Twenties Girl (11 page)

“Did it say where they’re having lunch?”

Sadie nods. “Bistro Martin.”

“Bistro Martin?” I think I’m going to hyperventilate. “That’s where we had our first date! We always used to go there!”

Josh is taking a girl to Bistro Martin. A girl called Marie.

“Go in again.” I wave my hands agitatedly at the building. “Search around! Find out more!”

“I’m not going in again!” objects Sadie. “You’ve found out all you need to know.”

Actually, she has a point.

“You’re right.” Abruptly, I turn and start walking away from the flat, so preoccupied that I nearly bump into an old man. “Yes, you’re right. I know which restaurant they’re going to be at, and what time; I’ll just go along and see for myself—”

“No!” Sadie appears in front of me, and I stop in surprise. “That’s not what I meant! You
can’t
be intending to spy on them.”

“I have to.” I look at her, perplexed. “How else am I going to find out if Marie’s his new girlfriend or not?”

“You
don’t
find out. You say, ‘Good riddance,’ buy a new dress, and take another lover. Or several.”

“I don’t want several lovers,” I say mulishly. “I want Josh.”

“Well, you can’t have him! Give up!”

I’m so, so,
so
sick of people telling me to give up on Josh. My parents, Natalie, that old woman I got talking to on the bus once…

“Why should I give up?” My words fly out on a swell of protest. “Why does everyone keep telling me to give up? What’s wrong with sticking to one single goal? In every other area of life, perseverance is
encouraged!
It’s
rewarded!
I mean, they didn’t tell Edison to give up on lightbulbs, did they? They didn’t tell Scott to forget about the South Pole! They didn’t say, ‘Never mind, Scotty, there are plenty more snowy wastes out there.’ He kept trying. He refused to give up, however hard it got. And he made it!”

I feel quite stirred up as I finish, but Sadie is peering at me as though I’m an imbecile.

“Scott didn’t make it,” she says. “He froze to death.”

I glare at her resentfully. Some people are just so negative.

“Well, anyway.” I turn on my heel and start stumping along the street. “I’m going to that lunch.”

“The worst thing a girl can do is trail after a boy when a love affair is dead,” Sadie says disdainfully. I stump faster, but she
has no problem keeping up with me. “There was a girl called Polly in my village
—frightful
trailer. She was convinced this chap Desmond was still in love with her and followed him around everywhere. So we played the most ripping joke on her. We told her that Desmond was in the garden, hiding behind a bush as he was too shy to talk to her directly. Then, when she came out, one of the boys read out a love letter, supposed to be from him. We’d written it ourselves, you know. Everyone was hiding behind the bushes, simply rocking.”

I can’t help feeling a reluctant interest in her story.

“Didn’t the other guy sound different?”

“He said his voice was high from nerves. He said her presence reduced him to a trembling leaf. Polly replied that she understood, because her own legs were like aspic.” Sadie starts giggling. “We all called her Aspic for ages after that.”

“That’s so mean!” I say in horror. “She didn’t realize it was a trick?”

“Only when the bushes all started shaking around the garden. Then my friend Bunty rolled out onto the grass, she was laughing so hard, and the game was up. Poor Polly.” Sadie gives a sudden giggle. “She was foaming. She didn’t speak to any of us all summer.”

“I’m not surprised!” I exclaim. “I think you were all really cruel! And, anyway, what if their love affair
wasn’t
dead? What if you ruined her chance of true love?”

“True love!” echoes Sadie with a derisive laugh. “You’re so old-fashioned!”

“Old-fashioned?”
I echo incredulously.

“You’re just like my grandmother, with your love songs and your sighing. You even have a little miniature of your beloved in your handbag, don’t you? Don’t deny it! I’ve seen you looking at it.”

It takes me a moment to work out what she’s talking about.

“It isn’t a miniature, actually. It’s called a mobile phone.”

