Jack nodded, his eyes narrowing in annoyance. He sat up straighter, as though he were about to ask another question.
No, no, no, Rachel thought. She’d never been a good liar, and the more detailed her fantasy love life became the more likely she was to trip herself up, tangled in the web of her own fibs.
She looked at her watch. ‘I’d better get going. I’m meeting him at seven.’
‘Right. Have fun, then,’ Jack said.
He looked back at his computer screen, but Rachel observed with some satisfaction that he kept half an eye on her as she walked towards the door. She pretended not to notice, letting it swing shut with a bang.
When Rachel reached ground level at Highgate she was hot and bothered, her coat stuffed under her arm and her cheeks rosy from the stifling warmth of the Underground. Tom was standing by the exit, looking as cool and calm as always. He was wearing jeans and a navy down jacket, unzipped to reveal the soft cable knit underneath.
‘Hey!’ he said, smiling wide when he saw her.
‘Hey yourself.’ She smiled back. ‘You’ve not been here too long, have you?’
‘Nah.’ Tom shook his head. ‘We’d better get going, though, if we want to make it to the bar before Zack comes out. I have a feeling drinks might prove a necessity this evening, assuming you haven’t brought earplugs.’
Rachel slapped his arm as they fell into step and began walking up the street. ‘O ye of little faith,’ she said, and he laughed.
Within a few minutes they’d reached the venue for the gig: an arts centre in a vast Victorian villa. There was a crowd of young people outside, mostly girls in skimpy outfits but also the odd boy in spray-on jeans and designer trainers. Several were waving banners sporting slogans such as MARRY ME ZACK!, I want ur babies and luv u + ur plain white tee.
‘Wow,’ Rachel said as she and Tom headed up the steps to the entrance. ‘We’ve found the right place, then.’
They queued for the bar, bought two bottles of beer and then found their way to their seats. Zack was performing in the theatre space, and on stage a single spotlight illuminated the three-legged stool that was waiting for him.
Rachel cringed. With no other musicians or backing singers in sight, Zack’s vocals and guitar skills would be totally exposed. If he was good the effect could be intimate; magical, even. But if he wasn’t …
The lights in the room went out and a hush fell upon the audience. The on-stage spotlight gradually brightened to reveal Zack, perched on the stool and casting delicate shadows as he gently picked at his Gibson guitar strings.
Yes, he was wearing a trilby hat indoors, and his sheer white shirt was unbuttoned almost to his navel, displaying a triangle of shiny, tanned flesh. But he wasn’t a bad player, Rachel decided. Maybe Tom would have to eat his words …
I met a girl and I asked for her naaaaame,
Knew straightaway my life would never be the saaaaame …
His voice wasn’t terrible, Rachel thought …
We sat under a tree and we shared a can of Fanta,
And then she binned me off, like I didn’t even maaaaatter …
… but holy mother of God, his lyrics were appalling. Rachel felt Tom’s shoulders shaking and swallowed a giggle. She didn’t dare look at his face – that would finish her. She elbowed him as Zack continued to warble.
How could a girl so hot, with those gorgeous angel eyes,
Turn out to be a heartless bitch, her body cold as ice …
Tom snorted and Rachel tittered. She sipped from her beer bottle and tried not to focus on the words of the song. This was increasingly difficult as Zack grew in confidence, his voice soaring higher and louder above his strumming.
Of course it’s no big secret that we had amazing sex
But then you went and left me, and my heart was ripped and wrecked …
‘Did he just rhyme sex with wrecked?’ Tom whispered. Rachel doubled over, silent-laughing so hard she thought she might pass out.
She took some deep breaths and drank some more beer, and Tom did the same. By the time the song neared its end they were clutching one another helplessly. Just as Rachel thought she’d composed herself, Zack’s voice swelled again. Wailing and woeful, he belted out what he clearly believed were the final killer lines of his opening ballad:
I wish I’d known back then what I know for sure right now,
Underneath the Gucci, you’re a TOTAL FUCKING COW.
