Here's Looking at You (18 page)

‘Oh boy, really? I might take your advice on that at some point.’ James rubbed his neck. ‘Have you had much luck with it?’

‘You know when they embalm people, and they drain all bodily fluid out of them first? It’s like that, but with hope. You do get to try a lot of recommended restaurants in
Time Out
though.’

‘Oh, no. I can imagine.’

Anna smiled tightly and nodded, knowing that he was humouring her, though not in a patronising way for once.

As if someone like him ever ended up trawling online. The very notion would no doubt activate a whole social network of female sleeper agents he didn’t know he knew.
Mobilise the Muswell Hill asset, James Fraser needs taking out.

‘Where are you from, assuming you didn’t grow up in Stoke Newington?’ he said.

‘Ah, uhm. Not far from there …’ She was being unmasked by degrees, fingers prying at the edge of her balaclava, anxiety levels rising.

‘Mind if I use your loo before I go?’ Anna said desperately, swigging the last of her whisky, needing to get out of this conversation fast.

‘Oh. Sure,’ James said, seeming slightly taken aback at her abruptness. ‘Top of the stairs, straight in front of you.’

Anna bounded the stairs and found yet another zone of perfection. It was a dazzling all-white, with tiled walls like a sanitorium. It was, she noted, bar the kitchen, very feminine in this house.

There was a half-burned, blackberry-scented candle with a paper label on the toilet cistern, and an armoire with mirrored doors, stacked with white towels, draped with a chain of little paper lantern lights.

A magazine cover-sized photo on the windowsill showed a fair young woman asleep on her front, the upper portion of her bare back visible. It was an intimate honeymooner’s portrait and Anna started to think the mistress of the house might be a little vain.

And as Anna spent a penny, another penny dropped. James’s wife had left him, and he, the cat and the house were in suspense. They were waiting for her to come back.

Aggy told Anna she was free to choose her own bridesmaid dress.

‘This is all about you and what you like and what you feel comfortable in.’

Anna insisted she wanted something high-street.

So Aggy marched into a branch of Monsoon near Oxford Circus and started authoritatively grabbing dresses and throwing them over an arm, using Anna’s when hers became fully loaded.

‘Uhm … my choice …?’ Anna said.

‘Got to get started,’ Aggy said.

‘Of course,’ Anna suppressed a smile. It could be so much worse. Aggy might’ve had a phalanx of bridesmaids, but for the fact her ‘bff’ Marianne had only had her sister as a maid of honour at her wedding, to free up more money for her own gown. Relieved of the obligation to have Marianne in return, Aggy had followed suit.

In a changing room without space to warmly embrace a weasel, Anna struggled in and out of various options. She’d forgotten that trying on clothes could be hard work. And involved looking in mirrors and contemplating one’s body a lot more than Anna liked. She got increasingly hot and dishevelled, cardboard price tags jabbing in soft body parts, hair even madder than usual. Aggy selected a pair of shoes with heels like chopsticks to accessorise. They made Anna feel foot sore and tired before she’d even walked anywhere in them. Anna periodically whipped the curtain back to reveal the results and deliver her verdict.

Electric-blue lace mini: ‘
Inside Soap
Awards, winner of “Best Bitch”.’

Cabbage-rose floral with lavender sash: ‘An Alice band away from
The 40-Year-Old Virgin
.’

Sugar-mouse pink tulip skirt, with silver embellishment: ‘I have Sylvanian Families on my windowsill and kiss the McDigger Mole family good night individually.’

Each time she did this, Aggy said ‘Hmmm’ then nodded reluctantly in agreement.

As Anna squeezed out of dress number six and into dress number seven, Aggy said through the curtain, ‘Oh, I’ve found you a date for my wedding. You can thank me later.’

Anna paused, mid-unzipping.

‘
Thank
you? Did I say I wanted you to find me a date for your wedding?’

‘You’ll want this one.’

‘Aggy, seriously, have you been doing “my sad single older sister” publicity on my behalf? That makes my shit itch, to use a Michelle-ism.’

‘Aren’t you interested?’

‘No. I like to choose my dates myself.’

‘And that goes SO well. How long have you been online dating? And you haven’t found anyone? When was it you last went out with someone? As in a relationship?’

Anna squirmed a bit.

‘Ages,’ Aggy said, through the polyester curtain. ‘Why not let me pick, for once? If you don’t like him, it’s no problem.’

‘No, no pressure at all when it’s your wedding!’ Anna eye rolled at herself in the mirror. ‘Who is it?’

‘OK, so do you remember cousin Matteo?’

‘Oh. Erm … yeah,’ Anna said. ‘The one who did that hip swivel, finger pointy dance to “When You’re in Love with a Beautiful Woman” with Mum at Dad’s fiftieth? And wears racer-back vests? And is our cousin? Does this get better?’

‘Well this is Matteo’s friend. Primo. If you say yes then I’m going to tell Matteo he can bring him as his plus one. For you.’

‘Oh great, another Muscle Beach refugee. Why would he like me? Have you seen proper show pony Italian girlfriends? And Italian boys like women who can cook like Nonna, not ones like me, who float poached eggs in bowls of spaghetti hoops.’

‘That’s lazy stereotyping,’ Aggy said.

Aggy’s arm suddenly burst round the curtain, hand holding her phone, making Anna yelp in surprise.

‘Primo.’

A ridiculously pretty boyish Italian smouldered from the iPhone screen at Anna. He had chestnut curly hair and eyes like Minstrels. Anna was half out of a crochet dress, strapless putty-coloured bra squashing her honkers like water balloons under a paving slab, and almost blushed.

‘And why would he want to date me? He looks about twenty and like a member of One Direction or something. Una Direzione.’

‘He’s thirty-three and he’s an architect.’

