in her voice. ‘Tell that to Clara.’
It’s a terrible line, dripping with self-pity, and the timing couldn’t be worse, because when Edie asks, ‘Who’s Polly?’ I stupidly assume the question is somehow part of the same conversation.
‘Clara’s sister. Why?’
I realise too late that I’m using the speaker dock on Edie’s desk to recharge my iPhone, and an incoming text has just popped up right in front of her.
‘Because she really needs to feel you inside her again.’
I freeze, squirm, searching for something to say. ‘Like you said – one of the good guys.’
We’re still laughing when Tristan suddenly appears in our office.
‘Want to share it?’
‘Definitely not,’ I reply.
‘Now I’m intrigued.’
I can see Edie wavering under Tristan’s viper-eyed glare. ‘Don’t you dare,’ I warn her. She shrugs apologetically to Tristan.
‘As you like, children,’ he says with a tight smile. ‘I just wanted to say great job. Whatever happens on Friday, you’ve done us all proud.’
Chapter Ten
H I P OLLY. T HOUGHT you should know a colleague of mine saw your text x
Oops! Ever heard of password protection? X
Okay, my fault, I admit it x
Won’t do it again and it was a joke. Wanted to see how you’d react x
Funny joke. Give me five minutes to recover x
Only took you two last time x
Stop it!
No kiss?
X
That’s better. What you up to this weekend? X
Visiting my grandpa in Sussex x
Sussexy! If you change your mind, there’s a hotel I know in Aberystwyth xx
Joking again or being polite? Xx
Neither. I lied. I really do need you inside me again xx
It’s not going to happen xx
I’ll tell Clara if you don’t
xx
She’ll cross you off her Christmas card list if you do xx
God it’s good to laugh. Not a lot of that down here xx
And so it goes on, which is fine by me, because it’s better than sitting slumped on the sofa next to Doggo, watching a Jennifer Aniston romcom. I eventually ask Polly if it’s okay to call her. It’s great to hear her voice. I say I’m surprised Clara hasn’t surfaced by now. I’m worried something bad might have happened to her.
‘You don’t have to be. Worried, I mean.’ Clara has phoned home and spoken to their parents. It seems we were both wrong about Bali; she’s in New Zealand. ‘You mustn’t say I told you.’
New Zealand rings a disturbing bell. Clara had a gig back in March styling a music video for a hot young Kiwi director who jetted in for a handful of high-profile jobs. Could that be what this is really about? She said she disliked the guy, but when I think back on it, she disliked him a touch too much.
He’s so opinionated … so bloody sure of himself … so obsessed with details …
In short, all the things she likes in a man, all the things she used to like in me.
I’m an idiot. I should have read the signs. I feel suddenly sick. Who flies off to the other side of the world in the hope that a frisson might develop into something more? Not Clara, for sure; she’s way too practical to roll the dice like that. No, she went knowing what lay in store for her, from which I can conclude – cue another brief surge of nausea – that she was having an affair with the guy right under my nose. (What was his name again? Wayne? I’ll look it up later.)
I need to know the truth. I don’t care what it takes. I’m as blind to the consequences as I was to the clues. The second I end my conversation with Polly, I call Clara’s best friend, Fiona. We’ve always got on well enough, although she falls into that category of ‘friends’ who I know will slowly fade from my life now that Clara is no longer a part of it. I’ve spoken to her a few times over the past couple of weeks, civil conversations. Something tells me this one isn’t going to be.
After some opening pleasantries, I tell Fiona I’m thinking about calling in the police.
‘The police?’ There’s a distinct note of alarm in her voice. ‘I’m sure that’s
It’s a terrible line, dripping with self-pity, and the timing couldn’t be worse, because when Edie asks, ‘Who’s Polly?’ I stupidly assume the question is somehow part of the same conversation.
‘Clara’s sister. Why?’
I realise too late that I’m using the speaker dock on Edie’s desk to recharge my iPhone, and an incoming text has just popped up right in front of her.
‘Because she really needs to feel you inside her again.’
I freeze, squirm, searching for something to say. ‘Like you said – one of the good guys.’
We’re still laughing when Tristan suddenly appears in our office.
‘Want to share it?’
‘Definitely not,’ I reply.
‘Now I’m intrigued.’
I can see Edie wavering under Tristan’s viper-eyed glare. ‘Don’t you dare,’ I warn her. She shrugs apologetically to Tristan.
‘As you like, children,’ he says with a tight smile. ‘I just wanted to say great job. Whatever happens on Friday, you’ve done us all proud.’
Chapter Ten
H I P OLLY. T HOUGHT you should know a colleague of mine saw your text x
Oops! Ever heard of password protection? X
Okay, my fault, I admit it x
Won’t do it again and it was a joke. Wanted to see how you’d react x
Funny joke. Give me five minutes to recover x
Only took you two last time x
Stop it!
No kiss?
X
That’s better. What you up to this weekend? X
Visiting my grandpa in Sussex x
Sussexy! If you change your mind, there’s a hotel I know in Aberystwyth xx
Joking again or being polite? Xx
Neither. I lied. I really do need you inside me again xx
It’s not going to happen xx
I’ll tell Clara if you don’t
xx
She’ll cross you off her Christmas card list if you do xx
God it’s good to laugh. Not a lot of that down here xx
And so it goes on, which is fine by me, because it’s better than sitting slumped on the sofa next to Doggo, watching a Jennifer Aniston romcom. I eventually ask Polly if it’s okay to call her. It’s great to hear her voice. I say I’m surprised Clara hasn’t surfaced by now. I’m worried something bad might have happened to her.
‘You don’t have to be. Worried, I mean.’ Clara has phoned home and spoken to their parents. It seems we were both wrong about Bali; she’s in New Zealand. ‘You mustn’t say I told you.’
New Zealand rings a disturbing bell. Clara had a gig back in March styling a music video for a hot young Kiwi director who jetted in for a handful of high-profile jobs. Could that be what this is really about? She said she disliked the guy, but when I think back on it, she disliked him a touch too much.
He’s so opinionated … so bloody sure of himself … so obsessed with details …
In short, all the things she likes in a man, all the things she used to like in me.
I’m an idiot. I should have read the signs. I feel suddenly sick. Who flies off to the other side of the world in the hope that a frisson might develop into something more? Not Clara, for sure; she’s way too practical to roll the dice like that. No, she went knowing what lay in store for her, from which I can conclude – cue another brief surge of nausea – that she was having an affair with the guy right under my nose. (What was his name again? Wayne? I’ll look it up later.)
I need to know the truth. I don’t care what it takes. I’m as blind to the consequences as I was to the clues. The second I end my conversation with Polly, I call Clara’s best friend, Fiona. We’ve always got on well enough, although she falls into that category of ‘friends’ who I know will slowly fade from my life now that Clara is no longer a part of it. I’ve spoken to her a few times over the past couple of weeks, civil conversations. Something tells me this one isn’t going to be.
After some opening pleasantries, I tell Fiona I’m thinking about calling in the police.
‘The police?’ There’s a distinct note of alarm in her voice. ‘I’m sure that’s
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