I crawl back into the office on Monday, still smarting from my humiliating experience with Giles. How could I possibly have thought that was a good idea? I feel woefully under‐qualified for life right now.
After some seriously hardcore negotiations, I’ve managed to persuade the developers who are buying the church to hire it out to me prior to the renovations. But even though I’ve got the venue I’ve still got no panel, and there’s been no word from the elusive Harry.
Jocasta’s hanging round my desk, desperately searching for a conversational opener, but I’m stubbornly refusing to engage.
‘Oh, how eye‐catching!’ she says, picking up one of the invitations. ‘Surely these must’ve blown most of the budget straight away?’ She beckons over a couple of other members of her coven to revel in how extravagant I’ve been.
‘I cut quite a good deal with the printers actually,’ I tell her with a tense smile. ‘You know how it is with these events, it’s all about contacts.’
‘Yes, it is, isn’t it? Though I hear from Ruby that the responses are still more of a trickle than a flood.’
I’m going to have to get Ruby to sign a confidentiality clause and drum up some A‐list confirmations pronto.
‘If I can be any help at all, I’d be very happy to stay on board,’ she says. ‘I gather from Roger that you were worried you might be a teensy bit junior to coordinate such a big bash.’
‘Thanks, but it’s all under control,’ I tell her, trying to turn back to my computer, but she won’t let it lie.
‘In fact, I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve been chatting to Roger about it while you’ve been out and about. You know, throwing a few ideas in the pot.’
This sounds ominous. ‘Oh?’
‘Don’t worry, Anna, you’re going to love this!’ squeals Tabitha, who’s dressed like she’s been sucked up and spat out by the Boden catalogue.
‘It’s clear for all to see that Adam’s on the brink of popping the question,’ says Jocasta.
I make a non‐committal noise, while Tabitha emits a high‐pitched yelp and does some odd noiseless clapping.
‘It’s very much the reason why you’ve been put in charge,’ she adds cattily. ‘So why not allow the readers to enjoy your personal story? You could even start it now, share your nerves and anticipation about when he’s finally going to make it official. After all, every woman’s been there.’
‘Yeah, maybe.’
‘It’s not really a question of maybe, Anna. Roger’s mentioned it to Victor, and he thinks it’s an excellent idea.’
How to play this? Could this week get any worse? It’s vital they don’t find out that I’ve lied through my teeth. I really could lose everything here and be stuck writing about wrinkle creams for the rest of my natural life. May God (and Adam) forgive me for what I’m about to do.
‘There’s something I haven’t told you.’ My voice is conveniently wobbling all over the place.
‘What is it, Anna?’ says Jocasta. They’re looming over me now, longing for scandal.
‘We’re not getting married.’ Saying this out loud genuinely makes me feel teary. I blunder on. ‘He’s – he’s broken up with me.’
‘No!’ says Jocasta. ‘I can’t believe it. How could he? It’s not as though you’ve got time to waste.’
It’s taken her less than a minute to allude to my ovaries.
‘But why?’ pipes up Tabitha.
Oh God, I haven’t really thought out an answer to this one.
‘He said… he said, he just didn’t feel the same any more. That he loved me, but he wasn’t sure if that was enough.’
Saying the words out loud again immediately makes me choke up. My gruesome sexual escapade seems to have set me back at least a month. Jocasta and Tabitha are casting each other significant glances.
‘Anna, I don’t want to make this any more painful for you, but I think you might need to hear a few home truths about men. Are you sure there’s no one else involved? It seems like a very sudden change of heart.’
‘Men can be such hounds,’ agrees Tabitha solemnly.
‘No, no. It’s nothing like that.’ But is my story water‐tight enough? ‘At least, I hope it isn’t. I really couldn’t bear it.’
‘Only time will tell,’ says Jocasta sagely. ‘You poor, poor girl. I want you to know that we’re all here for you, every step of the way.’
I hate that expression. What does it actually mean?
‘Thanks. I really appreciate your support.’
Now I’m a hypocrite as well as a liar. I just want it to be over, but the two of them stand there expectantly, waiting for the next revelation. This is clearly the most exciting thing that’s happened since Percy’s first unaided visit to the lavatory. Luckily at that precise moment my mobile starts ringing. Jocasta’s eyes swivel to the caller ID.
‘If it’s him, you mustn’t answer. Playing hard to get has saved many a relationship in crisis.’
Oh my God, now she thinks she’s got carte blanche to comment on my personal life. This could end badly.
‘It’s not. I’d better take it.’
They slide off, disappointed, but keen to spread the news.
‘Is this Anna?’ says an unfamiliar male voice.
I hope it’s not Tom. I’ve already dumped two of his calls because I don’t know what the hell to say. ‘Yes, who’s this?’
‘It’s Harry, you know, from the opening.’
Harry, the most gorgeous man in London Harry?
‘Thanks so much for calling me back!’ I squeak. ‘How was the rest of the party?’
‘Actually, it took a real nosedive after you disappeared.’
‘Yeah, that’s what tends to happen when I leave. Sorry about that.’ Are we actually flirting?
‘So I’ve been seriously considering your offer, but I think I’d need more convincing to get involved.’
I knew it! Why would someone as hot as him want to have anything to do with such a lame publication? In fact, why am I wasting my time trying to make this event something it can never be?
‘Oh. OK then,’ I say, trying not to sound sulky.
‘Don’t you want to give it a go? Have dinner with me and try to talk me round?’