“Whatever it’s called. You still look at it and make goo-goo eyes and then you take your smelling salts out of that little bottle—”

“That’s Rescue Remedy!” I say furiously. God, she’s starting to wind me up. “So you don’t believe in love, is that what you’re saying? You weren’t ever in love? Not even when you were married?”

A passing postman shoots me a curious look, and I hastily put a hand to my ear as though adjusting an earpiece. I must start wearing one as camouflage.

Sadie hasn’t answered me, and as we reach the tube station I stop dead to survey her, suddenly genuinely curious. “You were really never in love?”

There’s the briefest pause, then Sadie flings her arms out with a rattle of bracelets, her head thrown back. “I had fun. That’s what I believe in. Fun, flings, the sizzle …”

“What sizzle?”

“That’s what we called it, Bunty and I.” Her mouth curves in a reminiscent smile. “It starts as a shiver, when you see a man for the first time. And then he meets your eye and the shiver runs down your back and becomes a sizzle in your stomach and you think
I want to dance with that man
.”

“And then what happens?”

“You dance, you have a cocktail or two, you flirt. …” Her eyes are shining.

“Do you—”

I want to ask, “Do you shag him?” but I’m not sure it’s the kind of question you ask your 105-year-old great-aunt. Then I remember the visitor from the nursing home.

“Hey.” I raise my eyebrows. “You can say what you like, but I know there was someone special in your life.”

“What do you mean?” She stares at me, suddenly tense. “What are you talking about?”

“A certain gentleman by the name of … Charles Reece?”

I’m hoping to provoke a blush or gasp or something, but she looks blank.

“I’ve never heard of him.”

“Charles Reece! He came to visit you in the nursing home? A few weeks ago?”

Sadie shakes her head. “I don’t remember.” The light in her eyes fades as she adds, “I don’t remember much about that place at all.”

“I suppose you wouldn’t. …” I pause awkwardly. “You had a stroke, years ago.”

“I
know.”
She glares at me.

God, she doesn’t have to be so touchy. It’s not my fault. Suddenly I realize my phone is vibrating. I pull it out of my pocket and see that it’s Kate.

“Hi, Kate!”

“Lara? Hi! Um, I was wondering … are you coming into work today? Or not?” she adds quickly, as though she might have offended me by asking. “I mean, either way is great, everything’s fine. …”

Shit. I’ve been so absorbed in Josh, I’d almost forgotten about work.

“I’m on my way in,” I say hastily. “I was just doing a bit of … er … research at home. Is anything up?”

“It’s Shireen. She wants to know what you’ve done about her dog. She sounded quite upset. In fact, she was talking about pulling out of the job.”

Oh God. I haven’t even
thought
about Shireen and her dog.

“Could you phone her back and say I’m on the case and I’ll call her really soon? Thanks, Kate.”

I put my phone away and massage my temples briefly. This is bad. Here I am, out on the street, spying on my ex, completely abandoning my work crisis. I need to reorder my priorities. I need to realize what’s important in life.

I’ll leave Josh until the weekend.

“We have to go.” I reach for my Oyster card and start hurrying toward the tube. “I’ve got a problem.”

“Another man problem?” asks Sadie, wafting effortlessly along beside me.

“No, a dog problem.”

“A
dog?”

“It’s my client.” I march down the tube steps. “She wants to take her dog to work, and they’re saying no, it’s not allowed, but she’s convinced there’s another dog in the building.”

“Why?”

“Because she heard barking, more than once. But, I mean, what am I supposed to do about it?” I’m almost talking to myself now. “I’m totally stuck. The human-resources department is denying there’s any other dog, and there’s no way to prove they’re lying. I can’t exactly get into the building and search every office—”

I stop in surprise as Sadie appears right in front of me.

“Maybe not.” Her eyes sparkle. “But I can.”

SEVEN

acrosant is housed in a massive block on Kingsway, with big steps and a steel globe sculpture and plate-glass windows. From the Costa Coffee across the road, I have a pretty good view of it.

