I cut the steaming pie in half and walk into the living room. Amy struggles to open her eyes and look at me. She rubs her face with the back of her hand and scrunches up her nose.
‘What time is it?’ she says. ‘It feels too early for dinner.’
I hand her a bowl on a tray and slot down beside her. ‘It’s almost eight,’ I say. ‘You must have been asleep for a while.’
I notice a shadow of worry pass through Amy’s eyes. ‘Oh,’ she says, ‘yeah. I guess I was.’
Amy picks up her fork and stabs the pie. I watch, my chest aching. Amy never used to sleep in the day.
‘You know,’ I say, ‘I’ve been thinking, and I think we should do the list together. I could book us in for the Salsa class this weekend. What do you think?’
Amy blinks down at her dinner, her shoulders sagging into her chest. ‘I can’t,’ she says quietly.
‘Sure you can!’ I say instantly, desperately trying to imitate the burning enthusiasm Amy used to spring on me. ‘It will be fun. We can be rubbish together.’
Amy shakes her head and laughs softly. ‘I can’t even manage a whole day at work. I feel terrible. I can’t go dancing, you know I can’t. I’m sorry.’
‘But I really think—’
‘Georgie,’ Amy snaps forcefully. ‘I can’t. You go. I need to rest.’
*
I eye my grey, misshapen sandwich in dismay. My stomach shrivels as my lunch taunts me from the edge of my desk.
When will I be the type of person to buy lunch? When can I throw away my hideous roll of cling film and stop buying Lidl cheese?
More importantly, when can I stop shopping in Lidl? Amy shops in Sainsbury’s. Maybe I should shop in Sainsbury’s. Bianca shops in Waitrose, which is obviously too extreme.
I click on an email and force my eyes to focus as Bianca’s trail of correspondence spills on to my screen. I cannot wait until this wedding is over. Maybe then I will finally be paid to design.
I notice Sally, buried in a stack of paper, and I click on my latest design and swell with excitement as it springs to life on my screen. This is what I’m meant to be doing with my life. I am meant to be a designer.
I glance up at the sound of Bianca’s pointed knuckles rapping on the door. She prowls into the office, designer shoes first, and scans the room with her beady eyes. Sally’s head quickly pops up from her pile of paperwork, and instantly snaps back down, as if the contracts have invisible lassos coiled around her eyeballs. Bianca’s gaze lands on me and I see a flash of satisfaction sweep over her face. I have started to let go of the idea that she is limbering up to fire me. After I made her fourth coffee of the morning, she called me a ‘darling lamb’, which Lord Sugar certainly doesn’t say to his boardroom casualties. So I think I’m safe.
‘Georgie,’ she says, angling her body to face mine.
Involuntarily, I feel my body tense.
Oh God, what? What is she going to ask me now? Can’t she just leave me to answer emails and ignore the phone, like a normal assistant?
‘I need your help, darling,’ she continues, leaning nonchalantly against the door frame and pulling out her iPhone. ‘The bridesmaid dresses are ready. They are at the tailor’s. They need picking up.’
Right, then. I guess that means I have to pick them up.
I pull out my notebook and scribble down ‘bridesmaid dresses’.
‘Okay,’ I say.
‘They’re at 613 Tottenham Court Road,’ Bianca adds, easing herself away from the door frame, ‘under my name. Obviously.’
I get to my feet and hook my bag over my arm. ‘Okay,’ I say again.
‘There are six bridesmaids . . .’ Bianca says, as she moves down the corridor.
I scurry after her, as best as I can with my average-sized legs.
‘. . . so Jack will help you carry them.’
I jolt to a stop.
‘Oh?’ I manage.
‘Yeah . . .’ Bianca reaches her office and finally peels her eyes away from her iPhone, ‘he’s in the lobby. You’ll need a cab.’
She turns and clacks through the open door, her long hair swishing behind her.
I hover, uncertain what to do next.
Great.
I take a deep breath and turn on my heels, making my way towards the lobby on my unstable legs.
Okay. Well, that’s okay. I will just act as if Jack is a normal colleague. There is nothing odd about this situation, and certainly nothing to feel uncomfortable about. I shall just behave like the ultimate professional that I am.
