Talk to Me (3 page)

‘Ooh, I don’t know. Think of it as a unique strategy. Transvestite builders. You’re targeting a whole new market.’ I caught Daniel’s eye and he gave me a tiny smile. I heaved an internal sigh of relief. His mood seemed to be lightening. I had no idea what had made him so cross earlier.

There was no reply from behind me. I turned round. Emily’s blue eyes had narrowed and her lips were twisted into a sneer.

‘This is serious, Olivia. I’m dreading going in tomorrow. If you aren’t going to help me, then just say so.’

Well, I didn’t want to look bad in front of Daniel, did I?

‘Sorry. Just stream of conscious to get me warmed up. What about … celebrity kissing? Yes … get celebrities to wear the lipstick … then they put their lip prints on … shirt collars and … you auction the shirts off for charity.’

I grinned at her, my brain taking off as suddenly a whole raft of ideas popped into my head. I carried on with enthusiasm as I could see the shirts clearly in my mind. ‘You could do a launch … lots of models in short, white shirts. The tabloids would love it. There you go. One idea for free.’

‘Thanks, Olivia, but with respect,’ she said, not being respectful at all, ‘the celebrity auction thing has been done to death.’

I felt like a balloon that someone had just stuck a pin in. I was only trying to help.

‘Shame,’ said Daniel joining in. ‘Sounds fun. I wouldn’t mind going along.’

My hero. I shot him a grateful smile.

‘Daniel!’ said Emily.

Looking outside, I took a deep breath. My stomach was starting to misbehave. At my age I should have grown out of this.

‘You all right?’ Daniel asked, opening my window a fraction.

I breathed in the cooler air gratefully. ‘I will be,’ I replied between gritted teeth. His hand covered mine with a comforting squeeze so fleeting I could almost have imagined it, except my heartbeat took off at a gallop.

Just as we joined the A4 another idea for Emily came to me. Surely she’d like this one – although she didn’t deserve any more suggestions.

‘What about commissioning a designer dress covered in giant lipstick kisses – each kiss in one of the new season’s colours – and then invite a celebrity to wear the dress to a top-notch event like a film premiere or something?’

‘Yeugh! That is sooo clichéd. Just as well you work on the boring accounts.’

Why did I bother? Miserable cow.

‘You haven’t confirmed with Barney yet!’

Drat and I’d been so clever at avoiding Kate’s calls all week.

‘Admit it. You’ve been avoiding me. Don’t forget you promised Auntie Bren.’

‘I did no such thing!’ I said. ‘Well, it wasn’t exactly a promise.’ I wasn’t going to give into Kate too easily. ‘Look, I will go on this speed-date—’

‘But?’

‘It’s just—’

‘What, for God’s sake? What can go wrong?’

I could make a complete fool of myself. Dry up with stage fright. The list of potential humiliation ran into pages. In fact in my mind it was positively encyclopaedic.

‘Nothing, I guess. Just nerves. The thought of having to try and impress—’

‘Olivia! You put your make-up on, wear something gorgeous and be yourself. That’s all you need to do.’

Easy for her to say that. The whole idea filled me with dread.

‘OK. OK.’

‘If you don’t call Barney, I will.’

With an obvious sigh of resignation, I said, ‘I’ll call now.’

‘Go on then. Don’t forget, I have spies.’

She didn’t need them. Auntie Bren’s purple-shadowed eyes would haunt me forever if I didn’t go on one of Barney’s dates.

Now was probably the right time to phone him, while I was feeling grumpy and out of sorts. Slowly I picked at the buttons on my mobile.

‘Barney Middleton,’ a voice snapped in my ear.

‘Hi, Barney. It’s Olivia.’ I resisted the urge to say, ‘Your grubby, disreputable younger cousin here.’

He’s had that effect on me ever since I was sixteen when Kate told him about the massive crush I had on him. God that sounds as if I go in for crushes on a regular basis. I don’t. I’ve had two in my life, Daniel and Barney. One of which was deserved, the other was NOT.

As an arrogant eighteen-year-old, already good-looking and self-assured, Barney found my crush very entertaining. He and his mates never missed a chance to embarrass me. Did me a favour though – I went right off him.

‘Hold on a sec.’ In the background I heard him say, ‘Get me another one in, Charles, would you? Same again … No, only one of my cousins … No, the other one.’

I could hear muted laughter.

‘Wondered when you’d call,’ he drawled. ‘Good job Kate’s on the ball. Said you’d phone eventually. You’re in luck. I’ve saved you a place.’

I pulled a face. Like it was really that popular.

‘See you on Friday. I usually insist on payment up front but because it’s you, you can pay on the night but make sure you turn up.’

It was as if he was doing me some massive favour out of the kindness of his heart. Not possible. He didn’t have one.

‘Friday!’ My voice came out as an embarrassing squeak. That was way too soon.

‘Yes, Friday, Olivia. Think you can manage that? Bloody lucky I can squeeze you in. Normally there’s a waiting list.’

‘Thank you so much, Barney.’ It was hard but I managed through great will power, not to add, ‘However can I repay you!’ What I did say was, ‘Don’t suppose you might be able to tell me where and when?’

