‘Calm down,’ Jack murmured. ‘It’s okay. It’s not as bad as it seems. Yes, she wants us on the build phase of the project – and for more time than I could have anticipated. But once the new platform is up and running and we’ve populated it with content, the day-to-day stuff can be handed over.’
He crouched down next to her desk so he could look at her properly – talk to her with their eyes level, the way you’d speak to a small child in distress. It annoyed her.
‘It’ll just be a few months, Rachel, and Olivia asked for you personally. She might not want your editorial ideas, but she wants your talent; she knows you’re the best writer we have.’
‘Can I say no?’
‘Maybe. I don’t know. It definitely wouldn’t be easy. If you refuse to be involved, Olivia might pull the account – she’s very used to getting what she wants. Losing us Lighthouse wouldn’t do you any favours with Isaac, let alone Toby or the people up in Manchester.’
‘Wow, thanks.’
‘I’m just being honest. Like I said before, I can talk to Isaac about this if you’d like me to – but the situation now isn’t much different than it was then. If anything, the stakes are higher because we’ve won the pitch.’
‘You’re right,’ Rachel sighed.
She slumped in her seat and he placed a hand on her shoulder. She wished he wouldn’t touch her like this, even though it felt good; people could see, and it only threw fuel on the gossip fire.
‘I’ll be with you all the way,’ he said, standing up and moving around to his side of their adjoining workspace.
‘Yeah. I know.’ Rachel nodded, not sure how helpful he would be. ‘Thanks for the coffee.’
Come to the boys’ flat from work, Anna’s WhatsApp message instructed. They’re cooking for us, apparently.
Rachel: WTF? Do we trust them to cook for us?
Anna is typing …
Anna:
Rachel: I wouldn’t be so sure … But hey, who doesn’t love a pasta bake? I’m in.
What time should I head over?
Anna: Will’s been working from home today so I’m already here. Anytime x
Rachel checked her watch. It was almost six already.
‘I’m going to head off,’ she said in Jack’s direction.
He looked up from his computer. ‘Oh, right. I hadn’t realised the time. I’m in no rush to get home, for obvious reasons … Are you doing anything tonight?’
It was a loaded question. If she said no, he’d suggest a drink. Dinner, perhaps. And then what?
‘Just going to have some food with friends,’ she said.
‘And your boyfriend, I suppose?’ Jack asked. Man, he was persistent.
Rachel’s enjoyment of his interest in her faked relationship was diminishing with every needling question. Keeping up the charade was starting to feel like work, and she was angry with herself too. Pretending to have a boyfriend was undeniably pathetic; she didn’t need a partner to validate her existence, and she’d never seen herself as the sort of woman who’d make one up.
‘Yeah,’ she said, shrugging. ‘We’re all kind of mates together.’
‘I saw you, you know,’ Jack said, catching her eyes with his and trying to hold them.
‘Saw me what?’ Rachel asked. She looked away from him deliberately and shoved her laptop into her bag.
‘I saw you with him.’
Her stomach fell away.
Jack had a weird look on his face – as if he was happy he’d thrown her off balance, but also like it was costing him something to admit he’d spotted her out with another man.
Rachel swallowed. ‘Oh. Where? When?’
And what had Jack seen, she wondered. It wasn’t as if she and Tom – or anyone – were wandering around London hand in hand, staring into each other’s eyes and smooching under street lamps.
‘Walking up North Hill in Highgate,’ he said. ‘I live near there. You looked like you were ranting about something; he was laughing at everything you said.’
She nodded, feigning nonchalance. ‘Sounds about right.’
That must have been the night of Zack’s gig. No doubt Jack had seen her and Tom on the way to the pub, still laughing about his angsty lyrics.
‘Blonde, isn’t he? With self-consciously geeky glasses.’
‘Blondish,’ Rachel said, bristling. ‘And I like his glasses – they’re cute.’ As she said it, she realised it was true.
‘He doesn’t look like your type,’ Jack said, frowning. ‘And he’s ridiculously tall.’
‘Ha! What would you know about my type?’ Rachel laughed.