I push my way through the door and spot Jack, leaning on a pillar and scrolling through his phone. He is wearing a suit today, and his dark stubble enhances the taut line of his jaw. He looks really good in a suit. To my annoyance, my heart flips at the sight of him.
Stop that, heart. Stop that right now.
I march towards him and feel my brow crease into a knitted frown. Jack looks up as I approach him, and smiles.
‘Hey, Georgie,’ he says, and moves forward.
I lurch backwards in horror. Oh my God, is he going to try and kiss me? In the lobby? At my work? Shirley the receptionist is sat right there! Oh good Lord, this is dreadful. What is he going to try and do next? Wink at me? Start a mating call?
‘Hello, Jack,’ I say stiffly. ‘If that even is your name.’
I freeze in horror as I hear the last sentence shoot out of my mouth.
Argh! What am I doing? I said that last time! I can’t say that every time I see him!
‘Shall we?’ I almost shout, before he has the chance to respond to my ridiculous greeting. ‘The taxi is outside.’
I turn abruptly on the spot and march towards the door, feeling unnervingly like Sally.
Well, that was a disaster.
Right. From now on I must behave professionally, as if nothing has happened. Maybe I’ll pretend I don’t remember him at all. If he brings it up I can be, like, ‘Sorry, who? Oh goodness, I go on so many dates I don’t remember, har har I’m so sociable and popular.’
Although I literally saw him yesterday, so he may then speak to Bianca about getting me sectioned.
I loiter on the pavement and stick out an arm, trying to look like this comes completely naturally to me, and I casually hail black cabs all the time.
If I’d known I would have to spend time with him then I would have at least worn something nicer, and clean. Not that this isn’t clean, but you know. I would have ironed it. Or worn something with a hint of breast.
Not that I care about Jack, because I don’t. And I most certainly do not want him looking at my boobs. Absolutely not. The very idea.
‘How are you?’ Jack asks.
‘Fine, thanks,’ I fire back, my eyes glued to the road. ‘You?’
Jack tucks his hands in his pockets. ‘Yeah, fine, thanks. I bet you weren’t expecting this.’
Oh God. My arm has been hanging out for such a long time. This is getting embarrassing. Why aren’t any cabs stopping? I really need a taxi to pull in ASAP or I’m going to have to turn it into some sort of weird yoga pose. The only yoga pose I know is the downward dog, which is totally inappropriate before you even take into account how grossly unflattering it is.
‘Yeah,’ I say. I narrow my eyes and succeed in making eye contact with a driver, who finally signals and pulls in to stop. My mouth curls into a smug grin. Oh, thank God. I am a Londoner after all.
I pull open the taxi door and slide in.
‘You weren’t surprised?’
‘What?’
For the first time, my eyes focus on Jack’s appearance. To my irritation, I feel a fizz of excitement. He’s wearing tailored blue trousers and a crisp, white shirt. His neat, dark hair frames his chiselled face and his green eyes spark as I meet them. He looks gorgeous.
I feel a spasm of annoyance at my heart’s girlish reaction to Jack.
No, he doesn’t. He looks ordinary. Unmistakably, undeniably ordinary.
Jack clips his seat belt on.<
br />
‘Where are you going?’
I look up as the taxi driver speaks, angling the rear-view mirror towards us.
‘Oh,’ I gabble, ‘613 Tottenham Court Road, please.’
The taxi driver nods and pulls out into the thick London traffic.
I glance up at Jack, and realise I still haven’t given him an answer.
‘No,’ I lie, forcing my voice to sound as casual as possible. ‘No, I wasn’t surprised. I mean, I was, obviously,’ I add quickly, ‘but, you know, nothing really surprises me.’
Jack blinks at me.
What am I talking about? Why am I talking like James Bond?
Jack smiles. ‘Well,’ he says, ‘this whole thing has been a shock for me. I had no idea the wedding you were helping to plan was my sister’s. I thought I’d never see you again.’
A dart of panic shoots through me.
Reluctantly, I flick my eyes towards him again. ‘Did you . . .’ I start, in my best nonchalant voice, ‘did you mention to Bianca—?’
