To the Moon and Back (5 page)

At eight thirty, Michael pulled up outside the flat in Nevis Street. The rain, battering down on the roof of the Honda Civic, sounded like a never-ending drum roll. There wasn't another soul in sight. Everyone else had too much sense to venture out in such a downpour.

The lift home was welcome, the conversation less so. As they'd made their way across the city, cocooned inside the lovingly valeted car that was his pride and joy, Michael had opened up and talked at length about his loneliness. Quite movingly, in fact. Since the breakup of his marriage he had had to watch his ex-wife move on, remarry, and give birth to twin girls. In contrast, his own confidence had nose-dived and his one and only attempt at socializing had resulted in a slow dance at a club on a friend's stag night with a girl who had turned out to be a boy. ‘See, nobody else knows how I feel.' His face was pale and earnest under the glare of the street light. ‘Except you, Ellie. We're in the same boat, you and me. You understand what it's like.'

Ellie unfastened her seat belt. She was fairly sure she hadn't slow danced with a boy who was really a girl. ‘I know, but things'll get better. You'll meet someone else. Anyway, thanks for the lift—'

‘Don't go!' Michael's arm shot out and he seized her hand. ‘Ellie, you're on your own. So am I.'
Eugh, knuckles being stroked!
‘We deserve to be happy, don't we? So how about being happy together? I'd never hurt you, I promise.' He was hyperventilating and edging closer now. Stunned, Ellie realized his mouth was puckering up, homing in on hers like a heat-seeking missile while his other hand reached out to clasp her by the waist and—

Click.

Phew, saved by the seat belt. Lamentably out of practice when it came to making romantic advances, Michael had forgotten to take his off.

‘Michael, no. Stop it.' His face fell as she gently pushed him away. ‘I can't do that.'

‘No?' Ellie saw him mentally adding this fresh rejection to all the others he'd suffered in his life.

‘Sorry. It's not what I want. But it's kind of you to… offer.' Oh God, his chin was starting to wobble, please don't say he was going to cry.

‘Fine, I know, I get the message.' Michael sat back, his eyes swimming with tears. ‘Loud and clear. I'm not your type.' He wiped his hand across his face and heaved a sigh. ‘I'm thirty-five years old and nobody's ever fancied me. I don't appear to be
anyone's
type.'

You could feel sorry for someone, but not sorry enough to personally prove them wrong. Ellie said, ‘Oh, Michael, that's not true. Your wife must have fancied you.'

He shook his head mournfully. ‘She said she only married me because I had a three-bedroomed house.'

***

‘Ugh, that's so gross.' Roo was paying a flying visit on her way out to a comedy night at O'Reilly's bar in Camden. She shuddered dramatically. ‘What a creep.'

‘He's not a creep, that's the thing. He's just sad and lonely.' Ellie paused. ‘It was
slightly
gross.'

‘You turned him down. And he's your boss. That's going to make things awkward at work.'

She had a point. Fending off a clumsy, slobbery advance, then having to comfort your manager when he broke down and sobbed on your shoulder wasn't ideal. It hadn't upset her because she hadn't been scared. But Michael was going to be mortified.

‘Maybe it's time to start looking for something else.' Ellie had been vaguely considering this for the last fortnight. She had worked at the business center for six years now. Since moving to North London, getting to and from Brace House had become more complicated. Anyway, there was no hurry. She'd see how things went. It might be nice to work for someone who wasn't always resting their hand on your shoulder and giving it a comforting
squeeeeeeeeze.

‘I have to go.' Roo jumped up at the sound of an idling diesel engine outside. ‘Are you sure you don't want to come along?'

‘No thanks. Have you seen the rain out there?'

‘Which is why I prebooked a minicab. Come on, give it a try. It'll be great!'

Ellie shook her head. ‘I'm shattered. Being propositioned takes it out of you. I'm having a bath and an early night. But thanks anyway.'

‘I hate leaving you on your own.'

Like a decrepit old spinster.

‘And I hate you telling me that you hate leaving me on my own. I'm not completely useless.'

‘I didn't mean it like that. But will you be OK?'

‘Now you're sounding like Paula. I'm fine, I promise.' As soon as Roo was out of here, she was going to have a lovely, long chat with Jamie. That wasn't too weird, was it?

‘Yes, but—'

‘Go!'

