Twenties Girl (24 page)

OK. I’m in trouble.

The door opens and I give a small squeak of fright. Ed looks in again, a bit puzzled.

“I forgot—do you want a drink from the bar?”

“No.” I smile weakly. “Thanks.”

“Everything OK?”

“Yes! Of course. I’m just … focusing my powers. Getting into the zone.”

“Sure.” He nods understandingly. “I’ll leave you be.” The door closes again.

Fuck. What am I going to do? In a minute they’ll start demanding I come out. They’ll expect me to mind read. They’ll expect me to do magic. My chest is tight with fear.

There’s only one option: I have to escape. I look desperately around the little room, which is obviously used to store spare banquet furniture. No window. There’s a fire escape door in the far corner, but it’s blocked by a massive stack of gold chairs about ten feet high. I try to pull the chairs aside, but they’re too heavy. Fine. I’ll climb over them.

Determinedly, I put one foot on a chair and haul myself up. Then another. The gold lacquer is a bit slippery, but I’m managing. It’s like a ladder. A wonky, rickety ladder.

The only trouble is, the higher I get, the more the chairs are swaying. By the time I’m about eight feet up, the stack of chairs is teetering at quite a scary angle. It’s like the Leaning Tower of Gold Chairs, with me crouching in terror near the top.

If I took just one more huge step, I’d be over the summit and I could quickly scramble down the other side to the fire exit. But every time I move my foot, the stack wobbles so much I withdraw it in fright. I try shifting to the side—but the stack lurches even more. I clutch another chair desperately, not daring to look down. The whole thing feels like it’s going to fall, and the ground seems a really long way away.

I take a deep breath. I can’t stay here frozen forever. There’s nothing for it. I have to be brave and go over the top. I take a massive step up, placing my foot on a chair about three from the top. But as I shift my weight, the stack leans back so far I can’t help screaming.

“Lara!” The door bursts open and Ed appears. “What the hell—”

“Heeelp!” The whole stack of chairs is collapsing. I
knew
I should never have moved—

“Jesus Christ!” Ed rushes forward as I tumble down. He doesn’t exactly catch me in his arms so much as break my fall with his head.

“Ow!”

“Oof!” I crash to the floor. Ed grabs my hand and helps me to my feet, then rubs his chest with a wince. I think I kicked it by mistake on the way down.

“Sorry.”

“What are you doing?” He stares at me incredulously. “Is something wrong?”

I shoot an agonized glance at the door to the banquet room. Following my gaze, he goes and shuts it. “What’s up?” he says more gently.

“I can’t do magic,” I mumble, staring at my feet.

“What?”

“I can’t do magic!” I look up in desperation.

Ed eyes me uncertainly. “But… you did it.”

“I know. But I can’t do it anymore.”

Ed surveys me silently for a few seconds, his eyes flickering as they meet mine. He looks deadly grave, as if some massive worldwide company is facing collapse and he’s working out a master plan to save it.

At the same time, he quite looks like he wants to laugh.

“You’re saying your mysterious Eastern mind-reading powers have deserted you,” he says at last.

“Yes,” I say in a small voice.

“Any idea why?”

“No.” I scuff my toe, not wanting to look at him.

“Well. Just go out there and tell everybody.”

“I can’t!” I wail in horror. “Everyone will think I’m a flake. I’ve been The Great Lara. I can’t just go and say, ‘Sorry, I can’t do it anymore.’”

“Sure you can.”

“No.” I shake my head firmly. “No way. I have to go. I have to escape.”

I start heading toward the fire exit again, but Ed grabs my arm.

“No escaping,” he says firmly. “No running away. Turn the situation around. You can do it. C’mon.”

“But how?” I say hopelessly.

“Play with them. Make it an entertainment. So you can’t read their thoughts—you can make them laugh. And then we leave, right away, and you’re still The Great Lara in everyone’s mind.” His gaze bores firmly into mine. “If you run away now, you really will be The Great Flake.”

He’s right. I don’t want him to be right, but he is.

“OK,” I say at last. “I’ll do it.”

“D’you need some more time?”

“No. I’ve had enough time. I just want to get it over with. And then we go?”

“Then we go. Deal.” A tiny grin pops through again. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.”
That’s two smiles
, I want to add. (But don’t.)

