He scowled at her then, and she knew she’d struck a nerve.
When it became clear he wasn’t going to answer, she went on: ‘For the record, what you’ve been doing isnotromantic—’
‘How would you evenknow?’ he sneered. ‘You’re textbook, Hannah: primed by your father to expect disappointment from men. How’s anyone supposed to know what to do with a woman who suppresses her feelings the way you do?’
Hannah suddenly felt short of air. As if her lungs were calcifying in her chest.
‘You’re so convinced you’re going to be left behind,’ he continued, his face triumphant, ‘that you wouldn’t recognise real devotion if it was stood right in front of you – let alone confess youneedit.’
Hannah seemed to have stopped breathing entirely now. Eventually, she forced herself back into the moment. The man staring at her was, more and more, a stranger, despite the wounding accuracy of his words.
‘Please, spare me the psychobabble,’ she managed to say, desperate not to appear as shaken as she felt. ‘I’m going to go now. If you try to stop me, I’ll make a scene even you won’t be able to smarm your way out of.’ She pointed at the cluster of people on the far side of the car park, laughing and joking as they took turns getting into the cabs that kept pulling up.
Marc raised his palms and stepped back from the van door, as if he’d never meant to delay her in the first place. ‘I’ll see you soon, then,’ he said, before sloping off. Never had those words sounded more ominous.
Safe inside the vehicle, Hannah took a succession of deep breaths and dashed a few angry tears from her eyes. As she drove home, she remembered that famous line fromWithnail & I, a film she and Jude had watched at least a hundred times:even a stopped clock tells the right time, twice a day.
Mad though his ravings were, Marc had somehow just hit an emotional bull’s-eye.
15
Jude stepped out of the shower in the guest bathroom at Joe and Ed’s flat, having washed away a day’s worth of city centre dust and rain. Even in high summer, it seemed Manchester’s alleged ‘microclimate’ – the source of its reputation as the wettest city in the UK – was at work.
He’d been caught in a brief storm this morning on his way to a local cafe, where he’d spent a couple of hours fielding irate emails from Larry, as well as dealing with more reasonable questions from his LogicLabs colleagues. He’d been asked to oversee a fairly bleak project on behalf of a client whose company sold dietary supplements to what Larry had called ‘the worried well’. Having studied their ingredients and the safety data the firm had made available, Jude thought the likeliest outcome of using any of them would be more frequent – and probably quite urgent – trips to the toilet.
The client had asked LogicLabs to build bespoke systems that would enable hyper-personalised marketing of the supplements. Internet users’ browsing behaviour, social media profiles and past purchasing activity would be used to build a picture of their particular health concerns, and this would allow for the correct ‘solutions’ to beadvertised at them via the websites and channels they frequented. The maths wasn’t complicated. It was an easy job that offered a quick win, and Jude knew making the client happy would help to get Larry off his case.
The whole thing depressed him, though. Working on this after getting the diagnostic software over the line felt like the mother of all 180-degree spins. He couldn’t help wondering what Clive would make of it. This wasn’t the first time Jude had worked on something so unashamedly commercial, but itwasthe first time he had no other, more rewarding work to offset it. He found he couldn’t shake the ‘ick factor’ that came with this project, either; couldn’t help feeling it was grim to target people’s insecurities and anxieties quite so deliberately – especially when the aim was to sell them overpriced, potentially laxative snake oil.
Jude’s second soaking of the day had taken place after his lunch with Suni, which – much to his annoyance – he hadn’t managed to turn into dinner instead. He’d wanted a reason to disappear after this afternoon’s wedding suit fitting, but Suni’s girlfriend was whisking him away for a long weekend in London as soon as she finished work.
Timing snags aside, the conversation with Suni had been interesting.Morethan interesting. Jude had expected they’d catch up on life stuff over a meal and a pint, but – to his surprise – he’d actually found himself on the receiving end of a pitch for a business partnership.
Suni, whose interest in restaurants seemed non-existent, had nevertheless inherited his parents’ enterprising spirit, and was looking to set up a new venture. His idea was to create what he’d called a ‘prosocial’ tech agency that offered everything from website builds and social media strategies to AI solutions – but only for clients in the charitable and public sectors, or whose operations were in some way ‘beneficial to humanity’. Jude hadn’t asked how such benefits would be judged, but reasoned that Suni – with his optimistic disposition, intelligence and aversion to bullshit – was probably as good an arbiter as any.
‘You’re the perfect fit for this,’ Suni had enthused over gastropub burgers and fries – and having been offered a brief but impactful description of Larry. ‘I didn’t think I wanted a partner, but I might now, if you could be persuaded .?.?. Imagine being able to runmultipleprojects like the one you presented in Sheffield, or developing online systems that could help vulnerable people connect in real life .?.?. or using data analysis to inform political policy!’ When Jude had asked how they’d make any of this pay, Suni had been typically ebullient. ‘Organisations want these services – I’ve done the groundwork that proves it. But they want help from reputable people, at prices they can afford. We used to talk about stuff like this, remember? Refusing to become bankers, or academics, or actuaries – doing what we could to make the world a little bit better, instead of much, much worse.’
Jude had laughed and said he couldn’t imagine being asked for start-up money, or offered a pay cut, in a more compelling fashion. He’d meant it, too. The contrast between what Suni was suggesting, and what was on offer from Larry, was stark – and alongside how much morehimselfhe’d felt since being back from Australia, it was enough to give him pause.
Wrapped in one of Joe’s posh, Egyptian cotton bath towels, he made his way to the kitchen. For approximately the seventeenth time since he’d got here last night, Jude marvelled at the stylishness of literallyeverythingin this place. The apartment itself was as architecturally impressive as its furniture and fittings were elegant. A split-level property carved out of the corner of an old cotton mill, it boasted exposed brick walls, massive sash windows and original wrought-iron beams. As Jude filled a glass with ice from his brother’s gigantic, shiny fridge-freezer, a key scraped in the lock of the front door. Joe had said he’d meet everyone else at the tailor’s studio at four thirty, but presumably his appointment at the BBC had been cut short.
Jude turned to say hi to him, only to seeHannahappear in the doorway. She was thoroughly dishevelled, her red-gold hair so drenched it was plastered to her scalp. At the same time as he realised this somehow made her look prettier than ever, he remembered he was almost completely naked.
‘Ohmyfuckinggod!’ she screamed. ‘Shit! Sorry, I—’ The holdall she was carrying hit the floor with a thump, and she hurriedly put a hand across her eyes. It made Jude feel like some sort of flasher.
Jesus. He was irrationally annoyed, now, as well as embarrassed. It wasn’thisfault she’d burst in unannounced. Also, it wasn’t as if he was showing anything she hadn’t seen before. Was the sight of him really so offensive?
‘What are you doing here?’ they both said, at precisely the same time.
Jude sighed. ‘I’ve been here since yesterday evening. I had a work lunch in Manchester today, so it made sense to come early.’
Still shielding her vision, Hannah said: ‘Oh. Similar thing. I met with Joe’s agent earlier and wanted to drop my overnight stuff off before the appointment.’
‘You’re .?.?. you’re staying over?’
‘Yes. Heading back to Beckford tomorrow morning.’
Fuck. Had Joe done this deliberately? Told Jude he could stay here, knowing Ed would say the same to Hannah – and well aware there was only one spare bedroom? After the van incident, it seemed stupid even to frame that thought as a question. But the conundrum of where everyone would sleep tonight was one he’d have to handle later.