‘Well,’ he said, fixing her with his green eyes and grinning, ‘it used to be me.’
‘It also used to be that guy from Westlife,’ she said. ‘The one with the piercing stare who is, in fact, gay. I don’t think my teenage taste in men means very much.’
‘You don’t.’
It wasn’t a question; it felt more like a challenge. Jack had raised one chestnutty eyebrow and his lips were curled up at the corners. He was enjoying this game, and Rachel needed to end it.
‘I really don’t,’ she said, putting her arms into her coat sleeves. ‘And I don’t want to be late. I’ll see you in the morning.’
‘Night, then,’ Jack said, and he smiled so wide she could see his whole mouthful of perfect, straight white teeth.
Half an hour later, Rachel was standing outside Will and Tom’s building. She pressed the buzzer, hoping Will would be the one to answer the door. She felt almost grubby after talking to Jack about Tom; like she wasn’t sure she could look him in the face.
The front door opened and Anna peered around it, a green biro in her mouth and her glasses pushed up on top of her head. She must be marking kids’ exercise books.
She smiled and beckoned Rachel inside, then said, ‘They’ve mugged us off, Rach – they’ve ordered Domino’s, lazy bastards.’
‘I heard that,’ Will said as they entered the sitting room.
‘You were meant to,’ Anna answered, sticking her tongue out at him.
Rachel was laughing. ‘What happened to making us dinner? I was promised pasta bake. I expected to come in here and find you guys chopping vegetables, or at least opening a jar of Uncle Ben’s.’
‘Cooking doesn’t get tougher than this!’ Tom shouted from the kitchen, brandishing a four-pack of beers and a bottle opener.
She laughed again. ‘At least tell me you ordered some of that cheesy garlic bread …?’
‘We did,’ Tom said. ‘Of course we did. Want a drink?’
‘Sure.’
Too many carbs and two bottles of Asahi later, Rachel and Anna were getting ready to head home. Will was due in Dublin the following morning and would be leaving for the airport in the small hours. Anna had said she was buggered if she was staying over tonight only to be awoken by his 3 a.m. alarm.
‘You good to go, Rach?’ she asked.
‘Yeah. I might just pop to the bathroom, though.’
The last time she’d been in here was on the day Oscar threw up all over her. At the time she’d been preoccupied with getting blackcurrant-coloured vomit out of her hair, but now she was feeling nosier. She was struck by how sparse the room was in comparison with the bathroom at their place. There were no pink razors in the shower caddy, no exfoliating body brushes, no half-finished bottles of body lotion or abandoned anti-ageing eye creams. Will and Tom didn’t have any slowly perishing pot plants or mascara-stained flannels, like she and Anna did.
Then she spotted a posh-looking rose-scented body scrub on the window ledge. It clearly didn’t belong to either Will or Tom, and Rachel knew it couldn’t be Anna’s. She loathed floral fragrances and always chose green or mannish scents.
So whose was it? Could Tom be seeing someone who’d stayed over and left it here?
Rachel thought back to the day when she’d met him and Dev in Soho. Tom had gone off
on some kind of date after, and never told her who with.
She unscrewed the lid of the heavy, expensive glass jar and breathed in the aroma. It was sweet but not syrupy; fresh, light and lovely. Rachel felt a sudden surge of dislike for whoever owned it, then forced her annoyance down like bad-tasting medicine.
She put the container back on the ledge. She was being weird. Inappropriate, even. Screwing the lid back on the jar, Rachel told herself that if Tom was involved with someone, she was bound to be nice. And if he wasn’t ready to talk to his friends about her yet, he didn’t have to.
‘Bloody hell, Rach, you’ve been ages!’ Anna yelled through the bathroom door. ‘Are you okay? Have you fallen down the loo?’
‘Sorry!’ Rachel called back. ‘I’m coming now.’
She washed her hands noisily, avoiding her own eyes in the mirror above the sink, then went back to her friends.
