Twenties Girl (21 page)

“This was a good idea, Lara.” He smiles, then bends to kiss my cheek. “No hard feelings. Let’s stay in touch.”

Stay in touch?

“Have another drink!” I try not to sound desperate. “Just a quick one!”

Josh considers for a moment, then looks at his watch again. “OK, a quick one. Same?” He heads toward the bar. The minute he’s out of earshot I hiss, “Sadie!” and beckon her over from the bar stool where she’s been sitting throughout, wedged between two businessmen with stripy-shirted guts.

“Tell him he loves me!”

“But he doesn’t love you,” says Sadie, as though explaining something very simple to someone very stupid.

“He does! He does, really! He’s just scared to admit it, even to himself. But you saw us. We were getting on amazingly. If he
only had a little nudge in the right direction … please … please …” I gaze at her entreatingly. “After everything I’ve done for you
… please
.”

Sadie gives an exasperated sigh.
“All right.”

A microsecond later she’s at Josh’s side, bellowing in his ear,
“You still love Lara! You made a mistake! You still love Lara!”

I can see him stiffen and shake his head, trying to rid himself of the noise. He brushes his ear a few times, breathes heavily, and rubs his face. At last I see him turn and survey me. He looks so dazed that if I wasn’t feeling so anxious I’d laugh.

“You still love Lara! You still love Lara!”

As Josh carries the drinks over and sits down next to me, he seems transfixed. I shoot Sadie a grateful smile and sip my wine, waiting for Josh to declare himself. But he sits rigid, his eyes distant.

“Is there something on your mind, Josh?” I prompt at last in a soft voice. “Because if there is, you can tell me. I’m an old friend. You can trust me.”

“Lara—” He stops.

I look desperately at Sadie for more help. He’s nearly there, he’s
so
nearly there….

“You love Lara! Don’t fight it, Josh! You love her!”

Josh’s brow is clearing. He’s drawing breath. I think he’s going to—

“Lara.”

“Yes, Josh?” I can hardly manage the words.

Go on, go on, go
on….

“I think maybe I made a mistake.” Josh swallows hard. “I think I still love you.”

Even though I knew he was going to say it, there’s a huge, romantic swell in my heart, and tears start pricking my eyes.

“Well… I still love you, Josh,” I say, my voice trembling. “I always did.”

I’m not sure if he kisses me or I kiss him, but suddenly our
arms are wrapped around each other, and we’re devouring each other. (OK, I think I kissed him.) As we draw apart eventually, Josh looks even more dazed than before.

“Well,” he says after a bit.

“Well.” I lovingly mesh my fingers with his.

“Lara, I have this squash thing.” He glances at his watch, looking uncomfortable. “I need to…”

“Don’t worry,” I say generously. “Go. We can talk later.”

“OK.” He nods. “I’ll text you my new number.”

“Great.” I smile.

I won’t bring up the fact that I think it was a total overreaction to change his mobile number just because of a few texts I sent him. We can talk about that another time. No hurry.

As he flips open his phone, I glance over his shoulder—and feel a jolt of sheer amazement. He’s still got a photo of us on his screen. Him and me. Standing on a mountain in our skiwear at sunset. We’re in silhouette, but I remember the moment vividly. We’d been skiing all day, and the sunset was spectacular. We asked this German guy to take a picture, and he spent about half an hour lecturing Josh about the settings on his phone. And Josh kept the photo! All this time!

“Nice picture,” I say in a deadpan, casual way, nodding at it.

“Yeah.” Josh’s face softens as he gazes at it. “Makes me feel good whenever I look at it.”

“Me too,” I say breathlessly.

I knew it. I
knew
it. He does love me. He just needed a nudge, he just needed a confidence boost, he just needed that inner voice to tell him it was OK.

My phone burbles with a text, and Josh’s number pops up on my screen. I can’t help a tiny sigh of satisfaction. I’ve got him back again. He’s mine!

We head out of the pub, hands tightly clasped, and pause at the corner.

“I’ll get a cab,” says Josh. “Do you want to—”

I’m about to say, “Great! I’ll share it with you!” But then the new Lara stops me.
Don’t be too eager. Give him space
.