Tom was wiping tears from his eyes when he and Rachel finally looked at one another. Rachel was certain the eyeliner she’d so recently perfected was now trickling down her cheeks in black rivulets. They clapped along with the rest of the audience, most of whom were at least ten years younger than them and none of whom appeared in any way perturbed by Zack’s dubious songwriting.
‘Have we died and gone to hell, do you think?’ Tom asked, his voice low. ‘What have we done to deserve another hour of this?’
‘You’re kidding; this is the best fun I’ve had in ages,’ Rachel laughed under her breath. ‘If I was in hell, I’d still be at work.’
Tom raised his eyebrows, but before Rachel could say anything else the noise in the theatre petered out and Zack spoke into the microphone.
‘Thanks. Thanks for being here at my debut gig, where I’ll be sharing some of the songs I’ve written since finding fame. That was “Glacier Girl”, about a woman who really hurt me. This next one means a lot to me too – it’s called “Stiletto Heel On My Heart”.’
Tom bit his bottom lip and Rachel felt her eyes widen. Zack plucked the Hummingbird’s strings again, filling the theatre with a sweet and tender melody, which he proceeded to bury beneath an avalanche of inane lyrics.
By the time Zack began his final song – ‘Tinder Tragedy’ – Rachel and Tom had their giggles under control, despite having drunk several more beers each. Once Zack had taken his bow and they’d made their way out of the arts centre, Tom threw a wry smile at Rachel and said, ‘I hate to say I told you so.’
‘Oh, fine,’ she laughed. ‘You were right. He’s less Neil Young, more Neil from your Year 9 English class. Bless him, though, he can play, his voice is pretty good … and I do love a man who can sing. He just needs some new lyrics.’
‘I don’t know. I think the real low point was when Nate came out and started banging that tambourine during “Beam Me Up, Hottie”.’
‘Oh God,’ Rachel guffawed. ‘Poor Zack. He really thinks he’s going to make it as a singer-songwriter, doesn’t he?’
Tom shrugged, his eyes sparkling. ‘He probably will – and fair play to him if he does. He’s not doing anyone any harm singing songs about shoes, soft drinks and sexy aliens, is he?’
‘STOP!’ Rachel giggled, as they both beamed.
‘D’you fancy another drink?’
‘Sure,’ Rachel said. ‘Where to?’
‘There’s a pub that does the most amazing hot wings up that hill, if you’re game for the walk?’
‘Oooooh, yes,’ she agreed. ‘I haven’t had anything since lunch. I could definitely eat some chicken.’
When they made it to the pub, Rachel insisted that Tom find a table while she paid for their drinks and snacks. Once she had two pints, a pot of nuts and a wooden spoon with their food order number, she began roaming the room in search of him.
She spotted him in a corner, seated at a tiny table with a tall, skinny blonde girl standing over him. The girl had her hand on the table, just millimetres from his. What was going on?
Tom saw Rachel coming and waved, and the blonde girl retreated – soon swallowed up by the mass of bodies gathered around a huge table near the window.
‘Am I interrupting something? Salting your game?’ Rachel asked, intending to sound impish but coming off annoyed.
‘Nooooo,’ Tom said, shuddering slightly.
‘She was coming on to you, though,’ Rachel said. ‘And I only left you alone for five minutes!’
She told herself she shouldn’t be surprised by someone appr
oaching Tom while he was alone in a bar; he was a good-looking guy with (as Rachel had discovered) a surprisingly muscular stomach. It still felt weird watching some stranger sidling up to him, though.
‘Seriously, she’s not my type at all,’ Tom muttered, his face colouring. ‘And on the subject of types, I want to hear more about your enjoyment of men who can sing. Sensitive muso is a bit of an obvious kink for a writer, don’t you think?’ He wiggled his eyebrows dramatically.
Rachel poked him. ‘Whatevs. It’s not like I’ve ever actually dated someone who fits that description. I mean, can you imagine Laurence singing?’
Tom laughed, scooping several pistachios out of the bowl between them, then freeing the nuts from their shells. ‘Maybe a funeral dirge, or some sort of fascist marching song.’
‘Haha!’ Rachel laughed, shaking her head and grimacing. ‘God, what was I thinking going out with him?’