Jack shakes his head. ‘Nah,’ he says, ‘she’s got a lot on.’
‘Oh.’
What does that mean?
‘Did you get my text, by the way?’ Jack asks as I pull out my phone.
‘No,’ I blurt, using all of my energy to try and control my cheeks from flaming.
I glare out of the window as I notice Jack peering at me. He must know I’m lying. I am a terrible liar.
Jack takes out his phone and starts texting. Did I ever ask him what he did for a job? If I spoke about my work, surely I would have asked him back. Hopefully I’m not a huge narcissist. I can hardly remember anything about him.
Bloody gin.
‘Your top’s nice,’ Jack says lightly, his eyes briefly flitting up from his phone.
I feel a zap of joy at the compliment.
‘Thank you,’ I say, running my hands over my top. ‘It’s actually . . .’ I trail off as I notice Jack’s mouth twitching. I glance down at my top and my stomach lurches.
I’m wearing a pink top. I’m wearing a bloody pink top. Damn. He’s going to think I’m wearing it because he said I look good in it. Because he read my diary where I said I didn’t think I could pull it off.
He’s mocking me. Again.
My face burning, I twist my body round to face the window and glare out at the traffic furiously, refusing to make eye contact.
‘Why are you here?’ I say, sounding more annoyed than I intended.
Jack crosses one leg over the other, still tapping at his phone. ‘Bianca wanted to make use of me whilst I’m in London. I’m happy to help, my work can wait. Obviously I know the bridesmaids.’
‘Of course you do,’ I mutter under my breath. ‘Did you trick them into dating you too?’ I add before I can stop myself.
Jack grins as I turn back to face him. ‘Why do you want to know?’ he says. ‘Are you jealous?’
‘No!’ I retort, my face flaming. ‘Of course not. And I’d appreciate it if you’d act like a professional. This is my work.’
I look daggers at him and Jack shrugs, raising his phone. I turn away and glare out of the window again, my face hot. The driver pulls up outside the tailor’s and gestures at the staggering amount displayed on the meter, flashing above his head. Jack idly reaches into his pocket, but I get there first and quickly shove some notes through the driver’s window. I’m not having him pay for my taxi as if we are some sort of item. We are two professionals on a business task. Why shouldn’t I pay for the taxi?
Jack glances at me and I pull open the door coldly.
Also, Bianca gave me the taxi fare earlier, so it’s not like I’m paying for it out of my own pocket.
‘Here we are,’ I say, marching up to the tailor’s door as efficiently as I can in my heels. ‘You really don’t need to help me,’ I add pointedly, raising my chin as Jack stands beside me. ‘I can manage this on my own.’
Jack looks at me. ‘Have you seen the bridesmaid dresses?’
‘No,’ I falter.
Jack slips his phone back into his pocket and nods. ‘I have,’ he says. ‘Trust me. You’re going to need my help.’
*
I frown at the stack of bridesmaid dresses, forming a tower on the cash desk. Jack wasn’t joking. To my horror, each dress is laced with painfully expensive stones and weighs about seven pounds each.
Bianca has six bridesmaids.
The sales assistant smiles at us. ‘Here you are,’ she says sweetly, ‘reserved for Bianca Lemon. Now,’ she bats her eyes at me, and then at Jack, ‘will you be okay carrying all of these?’
I turn my attention back to the dresses, transfixed.
If I summon all of my internal strength, I will be able to carry one of those dresses at the very most. I mean, for one thing, they are all floor length, and Bianca must be having a bridal party of glamorous giraffes because the trains of these dresses are enormous. There is no way I can hoist six of them off the floor. Even in heels I stand at a very firm five foot four.
Also, they look like they cost more than my entire year’s rent, and that’s saying something. I live in Zone Two.
Jack notices my expression and looks back at the sales assistant. ‘What time do you close?’ he asks.
‘Four,’ she answers politely.
Jack nods. ‘Great,’ he says. ‘Can you please hold these for us? We’ll be back later.’
The sales assistant nods and Jack turns and walks out of the shop. My head turns to see him disappear into the street, and then I look back at the sales assistant hopelessly. Where is he going?