Except Jamie wasn't playing ball tonight. For whatever reason, Ellie discovered she couldn't conjure him up. Probably because she was too tired. It was hard work doing it properly. She took a bath and tried again afterwards, but the concentration just wasn't there.

Then as if to prove her wrong, he turned up just as she was falling asleep, when she hadn't been trying at all.

‘You're not being fair.'

Her eyes snapped open at the sound of Jamie's voice. And there he was, sitting at the end of the bed, watching her intently.

‘What?'

‘You know what I'm talking about.'

‘No, I don't.'

He gave her a meaningful look. ‘I
know
you know.'

‘And you're going to force me to say it? Fine, then. Todd. He sent me an email and I sent him one back. I was perfectly polite.'

‘You're not being fair,' Jamie said again.

‘Guess what? I don't care.'

‘Yes, you do.'

‘What are you, my conscience?' OK, stupid question, she might not be firing on all cylinders but even Ellie knew the answer to that one.

‘You can't blame Todd for what happened. It wasn't his fault.'

‘I'm not listening.' She closed her eyes and rolled over onto her front, pulling the duvet over her head.

‘Don't you think he feels bad enough?'

‘Shut up.'

‘He was my best friend.' Jamie's voice was gentle.

A hot tear leaked out of Ellie's eye. ‘Go away,' she mumbled. ‘I'm asleep.'

***

The little blue and white café amongst the row of shops along Regents Park Road was one of Roo's favorite places to spend an hour while she was waiting for inspiration to strike. At least, that was her excuse. The official line was that she was on the hunt for ideas for lyrics whilst also trying out possible melodies in her head. In reality she just loved the buzzy atmosphere, the people watching, the mugs of hot chocolate, and the cheese and spicy mushrooms on toast.

Yesterday's torrential rain had power-hosed the streets; today the sun blazed down out of a cobalt sky and it was hot enough to sit outside in a T-shirt. Roo, giving her new sunglasses their first outing, was comfortably set up at one of the steel tables along the pavement and tapping away on her laptop. Anyone watching would admire her businesslike manner and air of efficiency. They wouldn't suspect that she was actually scrolling through photos of Richard Armitage, and reading her horoscope, and checking out all the latest scurrilous gossip on Popbitch.

But
looking
efficient, which was what counted.

‘…So that's that, it's all decided. We're moving to Albufeira!' The dark-haired woman at the next table was proudly relaying her big news to her friend. Both in their late fifties, unshowy, and frumpily dressed by Primrose Hill standards, they were huddled together over cups of tea and plates of lemon cheesecake. ‘Roy's going to play golf all day and I'll be a lady of leisure!'

‘Oh, how marvelous, you'll have a wonderful time! I mean, we'll miss you being here.' Her gray-haired friend nodded eagerly. ‘But you'll have a spare bedroom, won't you, so Jim and I can come and stay with you both! We could pop over every couple of weeks!'

‘Well, ye-es…'

Roo hid a smile at the dark-haired woman's less than enthusiastic response. Eavesdropping was one of her favorite pastimes; she just loved observing the way other people interacted.

‘So have you handed in your notice at work?'

‘Not yet. Zack's up in Manchester today. I'm going to tell him tomorrow. He'll be devastated to lose me, of course. We work so well together. Is this cheesecake a little more
lemony
than usual?'

‘Possibly. But he won't have any trouble finding someone else, will he? I mean, he's Zack McLaren. He'll be inundated with offers from girls desperate to work for him!'

The dark-haired woman gave a snort of derision. ‘That's not what he wants though, is it? He wants someone capable of doing the job, someone trustworthy who takes pride in their work. Not some simpering ninny in a short skirt.'

Roo, currently wearing a very short skirt, idly typed the name into Google Images and watched as a series of photos popped up on the screen. Zack McLaren, it appeared, was an entrepreneur. Bloody hell, the bossy old trout worked for this man? He was a
looker
. Covertly studying her, Roo took in the sensible slip-on shoes, the 1960s perm, and the hint of moustache on the woman's upper lip. What was he
thinking
of?

Ten minutes later the woman daintily brushed cheesecake crumbs from around her mouth, finished her tea, and rose to leave.

‘Well, back to work. Lots to do in the office this afternoon. I tell you something,' she added smugly, ‘Zack's going to have his work cut out finding someone who matches up to me.'

Her friend nodded. ‘You're right there, Barbara.'