Ed strides through the door and I follow him, somehow managing to hold my head high. There’s a buzz of chatter, which dies down as I appear, and turns to a roar of applause. I can hear wolf whistles from the back, and someone’s even videoing me on their phone. I’ve been out so long, they obviously think I’ve been building up to some amazing finale.

The five victims are sitting on chairs, each holding a piece of paper and a pen. I smile at them, then look at the crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen, forgive my leave of absence. I have been opening my mind to a number of thought waves tonight. And quite frankly … I’m shocked at what I’ve discovered. Shocked! You.” I wheel around to the first girl, who’s holding her piece of paper close to her chest. “Obviously I know what you’ve
drawn.”
I make a brushing-aside gesture, as though what she’s drawn is neither here nor there. “But far more interesting is
the fact that there’s a man in your office who you think is rather delicious. Don’t deny it!”

The girl flushes, and her reply is drowned by a roar of laughter. “It’s Blakey!” someone yells, and there’s more laughter.

“You, sir!” I turn to a cropped-haired guy. “They say most men think about sex once every thirty seconds, but with you it’s far,
far
more frequent than that.” There are gales of laughter, and I hastily turn to the next man. “Whereas you, sir, think about
money
every thirty seconds.”

The man bursts into laughter. “She
is
a bloody mind reader!” he calls out.

“Your thoughts were unfortunately too steeped in alcohol for me to make out.” I smile kindly at the portly guy sitting on the fourth chair. “And as for you …” I pause as I face the girl on the fifth chair. “I suggest you never, ever tell your mother what you were just thinking.” I raise my eyebrows teasingly, but she doesn’t rise.

“What?” She frowns. “What are you talking about?”

Shit.

“You know.” I force myself to hold my smile steady.
“You
know …”

“No.” She shakes her head stolidly. “I’ve got no idea what you’re on about.”

The audience’s chatter has died away. Faces are turned to us with interest.

“Do I have to spell it out?” My smile is becoming forced. “Those … thoughts? Those particular thoughts you were just having…” I’m nearing the end of my rope here. “Just now…”

Suddenly her face snaps in horror. “Oh God. That. You’re right.”

Somehow I manage not to expire with relief.

“The Great Lara is always right!” I make an elaborate bow. “Farewell, and see you all again.”

I head quickly through the applauding audience toward Ed.

“I got your bag,” he murmurs above the clapping. “One more bow, then we’re out.”

I don’t breathe until we’re safely out on the street. The air is clear and there’s a warmish breeze. The hotel doorman is surrounded by groups of people waiting for taxis, but I don’t want to risk anyone from the dinner catching up with me, so I hastily walk down onto the pavement.

“Well done, Greatie,” says Ed as we fall into step.

“Thanks.”

“Shame about the magic powers.” He’s looking at me inquiringly, but I pretend not to notice.

“Yes, well.” I shrug casually. “They come, they go, that’s the mystery of the East. Now, if we walk this way”—I squint at a street sign—“we should be able to pick up a taxi.”

“I’m in your hands,” says Ed. “I don’t know this area.”

This not-knowing-London is really starting to annoy me.

“Is there any area you
do
know?”

“I know my route to work.” Ed shrugs. “I know the park opposite my building. I know the way to Whole Foods.”

OK, I’ve had it. How dare he come to this great city and show zero interest in it?

“Don’t you think that’s really narrow-minded and arrogant?” I stop dead. “Don’t you think if you come and live in a city you should respect it enough to get to know it? London is one of the most fascinating, historic, amazing cities in the world! And bloody Whole Foods! That’s an American shop! Couldn’t you try Waitrose?” My voice rises. “I mean, why did you take a job here if you weren’t interested in the place? What were you planning to do?”

“I was planning to explore it with my fiancée,” Ed says calmly.

His answer slightly takes the wind out of my sails.

Fiancée. What fiancée?

“Until she broke up with me, a week before we were supposed to come,” Ed continues conversationally. “She asked her company to transfer her London placement to someone else. So, you see, I had a dilemma. Come to England, stay focused, and do the best I could, or stay in Boston, knowing I’d see her almost every day. She worked in the same building as me.” He pauses a second before adding, “And her lover.”

“Oh.” I stare at him in dismay. “I’m sorry. I… didn’t realize.”

