Just outside the entrance to a tube station was a bad place to stop, especially in rush hour. A few choice words were hissed at us as people jostled past.
Emily frowned, rubbing her forehead. ‘He’s gone now.’
‘Who?’ I asked exasperated, starting down the steps, rubbing my hip, which had been jabbed by a briefcase.
‘Perhaps I’m imagining things. I thought it was him. Peter the emailer.’
‘You sure?’ I looked round, examining the people coming down the stairs behind us.
‘No, it was just a glimpse. Broken glasses mended with tape.’
Goosebumps rose along the hairline around the back of my neck.
I nudged Emily downwards, anxious to keep moving. ‘
Once down on the platform, Emily and I stood six deep waiting for our train.
‘I think I just imagined it.’ Emily laughed nervously. ‘I’ve got him on the brain.’ But we both took an unconscious step back from the platform edge, eyeing up other commuters.
‘Mm,’ I responded reassuringly, ignoring the sudden image of the guy in glasses from lunchtime.
When the train arrived, the flow of bodies inched into the carriage. The doors slid closed just as one last chap squeezed between the doors. His hand reached up to clutch his glasses. Through the heads crammed in the space between I could just see the silver tape holding the frame together. From the look on Emily’s face she’d seen it too. I tried to get a better look but the mass of people and newspapers got in the way.
‘What do we do?’ she whispered, her teeth gnawing her lip. ‘Is it him?’
‘I can’t see properly. Can you? Don’t catch his eye.’
‘You’re taller, you look.’
Taking a deep breath, I sneaked a glance over my shoulder. A gap appeared in the crowd. The hand obscuring his face had moved. My shoulders relaxed as the tension whistled simultaneously out with my breath. I stepped aside so that Emily had a clear view. The man by the door, huddled into an old trench coat like a cold war spy, had wispy grey hair in a comb-over and was well into his sixties.
Relief made us giddy and silly. Our sniggers grew to wholesale giggles and by the time we got to our last stop, they’d turned into peals of laughter. The rest of the carriage thought we were idiots and as the passengers thinned, George Smiley glared at us over his horn-rims.
‘Can you believe it?’ snorted Emily as we doubled over on the street again. ‘Talk about neurotic. Totally harmless and we’re nearly wetting ourselves. Bet half of London tapes their glasses together.’
‘It’s certainly made me forget my headache.’
‘And me, Miranda. We deserve a glass of something. Let’s stop and grab a bottle on the way home.’
For once, Emily and I were united in rare accord.
* * *
Luxuriating in the hot water, which I’d just topped up for a third time, I was tempted to ignore the polite knock at the door.
While I’d been in the bathroom I’d heard Daniel arrive.
Was it him at the door? Emily was more likely to have hollered through the glass.
‘Hi, Olivia.’ I closed my eyes.
As if everything else wasn’t perfect enough. Why did he have to have a lovely deep voice, too?
‘We’re getting an Indian takeaway. Do you want something?’
‘Yes, please. The usual please.’
Behind the closed door, Daniel chuckled. Did he have to do that? Even that was attractive.
