“Can you not rearrange it?”
Rearrange a proposal? Oh God. Something in me does not want to tell Myles I’m going to be seeing my boyfriend and that, hopefully, he’ll be popping the big question. But he’s still frowning, his eyes like a dark storm. I swallow. “Uh, I’ll see what I can do.”
I can’t do anything. But, somehow, saying no doesn’t seem like an option. Maybe I can fly out on Thursday morning or something and meet him there, if he’s so set on me coming with him. There’s a strange flicker in me at the thought of going away with Myles. I know it’s for work, but again there’s that tension between us, that feeling of push and pull.
“Good. Because I need you with me.” There’s an odd inflexion to his tone, and his gaze leaves mine for a moment. It feels hard to breathe.
“So, shall I arrange flowers for Scott?”
“He isn’t dead.” The words are snapped out. I can almost see the effort it takes Myles to pull himself back. He might be trying to be nicer, but it’s hard for him to hide completely how much he doesn’t like me.
“Yes, of course. What would you like me to do?” Aside from the complete spanner it’s thrown into my plans with Dean, I feel terrible about Scott’s injury. He’s a genuinely nice guy, plus I know how much he was looking forward to the trip with Myles.
“Just leave it. I’ll arrange a gift.”
“I can sort out a card from the rest of the office.”
“Fine. And let me know when you’ve rearranged your plans. We leave Wednesday morning, early.”
Oh yes, of course, master. My life plans mean nothing if you want me to come on a trip with you. I resist the urge to salute. Instead, I leave his office, wondering how the hell I can make this work.
I still have no solutions later that evening, when I head out to meet Georgia. I’ve looked into flights on Thursday, and there’s one I can take to meet Myles. But I haven’t been able to summon the courage to tell him that’s what I’m going to do. I’ll have to do it tomorrow. After all, what’s hegoing to do? Fire me because I can’t come on some trip he’s sprung on me at the last minute? I hug my bravado to me, trying to ignore the suspicion that he might do exactly that.
I decide to get off the Tube a stop early, needing some fresh air. I emerge onto a crowded street, lights sparkling everywhere, bars and restaurants busy despite the cold weather. It’s a glorious wintry London evening, and my spirits lift. It’s going to be fun tonight. I might even sing.
I walk along, smiling at the entwined couples coming the other way. That will be me, soon enough, wandering along hand in hand, stopping for a kiss. An arm slungaround my shoulders, and that feeling of being safe and warm, with someone who loves me. I miss Dean so much it hurts.
Gosh, the guy coming towards me, his arm around a gorgeous brunette, looks a lot like him. My brain must be short-circuiting with longing, because he’s not supposed to be in London until next week.
Then the guy stops, kind of staring at me, with his mouth open. The resemblance is uncanny. I stop too.
“Zara?”
Cold crashes over me, like a wave. ItisDean. Or I’m having a stroke. But my body seems to still be working, and people are walking past us, not stopping to help me with a medical episode. I look from Dean to the brunette whom his arm is around. Maybe it’s his sister. Or a work colleague. Or something. Anything other than what my brain is trying to tell me is actually happening.
“Who’s this, babe?” The brunette has one of those posh drawling voices, and she looks at me as though I’m a not very interesting puzzle she’d possibly like to solve, but won’t be devastated if she doesn’t.Babe?My brain is actually screaming at me now, but it’s also in a punching match with my heart, which is still refusing to believe what I’m seeing.
“Uh, this is Zara.” Dean is paler than usual, despite his Dubai tan. He looks like a man desperately in need of an escape route. I am not going to give him one. “Zara, this is Saffron.”
Saffron.Of course she has a posh name as well. I’m surprised he didn’t say Bubbles or something. I find my voice.
“How… how are you in London already? You said you wouldn’t be here until next week.”
Posh Saffron is now giving me a pitying sort of look. Iwish I had a drink so I could throw it on her. “Oh, Dean, is this who you were telling me about?”
Who he was telling her about?“Yes, I’m Zara. Dean’s girlfriend. Though I’m not sure who the hell you are.”
Saffron shakes her head, looking from me to Dean. “I thought this was all sorted? Last year?”
“Last year?” I look from Saffron, who now has a sort of frowning/smirking look on her face, back to Dean. Absolute fucking ratface. I know what’s happening, but my heart is still refusing to accept it.
“When you started dating him.” Her entire tone is patronising. Forget a drink. I want a lit cigarette to stub out on her pale grey cashmere coat. My brain is scrambling, still trying to make sense of it all.
“When I started… dating him? Sorry, what the hell are you talking about?”
“You started dating Dean last summer. And he was supposed to tell you. About me.” Pity drips from her tone. “Oh God. He’s here every other week, for heaven’s sake.” She turns to him. “You should have gone to see her. You said she was on board with all of this.”
I turn to Dean. “On board with what? I don’t understand. You said you had something to ask me. Something important.” My proposal fantasies are drifting away, dissolving like smoke. But my heart is still hanging on, by its fingernails.
