Here's Looking at You (11 page)

Had James Fraser recognised her? It was impossible to tell. Her instincts said not – there was no dawning of the light writ across his features at any point. But that didn’t mean much.

Now he had her surname
and
he’d seen her at the reunion. If the penny hadn’t dropped yet, it would soon. It was teetering, wobbling, right about to roll.
Alessi.
She might be Anna not Aureliana, but her full name was unusual. It alliterated, it was memorable. No doubt about it, the bells would soon chime.

He’d have a look of triumphal malignity on his face at their next encounter, and conclude by saying: ‘It’s come back to me, I
do
know you …’

Technically, of course, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t as if he could use that information in any way that harmed her professionally, beyond embarrassing gossiping with the exhibition team. It was hard to explain why it felt so catastrophic.

She had dealt with school by moving forward and never looking back. She boxed her inappropriately titled
Forever Friends
diaries and banished all reminders to the loft. She changed her forename. And eventually, she’d changed her appearance.

She’d walked into the reunion knowing she could walk out again at any time she chose. And she’d never imagined he’d be there in the first place.

This turn of events felt like a taunt from above at her audacity. God saying:
if you want to mess with the order of things, I’ll mess with you right back.

To have the monster tear through the paper screen like this, someone who knew who she used to be – and
him
, of all people – working with her in the present? It was a merging of realities she never, ever thought she’d have to face. She was near-tearful at how she could be so improbably unlucky.
Of all the gin joints in all the world
…

‘Faster than a speeding bullet!’ Patrick called after Anna as she stomped through reception.

She felt pathetically, overwhelmingly grateful for the sight of him. Someone who would never judge her, never snicker, never betray and ridicule her. These were
her
kind of people. This was a safe haven, where you were assessed only on your brainpower. Only your essays got marked. Not your circumference, or your income, or your cool, or your clothes.

‘Meeting go well? Eager to get stuck straight into exploring Dora?’

‘Patrick, I’ve had a complete nightmare,’ she said, trying not to sound wobbly, and not entirely succeeding.

‘Are you OK?’ he said, instantly concerned, hand on her arm.

Anna glanced over at Jan the receptionist. She had ears the size of cabbage leaves for scandal.

‘Time for a quick coffee? Walk in Russell Square?’

Patrick checked his wristwatch. ‘For you. Any time.’

‘Thank you so much,’ Anna said, and Patrick looked gratified at the extravagant emotion over a latte. ‘I don’t mean to sound dramatic.’

Once they were settled on a park bench with takeout coffees, Anna began. ‘You know I said I had a bad time at school? Guess who the lead from the digital company working on the Theodora show is? Only a thundering anus who bullied me.’

‘He
bullied
you?’ Patrick fiddled with his sugar packet.

‘Yes. I saw him at the reunion. It was worse … he was worse to me than I explained. In the past, I mean.’

‘Oh dear, Anna. Did he …? Were you …?’ Patrick avoided her eyes. Anna realised he might’ve misconstrued what she was going to reveal.

‘Oh no, I left that school when I was sixteen, I wasn’t … I was a …’

Anna felt herself colour and Patrick nodded, relieved, and put his hand on her arm.

‘I was different at school,’ she said, taking a deep breath. ‘I was … a lot bigger.’

Patrick’s face was one set in extreme concern. She’d forgotten his hugely protective streak. A streak in the same way the M1 had a middle lane streak.

‘This man was particularly cruel to me. He tricked me into appearing on stage with him and then half the school pelted me with sweets and called me names.’

‘Good grief,’ Patrick said.

‘He didn’t recognise me at the reunion. But now he knows my surname. Patrick, I’m dreading having to see him again. He’s going to bring it up and I’m going to end up crying. And work’s always been a safe place where I didn’t have to deal with that stuff, you know. I don’t want to be too dramatic about having a new identity, but … I do feel like someone in witness protection who’s had the mobsters show up.’

‘This is awful.’ Patrick paused. ‘And terribly odd timing. Do you think it’s got anything to do with you going to the reunion?’

‘Oh, no. It’s complete coincidence. Imagine. What a one-two punch. Not had to see this idiot for sixteen years and then twice in two weeks.’

Anna made a ‘huh’ noise and sipped coffee.

