Here's Looking at You Page 17

  She was smiling, James was hardly daring to believe.

  ‘Shouldn’t have gone to Covent Garden,’ Parker said. ‘Should go somewhere shit that no one goes now. Like Shoreditch, hahaha. You’re coming to the fifth birthday do?’

  ‘Uhm …?’ Anna looked helplessly at James now.

  His mouth fell open and he spoke, with some stuttering. ‘Oh, uh … yeah. I probably needed to mention that …?’

  ‘Look, if you weren’t going to invite me …’ she play-acted coquettish pique to give him a moment to recover. He smiled. A smile that lit up his face with delighted gratitude. Anna melted a little bit. Obviously the effects of being sodden with champagne and goodwill. And … it was also maybe his bone structure. He really should rethink the Captain Haddock beard, though.

  ‘No, no, no. Totally invited,’ James said.

  ‘Guys, I’m going to get off,’ Parker said.

  ‘Yeah, your work here is done,’ James muttered, with a sardonic look to Anna which she found funny and charming, despite herself.

  37

  You leave Parker alone for ONE MINUTE … Literally, it couldn’t have been much more, and he slithered off like a snake on rollerskates to Anna’s side. Then of course, he just had to say something. James rued the day. (And why was Parker, having been told this was black tie, dressed in a look James could only summarise as ‘Skeletal Rave Jester’?)

  It was especially galling, as James had thought it’d make it easier to reintroduce Eva if his work colleagues had never met the ‘girlfriend’. Although now she’d moved in with Finn, this was possibly a moot point.

  ‘Go round and hit him,’ was Laurence’s expert analysis about that development. ‘Make sure your Thomas Pink shirt gets torn. Women love a scrap.’

  ‘Me and a model? That’d be an outbreak of girly slapping.’

  ‘All the better when it’s two wet blokes. Look at Bridget Jones.’

  Instead, Parker started talking and James looked the world’s largest prannock and would’ve signed the Dignitas waivers for death’s blessed chemical kiss there and then. And yet – Anna had helicoptered him out of Saigon. That was pretty amazing. She was quite something.

  She was in a dark blue dress that revealed she had a nice figure underneath all those schlobby jumpers. Her hair was caught in a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck. Her features were emphasised with kohled eyes and dark lipstick.

  He’d watched her working the room, men staring in rapt fascination with their index fingers placed on their lips as she spoke, doing academic clever person rapid nodding. He couldn’t help but think oh, bless you, Anna, you think they’re all gravitating towards you because of your key research role. But no. It’s the rack.

  ‘I expect you now want one of those fancy explanation and apologies everyone’s so mad about these days,’ he said, taking two champagne flutes from a passing tray. He was going to have to use plutonium-grade charm to mend this. He’d need to leave her irradiated.

  ‘As you heard, Parker got the wrong end of the stick when he saw us and thought you were my new girlfriend …’

  ‘Isn’t the woman you’re actually seeing going to be cheesed off?’

  ‘I’m not seeing anyone. I told them I was to avoid the horror of being single at the office party and endless attempts to set me up.’

  ‘Who were you going to take?’

  ‘I hadn’t got that far.’

  ‘Right.’

  God, there was something about Anna, something in her manner, that drove him to take mad risks with the truth.

  ‘I was considering saying I’d split up with you.’

  Anna’s jaw dropped and for a second James thought he’d finally pushed his luck too far.

  ‘Just so you didn’t have to go!’ he added, urgently.

  ‘And you looked the big man! Why couldn’t I have dumped you?’

  ‘That’s a very good point and more plausible. Only I haven’t told them Eva was the one who left me, so again, I thought I’d try to look less loserish than I am.’

  ‘Uh-mazing,’ Anna said, into her glass, without rancour.

  ‘Argh, I know. It makes me think I left school but I’ve never left school, if you know what I mean.’

  This time, Anna said nothing.

  ‘The fifth birthday do is some surprise thing on South Bank, then bowling. Uhm. Given they think you’re going … would you like to come with me?’ James surprised himself with his own chutzpah. ‘I completely understand if this sick charade is too much though, so no worries if not. It’s only if you anticipate being exceptionally bored that evening. Which you probably don’t.’

  Oh, impressive stuff, James.