‘I'm always right.' Barbara beamed. ‘Anyway, I'll be in touch, dear. Toodle-oo!'

How could Zack McLaren have employed someone who said toodle-oo? And whose ankles looked as if they were melting over the top of her shoes? Raising her sunglasses, Roo watched Barbara strut off up the road like a soldier on a route march.

Just before she was due to disappear from view, an idea popped into Roo's head that sent little zings of adrenaline through her fingers. Hurriedly shutting her laptop, she jumped to her feet and set off in pursuit.

Barbara had turned the corner. By the time Roo got her in her sights again she was halfway down Ancram Street. Then she paused, took a key from her bag, and climbed the steps to a white stucco-fronted Georgian-style house with a pillared entrance and a cranberry-red front door.

This must be where Barbara worked. Unless she'd been lying about getting back to the office and was in fact meeting her secret lover for an afternoon of torrid, passionate sex.

OK, it was probably where she worked.

Reaching the house, Roo rang the bell. The box next to the glossy cranberry-red door emitted a squawk and an officious, ‘Yes?'

‘Barbara? I have a message for you.'

‘What kind of message?'

‘OK, it's more of a proposal. Except not the marriage kind,' Roo added. ‘Can I come in?'

The door was opened seconds later. Barbara stood in the doorway, her gaze flickering over Roo on the top step. Finally she said, ‘You were sitting outside the café just now.'

‘I was. Well spotted!' Roo beamed; a bit of flattery never went amiss. ‘And I couldn't help overhearing what you were saying about having to leave your job.'

‘Really.' Barbara didn't invite her in. ‘Where's this leading?'

‘Well, wouldn't your boss appreciate it if you could present him with a replacement when you tell him you won't be working for him anymore? I think he would,' said Roo. ‘And I think it was fate that had us both sitting outside that café today.'

Barbara's pale eyes narrowed. ‘Well, it's very kind of you to offer, but I don't think you're quite the type we're looking for.' She was gazing at Roo's abbreviated skirt, silver Uggs, and turquoise T-shirt with I've Had Your Dad emblazoned across the front.

‘Oh God, no, it's not
me
. Ha, what a thought!' Roo waved her hands in horror; out of the two of them, it was a toss-up who was more appalled. ‘No, no, someone else. The absolute opposite of me, I promise. She works in a business center in Twickenham, but this would be so much handier. And she types like lightning…' She waggled her fingers madly to demonstrate. ‘Honestly, you should see her, she'd be perfect for here.'

‘How old?'

‘Nearly thirty.'

‘That's younger than we'd want,' said Barbara.

‘I know. But listen, I heard what you were saying earlier about girls wanting to work here. And this one isn't like that.
At all
. She doesn't wear short skirts. She's efficient and hardworking, and she wouldn't go gooey over your boss. I'm telling you,' said Roo, ‘you'd be mad not to snap her up.'

‘You did what?' It hadn't been the easiest of journeys home. Delays on the Circle Line had resulted in far too many commuters being sardined into too few carriages and Ellie had ended up sandwiched between two men who hadn't been introduced to deodorant. Now, convinced that their BO had wiped itself all over her jacket, she peeled it off and chucked it into the washing machine.

‘I found you a job.' Roo had been waiting for her to get back. Now she was firing up her laptop. ‘Probably. Well, possibly. But you said it was time for a change, so I got you this.' She pulled a card out of her left bra-cup and waved it. ‘All you have to do is call this number and fix up an interview.'

‘Where's the job?'

‘Right here in Primrose Hill. Ancram Street. Five minutes' walk from here.' Persuasively, Roo added, ‘Just think, no more getting smeared in other people's skanky sweat!'

‘You have a way with words.'

‘I know. That's why I'm such a brilliant songwriter. There's nothing worse than skanky sweat,' she extemporized. ‘It really made her gag and retch, far nicer than some creep with BO, would be a super-cool guy like Ne-Yo…'

‘Your country needs you.' Ellie nodded. ‘You should be our next poet laureate.'

‘Not many people have a name that rhymes with BO. Anyway, speaking of super-cool guys, take a look at this one.' Roo swiveled the laptop around so Ellie could see the screen.

‘Who's he?'