“Anything doglike,” I’m instructing Sadie, behind an open copy of the
Evening Standard
. “The sound of barking, baskets under desks, dog toys …” I take a sip of cappuccino. “I’ll stay here. And thanks!”

The building’s so massive, I could be waiting here awhile. I flick through my
Evening Standard and
slowly nibble my way through a chocolate brownie, and I’ve just ordered a fresh cappuccino when Sadie materializes in front of me. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are shining and she’s glowing all over. I pull out my mobile phone, smile at the girl at the next table, and pretend to dial a number.

“So?” I say into the phone. “Did you find a dog?”

“Oh, that,” Sadie says, as though she’d forgotten all about it. “Yes, there’s a dog, but guess what—”

“Where?” I cut her off in excitement. “Where’s the dog?”

“Up there.” She gestures. “In a basket under a desk. It’s the
dearest
little Pekingese—”

“Can you get a name? An office number? Anything like that? Thank you!”

She vanishes and I sip my new cappuccino, hugging myself. Shireen was right all along! Jean lied to me! Wait until I get on the phone with her. Just wait. I’m going to demand a full apology and full office rights for Flash and maybe a new dog basket as a goodwill gesture….

I glance through the window and suddenly spot Sadie drifting along the pavement, back toward the coffee shop. I feel a tiny spike of frustration. She doesn’t seem in any hurry at all. Doesn’t she realize how important this is?

I’m ready with my mobile out as soon as she enters. “Everything OK?” I demand. “Did you find the dog again?”

“Oh,” she says vaguely. “Yes, the dog. It’s on floor fourteen, room 1416, and its owner is Jane Frenshew. I’ve just met the most
delicious
man.” She hugs herself.

“What do you mean, you’ve met a man?” I’m scribbling it all quickly on a piece of paper. “You can’t meet a man. You’re dead. Unless—” I look up with a sudden thrill. “Ooh. Have you met another ghost?”

“He’s not a ghost.” She shakes her head impatiently. “But he’s divine. He was talking in one of the rooms I walked through. Just like Rudolph Valentino.”

“Who?” I say blankly.

“The film star, of course! Tall and dark and dashing. Instant sizzle.”

“Sounds lovely,” I say absently.

“And he’s just the right height,” Sadie continues, swinging her legs on a bar stool. “I measured myself against him. My head would rest on his shoulder perfectly if we went dancing together.”

“Great.” I finish writing, grab my bag, and stand up. “OK. I need to get back to the office and sort this out.”

I head out of the door and start hurrying toward the tube, but to my surprise Sadie blocks my way.

“I want him.”

“I’m sorry?” I peer at her, flicking my mobile open out of habit.

“The man I just met. I felt it, right here. The sizzle.” She presses her concave stomach. “I want to dance with him.”

Is she joking?

“Well, that would be nice,” I say at last, in placatory tones. “But I’ve really got to get to the office—”

As I move forward, Sadie thrusts a bare arm across my path and I stop, taken aback.

“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve danced?” she says with sudden passion. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve … shaken my booty? All those years, trapped in an old woman’s body. In a place with no music, with no life …”

I feel a rub of guilt inside as I remember the picture of Sadie, ancient and wrinkled in her pink shawl.

“OK,” I say quickly. “Fair enough. So, let’s dance at home. We’ll put on some music, dim the lights, have a little party—”

“I don’t want to dance at home to the wireless!” she says scornfully. “I want to go out with a man and enjoy myself!”

“You want to go on a
date,”
I say disbelievingly, and her eyes light up.

“Yes! Exactly! A date with a man. With him.” She points at the building.

What exactly is it about being a ghost that she doesn’t understand?

“Sadie, you’re
dead.”

“I know!” she says in irritation. “You don’t have to keep reminding me!”

“So you can’t go on a date. Sorry. That’s the way it is.” I shrug and start walking on again. Two seconds later, Sadie lands in front of me once more, her jaw set.

“Ask him for me.”

“What?”