‘Eight o’clock. Café Lulu. Don’t be late.’

Oooh! My fingers clenched involuntarily into tight fists. There’s something about Barney that just brings me out in hives.

He broke off again and over the hubbub in the background, I heard him say, ‘Make it a bottle then … get a decent one, Charles, none of that house muck … here stick my card behind the bar … Still there, Olivia? Make sure you turn up.’

‘I’ll be there.’

No point asking where Café Lulu was. Obviously it was so hip any idiot would know. Thank God for the Internet.

Before I knew it Friday had crept up on me and the little gold top I was planning to wear was hanging up on the wardrobe door, ready for the big date. It kept talking to me every time I walked past.

‘I’m far too gorgeous and grown up for you … and even with that bra everyone will know you’re a titless wonder.’

My original plans had changed at lunchtime when Emily had flounced over to my desk and perched on the edge, fiddling with the paperclips and rearranging my pens for a minute.

‘You OK?’ I asked, knowing full well that she wasn’t.

‘No, I am sodding well not. Daniel has cancelled on me tonight.’

‘Really?’ That didn’t sound like him.

‘He’s going out with his dad and stepmum for a family dinner instead.’

‘Oh, bit rude if he’d already made arrangements with you.’

‘Yes, bastard. Now I’m stuck in on my own on a Friday night.’

Poor Emily, her idea of hell, having to entertain herself.

‘You could always come with me,’ I joked, never for a moment thinking she would.

Her eyes glittered dangerously and her mouth firmed into a line. I’d never noticed how thin her lips were before.

‘Do you know what … I think I will.’

Oh shit, now what had I done? The determined lift of her jaw suggested she was deadly serious.

‘Are you sure … I mean … I had to book … there might not be any places.’

‘Don’t be dense, Olivia. There are always places at these things. What are you wearing?’

In the end I had no choice but to agree to take her with me, and she insisted on accompanying me in my lunch hour on my mission to buy the perfect bra.

Of course she talked me into the most complicated thing known to man, but it promised serious cleavage no matter how under-endowed you were and was marginally preferable to the one that inflated with – no joke – a little pump. That shopping trip was quite an eye-opener. Chicken fillets, super-boost, balconies – who knew that bra designers needed degrees in mechanical engineering these days.

‘When are you going to get ready, Olivia?’ asked Emily, hopping up and down outside my bedroom door. Already made-up, she looked gorgeous as always – no wonder Daniel was going out with her – and was halfway through straightening her white-blonde hair. Natural, of course, she had Scandinavian ancestors. If mine had been of a Nordic persuasion you could bet they’d have been great, hairy Vikings, not flaxen-haired princesses.

‘Sorry, on the phone to Mum.’

Emily shrugged. ‘We need to leave in an hour and a half. Thought you wanted a bath.’

No chance of delaying tactics with her around. She was itching to get going. Obviously she had all her questions worked out. Me, I was still dithering over my opening lines.

Was there any way of getting out of this evening? Perhaps I could do myself an injury with those bra straps. An evening in A & E had appeal. I’ve watched
Casualty
and
Holby City
. Hospitals are teeming with handsome specimens striding the wards in pristine white coats – although I’ve often wondered why in their profession they never seem to come into contact with any bodily fluids, like blood or vomit.

Maybe a quick trip to Guy’s was a viable alternative to speed-dating, although knowing my luck, Emily would pick up Doctor Hunk while he was untangling the straps from around my windpipe. How could he fail to be impressed by her fortitude in the face of her flatmate’s total incompetence?

Turning on the taps in the sunlit bathroom, I perched on the edge of my beloved, recently installed, double-ended bath. Paying the mortgage didn’t leave much left over for home improvements but the bath had been a priority.

What the hell was I going to ask? Three minutes per date. Do you come here often? Hardly bowling-over material.

‘Can I just grab my deodorant?’ asked Emily, sailing in.

‘Mmm. What questions are you going to ask? I’m stuck.’

‘Ask who?’ She looked blank.

‘The dates, tonight.’

‘You think too much. I thought I’d leave it up them. They’re the ones who’ve got to impress me.’

Sometimes I had to admire her attitude. Then again, with the amount of cleavage she was showing, none of her dates would be able to string a sentence together. Even with the new bra, I wouldn’t have that advantage.

Despite racking my brains for three whole days, no clever questions had come to mind. My grey cells were threatening to go into meltdown. In desperation earlier I’d even Googled ‘Good questions + speed-date’. No help at all. The advice fell into two camps; ‘Avoid talking about films’ or ‘Ask your date about their favourite film.’ There was, however, universal agreement that you shouldn’t ‘Ask if they want babies?’ As if!

Perhaps questions would just pop into my head as I met each date. I tried to imagine what they might be like.

Lying back in the warm bath, two successful candidates popped into my head, leaving me with the delicious dilemma of which to keep. One was a famous architect, who wore Paul Smith suits and wined and dined me in all the best places in London.