  Anna sipped her drink and put her head on one side.

  ‘As in … with you?’

  James squirmed. ‘Yeah. I’m not asking you purely to cover for this nonsense. It might seriously brighten it up to have intelligent company. As I said though, feel free to throw your drink in my face. I would if I were you.’

  ‘So we haven’t “broken up”? I can’t ditch you?’

  James winced. ‘Not unless you want to? Or I can come clean completely and confess what a sadsack I am to them.’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘And how would I know if you’d done it?’

  ‘I could ask someone to film it on my phone?’

  ‘Hah. As if you would.’

  ‘You hold all the cards,’ James said. ‘I’d do it dressed as a woman if you insisted.’

  ‘Hmmm. I suppose a sick charade date might be more fun than my proper ones.’

  ‘Really?’

  Anna shrugged. ‘Yeah.’

  Wow. He really owed her.

  He clinked his glass to hers. ‘Well, great. And congrats on the exhibition. After a shaky start, I’m glad to have won your approval for our work.’

  ‘I didn’t think you needed it. The museum love it.’

  ‘Your approval is the hardest to win, so the thrill is the greatest.’

  She looked surprised at this.

  ‘Oh no,’ Anna said distractedly, side-stepping slightly so she was positioned more centrally in front of James, ‘I think Tim McGovern saw me looking at him.’

  ‘Who’s he?’

  ‘Tim McGovern? From the TV. I have a bad crush.’

  James glanced over at a tall, thin, slickly dressed wiry man in a swirly Paul Smith jacket with a completely bald, shiny pate and designer ’60s-style black-rimmed glasses. He looked back at James and Anna, and took a businesslike swig from his glass. James decoded the quick hard stare of libidinous interest fairly plainly as: ‘And how do I detach you, from her?’

  His face rang a bell.

  ‘Oh, is he the historian that does the BBC4 docs?’ James said.

  ‘That’s him.’

  ‘Bookish World crushes must be different to real world ones. He looks like a lecherous chickpea to me. That is a bad crush.’

  Anna giggled. She was very tipsy, James thought. It always happened at these straight-from-work dos; champagne, hardly any food, hammered as hell by nine. He’d woken up with a few colleagues he shouldn’t have, way back when, and fizzy was always to blame. It felt as if it sucked all the moisture from your eyeballs. And the caution from your body.

  ‘Nooooo. He’s amazing. He really knows his stuff.’

  ‘Yeah, but. He’s in zebra-skin loafers. Power’s an aphrodisiac, it’s not a roofie.’

  ‘I could listen to him talk for hours.’

  ‘Looks like he could listen to himself talk for hours too, you have that in common.’

  They laughed simultaneously, and James realised that laughing conspiratorially with someone of the opposite sex was quite intimate. The way you held eye contact, losing control at the same time, over a shared confidence. He checked. TV Tim was still throwing wolfish glances their way.

  ‘He’s definitely interested. Want to reel him in?’ he asked Anna.

  ‘How do I do that?’

  ‘Ah, so. In a moment, I’m going to whisper in
your left ear. Lean in while I’m talking, smiling, like you know I’m trying it on. You’re quite enjoying it, but not completely giving in. Then laugh, in a flirty sort of way, as if I said something near the knuckle. Got it?’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Yes. Get this right and he’ll be over here introducing himself within minutes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because if he thinks I’m making serious moves it’ll give him a reason to make a move himself.’

  ‘What if he just thinks we’re together?’

  ‘Men don’t do this with someone they’re already seeing. You can sort any couple from “man and prospective conquest” by body language. Look, I’m mates with Laurence, he’s done a lot of field work. Trust me on this one. Ready?’

  ‘Ready,’ Anna said, trying to compose her expression, a half-smile on her face.

  James leaned in. He could smell her perfume, both floral and salty from contact with her skin. He brushed her hair away from her ear, which he didn’t plan to do, but added to the effect.

  He whispered, ‘I’ve been wanting to tell you this all night, but … Luther’s constipated. I’ve got tablets for him but Eva went mental about how he has to have natural remedies and I should put canned pumpkin in his food. So I got some, but he wouldn’t eat it. Turns out I’d bought pumpkin pie filling by accident. I’ve had to buy pumpkin, boil it and mash it up. Luther wolfs it down and disappears. Guess where I found him, paws-deep in orange diarrhoea? My underwear drawer, which I’d left half open. I can actually say a cat shat in my pants.’