‘Part of me thinks I should resign from the Theodora show. But I so want to be part of it, and I can’t think of a plausible excuse.’

‘Oh you
must
work on it, Anna. You told me it was the greatest moment of your career so far. You can’t let this dickhead ruin it for you. And, like we said. It’s potentially going to do you a lot of good round here.’

A pause.

‘Why not get him moved off it?’ Patrick asked.

‘How? I can hardly go to John Herbert and say: “He was nasty to me at school.”’

‘What if he was nasty to you now?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘You think he might say something when you next meet?’

‘Yes. I think he’s snide by nature and I’ve not helped myself by annoying him in this meeting.’

‘Then encourage it. Get him to goad you. Then take it to John and say you can’t work with him for these personal reasons, and someone else from that agency should take over.’

‘Oh. Wow. Yes, I
suppose
that could work … depending on what he said.’

‘Look on it as insurance. If he says nothing too dreadful, then you can cope. If he taunts you, he’s sealing his own fate.’

Anna thought about this. The idea of taking the lead and giving him attitude emboldened her. A psychological layer of armour.

‘Thanks. This is brilliant advice.’

‘One tries one’s best.’ Patrick patted her arm again.

‘You’re my furry Pandarian hero,’ Anna said, grinning.

Patrick beamed.

Anna wasn’t confrontational by nature. While Patrick had the odd spluttering fit at idle students, Anna always tried to empathise. You never knew anyone’s full story. She played the ‘what if’ game.
What if they have money worries … what if they have an illness?
(‘Like Lazy Bones?’ Patrick said.)

But being unpleasant to James Fraser? She reckoned she was up to that.

At the end of a long week, Anna found herself, her coat, bag and her glass of red wine a seat in the basement café-bar of the Soho Curzon cinema. She didn’t want to do a meerkat at every man who walked in and hoped Grant would recognise her.

He was quarter of an hour late, although Anna didn’t mind. She knew some women were very concerned with the respect implied by strict punctuality and chairs being pulled out and generally Walter Raleighing about, but she really wasn’t. As long as he seemed respectful and didn’t swear at her for not getting all the drinks in, Anna was easy-going. Dating was difficult enough without sweating the detail.

She liked it in here and often ducked in, even when she wasn’t seeing a film, to people watch over a hot chocolate. It was a little oasis of cerebral calm when the city upstairs felt frenetic.

Unlike Anna, Michelle wasn’t from London, having moved here from the West Country when she went to catering college, and saw it with outsider’s eyes. She said London was one of the worst places to have a bad day and one of the best to have a good day.

Anna knew what she meant. She’d left for that meeting at the British Museum with a Beach Boys soundtrack in her head, and walked back to Joy Division.

When Anna had a particularly terrible time at school, she used to take a book to Mayesbrook Park and walk, and read, and walk some more. She learned that sitting in her bedroom, brooding on what the next day might bring, was unhealthy.

So she had intended to wait longer after the Pied Piper of Piss incident to go on another of these dates, but she recognised her need not to dwell. Plus Grant had messaged his extreme enthusiasm. Everyone on dating sites was available for a limited period only. If you turned them down, they went to the next on the list, a person who might take them out of circulation.

Anna could miss the love of her life if she hung back. Grant could be the one for her and she’d have let BDSM Neil and
James Fraser
ruin it for them. Imagine that! Yep, it was the lottery logic again. And what were your odds for winning that, and getting yourself the gated mansion and the bull mastiffs called Pucci and Gucci?

Her Granny Maude said anyone single after thirty had a ‘problem’. It was up to you to find out what that was. ‘And if you don’t see what the problem is at first,’ she said, pausing for effect, ‘you’ll find out what it is, soon enough.’

Aggy inhaled the anthrax spores of their gran’s wisdom with wide eyes. Late teenage Anna, in her CND symbol-Tippexed Doc Martens, with an aubergine streak in her hair, had started to question the older generation.

‘What if you’re a widower and that’s why you’re single? What if that’s the problem?’

‘Yes. And who’d want someone who wanted someone else and couldn’t have them? You’d always be second-best.’

What was Anna’s problem, in that case? Granny Maude had died, so, probably mercifully, she’d never get her opinion.

‘Hello, Anna?’