23
‘What do we think about calla lilies?’ Anna asked as she stir-fried a wok full of vegetables the following Monday night. ‘I was originally thinking dahlias and roses, but I wonder if calla lilies might be more elegant. I guess it all depends on the dress I choose, but I need to get a florist sorted … Rach? Rach, are you listening?’
Rachel looked up from the book she was reading – a taut crime thriller foisted on her by her mum – and arranged her face. In truth, she wasn’t sure what calla lilies looked like and didn’t much care. But Anna’s excitement about wedding planning was something a good friend – a less selfish friend – would share.
Smiling despite the waterlogged feeling in her chest, Rachel said, ‘Dahlias get my vote, but they’ve always been my favourite. Can you not book a florist now and confirm the details later?’
‘Maybe,’ Anna mused. ‘I keep wondering about hydrangeas too … Pale pink, perhaps, or white.’
Rachel merely nodded, and after a few minutes’ silence Anna asked, ‘How’s everything at work? How are things with Jack?’
‘Fine,’ Rachel lied. ‘All very professional.’
In reality, the situation was rapidly spinning beyond her control. Rachel only had so much energy, and staying cheerful about Anna’s upcoming nuptials – not to mention keeping her emotions in check as she worked on the Lighthouse account – was exhausting. Rachel couldn’t fight on all fronts, and pushing Jack away required resolution. Industry. It always had, and right now she didn’t have the stamina for it.
Falling into friendship with him had been easy – effortless – because she didn’t have to do anything. Rachel and Jack ate lunch together, stayed late at the office and shared Jaffa Cakes during meetings. It was like being back at uni except that the spectre of Rachel’s fake boyfriend put a different perspective on things, shifting the balance of power in her favour.
My Deed Detector’s bleeping, Kemi said via IM one morning. When Rachel didn’t respond, she clarified: Are you and HH doing it? – ever dismissive of the possibility that someone from IT might be monitoring her messages.
Rachel Ryan
NO. We’re just friends. Colleagues.
Kemi Percival
He looks at you the way I look at my Nanna’s jollof rice.
Put the poor man out of his misery. He’s way too hot to leave idle and unshagged.
Rachel Ryan
Nothing’s going on between me and Jack.
I don’t know what more I can say, Kem.
Kemi Percival
You could say, Yes, Kemi, I’ll have a really good go on him and report back in detail
Rachel Ryan
FFS. No.
I have work to do.
On Thursday evening, Greg tackled her about what was happening with the two of them. Since the last time Rachel had told him to stop bringing it up, he’d said very little – instead restricting himself to the pulling of pert, significant faces. Tonight, however, over post-yoga donburi bowls and bubble tea, he was determined to push for answers.
‘Things seem to have kicked up a gear, Ray,’ he said. ‘I can feel the sexual tension from the other side of the office. I can practically see it, like a heat haze.’
‘You’re imagining things, Greg,’ she replied, fully aware that he wasn’t.
‘I am not. And I overheard a conversation by the coffee machine the other day, during which someone claimed you’d been seen pashing him by the recycling bins.’
‘What?’
‘You heard. Is it true?’
‘Obviously it’s not true.’
Evidently, someone had seen Rachel take Jack into Dustbin Alley for the purpose of berating him about the Lighthouse account. Whoever had noticed them had either seriously misinterpreted the situation or twisted what they’d seen into some Mills & Boon-style tryst.
Greg persisted, ignoring the incredulous expression on her face.
‘Have you slept with him? Recently, I mean.’
‘For heaven’s sake,’ Rachel hissed. ‘What do you think?’
‘Honestly? I don’t know what to think. That’s why I’m asking.’
‘I. Have. Not. Slept. With. Him,’ she said, too loud and grinding her teeth. ‘Not recently, anyway.’
A prim-looking tourist at the next table sat up in shock, as if she’d just overheard the start of some satanic ritual.
‘Are you planning to sleep with him?’
‘Oh my God, can we not?’
‘I’m only pushing you on this because I care – because of everything you told me about Jack back in January. I just hope you know what you’re doing.’
‘I’m thirty years old, Greg. And I know I look like I belong in period costume, but I’m not the naive ingénue you seem to think I am. Of course I know what I’m doing.’