  Anna reeled back with a hand clapped over her mouth, shaking with laughter. ‘Poor Luther!’

  ‘Then he ran off with what looked like a carrot dangling from his rear end,’ James leaned in and concluded, huskily, ‘But the pants I’m wearing tonight have been washed, baby. We’ll talk about the dangling carrot later.’

  Anna shook some more and James grinned and thought, I can be a charming bastard, when I try. For a moment he was too busy enjoying the moment and Anna’s expression to register it had been a complete success, and TV Tim was at his elbow.

  ‘Hello, sorry to cut in. Are you Dr Alessi?’

  ‘I am! Hello,’ Anna said, in slight shock, composing herself and shaking his hand.

  ‘And you are …?’ TV Tim said to James, with a clear hint of NOBODY!

  ‘Bursting for the gents, if you’ll excuse me,’ James said, with a smile towards Anna as he left them.

  When James emerged, they were still chatting away. TV Tim glanced over at him, and James thought: yeah yeah, you win. Only because I wasn’t trying.

  As he headed towards the door, he was jostled by a pale, gingery bloke.

  ‘Sorry,’ James said, as reflex reaction.

  There was no reciprocal apology. The man was staring at him with a look of unfettered loathing. It was so intense, and so designed to be felt, that James actually did the comedy double-take where he checked who was stood behind him to confirm he was definitely looking at him.

  Odd. And even odder … That short rotund woman stood with him. Was she dressed in drag as a man? They were like extras from The Hobbit.

  There were as many mad fruits here as Parlez he realised. It was Parlez with PhDs.

  James made his farewells, and headed into the sobering cold of the night air, wondering if Anna’s night would end the way his once did.

  An hour later, he unexpectedly got an answer when he was slumped horizontal on the sofa with a foamy bag of prawn crackers ripped open on his chest. His iPhone chirruped with a text: Anna.

  Would she be thanking him? He hoped not. He could do without the grisly confirmation. It made him feel lonely. He held the phone above him and slid the unlock bar, typed his passcode and read it.

  DID YOU KNOW? You did, didn’t you?

  The prawn crackers slid to the floor as he typed:

  Eh? What?

  *Buzz*

  ABOUT TIM

  You’re going to have to help me here, Anna, I’m confused …?

  *Buzz*

  HE’S GAY. HE CAME OVER BECAUSE HE FANCIED YOU.

  Oh no! Sorry. Haha. The shoes were a clue, I suppose Jx PS Can I get his number?

  38

  ‘Congratulations, Oh-Really-Anna,’ Patrick said, doing a little Blackadder-ish courtly bow as he entered Anna’s office. He didn’t pronounce her first name quite right – it was more Ow-Raily-Ana – but she never corrected him. ‘How are we this morning? Wreathed in glory? Bathing in asses’ milk?’

  ‘Suffering,’ Anna said, ‘but for a good cause.’

  She was on cloud nine. Theodora couldn’t have gone better and now she got to imagine visitors streaming in the doors. She would sneak back and see it as another member of the public soon. That said, she was on cloud nine and feeling like she needed a full body blood transfusion. Blurrrggh … champagne floated like a butterfly, stung like a bee. ‘Did you enjoy it?’

  ‘Ah, yes. But had to make an early exit. Guild business,’ Patrick said.

  Anna nodded in understanding, though for once she wasn’t sure she believed him. Patrick didn’t like large groups of people or big events. Unless they were made of pixels.

  ‘You were the belle of the ball,’ Patrick said, awkwardly.

  ‘Oh no, I wasn’t all pissed and hand waving like I was when we were discussing that theology paper on “God’s penis and divine sexuality” at the history ball?’

  ‘No, no, no. Sociable! Sparkling.’

  Nevertheless, Anna felt Patrick was working up to saying something.

  ‘Tim McGovern seemed very interested in your work,’ he continued. ‘I saw you deep in conversation for half an hour. Hope he’s not going to whisk you away and make you his glamorous co-presenter. We’d miss you at University College, you know.’