I scurry after him madly.
As annoying as he is, I need him here! There is no way I will be able to carry six of those dresses single-handed. I can barely pick up one!
I push my way out through the revolving doors and finally catch up with him.
‘What are you doing?’ I say roughly.
Jack turns and faces me, his phone in his hand. ‘You hungry?’ he asks.
I blink at him, bemused.
‘What?’ I spout. ‘What are you talking about?’
Jack looks back down at his phone. ‘I’m hungry,’ he says, ignoring my response, ‘let’s get lunch. We’ll come back for the dresses. Do you like French food?’
‘We need to get the dresses,’ I say stiffly. ‘We don’t have time for lunch. We need to get back to the office.’
Jack looks up from his phone, his eyes spark. ‘We’ll get them later,’ he says idly. ‘There’s a great place over there I used to go . . .’ He looks behind him and I root my feet to the ground.
‘I’m not hungry,’ I lie, my stomach burning at the idea of a delicious, surprise hot meal. ‘Besides,’ I add, as I notice Jack about to speak, ‘I have lunch back at the office.’
Oh yeah. My festering cheese sandwich which I almost certainly sat on during my morning commute. Don’t want to miss out on that beauty.
Jack puts his phone away and steps forward. ‘Fine,’ he says, ‘have a coffee.’ He turns and starts walking. ‘Or a wine. I won’t tell Bianca.’
I glare at the back of his head as he swans down Tottenham Court Road. I hover, feeling like a lost duckling. I don’t want to follow him, but I can’t carry the dresses back to the office on my own.
I huff loudly and storm after him, begrudgingly. This is ridiculous. He has tricked me into going on another date with him.
I catch up with him and he glances at me, a small smile creeping across his face. We stride alongside each other and I fix my eyes ahead, desperate not to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging him.
‘You know,’ he says lightly, his hands tucked into his pockets, ‘I know you don’t like me, but everything I told you on the date is true.’
I flash him a look.
‘Your name is Jack?’ I say.
Jack nods. ‘Correct.’
‘You’re twenty-eight?’
Jack nods again.
‘You’re obsessed with me and that’s why you’ve sh
own up at my work?’
The last bit fires out of my mouth before I can stop it, and Jack laughs.
‘I’m in London to help my sister plan her wedding. I used to work in digital marketing.’
I nod and keep my eyes locked forward, and we fall back into silence.
I won’t lie, his name and age are pretty much all I can remember about him.
Did I solely talk about myself on our four-hour date? What is wrong with me?
‘It’s just here,’ he says, as we reach a small cafe tucked in the heart of Soho. I follow him inside as we are guided to a table and handed menus. As my eyes scan the list of food my stomach aches.
‘I think,’ he says lightly, ‘I’m going to get the steak. I’ve been craving this steak for years. I used to get it all the time. What do you want?’ He looks up from the menu at me and I flush.
‘Nothing,’ I lie.
Jack raises his eyebrows. ‘You have to have something. I know you like steak. Come on,’ he smiles as the waiter appears, ‘the food here is really good.’
The waiter looks at me expectantly and I gnaw my lip as my stomach groans. Now that I am here, I am really hungry. I can’t just sit and watch him eat a steak, of all things. I’ll faint. Just because I am having lunch with a man doesn’t make it a date, this could easily be a business lunch.
‘Okay,’ I say eventually, my eyes flitting back to the menu, ‘please can I have the steak too?’
Jack grins as the waiter takes our menus away.
‘How do you know I like steak?’ I ask.
Jack shrugs. ‘An educated guess.’
‘You mean you read it,’ I say pointedly, ‘in my diary?’
Jack takes a sip of water. ‘I didn’t read your diary.’
‘Liar,’ I say, as I feel myself relax.
‘Says you?’
I frown. ‘What?’
Jack shoots me a knowing look. ‘You lied to me earlier.’
I hesitate as the waiter starts laying our table.
‘No I didn’t,’ I say. ‘When?’
‘When you said you didn’t receive my text,’ Jack says, leaning back into his seat.
The List That Changed My Life Page 9