‘I did try and tell you he was awful,’ Tom said, arching one dark-blonde eyebrow. Then his eyes clouded over and his mouth turned down a little. ‘But … if you want the truth, I think you thought he was solid. Safe. That he wouldn’t inspire any feelings you couldn’t control.’
‘Thomas Evans, you’re insightful when you’ve had a few beers. Annoyingly insightful. But in any case, it turns out I was wrong about not feeling anything intense for Laurence. I feel very intensely that I’d like to kick him in the nads next time I see him.’
‘Agreed.’ Tom nodded. ‘While we’re talking about hard-to-control feelings … how are you getting on at work? With the ex hanging around, I mean?’
‘Work is … well … hideous,’ Rachel sighed. ‘I’m stuck on a pitch for a bereavement charity that specialises in helping families who’ve lost a child. It’s all a bit close to home, and nobody at work knows about Lizzy. I’ve never talked about it to anyone there, not even Greg.’
Tom winced. ‘Jack knows, though, I assume?’
He said the name with a pinched look on his face, as though it tasted bad.
‘Yeah.’ Rachel nodded. ‘He’s … sort of helping me get through it.’
Tom’s mouth went flat – his lips pressed together so tightly they almost disappeared. ‘I thought you said the two of you weren’t buddies – that you were merely tolerating him for the sake of looking professional. This sounds like more than that to me.’
Rachel rested her chin on a balled-up fist. ‘It’s … complicated,’ she said, as a young waiter carrying a huge basket of sauce-smothered chicken wings emerged from the throng of drinkers opposite their table.
‘Enjoy!’ he said, setting it down before scurrying back to the bar.
‘What did Anna say when you told her about the pitch?’ Tom asked.
Ugh. Why couldn’t the man just eat some food instead of throwing out more questions?
He tried again, his eyes level with Rachel’s, insisting on an answer. ‘What did Anna make of the fact you’re keeping the truth from the rest of your colleagues?’
Defiantly, Rachel chewed on a spicy wing, then took a sip of ice-cold beer to soothe the burn. ‘I didn’t tell her about it,’ she admitted eventually. ‘Any of it.’
‘What? Why?’
‘I was assigned the project on the same day she and Will got engaged. There was no way I could steal her thunder – ruin one of the happiest moments of her life by bringing up my dead sister.’
Tom shut his eyes, as if in pain. ‘Fuck.’
‘Yeah. And now she’s so thrilled all the time – even when she isn’t talking about the wedding I know she’s thinking about it. I keep catching her staring at her ring, wiggling her fingers so it catches the light. There’s never going to be a good time to raise this. Jack reckons that, once we get the account, we’ll be moved on again,’ she continued. ‘He says that within a few weeks all this will be done, at which point I can stop thinking about the past. I think he’s right.’
Tom’s eyebrows met above the bridge of his nose, which he was also pinching.
‘Well. As long as Jack thinks this all makes sense.’
‘Hey,’ Rachel said. ‘Don’t be like that. It does make sense. This way I don’t have to worry Anna – and I don’t have to explain to a load of people that I’m not actually an only child, I’m a bereaved one.’
‘I’m sure it suits Jack perfectly that he’s the only one in your office who knows about Lizzy,’ Tom said bitterly. His grey-blue eyes were flashing in a way Rachel had never seen before. ‘I’ve no doubt he’s very pleased to be comforting you through every difficult moment on this project – happy he’s the only one you can confide in. And I’m absolutely sure I know why, even if you can’t see it.’
‘What do you mean?’ Rachel asked, irked by the implication that she was naive.
‘I mean I hope you’re reading him right,’ Tom said. ‘I hope you’re sure he’s acting for your benefit. I hope you understand what’s motivating him. He strikes me as someone who’s excellent at turning any situation to his advantage – using it to further an agenda best known only to himself.’
‘You’ve never even met him!’ Rachel cried. ‘And I’m not an idiot – I know how he operates. I’m not going to fall for him a second time.’
She’d meant to say ‘fall for it a second time’. She paled as she realised her mistake.
‘Hmm,’ Tom mumbled, averting his gaze and smashing a pistachio shell into tiny shards. ‘Sounds like you have it all in hand.’
