handle to release the passenger door and clambered out of the MG with as much dignity as its stupid low seats allowed.
Rachel usually enjoyed being right about things, but as she leaned against the front door and tried to compose herself she found no comfort in having known this simple truth all along: getting into a car with Jack had been a very big mistake.
13
It was unusual for Rachel to arrive home from work before Anna, but she was grateful for the silence and emptiness of the flat when she finally made her way inside.
Feeling chilled from the freezing car journey back to London, as well as uncomfortable in her dress and heels, she decided to take a hot shower. She let her hair get soaked, scrubbed her face with some expensive-looking stuff of Anna’s and lathered her body with lemon-scented foam. As the bathroom steamed up around her, Rachel was dimly conscious of trying to wash away all traces of her encounter with Sir Humphrey, as well as cleanse her mind of the several impure thoughts she’d had about Jack in the past few minutes.
Out of the spray, Rachel dried herself more vigorously than was really necessary, brushed her teeth and pulled her towel-dried hair up into a knot on top of her head. In her room, she slicked moisturiser onto her face and put on an old pair of jeans, a vest top and a snuggly blue sweater.
By the time Anna got back, Rachel had settled in front of an episode of Queer Eye with a massive mug of tea. Anna dropped her work satchel and a bag for life full of exercise books on the floor as she shrugged out of her coat and scarf, then snatched her leopard-print beret off her head. It was the sort of hat Rachel always admired in shops but told herself she could never pull off in day-to-day life. On top of her red hair it would be too ‘LOOK AT ME’ – implying a confidence in her appearance that Rachel really didn’t feel. On Anna, it somehow looked both cute and fierce, the boldness of it undercut by her petite prettiness.
‘Well? How did it go today?’ Anna asked.
Rachel scrunched up her shoulders and made a face that spoke of suffering.
‘That good, huh? Will messaged me and said something about a sports car …?’ Anna flopped down at the other end of the sofa and raised her eyebrows at Rachel.
‘Yeah,’ Rachel sighed. ‘I don’t know why I was surprised, to be honest. It’s even a red sports car – it’s like he’s trying to embody the rich-playboy stereotype.’
Anna laughed. ‘Have you been back long?’ She gestured at Rachel’s comfy clothes and fluffy polka-dot slipper socks.
‘Long enough to try and shower the cold out of my bones,’ Rachel explained. ‘It turns out vintage vehicles have really rubbish heaters.’
‘Right,’ Anna said, then closed her eyes in slow motion as her jaw went slack with shock. ‘Oh my God. You’ve not done anything stupid, have you? Anything you might regret? Anything you might ordinarily, er … shower after?’
It took Rachel a few seconds to fully fathom Anna’s meaning. ‘Oh my God, no. Are you mad? What on earth would make you think that?!’
Anna stared at her, apparently still suspicious.
‘You can’t seriously think I’m so pathetic that within a couple of weeks of him reappearing I’d end up sleeping with him!’ Rachel cried.
‘You’re blushing,’ Anna pointed out. ‘Your whole head’s gone pink. Even your neck has gone pink. Which means you’ve at least thought about it at some point today.’
Rachel groaned and buried her face in a squashy, flax-coloured scatter cushion.
‘I don’t know what you want from me, Anna,’ she said when she re-emerged. ‘I hate him for what he did, but I can still see. He’s really screwed me over by a) turning up again, and b) not becoming a total minger since we left uni.’
Anna rolled her eyes. ‘Minging is as minging does, in my book.’
Rachel had slumped in her seat and was staring up at the ceiling, avoiding Anna’s gaze. After a pause she sighed, twisted her body so she was facing her friend and said, ‘You’re right. As usual. But just so you know, I have reason to believe Jack’s married – so no matter where my mind might wander during weak moments, nothing is going to happen.’
Anna snorted. ‘If your only reason for not jumping him is that it would involve one of you being unfaithful, I am not in any way reassured.’
Rachel hid behind her cushion again, annoyed that the deployment of information she’d deliberately held back hadn’t had the impact she’d expected. Anna placed her hands on top of the pillow, then gently pushed it out of the way.
‘Rach,’ she said, her blue eyes wide with worry and her voice devoid of sarcasm. ‘I’m not winding you up just for the fun of it, you know. I don’t want to see you get hurt. I know Jack has this … thing. This ability to get under your skin where other men haven’t. I only wish I understood it.’
