Rachel:I wouldn’t be so sure … But hey, who doesn’t love a pasta bake? I’m in.
What time should I head over?
Anna:Will’s been working from home today so I’m already here. Anytime x
Rachel checked her watch. It was almost six already.
‘I’m going to head off,’ she said in Jack’s direction.
He looked up from his computer. ‘Oh, right. I hadn’t realised the time. I’m in no rush to get home, for obvious reasons … Are you doing anything tonight?’
It was a loaded question. If she said no, he’d suggest a drink. Dinner, perhaps. And then what?
‘Just going to have some food with friends,’ she said.
‘And your boyfriend, I suppose?’ Jack asked.Man, he was persistent.
Rachel’s enjoyment of his interest in her faked relationship was diminishing with every needling question. Keeping up the charade was starting to feel like work, and she was angry with herself too. Pretending to have a boyfriend was undeniably pathetic; she didn’t need a partner to validate her existence, and she’d never seen herself as the sort of woman who’d make one up.
‘Yeah,’ she said, shrugging. ‘We’re all kind of mates together.’
‘I saw you, you know,’ Jack said, catching her eyes with his and trying to hold them.
‘Saw me what?’ Rachel asked. She looked away from him deliberately and shoved her laptop into her bag.
‘I saw you with him.’
Her stomach fell away.
Jack had a weird look on his face – as if he was happy he’d thrown her off balance, but also like it was costing him something to admit he’d spotted her out with another man.
Rachel swallowed. ‘Oh. Where? When?’
Andwhathad Jack seen, she wondered. It wasn’t as if she and Tom – or anyone – were wandering around London hand in hand, staring into each other’s eyes and smooching under street lamps.
‘Walking up North Hill in Highgate,’ he said. ‘I live near there. You looked like you were ranting about something; he was laughing at everything you said.’
She nodded, feigning nonchalance. ‘Sounds about right.’
That must have been the night of Zack’s gig. No doubt Jack had seen her and Tom on the way to the pub, still laughing about his angsty lyrics.
‘Blonde, isn’t he? With self-consciously geeky glasses.’
‘Blondish,’ Rachel said, bristling. ‘And Ilikehis glasses – they’re cute.’ As she said it, she realised it was true.
‘He doesn’t look like your type,’ Jack said, frowning. ‘And he’s ridiculously tall.’
‘Ha! What would you know about my type?’ Rachel laughed.
‘Well,’ he said, fixing her with his green eyes and grinning, ‘it used to be me.’
‘Italsoused to be that guy from Westlife,’ she said. ‘The one with the piercing stare who is, in fact, gay. I don’t think my teenage taste in men means very much.’
‘You don’t.’
It wasn’t a question; it felt more like a challenge. Jack had raised one chestnutty eyebrow and his lips were curled up at the corners. He was enjoying this game, and Rachel needed to end it.
‘I really don’t,’ she said, putting her arms into her coat sleeves. ‘And I don’t want to be late. I’ll see you in the morning.’