“I can’t do it on my own.” Her voice is fast and determined. “I need a go-between. If you go out with him on a date, I can go out with him on a date. If you dance with him, I can dance with him too.”

She’s serious. I almost want to burst out laughing.

“You want me to go on a date for you,” I say, to clarify. “With some random guy I don’t know. So you can have a dance.”

“I just want one last little burst of fun with a handsome man while I still have the chance.” Sadie’s head falls forward and her mouth pouts into the sad little O shape again. “One more whirl around a dance floor. That’s all I ask before I disappear from this world.” Her voice descends to a low, pitiful whisper. “It’s my last desire. My final wish.”

“It’s not your final wish!” I say, a bit indignantly. “You’ve already had your final wish! It was searching for your necklace, remember?”

For an instant Sadie looks caught out.

“This is my other final wish,” she says at last.

“Look, Sadie.” I try to sound reasonable. “I can’t just ask a stranger on a date. You’ll have to do without this one. Sorry.”

Sadie is surveying me with such a silent, quivering, wounded expression that I wonder if I somehow stepped on her foot.

“You’re really saying no,” she says at last, her voice cracking as though with emotion. “You’re really refusing me. One last innocent wish. One tiny request.”

“Look—”

“I was in that nursing home for years. Never any visitors. Never any laughter. Never any life. Just oldness … and loneliness … and misery …”

Oh God. She can’t do this to me. It’s not fair.

“Every Christmas, all alone, never a visitor … never a present …”

“It wasn’t my fault,” I say feebly, but Sadie ignores me.

“And now I see the chance of a sliver of happiness. A morsel of pleasure. Yet my own callous, selfish great-niece—”

“OK!” I stop in my tracks and rub my forehead. “OK! Whatever! Fine! I’ll do it.”

Everyone in my life thinks I’m a lunatic anyway. Asking a stranger on a date will make no difference; in fact, my dad will probably be delighted.

“You’re an angel!” Sadie’s mood has instantly flipped to giddy excitement. She whirls around on the pavement, the panels on her dress flying out. “I’ll show you where he is! Come on!”

I follow her toward the massive steps and push my way into the huge double-height foyer. If I’m going to do this, I need to do it very quickly, before I change my mind.

“So where is he?” I look around the echoing marble chamber.

“In a room upstairs! Come on!” She’s like a puppy straining the leash.

“I can’t just walk into an office building!” I hiss back, gesturing at the electronic security barriers. “I need a plan. I need an excuse. I need
… aha.”

In the corner is a stand with the sign
Global Strategy Seminar
. A pair of bored-looking girls are sitting behind a table of name badges. They’ll do.

“Hi.” I approach briskly. “Sorry I’m late.”

“No problem. They’ve only just started.” One of the girls sits up and reaches for her list, while the other stares resolutely at the ceiling. “And you are …”

“Sarah Connoy,” I say, grabbing a name badge at random. “Thanks. I’d better get going.”

I hurry to the security barriers, flash my name badge at the guard, and hurry through into a wide corridor with expensive-looking artwork on the walls. I have no idea where I am. The building holds about twenty different companies, and the only one I’ve ever visited is Macrosant, which is on floors 11-17.
“Where’s this guy, then?” I murmur to Sadie out of the side of my mouth.

“Twentieth floor.”

I head for the lifts, nodding in a businesslike way at all the other passengers. At floor 20 I get out of the lift and find myself in another massive reception area. Twenty feet away from where I’m standing is a granite-colored desk manned by a scary-looking woman in a gray suit. A plaque on the wall says
Turner Murray Consulting
.

Wow. Turner Murray are the really brainy ones who get asked to sort out big businesses. This guy must be pretty high-powered, whoever he is.

“Come on!” Sadie is dancing ahead toward a door with a security panel. A pair of men in suits stride past, and one of them gives me a curious look. I hold my phone up to my ear to discourage conversation, and follow the men. As we reach the door, one of the men punches in a code.

“Thanks.” I nod in my most businesslike way and follow them in. “Gavin, I’ve told you the European figures don’t make sense,” I say into my phone.