‘Forgive me, darl, but didn’t your last boyfriend plan out some sort of Stepford Wife future for you, without you even noticing? Frankly, I’m not convinced you’re all that great at interpreting blokes’ intentions.’
Greg was joking with her, but his words still stung. Rachel felt glad she hadn’t told him about Laurence’s post-break-up behaviour. Her failure to see his meltdown coming was hardly an endorsement of her judgement.
‘I’m doing just fine, thank you,’ she said, then sucked what remained of her passion fruit tea up her straw. Petulant, she plonked the empty plastic cup down on the table – as if it were somehow responsible for her snit.
‘Sure you are,’ Greg said, folding his arms and smiling at her sardonically.
‘For your information,’ Rachel said, her temper flaring, ‘I’m actually seeing someone.’
Bollocks. What had she said that for?
‘Really?’ Greg asked, his tawny eyes wide with surprise. ‘Who? Since when?’
Shit, shit, shiiiiiiiiit.
‘Nobody you know, and not for very long. But he’s nice. He’s good. And Jack knows.’
Rachel could feel herself starting to sweat. Why was she doing this? Letting Jack think she was attached was one thing, but actually telling Greg a bare-faced lie? That was something else.
‘Well. Based on how he’s acting, I’m not sure Jack really cares,’ Greg said, his brows knitting. ‘He’s going to make a play for you sooner or later, so you’d better decide on an answer to that question you evaded before: Are you planning to sleep with him?’
Rachel winced, but didn’t answer.
‘Personally, I’m not much for the “all’s fair in love and war” approach,’ Greg continued. ‘I think it kind of sucks to pursue someone you know isn’t free. I’m more a “do as you would be done by” kind of guy.’
‘Hmm,’ Rachel muttered, still reeling from her own recklessness. ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’
‘Do,’ Greg said, seeming satisfied. ‘Now. Shall we order some of that Japanese cheesecake for dessert? I’ll split one with you.’
‘Okay.’ She nodded. ‘But only if we can talk about something else. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but … I think I miss those conversations we used to have ab
out vegetables.’
Someone – Rachel suspected Greg – had decided that a work night out was necessary. It was planned for Friday night, the day after his cross-examination of her at the noodle bar, and she was seriously tempted to swerve it.
The last time she and Jack had been in a pub together, he’d told her he was getting divorced and almost given her heart failure by kissing her goodnight. She didn’t want to think about how things might go now that he was openly flirting with her. For all her protestations, Greg was right: Jack was chasing her, and he was less discreet about it by the day. Worse, there was a powerful part of her that wanted to be caught.
‘Don’t even think about piking out,’ Greg said when Rachel bumped into him in the kitchen. ‘You’re coming. This is a whole-agency event. There are people coming down from Manchester to celebrate the start of the new financial year – the first with us as part of Mountaintop. It’s supposed to be an opportunity for bonding, hence the sexy location and hefty bar budget. Not turning up will be a very bad look.’
Rachel groaned. ‘I hate this kind of thing, you know I do. And I have a dentist appointment right after work …’
‘So go. Have your teeth cleaned and come back into town,’ Greg said briskly. ‘Unless you end up having emergency root canal – and I’ll want to see a receipt for that – I’ll expect you in the bar by eight o’clock.’
Almost to her annoyance, Rachel’s check-up and session with the hygienist went smoothly. By 6.15 she was on her way back to the flat to get changed – resigned to spending the night in a state of high stress, and resolved not to put away too much booze.
She squeezed into a black stretchy minidress and pulled on a pair of sheer black tights with a polka-dot pattern. It was an unusually bold look for her. Too bold, perhaps?
Not if she kept her hair and make-up simple, Rachel decided – and she would, because she didn’t have time to faff with them. She unwound her hair from the messy bun she’d shoved it into this morning, tipped her head upside down and blasted it with texturising spray.
When she was right side up again, Rachel realised Anna was lurking in her bedroom doorway.
Rachel Ryan's Resolutions Page 25
