Chapter Seventeen
A lady must never be over-confident or brash when meeting a gentleman for the first time. Ideally, she will be introduced formally, but if not, chatting about the weather is an agreeable way into pleasant conversation.
Matilda Beam’s Guide to Love and Romance, 1955
On the Tube, I spot a group of super-cool-looking twenty-somethings kitted out in elaborate fancy dress. A hunky blonde guy dressed as a Ghostbuster waves me over as if maybe I’m headed for the same costume party as him.I wish. He pretends to zap me with his proton pack and gives me a sexy wink. Hmm. Could I just sack off the Leo Frost thing tonight, make friends with this crowd and jolly off to whatever shindig they’re headed for? That would be so much more fun and surely not quite as mental a way to spend my night …
No.
I can’t.
I agreed to do this. And we really doneedthat money. Not just for my escape fund but also for Matilda − on my way out of the house tonight I spotted a small stack of final reminder bills in the unopened post pile. She caught me noticing them and her lips wobbled.
I give the fancy-dress crowd a reluctant goodbye smile and get off the Tube to change at Piccadilly. When I arrive at Regent’s Park, the sky is still light but the sun is low and raspberry-pink. A gentle breeze carries the deliciously sweet scent of candyfloss beneath my nose.
I wander onto the crisp, scorched grass and into the eye of the fair amongst a soundtrack of pulsing dance music, giddy laughter and jangling arcade games. I spot Leo Frost almost immediately. His rangy form pops up out of the crowd, glossy copper quiff shining like a beacon. He’s wearing a pale grey suit with a dapper burgundy handkerchief in the jacket pocket. His suit pants are pretty tight. Pre-tty darn tight.
Leo Frost. Artist. Thinker. Man. Tightpants.
He’s surrounded by besuited people − obviously big guns from the event company there to show him round the fair.
Seeing his uppity face lit by the colourful flashing lights of the fair only serves to flame my original dislike of the guy. Even the way he’s standing − long nose in the air, chest puffed out − gets on my nerves. He thinks such a lot of himself. If it wasn’t for him being a massive dick at the Davis Arthur Montblanc launch party, then Summer might not have sacked me or kicked me out, nothing would have changed and I wouldn’t even have to be in this bloody absurd situation right now. It’s going to take everything in my power not to betray how much his very existence annoys me, let alone pretend that I’m actuallyintohim.
Right. Focus, Jess. Grandma said that all I have to do tonight is get Frost to ask for my phone number. I simply need to catch his attention in a sweet and ladylike manner. And the instructions forhowexactly to do that are in the first chapter ofMatilda Beam’s Guide to Love and Romance.
Which I didn’t properly read.
In fact, the only thing I can remember from the book is something about dropping a glove to get a dude’s attention. That seemed to be very important…
I covertly follow Leo Frost as he walks around the fair with the event organizers, being careful to hang back at least a few metres so as not to come across as suspicious. Patting down my stiffly lacquered waves, I slip off the soft cotton gloves, enjoying the feel of the breeze on my now sweaty hands.
The group stops beside the coconut shy and the event organizers laugh super heartily at something Frost says. Chuh. As if anything he says could bethatfunny.
Right, Jess. Time to get tonight’s task over and done with.
I take a deep breath, lift my chin and wiggle across the grass towards the coconut shy. Passing by Leo, I casually let one of the gloves flutter to the ground and continue on walking as if I’m oblivious to my lost property.
Less than five seconds after I drop the glove, I feel a light tap on my shoulder.
Yasssss! It worked!Amazing. Grandma is an actual genius.
I spin round, ready to bewitch Leo Frost with a delicate yet alluring smile.
Oh.
Somebodyhaspicked up the glove, but it’s not Leo Frost. It’s a chunky, middle-aged fella with a bushy black beard. He’s holding a piece of rope, attached to which is a small fairground donkey. The pair of them smell, quite strongly, of manure.
‘Oi, petal, you dropped your glove.’ The man grins, handing over the glove. ‘Here y’go.’
Well, that’s it, then. The tips work.Grandma, meet my new beau: the Donkey Man .
Smiling politely back, I thank him and take the glove, noticing, as I do so, that there’s a little brown mark on it. I try to tell myself that it’s not donkey shit, but in my heart, I know it is.
I turn back and notice that Leo Frost and his cronies have abandoned the coconut shy in favour of a little shooting range behind the waltzers, where Leo is handed a toy gun and instructed to shoot the targets. He gets three bullseyes in a row. Of course he bloody does.
Bit by bit, I edge through the crowds, closer to the gun range, waiting patiently for a lull in their conversation. Then I slink by him once more, dropping the glove.
Where it lands on the wheel of a donut cart.