‘Oh!’ This totally throws me. ‘Yeah, I guess.’
‘No need to sound so enthusiastic,’ he says, sounding amused. ‘Are you free Saturday night?’
Obviously I should lie. All the self‐help witches say you can only agree to a mid‐week date, six months hence, until you’re actually married. Fuck it: I’m from Harlesden, not Manhattan.
‘Totally, I’d love to.’
‘Great. I’ll book somewhere and call you back. See you then.’
And with that he’s hung up, leaving me feeling ridiculously excited. Jocasta comes sailing past, casting me a sympathetic smile.
‘You’re looking a little brighter. Good news on the Adam front?’
‘No, no. It was just Harry Langham calling about the party,’ I tell her, hurriedly trying to readjust my features into an expression of abject misery.
‘It’s all material, Anna. You could maybe write a diary, charting your progress as you bounce back from the brink of matrimony. It’d be a fascinating contrast to all those happy couples, tripping up the aisle.’
I grit my teeth. ‘Thanks, Jocasta, I’ll give it some thought.’
I have to get out. Luckily it’s nearly lunchtime, so I’ve got an excuse. The self‐doubt has started to kick in now: will it still feel totally wrong to be with someone who isn’t Adam, however sexy they are? Is it callous to even try? Perhaps the fact that Giles was such a disaster proves that it’s way too soon. I’m dying to talk to someone about it, so I call Polly and blurt it all out.
‘Yeah, that’s great, Anna,’ she says flatly.
‘You don’t sound very excited for me. Google him, he’s unbelievably gorgeous.’
‘I just feel bad for Adam. He rang me the other day, he still sounds terrible. But you don’t seem bothered about him at all.’
‘Of course I’m bothered! But I can’t mope around indefinitely, and nor will he. I bet he’s got loads of girls offering to love his pain away.’
Saying it out loud sends a jolt of pain through my solar plexus. I’m suddenly feeling distinctly uncertain about my date with Harry and horrible about slandering Adam to save my arse. Polly mustn’t find out.
‘Look, Pol, I don’t mean to sound harsh. Let’s talk about it tonight.’
She pauses. ‘I’m actually going out tonight.’
‘Oh, OK. What are you doing?’
‘I’m having dinner with a friend from work.’
Polly hates her job. She does market research, which mainly seems to involve asking halfwits what they like best about Jaffa Cakes. Normally she tries to avoid having anything to do with it when she’s not there.
‘Who’s that?’
‘You don’t know her, she’s new.’ She pauses again. ‘Barbara. Anyway, I’ve got to go.’
She hangs up, still sounding distinctly frosty. Am I being brutal? Perhaps I am, but I’m too intoxicated by Harry to let the chance to see him again slip through my fingers. It’s been so long since I felt this kind of fizzy anticipation. Even if it turns out to be a disaster, I’m determined to savour every last feverish minute. However artificial the shot of adrenalin is, I’m pathetically grateful to have escaped the pervasive gloom.
I spend the whole afternoon on tenterhooks, willing Harry to call me back. I get Ruby in and try to subtly impress on her how much we need to keep the details under wraps. Then I make a series of furious calls, desperate to pull in panel members as impressive as Harry. When I work on the basis that he’s doing it, doors suddenly start to open. Soon I’ve got an angular beanpole of a super‐model looking likely, as well as a shoemaker to the stars. I’m still obsessing, so when a withheld number call comes up, I answer it within a single ring.
‘Anna?’
It’s Mark. I try my best not to sound disappointed.
‘Tom’s been busting a gut trying to get hold of you. It sounds like your party’s keeping you totally tied up.’
‘Oh God, how rude of me. I’ll call him today, I promise.’
‘Do. I know he’s my brother and I’m biased, but he’s a fantastic bloke.’
A sudden image of Harry kissing the back of my neck burns its way into my brain. I could never, ever feel this turned on by the thought of Tom.
‘Anyway, that wasn’t what I was calling for. Amy and I were really touched by what you said about Freddie when you came over.’
‘I meant every word!’ What the hell did I say?
‘So we thought we should make an effort to create more quality time for the two of you. You are his godmother after all.’
Oh no. I am so hopeless with kids.
‘Great. What were you thinking?’
‘Well, the two of you have actually got a surprising interest in common.’
What? Drinking cosmopolitans? Classic Woody Allen films?
‘Freddie loves his baby yoga class, and we wondered if you’d like to take him along on Saturday. It’d really help us out actually – Amy’s mum’s ill and we need to drive up there.’
‘Oh, um… sure. I’d love to.’
‘Fantastic, we’ll drop him off at nine thirty.’
Nine thirty! God is truly punishing me for the lies. At least if I start early I should have enough hours left to reverse the ravages of time before my date with Harry. If he ever calls me, that is.
I get back to the flat to find Horst engrossed in A Matter of Life and Death, repeating the dialogue to himself as he goes along.
‘Anna! I have most wonderful news! The actors are going to take me into their band. They say my talent is raw but it can be natured.’
Are they insane?
‘That’s brilliant, Horst, well done.’
‘It is all up to you, of course. I am very thankful.’
I chuck myself down on the sofa and settle down to watch the film with him. For once in my life I’m staying firmly focused on the positives. I’m off the hook with my pseudo‐engagement, and the venue and panel seem to be shaping up nicely. If Harry’s also set to land in my lap, life might just be too good to be true.