I shake my head. “No, thanks. I’m going the other way. Love you.” I kiss his fingers, one by one.

“Love you.” He nods. A cab stops, and Josh bends to kiss me again before getting in.

“Bye!” I wave as it pulls off, then turn away, hugging myself, zinging all over with triumph. We’re back together! I’m back with Josh!

FOURTEEN

can never resist telling people good news. I mean, why not brighten someone else’s life too? So by the following morning I’ve texted all my friends that Josh and I are back together. And some of his friends, just because I happened to have their numbers programmed in my phone. And the guy at Dial-a-Pizza. (That was a mistake. He was pleased for me, though.)

“Oh my God, Lara!” Kate’s voice bursts through the office door at the same time as she does. “You made up with Josh?”

“Oh, you got my text,” I say nonchalantly. “Yeah, it’s cool, isn’t it?”

“It’s amazing! I mean … it’s incredible!”

She doesn’t need to sound
quite
so surprised. But it’s nice to have someone pleased for me. Sadie’s such a downer on the whole thing. She hasn’t said she’s happy for me once, and every time I got a text back from one of my friends last night, she huffed. Even now she’s gazing disapprovingly at me from her perch on top of the filing cabinet. But I don’t care, because I’ve
got my most important phone call of all to make, and I am
so
looking forward to it. I dial the number, lean back, and wait for Dad to pick up. (Answering the phone makes Mum anxious, because it might be kidnappers. Don’t ask.)

“Michael Lington.”

“Oh, hi, Dad, it’s Lara,” I say in the casual tone I’ve been practicing all morning. “I just thought I’d let you know that Josh and I are back together again.”

“What?” says Dad after a pause.

“Yes, we bumped into each other yesterday,” I say airily. “And he said he still loved me and he’d made a huge mistake.”

There’s another silence at the other end of the phone. Dad must be too gobsmacked to answer.

Ha. This is such a sweet moment! I want to relish it forever. After all those weeks of people telling me I was sad and deluded and should move on. They were
all wrong
.

“So it looks like I was right, doesn’t it?” I can’t resist adding. “I
said
we were meant to be together.” I shoot Sadie a gloating look.

“Lara …” Dad doesn’t sound as happy as I thought he would. In fact, he sounds pretty stressed, bearing in mind his younger daughter has found happiness in the arms of the man she loves. “Are you absolutely
sure
that you and Josh …” He hesitates. “Are you
sure
that’s what he meant?”

Honestly. Does he think I’ve made it up or something?

“You can call him if you like! You can ask him! We bumped into each other, and we had a drink and talked about stuff, and he said he still loves me. And now we’re back together. Just like you and Mum.”

“Well.” I can hear Dad breathing out. “That’s quite … incredible. Wonderful news.”

“I know.” I can’t help smiling complacently. “It just goes to show. Relationships are complicated things, and other people shouldn’t barge in and think they know all about it.”

“Indeed,” he says faintly.

Poor Dad. I think I’ve practically given him a heart attack.

“Hey.” I cast around for something to cheer him up. “Dad, I was thinking about our family history the other day. And I was wondering, have you got any pictures of Great-Aunt Sadie’s house?”

“Sorry, darling?” Dad sounds like he’s having trouble keeping up.

“The old family house that burned down. In Archbury. You showed me a photograph of it once. Have you still got it?”

“I think so.” Dad’s voice is wary. “Lara, you seem a bit obsessed by Great-Aunt Sadie.”

“I’m not obsessed,” I say resentfully. “All I’m doing is showing a little interest in my heritage. I thought you’d be
pleased.”

“I am pleased,” says Dad quickly. “Of course I am. I’m just … surprised. You’ve never been interested in family history before.”

This is a fair point. He brought out some old photo album last Christmas and I fell asleep while he was showing it to me. (In my defense, I
had
eaten quite a few liqueur chocolates.)

“Yes, well … people change, don’t they? And I’m interested now. I mean, that photo’s the only thing we’ve got left of the house, isn’t it?”

“Not quite the only thing,” says Dad. “You know, the oak desk in the hall came from that house.”