Rachel snapped a chicken bone in two and threw it aside. She stared at him miserably.
‘I don’t think we should talk about this any more,’ she said. ‘But please – trust me when I say that I’m keeping a safe distance between myself and Jack. Nothing’s happening.’
Tom rubbed his eyes, suddenly looking tired, then tugged on a thick wave of hair as if he were trying to yank some unpleasant thought from his brain. ‘You don’t need to justify yourself to me, Rachel. You’re my friend, I care about you and I’d hate to see you hurt – but let’s be honest, it’s none of my business who you date.’
He sounded stoical, almost cold, and for some reason his words felt like a punch in the stomach.
‘No, I guess it’s not,’ she said, her voice small and sorry for itself. ‘This is depressing. I don’t want to fight. We need to talk about something else.’
She munched on another chicken wing, trying to work out what to say.
‘If you were a Zack Lanson song, which one would you be?’ she finally asked, and Tom’s lips twitched – the corners tilting up far enough that she knew they’d soon be okay again.
‘Tough one,’ he said a moment later, ‘but maybe “Hold My Hand, Crush My Heart”. Either that or “What Do You See in Him”?’
Rachel laughed, ignoring the barb – allowing him the final word because he was funny.
‘I’m definitely “False Filter”,’ Rachel said. ‘How could I not love a song about the evils of Instagram?’
They both laughed, easy with one another again.
‘How are things with Oscar, by the way?’ Rachel asked after they’d finished their food.
‘Not too bad,’ Tom said. ‘As predicted, he was in deep with Christine after Snakebitegate – but she saw sense once she finished accusing me of leading him astray … Realised that it was actually pretty lucky we were around to help him.’
‘Too bloody right,’ Rachel agreed.
Much later, lying awake in bed, Rachel wondered how a fun evening’s banter had descended into something that felt perilously close to a row – an argument she couldn’t help worrying she and Tom had put off temporarily, rather than properly concluded.
She also asked herself how she’d ended up defending one man she should hate to another whose judgement she’d always trusted … Someone who’d never been anything but a strong, supportive friend to her – even if his honesty was occasionally tough to take.
Tom would never like nor trust Jack; that much was clear. Meanwhile, Jack certainly wasn’t keen on the version of Tom he’d ima
gined as Rachel’s boyfriend. She thanked her lucky stars that, despite the numerous ways it had already screwed her this year, the universe hadn’t seen fit to put the two of them in a room together.
April
New Year’s Ongoing resolutions
1. Consider exercise an act with actual benefits – both mental and physical – not merely grim punishment for pizzas consumed. Have a proper go at Continue letting Greg drag me to yoga, provided he refrains from making snide comments re Jack/me and Jack.
2. Also re-download Complete Couch to 5K running app and actually do the programme. Keep running at least twice per week – always being careful not to perv on anyone improper.
3. Apply for promotion at work at first chance. Move to bigger account and try to get pay rise. Avoid, if possible, further projects concerning dog biscuits, disinfectant, high-quality printer ink cartridges, ‘miracle’ grass seed, organic vegetables, etc.
3a. Try to hang on to job (and temper) despite presence of evil ex-boyfriend hideousness control-freakery of certain clients.
3b. Ignore everyone who keeps banging on about how fit he Jack is.
3c. Ignore how fit he is.
3d. Ignore the fact he keeps trying to be friendly/nice/possibly quite flirtatious.
3e. Ignore the fact he is getting divorced.
4. DO NOT agree to further dates with Laurence. Remember: it’s no use having a boyfriend who is good on paper if you do not actually fancy him.
4. Forget that Laurence even EXISTS (despite usefulness of overblown ‘romantic’ gestures for creating illusion of deeply devoted boyfriend. Try not to spin any more tales re ‘boyfriend’, though – don’t want story to get too complicated … ).
5. Try to remember Mum means well, even during phone calls where she implies I am doomed to a lonely life of penury because I am thirty with no partner, hardly any savings and no mortgage insists on talking about the babies/breasts of people I went to school with.
Rachel Ryan's Resolutions Page 23
