‘Please can we do this when I’ve put the chicken down?’ I asked, searching for a safe place to put the tray as my arms started to shake uncontrollably.
‘No, I want to say this while I’ve got your attention,’ he insisted. ‘You might think I’m some super creep who stalked you up here—’
‘Because you are.’
‘—but I wasn’t stalking you,’ he went on, talking over me this time. ‘I came up because my dad invited me, I didn’t have any other plans and, like an idiot, I thought it might be fun. And because I have something for you.’
He pressed the magic button on his key fob and the hatch opened impossibly slowly, almost as though it was in on the drama. The boot of the car was spotless and completely empty apart from one thing. A slightly grubby, well-used canvas tote bag.
Myslightly grubby, well-used canvas tote bag.
‘Oh my god!’ I screamed, reaching forwards. The tray of chicken slipped from my grasp and dozens of drumsticks tumbled off into the road.
‘Fuck!’ Joe exclaimed. ‘The chicken!’
‘Fuck the chicken!’ I yelled with delight. ‘You found my bag!’
‘I didn’t find it, you left it in the karaoke bar,’ he said, sliding his trays of burgers and hotdogs into the boot as I grabbed my bag and clutched it tightly to my chest, chicken drumsticks be damned.
‘I was going to give it to you earlier but after that scene with your sister and the “fake” handbag, I got the feeling I should wait until we were alone.’
I nodded, only half listening as I pawed at the contents. It was all there, the laptop, the manuscript, the copy ofButterflies, and all the incriminating post with my name and address.
‘Your family don’t know, do they?’ Joe said.
‘Know what?’ I asked in a painfully squeaky voice, the worst liar in the world.
‘That you’re Este Cox.’
It was too strange to hear him say it, a statement and an accusation.
‘What are you talking about?’ I half-laughed, shaking my head as I thumbed through the pages, certain words and phrases catching my eye against my will. Why did I have to write even more spice into the sequel? So help me god, if he’d read it … ‘Mal told you, I’m a big fan and, um, that’s all.’
‘A big fan who writes a sequel toButterfliesfor a laugh?’ He cocked his head to one side and raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s all right, Sophie, I won’t tell anyone. Firstly, I work for your publisher and secondly, I’m not as big an arsehole as you think.’
It wasn’t as though I had much of a choice. He knew the bag was mine, he’d seen what was inside and as much as it pained me to admit it, he wasn’t stupid.
‘No one knows except Mal and my brother,’ I said, before chewing on my bottom lip. Then another thought occurred to me and I felt faint. ‘Please tell me you didn’t tell your dad?’
Joe scoffed then smirked. ‘I’ve learned the hard way not to tell my dad anything if I can help it.’
Gripping my tote bag like it was the last life jacket onThe Titanic, I looked at him with wet eyes, unexpectedly overwhelmed.
‘I know how stressed I’d be if I lost something like that,’ he added. ‘I wanted to make sure you got it back safely.’
‘Thank you.’ I was desperately trying not to cry. Trying and failing. ‘This is the most incredible thing, I really thought it was gone forever. I owe you one.’
Then Joe smiled. It was the same smile I’d seen the day before, the one that hesitated halfway, like it wanted to make sure he was truly happy before it committed, then lit up his face, my face and the whole world.
‘Happy to be of service,’ he said. ‘But we’ve got a real problem now, haven’t we?’
I squeezed my tote bag even tighter.
‘We have?’
‘Yes.’ He squatted to pick up my empty butcher’s tray and held it aloft. ‘Where are we going to find another fuck load of chicken at such short notice?’
CHAPTER TWELVE