“In our hall?” I stare at the phone in surprise. “I thought everything was lost in the fire.”

“A very few things were salvaged.” I can tell Dad’s relaxed a little. “They were put in a storage unit and left there for years. Nobody could face dealing with it. It was Bill who sorted it all out, after your grandfather died. He was at a loose end. I was doing my accountancy exams. Strange to imagine, but Bill was the idler in those days.” Dad laughs, and I can hear him take a sip of coffee. “That was the year your mother and I got married. That oak desk was our first piece of furniture. It’s a wonderful piece of original art nouveau.”

“Wow.”

I’m riveted by this story. I’ve walked past that desk about ten thousand times, but it’s never once occurred to me to wonder where it came from. Maybe it was Sadie’s own desk! Maybe it has all her secret papers in it! As I put the phone down, Kate is working industriously. I can’t send her on yet another coffee run. But I’m desperate to tell Sadie what I just heard.

Hey, Sadie!
I type in a new document.
Not everything was lost in the fire! There were some things in a storage unit! Guess what? We have a desk from your old house!

Maybe it has a hidden drawer full of all her lost treasures, I’m thinking excitedly. And only Sadie knows how to open it. She’ll tell me the secret code, and I’ll gently tug it open and blow off the dust, and inside will be … something really cool. I gesticulate at her and point at my screen.

“I know that desk was saved,” says Sadie, after reading my message. She sounds deeply unimpressed by the news. “I was sent a list of things at the time, in case I wanted to claim anything. Hideous crockery. Dull bits of pewter. Dreadful furniture. None of it interested me.”

It’s not dreadful furniture
, I type, a little indignantly.
It’s a wonderful piece of original art nouveau
.

I look up at Sadie, and she’s sticking a finger down her throat. “It’s minging,” she says, and I can’t help giggling.

Where did you learn that word?
I type.

“Picked it up.” Sadie gives an insouciant shrug.

So I told my dad about Josh
, I type, and look at Sadie for a reaction. But she rolls her eyes and disappears.

Fine.
Be
like that. I don’t care what she thinks, anyway. I lean back, take out my mobile, and flip to one of Josh’s texts. I feel all warm and content, as though I just drank a cup of hot chocolate. I’m back with Josh, and all’s right with the world.

Maybe I’ll text Josh and tell him how pleased everyone is for us.

No. I don’t want to hound him. I’ll leave it half an hour or so.

Across the room, the phone rings, and I wonder if maybe it’s him. But a moment later Kate says, “I’ll put you on hold,” and looks up anxiously. “Lara, it’s Janet from Leonidas Sports. Shall I put her through?”

All the hot chocolate drains out of my stomach.

“Yes. OK, I’ll speak to her. Just give me thirty seconds.” I psych myself up, then lift the phone with my breeziest top-recruitment-consultant manner. “Hi, Janet! How are you? Did you get the short list all right?”

Kate emailed the short list to Janet last night. I should have known she’d call. I should have gone out for the day or pretended to have lost my voice.

“I hope you’re as excited by it as I am,” I add brightly.

“No, I’m not,” Janet says in her usual hoarse, peremptory tones. “Lara, I don’t understand. Why’s Clive Hoxton on the list?”

“Ah, Clive,” I say, trying to sound confident. “What a man. What a talent.”

OK, so here’s the thing. I know my lunch with Clive didn’t end brilliantly. But the truth is, he’d be perfect for the job. And I might be able to talk him around before the interview. So I put him on the list anyway, with
provisional
after his name in small letters.

“Clive’s a really bright executive, Janet.” I launch into my spiel. “He’s experienced in marketing, very dynamic, ripe for a move—”

“I know all that.” Janet cuts me off. “But I bumped into him at a reception last night. He said he’d made it clear he wasn’t interested. In fact, he was shocked to learn he was on the short list.”

Fuck
.

“Really?” I summon tones of astonishment. “How … strange. How very strange. That’s not the impression I got at all. As far as I was aware, we had a great meeting, he was enthusiastic—”

“He told me he walked out,” says Janet flatly.

“He … left the meeting, obviously.” I cough. “As we both did. You could say we
both
walked out—”

“He told me you were on the phone to another client throughout and he never wanted to do business with you again.”