‘Zack McLaren. The one who needs a new PA. I'd volunteer for the job myself, only you need to be able to do all sorts of nifty typisty stuff. But what about him, eh? Pretty impressive? He's an entrepreneur! Look at those
eyes
…'

Ellie studied the photo. There was no denying he was an attractive specimen, what with that glossy dark hair and those film-star cheekbones. Beneath the well-cut suit he clearly had an athletic body. Nice eyes too. Next to her, Roo was visibly drooling.

‘The thing is, it's like asking a vegetarian to rave about a piece of fillet steak. I can see that he's good-looking but it's wasted on me. All that stuff 's just irrelevant right now. I'm not interested.'

‘I know, I know, but he doesn't want someone who's going to be all over him, does he? Flashing her boobs and simpering like a teenager. That's what's so great. Because you wouldn't do any of that. You'd be
perfect
.'

‘Well…'

‘And if things don't work out between me and Niall, this one can be my first reserve.' Roo lovingly stroked the computer screen. ‘He looks like he'd be fantastic in bed.'

***

Two hours later, Ellie reached across the coffee table and scooped up the business card. As she'd been leaving, Roo had urged her again to think about it, and now she had. She had also pulled her just-washed purple jacket out of the washing machine and sniffed it, and still been able to
sense
the body odor clinging to the fibers. This was the downside to having an overactive imagination. From now on, she knew, just the sight of the jacket would be enough to make her feel a bit queasy.

Whereas here was the possibility of a new job, close to home and where her past wouldn't color people's attitudes towards her because they wouldn't know about it.

Really, there was no contest.

It was only nine o'clock. That wasn't too late to call, was it? Ellie picked up the phone and pressed out the number.

Here goes…

***

The phone began to ring as Zack let himself into the house. After a long day of meetings followed by a three-hour drive back from Manchester, all he wanted was a cold beer and an hour of mindless TV before crashing out for the night.

Except that wasn't an option. Instead, he had a detailed business plan to put together and several letters to dictate. Peeling off his jacket and pushing open the door to the office, he dumped his briefcase on the desk and answered the still-ringing phone.

‘Oh, hello, is that Mr McLaren?'

It was a female voice he didn't recognize. Zack kicked off his shoes and reached for a pen. ‘Speaking.'

‘Hi there! I'm calling about the job.'

‘Job?'

‘That's right. My name's Ellie Kendall, and my friend persuaded me to call you. I hope you'll consider me, because I really think we could be a good match. I'm local, very hardworking, my typing speeds are brilliant, and I—'

‘Hang on, sorry, you've lost me here, I don't know what you're talking about,' said Zack.

‘Oh!' She sounded taken aback.

‘What kind of job are you applying for?'

‘Well, working as your PA.'

‘I'm afraid there's been some misunderstanding. I already have a PA and I'm perfectly happy with her.'

‘Oh right, but… no, OK, I'm really sorry. My mistake.' Hurriedly the girl said, ‘Sorry to bother you. Bye.'

‘Wait—' But it was too late; she had already hung up. And what would have been the point in prolonging the conversation anyway? Zack's stomach rumbled, reminding him that he needed to eat something before settling down to the paperwork. An ice-cold beer and a ferociously hot curry, that was his priority now. Then he would dictate the most important letters so that first thing in the morning Barbara could get them typed up and sent out.

***

‘So there we are. I know this has come as a shock, but rest assured you don't have to worry about a thing. I shan't leave you high and dry.' Barbara's tone was consoling. ‘I'm going to devote myself to the task of finding you a worthy replacement.'

Zack looked at the official letter of resignation she had handed him before launching into her little speech.

‘Thank you. Well, I'll be sorry to lose you, but it'll be exciting for you. And the Algarve's beautiful. You never know, you might take up golf yourself.'

Barbara shuddered. ‘I can assure you I won't.'

He smiled slightly. ‘And at least this solves one mystery.'

‘Oh?'

‘I had a phone call last night from someone applying to be my PA.'

Barbara closed her eyes in despair. ‘That dreadful, pushy girl. I'm so sorry. She
knew
I wasn't telling you until today.'

Mildly diverted, Zack said, ‘But you told her yesterday?'

‘Of course I didn't tell her! She eavesdropped on a private conversation! Then she followed me here and said her friend could take over my job. She was most persistent. I'm afraid I ended up giving her one of your cards, otherwise I'd never have got rid of her.'

‘Well, you could call that enterprising.' Barbara's reaction amused him. ‘And the friend sounded very keen on the phone. Maybe I should see her.'