“No problem.”

His face is so impassive, it almost seems like he doesn’t care—but I’m getting to understand his deadpan style. He does care, of course he does. Suddenly his frown is making more sense. And that closed-up expression. And that weary voice he had in the restaurant. God, what a bitch his fiancée must be. I can see her now. Big white American teeth and swingy hair and killer heels. I bet he bought her a massive ring. I bet she’s kept it.

“That must have been horrible,” I say feebly as we start walking again.

“I had the guidebooks.” He’s gazing resolutely ahead. “I had the itineraries. I had a million projects planned. Stratford-upon-Avon … Scotland … Oxford … But they were all planned with Corinne. Kind of takes the fun out of it.”

A vision comes to me of a pile of guidebooks, all scribbled and annotated with their exciting plans. And then shut away. I feel so sorry for him, I think I should probably shut up now and stop giving him a hard time. But some stronger instinct makes me push on.

“So you just go your route to work and back again every day,” I say. “You never look left or right. You go to Whole Foods and the park and back again and that’s it.”

“Works for me.”

“How long have you been over here again?”

“Five months.”

“Five months?” I echo in horror. “No. You can’t exist like
that. You can’t lead your life in tunnel vision. You have to open your eyes and look around. You have to move on.”

“Move on,” he echoes, in mock-amazed tones. “Wow. Right. Not a phrase anyone’s said to me much.”

OK, so obviously I’m not the only one who’s given him a pep talk. Well, too bad.

“I’ll be gone in two more months,” he adds curtly. “It hardly matters whether I get to know London or not—”

“So, what, you’re just treading water, just existing, waiting until you feel better? Well, you never will! Not unless you
do
something about it!” All my frustration with him pours out in a stream. “Look at you, doing memos for other people, and emails for your mum, and solving everyone else’s problems because you don’t want to think about your own! Sorry, I overheard you in Pret A Manger,” I add sheepishly as Ed’s head jerks up. “If you’re going to live in a place, doesn’t matter how long, you need to
engage
with it. Otherwise you’re not really living. You’re just functioning. I bet you haven’t even unpacked properly, have you?”

“As it
happens …
” He pauses for a few steps. “My housekeeper unpacked for me.”

“There you go.” I shrug, and we walk on a little more in silence, our footsteps almost in time. “People break up,” I say at last. “It’s just the way things are. And you can’t dwell on what might have been. You have to look at what is.”

As I’m saying the words, I have a weird flash of déjà vu. I think Dad said something to me like this once about Josh. In fact, he might even have used those exact words.

But that was different. I mean, obviously it’s an entirely different scenario. Josh and I weren’t planning a trip, were we? Or to move cities. And now we’re back together again. Totally different.

“Life is like an escalator,” I add wisely.

When Dad says that to me, I get all annoyed because he just
doesn’t understand. But somehow it’s different when
I’m
giving advice.

“An escalator,” echoes Ed. “Thought it was a box of chocolates.”

“No, definitely an escalator. You see, it carries you on regardless.” I mime an escalator. “And you might as well enjoy the view and seize every opportunity while you’re passing. Otherwise it’ll be too late. That’s what my dad told me when I broke up with this … this guy.”

Ed walks on a few paces. “And did you take his advice?”

“Er … well…” I brush my hair back, avoiding his eye. “Kind of.”

Ed stops and looks at me gravely. “Did you ‘move on’? Did you find it easy? Because I sure as hell haven’t.”

I clear my throat, playing for time. What I did isn’t really the point here, surely?

“You know, there are lots of definitions of ‘move on.’” I try to maintain my wise tone. “Many different variations. Everyone has to move on in their own way.”

I’m not sure I want to get into this conversation, actually. Maybe now is the moment to find a cab.

“Taxi!” I wave my hand at a passing cab, but it sails past, even though its light is on. I
hate
when they do that.

“Let me.” Ed approaches the curb, and I take out my mobile phone. There’s a pretty good minicab company that I use. Maybe they could come and pick us up. I retreat into a doorway, dial the number, and wait on hold, before I eventually discover that all the cabs are out tonight and it’ll be a half-hour wait.

“No good.” I come out of the doorway to see Ed standing stock still on the pavement. He’s not even trying to hail a cab. “No luck?” I say in surprise.