She’d been deep in thought, leafing through the Curzon’s programme of forthcoming events.

‘Hello! Grant?’

‘Are you OK for a drink?’

‘Yes, thank you,’ Anna said.

‘Right, give me a sec …’ Grant said, shrugging a trench coat off and flinging a briefcase down by the chair legs.

Cor. Hang on. He was quite dashing. Mid-blond hair tucked behind his ears, strong nose, tall, broad shouldered, looked like he might win boat races or get a small role as a philanderer with Velcro mutton chops in
Downton Abbey
.

She’d thought he was attractive in the photos, but as always, deferred excitement until meeting in the flesh. He had an impressive job, communications director for a big charity. Anna felt a shiver of anticipation and adjusted her skirt over her woolly tights. After Neil’s ‘not flowery’ remark, she’d done her hair in a coiled, plaited bun, put more make-up on and bought a tighter dress than usual. It wasn’t difficult – everything in Topshop was like a tourniquet.

Grant set a pint of Kronenbourg down.

‘Sorry I’m late, got something dumped on me as I was leaving work.’

‘Ah, I know that feeling.’ Pause. ‘Do you enjoy it? What you do?’ Anna asked.

‘Most days. Now my last manager, Ruth, has left. She was the hardest taskmaster you’ve ever met, honestly. In the end me and a few colleagues made a formal complaint. She didn’t leave but there was a disciplinary and then after that she was even worse. We were asking, is it even worth making a complaint … What are HR for? Ruth had no idea how to assess us, she’d never even done the job and it was all—’ Grant made an Emu-style talking hand pincer, ‘“Wah, wah, do it like this.” And we were like, OK, whatever. She’s in Doncaster now.’

‘Oh dear …’ Anna said, wondering why Ruth had got so much airtime. Maybe the memory was raw.

‘How did you get into comms?’

‘Comms? Good question, I did pharmacology for my degree. At Newcastle. It was the right degree for me at the time and I got a 2:1 but then I was like, do I want to go into this? It’s a good discipline to have you know, don’t get me wrong, but in essence I’m a communicator, I like talking to people.’

AT PEOPLE, Anna thought, and tried to silence her rebellious inner voice.

‘So then I moved to London and at first, my brother’s in IT, and I was like – is IT for me? I temped at his place and it was, you know, OK, and he was all “You’re good at it, you can have a job” and I was like, hmmm. Maybe there’s more for me, you know? Then I went to Indonesia with my girlfriend … Haha, my ex-girlfriend, I should say …’

Grant leaned over and squeezed Anna’s arm, reassuringly, and some would say, over confidently.

‘That took my perspective and shifted it. Amazing place. Have you been?’

Anna shook her head, biting the insides of her cheeks, as she realised they were about to spend a year in Indonesia as a result of this answer. Grant indeed embarked on Indonesia, its topography, customs, cuisine. Its … SHOES? The kind of
shoes
people wore? Oh boy.

Anna’s mind boggled. Whatever topic was introduced, Grant had absolutely no filter. It was like turning a tap on. Ask him something, get an information flood, until the room was ankle-deep and you were calling Dyno-Rod.

At first it was perturbing, then infuriating, then blackly comic, then very, very boring.

An hour later, Anna no longer knew how to arrange her face so it didn’t look like one you might see filling the porthole window of a crashing plane.

She could’ve embarked on monologues of her own by way of retaliation, but what was the point? Grant wasn’t sufficiently interested to ask any questions and Anna was sure that unless he produced documentation to prove he had Yapping On Disorder and she was legally obliged to give him a second date, she was never seeing him again.

Grant was now on Indonesia’s critically endangered Sumatran Orang-utans and the attack he suffered at their long-fingered hands. It was a topic with the potential to be interesting, but for the fact they were working backwards, covering every inch of his travel arrangements to get him face time with the primates. From the Greggs cheese and onion lattice at Gatwick onwards.

Anna started to cut the moorings and drift away. While Grant was narratively hacking through the jungle, she was mentally writing her supermarket shopping list and drafting two work emails.

‘Another?’ Grant said, second drink finished. Anna had been willing the last two inches of his beer to disappear for a long time.

‘No, sorry, ’ – she checked her watch – ‘I’ve got to meet my friends.’