‘Wow. Alright, point stands. But why me?’

Aggy sighed and withdrew her arm.

‘Have you ever thought that it’s because you act like a lonely old minger, that people treat you like one?’

‘Yes that’s it, that’s what I sit at home thinking.
Maybe it’s because I act like a lonely old minger
…’

‘I’m serious! Your first reaction is no one nice would be up for it. You need to read
The Self-Esteem Repair Kit
by Oprah. I friended Primo so he had friend-of-friend rights to stalk your photos on Facebook. He says you’re fit and he’s well up for it.’

‘Marvellous, Aggy. Perhaps you’d like to mail-order bride me to Florence and be done with it?’

‘Are you saying no? I will tell him no then, what a shame.’

God, Aggy was a fearsome opponent when she wanted to be. No wonder Chris had stood no chance when it came to planning My Big Fat Itanglish Wedding.

‘I’ll think about it.’

‘Think fast! Primos don’t come along every day.’

Anna drew the zip up the side of a wiggle dress with a black crepe pencil skirt and a lace overlay bodice. After an unpleasant moment where she had thought the zip wouldn’t slide past her waist, it suddenly caught the metal teeth at the top and the garment pinged into place on her body. Hmmm. Not … not bad, actually. Anna turned, looked over her shoulder, adjusting the fabric over her hips. She pulled the curtain back.

‘Argentine Tango week on
Strictly Come Dancing
. Damaged prostitute with trust issues is wooed by mysterious drifter in trilby in Buenos Aires bar?’

‘You look great!’

‘Is it bridesmaidy enough?’

‘I don’t care about bridesmaidy, I care about my sister looking like a salty potato.’

‘A salty potato?’

‘It’s from TOWIE.’

Anna checked how tight it was on her backside again. ‘Sisterly love.’

‘When Primo sees you in this, it’ll be game over.’

Why did Anna get the feeling it didn’t matter whether she said yes to Primo’s presence or not because the invite had already gone out?

Aggy fiddled with Anna’s hair. ‘Some sort of flower clip up here … Lovely. Yes. We’re buying this.’

‘I’m buying this,’ Anna said.

‘What? Are you? Why?’

‘Because you’ve spent enough and it’s something I’ll wear again.’

‘Anna, you are the best sister. Aggy hugged her. Pause. ‘I was going to get you the heels as well.’

Anna stuck her tongue in the side of her mouth.

‘Amazing. Heels too, then.’

Anna withdrew behind the curtain to change back into her own clothes, and mercifully, flat shoes.

‘Do you know you only call first sons Primo?’ she said to Aggy. ‘If you translated it to English it’d be calling your first kid Firsty.’

‘Yeah, don’t say things like that when you meet him. It’s like Mum says. Tone down your personality.’

Anna had just concluded a tutorial with a group of solemn third years. They were visibly sobered, if not agitated, by the prospect of their finals. She remembered that acceleration of time from her own university days. You think three years is an eternity, then discover it’s nothing at all.

‘Feel free to ask if you have any difficulties with that essay,’ she said brightly, as they filed out.

She turned back to her inbox, the time-swallowing beast that was never fed. In the usual row of envelope icons, there was one from James Fraser. Subject line,
You’re In Good Company
:
other famous Luther rescues …

A smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. As she opened the email she laughed out loud, scrolling through three Photoshopped famous film stills.

There was Richard Gere clasping a grumpy-looking Luther to his naval whites in
An Officer and a Gentleman
, Ralph Fiennes in linen striding through the desert with Luther in
The English Patient
, and Patrick Swayze holding him aloft in the finale of
Dirty Dancing.
Somehow, using the same image of Luther each time, head turned to the camera, face scowling, tail hanging like a Ken Dodd tickle stick, made it even funnier.

The note with it read:

An electronic kiss too? He did care about that cat. Anna drummed her fingers on her desk and dithered over how to reply. On the one hand, she didn’t like to take favours from him when they had a professional relationship. Plus, he was James Fraser. On the other, their liaising over Theodora was pretty much concluded and she had to admit that from what she’d seen, the app looked great. As far as that fluffy animal went, he was being excessively gallant about her solving a problem she’d created.

She still didn’t trust him. She never would.

But Aggy would kill her if she knew she had an offer of tickets to this play and didn’t tell her. She was obsessed with Dylan Kelly and
Friction Burns
had sold out months ago, in a mouse’s heartbeat. She could send Aggy without her. But then how would taking favours on behalf of a family member make Anna any less compromised?

It was at the Donmar Warehouse. She’d always fancied going there. What was on the agenda tomorrow evening otherwise? Microwaved soup and a whole disc of a DVD from the current box set.

She opened an email to Aggy and Michelle and told them she had come by these tickets, any takers?

Two decisive replies inside twenty minutes.

And from Michelle:

Michelle liked to change her iPhone signature daily.

Anna enjoyed being able to spread such happiness and cheerfully mailed her acceptance back to James. He replied within minutes, saying cool, he was going too and could only get his friend Laurence to accompany,
hope that’s OK.

Ah. Oh dear. Stupidly, Anna hadn’t considered James might be going. Did it matter? He’d see Aggy, and vice versa. And Laurence? He’d have another opportunity to figure out who she was. It was unnecessary risk taking.

However, reason dictated that if James had still apparently failed to fit the pieces over a number of meetings in daylight, when blessed with her surname, the chances of Laurence solving the puzzle during two hours in near-darkness had to be minimal. Anna had started to think she’d never be ID’d, something that was both a relief and quite bewildering at the same time.

However, she owed Aggy and Michelle consideration on this new information, particularly her sister.

She opened an email to both, saying:

Anna duly RSVP’d that this was fine, then reminded her sister that if any question about where she was from came up, she was to swerve it, and say Tottenham.