Rachel half-smiled and shook her head. ‘I don’t think that’s it,’ she said, her voice low, as if she was confessing. ‘I’ve been thinking a bit about what happened lately, for obvious reasons. It’s like … I was young when I met him, but felt old. I was careful and responsible all the time, and I think I’d got tired of it without even noticing. And suddenly I was away from home, where the only feelings at stake were my own. Jack was exciting … When he wanted something – or someone – he just went for it. I wondered what it would be like to be that way. He kept trying to get close to me, and eventually I let him because I wanted to – because he was gorgeous, because it felt so good to be out of control for a change. The whole thing was a rush – just one with a hideously painful comedown. But I learned my lesson.’
‘So you’re telling me Jack doesn’t have superpowers?’
‘Nope. He’s just really, really good-looking. And I was a walking cliché: the archetypal good girl who found him irresistible. On some level, I suppose I still do.’
‘Hmm,’ Anna said, frowning. ‘When you say you learned your lesson … I wonder: do you ever think you might have taken it a bit far? I’ve never known you to get so swept up in anyone else, since Jack. Do you think there’s a chance you avoid “the rush” nowadays? On purpose?’
‘What?’
‘Well, think about it. Laurence might recently have revealed himself as a total tosser, but he was hardly mad, bad and dangerous to know, was he? I can’t imagine he made your knees quiver with chat about how to calculate investment risk. In fact, when was the last time you went out with anyone who didn’t like you more than you liked them? When was the last time you really fell for someone?’
Anna’s face was bright, lit from within – electrified by the power of what she clearly considered a lightbulb moment.
‘Okay, stop,’ Rachel moaned. ‘You sound like one of those cod psychologists off daytime TV. It’s a very neat theory, but the idea that I’m going out of my way to date dullards is ludicrous.’
Anna crossed her arms. ‘I didn’t say dullards, and I didn’t say you were doing it consciously.’
‘I’m not doing it at all. Now please can we talk about something else? Literally anything else? Lately I feel like my entire life would fail the Bechdel test. Every conversation I have ends up being about men.’
On some level Rachel meant this – though it was also a convenient way to shut down Anna’s attempt to analyse her, which she’d found distinctly uncomfortable.
‘D’you know what?’ Anna said. ‘You’re right. Let’s not talk about men any more tonight. Let’s go out! Let’s go to the cinema – we haven’t been together in ages. We could just get the bus to Muswell Hill and see the next thing that’s showing at the Everyman, even if it’s crap. We can eat popcorn and chocolate and get slushies instead of cooking dinner.’
Rachel motioned towards her outfit. ‘But I’m in my scruffs. I’ve taken my make-up off,’ she said.
‘Dude, you’re going to be sitting in the dark. And everyone around you will be looking at t
he big screen – not at you or your slightly bobbled jumper. Come on. Live a little! Let’s do this.’
Not for the first time, Rachel’s will to resist collapsed under the weight of Anna’s enthusiasm. She heaved herself up off the sofa, pushed her feet into the Doc Marten boots that had been thrown at her and grabbed her coat from the hook by the front door.
They watched a terrible action movie in which the hero repeatedly overlooked a clever female scientist who kept saving his arse, only to hook up with the idiotic waif he’d had to rescue. High on sugary snacks, Rachel and Anna threw popcorn at the screen during the big finale kiss, decried the whole thing as risible nonsense all the way home, and had more raucous fun than they had in a really long time.
The following morning, feeling almost hung-over from the after-effects of an avalanche of junk food, Rachel found herself scrambling to turn down the volume on her mobile phone.
‘Twins!’ her mum was shrieking at her. ‘Twins, for goodness’ sake! Helen’s only been married twelve months and she already has TWO babies. Her mother is going to be unbearable,’ Jean Ryan went on. ‘She’ll be on about them morning, noon and night … I bumped into her at Costcutter earlier and I’ve already had chapter and verse on tandem feeding – plus far more information than I needed on the size of Helen’s engorged breasts.’
Rachel laughed and said, ‘Good morning to you too, Mum. I wonder if Helen knows Mrs O’Shea is going around telling people from church about the state of her mammaries.’
‘Rachel Margaret Ryan, do NOT use that word! It’s crass.’
‘You’re the one who started talking about them!’ Rachel protested. ‘I was sitting having a nice peaceful coffee until five minutes ago – but now here I am listening to you rant on about other people’s newborns and their milk-swollen boobs.’
She dipped an oatmeal biscuit into her machine-made cappuccino, then bit off a huge chunk before it could collapse into her cup. As she chewed, Rachel readied herself for the inevitable shift in the conversation. News of Mrs O’Shea’s latest grandchildren was surely just the opening gambit in a lecture about Rachel’s lack of partner and increasingly slim chances of procreating.
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