I took a deep breath. Don’t shout at her. Instead, I calmly said, ‘Yes please,’ and went back to my keyboard.
Muttering to myself, I typed, ‘I will not kill Emily. I will not kill Emily’ and forced my shoulder blades back into place. God, I’d only been doing Fiona’s job for two days and the stress was killing me.
Emily walked off sullenly. Only after she’d got herself a coffee, phoned Daniel and tidied out her handbag, did I hear her saying on the phone, ‘I’m really, really sorry, Otto. Not my fault. It’s my boss. She won’t let me book you.’
I couldn’t care less what she said to Otto, I kept my eye line below the computer monitor. It was the call to Daniel that bugged me. ‘Hi, Dan,’ she’d tinkled. Dan! I’d never called him that in all the years I’d known him. And did she have to phone him and text him so often? Until I’d sat this side of the room, I’d had no idea they were so devoted.
Recently they’d been out a lot, with a trip to seePhantom of the Opera, sushi dinners and frequent visits to posh cocktail bars. In fact, I hadn’t seen him since the night at the hospital. His sudden devotion to Emily was impressive, he loathed musicals and his idea of good food was Italian. Emily would have been better suited to someone like that awful guy at the speed-date, Crossword Man.
In comparison, my social life was looking blank. I’d heard nothing more from Ned and Friday was looming.
* * *
Ned emailed me the very next day and while I wasn’t sure that the vital spark was there, he did have a way with emails. In my book, anyone that calls me Supergirl deserves a second chance.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Supergirl
Hi Ollie
(Euew! Only my brother got away with calling me Ollie.)
Date great, footie crap — we won but rubbish match. I should have stuck with you. Sorry it probably wasn’t the best day to suggest getting together but didn’t want to wait anylonger. I was afraid I’d miss the boat — there’s probably a queue (although I hope not).
How about I show you a really good time, mud wrestling in Morden, trainspotting in Tooting or birdwatching in Enfield?
You can choose.
Ned
We ended up in the Nags Head, which defied my expectation by being one of those lovely North London Victorian pubs with original tiles and an ornate wooden bar, polished to a rich chestnut. I was expecting a spit-and-sawdust job with lots of smelly old men superglued to the stools at the bar.
Ned was obviously watching out for me because the minute I walked into the pub, he jumped up and escorted me straight to the bar. This had more to do with self-preservation than innate good manners. Over his shoulder two very blokish blokes were straining to get a good look.
Despite it being eight in the evening, he still had that rumpled just-got-up-look which was quite cute. His hair kept flopping over his eyes, which he brushed away in a quick, impatient movement with the back of his hand.
‘Gram and Midge I presume,’ I said, nodding towards the pair who immediately beamed and waved.
‘Yeah,’ said Ned, smiling sheepishly at their antics. ‘Sorry about them. Bit keen to meet you.’
That was a good sign. I’d obviously got a good write-up, so far. I studied him as he ordered the drinks, exchanging banter with the barman. The jury was still out on whether I fancied him.
‘We always meet here on a Friday. What you having?’
Armed with a large glass of wine, I took a deep breath as we went over to sit with them.
Ned made the introductions. There was an awkward silence as Midge’s eyes zeroed in on my chest, before moving swiftly up to my face. Gram had a bit more subtlety, he checked my face first.
‘Sowhaddyado?’ asked Midge, taking a swallow from a pint glass dwarfed by his hand.
I looked blank.
‘Work,’ prompted Gram. ‘Don’t mind him, he’s a teacher. He’s spent too much time with the kids.’
A teacher? He looked more like a builder.