‘Oh no no no.' Chins wobbling, Barbara vehemently shook her head. ‘No no no no, trust me, absolutely not the type of person you'd want to hire.'

‘But… hang on, have I got this right? You didn't actually meet the girl's friend.'

‘Zack, I didn't need to. This girl had hair like a
punk rocker
, all chopped and dyed. And silver boots!' Barbara shuddered. ‘The entire outfit was bizarre. And her T-shirt was obscene. Believe me, you wouldn't want to employ anyone who's friendly with a girl like that. No, no, just leave it to me. I'll find you the right lady.'

To tease her, Zack said, ‘Or man.'

‘I can assure you, it'll be a lady.' Nobody had ever accused Barbara of having a sense of humor. With a dismissive sniff she retorted, ‘Men can't multitask.'

***

It was Thursday evening. True to her word, Barbara had drawn up a shortlist of six eminently suitable applicants for the position of replacement PA. Zack had spent the afternoon interviewing them, and it was safe to say it hadn't been the most enthralling three hours of his life.

All the ladies were super-efficient, incredibly organized, and vastly experienced. But if there was such a thing as crimplene overload, he was suffering from it. Even when they hadn't been wearing any, they still exuded the aura of crimplene. Each of them had been in their mid to late fifties, with sensible hair and minimal—if any—makeup. Smart interview outfits. Below-the-knee skirts. Low-heeled shoes. Clipped, unvarnished fingernails. Basically, Barbara had provided him with half a dozen clones of herself. Zack knew why she'd done it, and in theory he agreed, but the prospect of choosing one of them, it had to be said, didn't fill him with joy.

Fifteen minutes later he emerged from the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. Heading downstairs to the office, he flipped back through the notepad on his desk until he found the page he was looking for.

There was the number he'd scribbled down, the one belonging to the friend of the unsuitable girl who had so alarmed Barbara last week. Smiling slightly at the memory of her reaction, Zack dialed the number. He knew nothing about the girl, other than that she didn't sound as if she wore crimplene.

It was picked up on the third ring. ‘Hello?
Whoops
.' There was a clatter followed by a big thud. ‘Sorry about that. Hello.'

‘What happened there?'

‘I reached over to pick up the phone and rolled off the sofa. Who's that?'

‘Zack McLaren.'

‘Oh! Look, can I just say I'm so sorry about last week? I really put my foot in it, didn't I? Your poor PA, I hope you weren't cross with her.'

Amused, Zack said, ‘I'm never cross. Listen, you sounded pretty enthusiastic before. I just wondered if you'd like to come over for an interview tomorrow morning?'

‘Really? Oh, wow, that'd be fantastic! But I can't do tomorrow; I'm catching the first train up to Glasgow.' She sounded genuinely apologetic. ‘It's my gran's eightieth birthday and she's having a surprise party and I can't miss it. But I'm back on Sunday night.' Hopefully she added, ‘Could we make it next week instead?'

Damn. ‘Sorry, I've already seen all the other applicants. I promised to let them know by tomorrow.'

‘Oh.' There was a pause. ‘Well, I'm not doing anything right now. Apart from falling off the sofa. How about if I just throw some clothes on and come round in thirty minutes?' Another pause. ‘Um, that makes it sound as if I'm naked. I'm not naked, I'm wearing pajamas. Oh God, this is too much information. Shall I see you in thirty minutes, fully clothed?'

Zack caught sight of his reflection in the office window. He didn't tell her that apart from the towel slung around his hips, he wasn't wearing anything either. Anyway, that was beside the point. ‘I can't do it. I have a business dinner this evening.' He'd called her number on impulse but there was no way he would employ someone without meeting them first. And he was the main guest speaker at tonight's dinner so he couldn't be late. ‘Well, we gave it a try, but I guess we'll have to leave it after all. Just a case of bad timing.' Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was eight o'clock. Seeing as his car would be here in ten minutes, he needed to get a serious move on. ‘Thanks anyway.'

‘OK.' The girl, Ellie, sounded disappointed. ‘Well, thank you too, for thinking of me. It was nice of you to call. It's a shame we couldn't meet up.'

She had an attractive voice, clear and musical, the kind that would be a joy to listen to.
If you had time
. ‘I'm sorry too. And good luck with finding another job,' said Zack. ‘Bye.'