My face flushes red. Clive Hoxton is a mean sneak.

“Well.” I clear my throat. “Janet, I’m baffled. All I can say is we must have had mixed messages—”

“What about this Nigel Rivers?” Janet has clearly moved on. “Is he the man with the dandruff? Applied to us once before?”

“It’s a lot better these days,” I say hastily. “I think he’s using Head and Shoulders.”

“You know our MD has strong views on personal hygiene?”

“I… er … was not aware of that, Janet. I’ll make a note of it—”

“And what about this Gavin Mynard?”

“Very, very talented,” I lie at once. “A very talented, creative guy who has been … overlooked. His résumé doesn’t reflect his … wealth of experiences.”

Janet sighs. “Lara …”

I stiffen with apprehension. Her tone is unmistakable. She’s going to fire me right now. I can’t let it happen, I can’t, we’ll be finished….

“And, of course—I have another candidate!” I hear myself saying in a rush.

“Another candidate? You mean, not on the list?”

“Yes. Much better than any of the others! In fact, I’d say this candidate is definitely your person.”

“Well, who is it?” says Janet suspiciously. “Why don’t I have the details?”

“Because … I need to firm things up first.” I’m crossing my fingers so hard they hurt. “It’s all very confidential. This is a high-profile person we’re talking about, Janet. Very senior, very experienced—believe me, I’m excited.”

“I need a name!” she barks angrily. “I need a résumé! Lara,
this is all highly unprofessional. Our in-house meeting is on Thursday. Can I speak to Natalie, please?”

“No!” I say in panic. “I mean … Thursday. Absolutely! You’ll have all the information on Thursday. I promise. And all I can say is, you’ll be bowled over by the caliber of this particular candidate. Janet, I must dash, great to talk.” I put the phone down, my heart thumping.

Shit.
Shit
. What am I going to do now?

“Wow!” Kate looks up, eyes shining. “Lara, you’re such a star. I knew you’d do it! Who’s this amazing high-profile candidate?”

“There isn’t one!” I say desperately. “We have to find one!”

“Right.” Kate starts looking urgently around the office, as though a top-level marketing executive might be hiding in the filing cabinet. “Er … where?”

“I don’t know!” I thrust my fingers through my hair. “There aren’t any!”

There’s a shrill electronic burble as my phone receives a text, and I grab it, hoping for one mad moment that it’s a top marketing executive asking me if I have any jobs in sports retail going. Or maybe Josh, asking me to marry him. Or maybe Dad, saying he now realizes I was right all along and would like to apologize for ever having doubted me. Or even Diamanté, saying she doesn’t need that old dragonfly necklace after all, should she send it around by courier?

But it’s none of them. It’s Natalie.

Hi babe! Am doing some yoga on the beach. It’s so mellow here. Have sent u a pic, look at the view. Awesome, huh? Nataliexxxx PS Everything OK in the office?

I feel like hurling it out of the window.

• • •

By seven o’clock my neck is aching and my eyes are red-rimmed. I’ve made a new, emergency long list of candidates, using old issues of
Business People
, the Internet, and a copy of
Marketing Week
I made Kate run out and buy. But none of them will even take my call—let alone talk about a job, let alone allow me to quickly slap them onto a short list. I have less than forty-eight hours. I’m going to have to invent a top marketing director. Or impersonate one.

On the plus side, they had a half-price offer on pinot grigio at Oddbins.

The minute I get home, I turn on the TV and start glugging down the wine at speed. By the time
EastEnders
starts, I’ve got through half a bottle, the room is swinging from side to side, and my work troubles are receding nicely.

After all. I mean. All that really matters is love, isn’t it?

You have to get things in perspective. In proportion. Love is the thing. Not work. Not marketing directors. Not scary conversations with Janet Grady. I just need to cling on to that and I’ll be OK.

I’m cradling my phone in my lap, and every so often I turn on my texts to read them again. I’ve been texting Josh all day, just to keep my spirits up. And he’s sent two texts back! Quite short ones, but even so. He’s at some dreary work conference in Milton Keynes and he said he can’t wait to be back home.