‘You look hot – like you’ve just been for a roll in the heather with Poldark,’ she said, admiring her friend’s headful of disorderly waves. ‘It’s working for you.’
‘I’d honestly rather throw on a hoodie and come to the Hope,’ Rachel moaned. ‘Is this dress too short?’
Anna eyed her, appraising her outfit. ‘It’s cheeky, but you look good. And it has sleeves, which balances out the legginess. Stop worrying. Go. Havefun,’ she admonished.
She didn’t even think to suggest that Rachel steer clear of Jack: a mark of how little she knew about their increasingly messy relationship.
Rachel rummaged in her make-up bag, mainly for the sake of avoiding Anna’s eyes. There was so much she wasn’t telling her just lately – so many things they weren’t sharing. It felt wrong.
Rachel patted a little cream blush and highlighter onto her cheeks, then smeared clear gloss onto her lips.
‘You look lovely,’ Anna said. ‘Where is it you’re going again?’
‘Some secret speakeasy near London Fields,’ Rachel told her. ‘Apparently there’s this totally innocuous door on a bog-standard street, and behind it is a twenties-style bar. First you have to find it, then you have to say the right password to get in.’
‘Wow,’ Anna said. ‘That’s elaborate. Kind of cool, though.’ She was smiling.
‘I imagine Greg had something to do with the choice of venue,’ Rachel said, unable to resist rolling her eyes. ‘Not only is itverytrendy, it’s about five minutes’ walk from his house.’
‘Well, I think it sounds fun. Park your snark and enjoy it. You can tell me all about it in the morning.’
‘Sure.’ Rachel nodded, all but certain that she wouldn’t.
It was only when Rachel got off the bus in Hackney that she realised she should have paid more attention to Greg’s directions. She was on the right street, but too many of the buildings looked the same. How was she supposed to know which one was the front for a Prohibition-style bar?
When she passed by a storefront with bright-red window frames, she remembered: Greg had said to find the black door to the right of the barber’s. Rachel looked through the glass: this must be it. The walls were covered with photos of well-coiffed bearded hipsters and blokes withPeaky Blindershaircuts.
Next door to the salon was a building that looked, to the casual observer, like a house – but the door was black and there was a shiny chrome intercom panel beside it. Rachel pushed the button firmly, letting it go when she’d heard it buzz.
‘Password, please?’ someone said.
Ohhell.
‘Hello? Is there someone there?’ came the intercom voice again.
‘Argh, sorry!’ Rachel cried. ‘My boss told me the password but it’s totally slipped my mind.’
‘I can’t let you in without the password, I’m afraid.’
Rachel sighed and looked up at the sky. It was dark, but she could see it was full of angry grey clouds. Any second now it was going to start raining.
‘Seriously?’ she said. ‘I’m with the work group that’s booked out the whole venue for this evening. How would I evenknowabout that if I wasn’t part of the same company?’
‘I can’t let you in without the password,’ the disembodied voice repeated. ‘You’ll need to call one of your colleagues and ask for it.’ The intercom connection cut off.
‘For the love ofGod,’ Rachel wailed. She put her handbag on the pavement, then bent down to fumble for her phone. She rang Greg and got his voicemail, then tried Kemi with identical results.
Clearly everyone was having too much raucous fun to hear a mobile ring. Rachel felt fine raindrops stippling the exposed skin of her hands and face.Perfect.
Just as she’d concluded it was time to give up and go home, Rachel felt a presence behind her. She knew, without even looking, that it was Jack.
‘Let me guess,’ he said, as she turned to face him. ‘You forgot the password.’
Rachel nodded, then mumbled something about pretentious nonsense.
Jack stepped forward, putting a hand on her waist to move her a little to his left. Her stomach flew up into her throat, and he smirked at her – as if he’d seen it move.
He pressed the button on the buzzer panel.
