Finally – after endless agonizing days – there’s another message. A date. ‘Tonight. 6.30. Claridges?’
I consider replying with some genius witticism like ‘Are you sure your family are all OK?’ or even ‘Sorry, I’m meeting someone else’, but of course, I don’t. I text ‘OK’ back within nanoseconds.
Friday evening was agony. Sarah was meeting a few friends in Covent Garden. Including some bloke from her work that she’d been banging on about for ages, and she was trying to impress. I invited myself to tag along. Drank way too much way too quickly. Flirted with him outrageously. There’s a blurry memory of crying at one point. Me, not him. Threw up on the way to the tube. Sarah hasn’t spoken to me since. Not that I care much. She can be very annoying.
I spent the rest of the weekend nursing my throbbing head and rehearsing what I was going to say to Patrick. I still believed he would be in touch to explain more. I couldn’t think he would just leave me hanging. I kept on checking my new phone every two minutes, even though there was no way he would have taken his home with him at the weekend. He wouldn’t risk Saint Michelle coming across it.
Yesterday afternoon, I’m ashamed to say, I got the tube up to Highgate and wandered along North Hill as if I had every legitimate reason to be there. I don’t even know what number he lives at – not that I had any intention of knocking on the door. I haven’t lost the plot that much. Not yet – I don’t know what I wanted, to be honest. Actually, I do. I just wanted to stop feeling like it was all out of my control. I wanted to feel as if I had the power for once.
As soon as I got there I realized what a waste of time it was. I walked for about ten minutes and still hadn’t come to the end of the street. It goes on forever. And then I started to panic that I might bump into him and Saint Michelle, out for a cosy Sunday stroll, so I jumped onto the first bus that came along and seemed to be heading vaguely in the right direction and got out of there.
But then at lunchtime today I check and there it is. The clouds part, the sun comes out. I breathe a sigh of relief.
Tamsin stands up. Stretches. Yawns. ‘Will you go through that filing cabinet in reception and chuck anything we don’t need any more? It’s way too full.’
‘Couldn’t Ashley do that?’ For fuck’s sake. I’m supposed to be her personal assistant not the general dogsbody.
‘Are you busy?’ She knows, of course, that she hasn’t really given me anything to do this morning. I’ve been hanging around hoping to get some insight into what might be happening chez Patrick, but she’s refusing to indulge in small talk.
‘A bit. I’d just planned to catch up on a few things, that’s all.’
‘Well, maybe start this afternoon then.’ She turns on her heels to go. ‘Oh, and could you get me a Caffè Nero? And some Mentos? Thanks.’
She’s gone before I can even say OK.
Lucy is back. She’s doing that thing where every now and then she remembers she was supposedly off sick last week and lets out a little cough. Ian is all concern.
‘Do you think you came back too soon?’
She gives him a martyred look. ‘I didn’t want to leave you in the lurch.’
‘I appreciate it,’ Ian says. ‘But don’t stay unless you feel a hundred per cent.’
I hear myself sigh loudly and keep my head down in case he decides to try and offload some of his stuff onto me because Lucy’s not feeling up to it.
‘Maybe I will leave a bit early,’ she says. ‘Just a little.’
‘I have to go at half three today,’ I say. It has suddenly occurred to me that I need to go home and shower and change before this evening. I didn’t come prepared. ‘Tamsin said it’s fine. So, if you do leave early, Lucy, I can’t cover for you. Sorry.’
Lucy gives me a look like I’ve just shat in her coffee. Something I’ve considered once or twice.
‘Well, I suppose I’ll have to stay till the end of the day then,’ she says in a pained voice. ‘I hope that doesn’t mean I feel worse tomorrow.’
Tamsin is behaving a bit oddly. I don’t know if it’s down to her still feeling a bit wobbly after the mugging or she’s pissed off with me about something, but she’s keeping her door shut and not beckoning me in for little chats. I knock lightly. Go straight in. She’s sitting at her desk staring off into space.
‘You need anything?’
She jumps back to life. ‘No. Thanks.’
‘Is it OK if I leave a bit early today? Our boiler’s on the blink and the only slot I could get is four till eight, so I’ll have to go by half three latest. Ali’s got some meeting last thing that’s life or death apparently, and Sarah’s away …’
‘No, not really,’ she says. I feel as if she hasn’t even listened to what I’ve asked.
‘It’s just the plumber’s going to be there.’
‘Really sorry, Bea, I need you.’
I can’t help myself. ‘For what?’
Tamsin smiles an apologetic smile. ‘You have to watch the latest Rooms With a View edit. I just can’t decide what I think of the middle section. I mean, it might be OK, but it drags a bit and I’m not sure what else they could put there. It needs a fresh pair of eyes.’
Unbelievable. ‘Couldn’t Lucy have a look? I wouldn’t normally ask but this was the only time we could get and we’ve got no hot water.’
‘I wish you’d asked me this morning,’ she says. ‘I would have got you to watch it earlier.’
I think quickly. I’ll be home by ten, I could have a look at it then, ‘Tell you what,’ I say. ‘I’ll take it home with me and watch it while the plumber’s doing his thing.’
‘No, that’s no good. I promised them I’d get back to them by the end of the day. Sorry.’
I can’t help my irritation showing. Now I’m going to have to meet Patrick with unwashed hair and wearing my most unflattering jeans.
‘Fine,’ I say huffily. ‘I’ll just call and let them know we’ll have to cancel. They’ll probably charge me a cancellation fee this late in the day.’
‘Like I said, I wish you’d asked earlier … Oh, and can you get me another coffee,’ she says as I go to leave.
‘Of course,’ I say. ‘Anything else?’
She gives a vague shake of her head, so I take that as a no. I go to Caffè Nero and buy her a full-fat latte. It’s the least I can do.