The taller man hesitates as though he’s going to challenge me. Shit. I hastily increase my speed and walk straight past them.

“I have a meeting in two minutes, Gavin,” I say hastily. “I want those updated figures on my BlackBerry. Now I have to go and talk about … er … percentages.”

There’s a ladies’ room on the left. Trying not to run, I hurry into it and duck into a marble-clad cubicle.

“What are you doing?” Sadie demands, materializing right in the cubicle with me. Honestly. Does she have no idea of privacy?

“What do you think I’m doing?” I reply under my breath. “We need to wait a bit.”

I sit it out for three minutes, then head out of the ladies’. The two men have disappeared. The corridor is empty and quiet, just a long stretch of pale-gray carpet and occasional water machines and blond-wood doors leading off on either side. I can
hear the hum of conversation and occasional small computer sounds.

“So where is he?” I turn to Sadie.

“Hmm.” She’s peering around. “One of these doors along here …”

She heads along the corridor and I follow cautiously. This is surreal. What am I doing roaming around a strange office building, looking for a strange man?

“Yes!” Sadie appears by my side, glowing. “He’s in there! He has the most
penetrating
eyes. Absolutely shiversome.” She points to a solid wooden door labeled
Room 2012
. There isn’t a window or even a tiny glass panel. I can’t see anything inside.

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve just been inside! He’s there! Go on! Ask him!” Her hands are trying to push me.

“Wait!” I take a few steps away, trying to think this all through. I can’t just blunder in. I have to make a plan.

1) Knock and enter strange guy’s office.

2) Say hello in natural, pleasant manner.

3) Ask him out on date.

4) Almost die of embarrassment as he calls security.

5) Leave very, very swiftly.

6) Do not give my name under any circumstances. That way I can run away and blank the whole thing from my memory and nobody will ever know it was me. Maybe he’ll even think he dreamed it.

The whole thing will take thirty seconds max and then Sadie will have to stop pestering me. OK, let’s get it over with. I approach the door, trying to ignore the fact that my heart is suddenly galloping with nerves. I take a deep breath, raise my hand, and knock gently.

“You didn’t make any sound!” exclaims Sadie behind me. “Knock harder! Then just walk in. He’s in there! Go on!”

Squeezing my eyes, I rap sharply, twist the door handle, and take a step inside the room.

Twenty suited people seated around a conference table all turn to look at me. A man at the far end pauses in his PowerPoint presentation.

I stare back, frozen.

It’s not an office. It’s a conference room. I’m standing in a company I don’t belong to, in a great big meeting I don’t belong to, and everyone’s waiting for me to speak.

“Sorry,” I stammer at last. “I don’t want to interrupt. Carry on.”

Out of the corner of my eye I’ve noticed a couple of empty seats. Barely knowing what I’m doing, I pull a chair out and sit down. The woman next to me eyes me uncertainly for a moment, then pushes along a pad of paper and pen.

“Thanks,” I murmur back.

I don’t quite believe this. No one’s told me to leave. Don’t they realize I don’t belong here? The guy at the front has resumed his speech, and a few people are scribbling notes. Surreptitiously, I look around the table. There are about fifteen men in this room. Sadie’s guy could be any of them. There’s a sandy-haired guy across the table who looks cute. The man giving the presentation is quite good-looking too. He has wavy dark hair and pale blue eyes and the same tie I bought Josh for his birthday. He’s gesturing at a graph and talking with an animated voice.

“… and client satisfaction ratings have increased, year-on-year—”

“Stop right there.” A man standing at the window, whom I hadn’t even noticed before, turns around. He has an American accent, a dark suit, and chestnut-colored hair brushed straight back. There’s a deep V-shaped frown between his eyebrows, and he’s looking at the wavy-haired guy as though he represents some great personal disappointment to him. “Client satisfaction ratings aren’t what we’re about. I don’t want to perform work that a client rates as an A. I want to perform work that
I
rate as an A.”