Unfortunately my imagination had a practical streak, which insisted anyone that successful – he’d just designed the equivalent of the Gherkin in New York – would also be horribly busy at work and bound to be unreliable.

Alternatively there was the airline pilot who was proving irresistible. Much more laid-back with a wicked sense of humour, he wore nice crisp shirts that exposed just a smattering of blond hairs. His faded jeans encased long lean legs and he had lovely broad shoulders with just a hint of well-defined muscles – he was quite a sexy package. Although I could do without the little chip in his tooth my imagination had unhelpfully provided. What’s more, he was desperate for me to go with him to Fiji.

As I was lying back in the warm water, daydreaming, listening to the gentle, pfft pfft of foam bubbles, the pilot just edged into the lead – chipped tooth and all – and was in the process of producing first-class air tickets, when Emily interrupted with a loud rap on the unpainted bathroom door.

‘Are you planning on the lobster look, Olivia?’ she yelled through the frosted glass.

Bugger. Time to get a move on.

‘Got your questions sorted?’

‘Nooo!’ I wailed, scrambling out of the bath, grabbing my watch. I abandoned thoughts of Fiji. I needed questions.

I could still only think of, ‘Do you come here often?’ Then, it occurred to me that it could be a great question if used with irony. The ideal, ‘Are you on the same wavelength as me?’ test.

It would have to do.

Sod’s law. The train came on time and arrived at Waterloo several minutes early. There was even a tube waiting on the platform. Hopping on, Emily grabbed the nearest seat, while I walked down the carriage to snag the last seat next to a middle-aged man with a ponytail listening to an iPod. The volume was so loud that I could hear the tinny synthesiser of some horrible ’80’s arty thing. Laurie somebody. ‘I’m not home right now… but if you wanna leave a message … O Superman.’

I smiled to myself. Superman. That was it. I had the perfect question.

Fifteen minutes later we arrived outside Café Lulu. Through the huge plate glass windows, the décor and furniture shouted ‘massively trendy’. My stomach was doing an impression of a washing machine on maximum spin.

At the door we were given a covert up-and-down by an Amazonian blonde drenched in an overpowering perfume, who obviously had strict instructions to weed out any riff-raff.

‘You are?’ she barked in an East European accent. Even I had to crick my neck to look up at her. She looked capable of slinging out undesirables by the scruff of their necks. Perhaps she’d been a female wrestler in a former life. I’d managed to text Barney that afternoon to tell him, rather than ask him, to expect one extra.

We must have passed the test because we were waved over to a set of brightly lit stairs leading up to the private members’ lounge. It was packed. Impressive. Maybe Barney had had to squeeze us in after all.

He was standing at the entrance and barely gave me a glance, far too busy snapping out orders to another blonde sporting a chest of magnificent proportions. With clipboard in hand and wearing one of those headsets with a microphone, she looked as if she knew what she was doing. She smiled at us. Not a single wrinkle or dimple spoilt her foundation. It was only when she asked our names that Barney twigged it was me.

‘Blimey, Olivia,’ he gasped, his eyes zeroing in on my cleavage. ‘Have you had a boob job?’

Laced in like a Victorian lady, I was rather proud of the results. Good job I hadn’t gone for the inflatable version. I wouldn’t have put it past him to stick a needle in.

‘Murdered any hamsters lately?’ I didn’t say it, although it was on the tip of my tongue. Another childhood incident. Instead I managed to muster up a snide ‘This all looks very professional.’ The unspoken, ‘For an amateur,’ was implied by my surly tone.

Emily gave me an irritated look. ‘Children, children,’ she interceded with a flirtatious smile. She would. Barney was just her type.

‘You’re on table seven, Olivia, and you,’ Barney gave Emily an approving smile, ‘are table twelve. Would you like me to show you to your tables?’

‘No, it’s fine. Just point the way to the bar,’ I said, anxious to put as much distance as possible between us. ‘You’re obviously rushed off your feet.’

Botox Barbie’s smile slipped for a second, her face sour as she muttered under her breath, ‘Hardly.’

My glass of wine was window dressing as my stomach was still on its final spin. It might be a long evening. Emily and I positioned ourselves so it looked as if we were talking to one another, when in fact we were scanning the room over each other’s shoulders.

The room was almost circular, the circumference ringed by alcoves containing tables lit by angular desk lamps. The line, ‘Ve hav vays of making you talk’, ran through my head.

‘Seen anyone interesting?’ asked Emily, tossing her long blonde hair back over her shoulder for the fifth time.

‘I’m trying not to make it seem too obvious.’ I gave my wine another tentative sip. ‘If I catch anyone’s eye they might think I’m desperate.’

‘Olivia, people go speed-dating all the time. They’re probably all veterans.’

And that was supposed to make me feel better?

Dotted around the room were the odd twosome, like us, pretending not to be eyeing everyone else up. A few brave solitary souls, clearly mad or desperate, were busy examining the huge curved pieces of artwork that hugged the walls.

One man stood out. Nothing mad or desperate about him. If anything he seemed to preen under the curious glances, self-assured and haughty as he gazed airily around the room as if looking for inspiration before reapplying himself to his
Times
crossword.