‘Think I’ll give the flowers a go,’ he decides.
‘Great. There’s your material.’ I gesture to a bucket of foliage standing next to one of the chairs but he looks underwhelmed. ‘What am I supposed to do with a bucket of twigs?’
‘Hannah’s mum supplied them. They’re from some ornamental tree in her garden. She reckons she often arranges branches around a few tealights for dinner parties and they look lovely.’ He looks sceptical. I can understand why. ‘Admittedly, you might need to work a bit of magic.’
‘Who do you think I am, Harry Potter?’
‘Just do your best, Jeff.’ I pat his shoulder reassuringly and head off in search of some platters.
With half an hour to go before the guests arrive, the room takes on the frantic air of aGreat British Bake-Offfinale. AsI’m trying to find someone to wash and dry the side plates, the double doors open. There, in the unforgiving sports hall glare, stands Zach Russo.
Good God. He actually came.
He’s wearing a monochrome sweater, cotton trousers and desert boots, that posh watch loose at his wrist. I wonder if this was the first thing out of his wardrobe too, because somehow it’s both nothing special and the perfect off-duty ensemble all at once.
I raise my hand and wave awkwardly. His face breaks into one of those heart-stopping smiles as he walks towards me. There are a few odd seconds in which I don’t quite know where to put my eyes, so I keep frowning down at my clipboard, as if there’s something terribly important on there. Yet my gaze is repeatedly drawn back up to him until he’s standing right in front of me.
‘Nice place,’ he says, looking about.
‘The hottest nightspot around right now.’
He laughs and a series of little lines fan out from his eyes.
‘Whatareyou doing here? Seriously?’
‘I bought a ticket,’ he says, innocently.
‘I left the cash you gave me on your desk. Under your keyboard. I thought I’d made it clear that I had been joking about tonight. It was an off-the-cuff comment. I know you Americans aren’t supposed to understand sarcasm, but still.’
I’m teasing, though I wonder if he’ll realise.
‘I do know when someone’s being sarcastic.Andpatronising. But I had nothing better to do tonight. I’m the new kid in town and I know virtually nobody around here. And it was clearly the only way I was going to get to speak to you before you see Krishna. So, I thought, what the hell?’
‘You’re mad. I’mnotgoing to be able to talk about work any time soon. I’m way too busy.’
‘I can see. It’s why I came early; thought you might need some help. I know how these things work.’
‘I doubt that, somehow,’ I say.
He stops and narrows his eyes, scrutinising my face.
‘Do youreallynot want me here?’ he says. I detect genuine hesitancy now. ‘Because if this is some kind of privacy infringement then . . . I don’t want to be that guy. And I’ll just go.’
I open my mouth to respond, without knowing exactly what I’m going to say, as one of the attractive Year 4 mums – Jessica or Sarah or somebody – passes by and touches Zach on the arm.
‘Could you come and help me with the wine crates? I can’t carry them all by myself. It’d be such a help. Follow me,’ she urges him.
Then she marches off in her skin-tight jeans, a thick ponytail of dark, glossy hair swishing behind her.
He looks back at me, waiting for a cue.
‘Don’t be silly, Russo,’ I say, nodding after her. ‘Roll up your sleeves and get stuck in.’
Chapter 15
The lights are turned down and the room is soon packed with mingling guests. I’ve put two sixth-formers in charge of shoving a glass of Prosecco in the hands of everyone who steps through the door, before most of the parents in attendance are seated with their respective teams.
‘All set at our end, Lisa,’ says this evening’s host, a guy in his early sixties who owns a local wine shop. ‘If you jump on stage to say a few introductory words, I’ll take it from there.’