  ‘Don’t worry, my work was definitely all he was interested in,’ Anna said, with a dry laugh.

  ‘Did you … swap numbers?’

  She was a little taken aback by the starkness of the question. Anna considered that she and James had deliberately put on a performance for appearances’ sake, before Tim came over. All sorts of wrong conclusions might’ve been drawn by spectators.

  ‘Hah. Nope,’ she said.

  ‘I think he left with another lady, so … bit of a womaniser?’

  Anna gave a cackle.

  ‘Patrick, he’s a fruitsman, as Michelle calls it. A cake boy. He does not follow the football.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He’s gay. He came over because he fancied James Fraser from Parlez. As soon as James left I started getting questions about who the gorgeous Brandon Routh lookalike was, and felt like a prize plum.’

  ‘Oh that slick willy character from the digital agency was awful,’ Patrick spat.

  ‘Why, was he rude to you?’ Anna said, slightly startled. She’d revised her opinion of James’s manners and thought he didn’t go around being rude. At least, not to your face. Not anymore.

  ‘I saw him with you,’ Patrick said, adjusting his spectacles, pale eyes blazing behind them. ‘The whispering and flirting and fawning.’

  Anna laughed, though gently, the laughing muscles hurt.

  ‘Ah! It wasn’t what it looked like. He obviously put on a good show though.’

  ‘I beg your pardon, Anna, as a fellow human of the XY chromosome variety I can tell you it was exactly what it looked like.’

  ‘I promise you, he was pretending to flirt with me so it’d help me grab Tim’s interest. And it did. Sadly slightly to the left of where I was standing.’

  ‘And why would he be motivated to help you?’

  ‘A laugh? Because he owes me one?’

  ‘I am sure he’d give you one. Really, be on your guard. I haven’t forgotten how horrified you were to be working with him.’

  Hmmm, he had her there.

  ‘That working’s safely at an end now. Patrick, I think sometimes you shade into paranoia about male wiles.’ Anna rubbed her throbbing temples. God, why w
ould she never learn to do that thing of alternating between booze and water?

  ‘Aherm. If he doesn’t have his eye on you, then I have.’

  ‘Victoria!’ Anna said, as Poison Challis appeared behind Patrick.

  Victoria successfully ended Patrick’s visit and although hers was also notionally to congratulate Anna on the Theodora show, Anna ended up feeling as if she’d had a mild ticking off.

  As soon as Poison Challis had left, Anna checked the raspberry rippled whites of her eyes in her compact mirror and picked up her phone.

  ‘Michelle,’ she croaked, ‘I can’t go to the Penny gig tonight. I broke my mechanism.’

  ‘Oh ho ho, you are so bloody coming tonight. Take two Nurofen Plus with an Americano and a Pret ham and cheese croissant and grow some hair on your woo-woo. I can’t bloody face this without you.’

  39

  Daniel’s girlfriend Penny had few gifts, according to Michelle, but even she conceded that Penny could carry a tune.

  Her band, The Unsaid Things, was fourth on the bill in a room at the back of a North London pub that specialised in live music and toilets that smelled like the devil’s back waft.

  Anna sipped a full-fat Coke and tried to look politely interested in a junior rock group on before The Unsaids. It was made up of thirteen-year-olds wearing unbuttoned check shirts, worn over t-shirts advertising bands that had split up before they were born.

  ‘This next song is about a girl at school … I mean, sixth-form … who lies all the time and she thinks it makes her cool but it doesn’t, it makes her a liar,’ said the lead singer, through a face full of fringe. ‘It’s called “Sarah’s Lies”. We hope you enjoy it. Unless, uh. You’re Sarah.’

  ‘Guess someone’s burned that they had their impotence broadcast all round double geography. Is the next one going to be called “I Didn’t Ask to Be Born”?’ Michelle said. Anna laughed but gestured nervously towards a knot of proud parents nearby, who, frighteningly, weren’t much older than they were.

  Luckily the lead singer was fond of the vocal technique called shouting, and Michelle’s quip didn’t carry against the squall of guitars and the thundering, tear-stained lyrics. Fuck you Sarah you’re such a bitch / You say you’re emo, you shop at Jack Wills / Your boyfriend isn’t twenty he’s nineteen / Fuck you Sarah I don’t care where you’ve been …