Twenties Girl (13 page)

NINE

ometimes, when I can’t get to sleep, I imagine all the rules I’d invent if I ever got to be in charge of the world. There are quite a few which involve ex-boyfriends, as it happens, and now I’ve got a new one:

Ex-boyfriends shall not be allowed to take another girl back to the special restaurant they used to go to with their previous girlfriend
.

I still can’t believe Josh is taking this girl to Bistro Martin. How can he? It’s
our
place. We had our first date there, for God’s sake. He’s totally betraying all our memories. It’s as if our whole relationship is an Etch A Sketch and he’s deliberately shaking it clean and drawing a new picture, and forgetting all about the old, much better, and more interesting picture which used to be there.

Besides which, we’ve only just broken up. How can he be dating another girl after only six weeks? Doesn’t he know
anything?
Rushing blindly into a new relationship is never the answer; in fact, it’ll probably make him really unhappy. I could have told him that, if he’d asked me.

It’s twelve-thirty on Saturday and I’ve been sitting here for twenty minutes. I know the restaurant so well, I’ve been able to plan things perfectly. I’m in the corner, tucked out of sight, wearing a baseball cap just to be on the safe side. The restaurant’s one of those bustling brasseries with lots of tables and plants and hooks for coats, so I’m easily able to blend away in the background.

Josh is booked at one of the big wooden tables in the window—I peeked at the reservations list. I have a good view of it from my corner seat, so I’ll be able to study this so-called Marie pretty carefully and watch their body language. Even better, I’ll be able to listen to their conversation, because I’ve bugged the table.

This isn’t a joke—I’ve genuinely bugged it. Three days ago I went online and bought a tiny remote microphone in a pack called My First Spy Kit. When it arrived, I realized it was designed for ten-year-old boys rather than adult ex-girlfriends, as it also came with a plastic Spy’s Log Book and Cool Code Cracker.

But so what? I’ve tested it out and it works! It only has a range of twenty feet, but that’s all I need. As soon as my waiter had taken my drink order, I made a pretext of needing the ladies’ room. Casually, I sauntered past, pretended to drop something, and slapped the tiny sticky pad of the microphone on the underside of the table. The earpiece is hidden under my baseball cap. I just have to switch it on when I’m ready.

And, OK, I know you shouldn’t spy on people. I know I’m doing a morally wrong thing. In fact, I had a big argument with Sadie about it. First she said I shouldn’t come here at all. Then, when it was obvious she was going to lose that one, she said if I was
that
desperate to know what Josh was going to talk about, I should just sit near the table and eavesdrop. But what’s the difference?
If you’re listening in, you’re listening in, whether you’re two feet or ten feet away.

The point is, when it comes to love there’s a different set of morals. All’s fair in love or war. It’s for the greater good. Like those people at Bletchley, cracking German codes. That was an invasion of privacy, too, if you think about it. But they didn’t care, did they?

I have an image of myself, happily married to Josh, sitting around at Sunday lunch and saying to my children, “You know, I very nearly
didn’t
bug Daddy’s table. And then none of you would be here!”

“I think he’s coming now!” Sadie suddenly says beside me. I finally talked her into being my assistant, although all she’s done so far is wander about the restaurant saying disparaging things about people’s outfits.

I risk a tiny glance toward the door and feel a roller-coaster lurch. Oh God, oh God. Sadie’s right—it’s him. And her. They’re together. Why are they together?

OK, don’t freak out. Don’t imagine them waking up in bed, all sleepy and sex-satisfied. There could be lots of other perfectly reasonable explanations. Maybe they met at the tube or something. I take a deep gulp of wine, then raise my eyes again. I don’t know who to study first, Josh or her.

Her.

She’s blond. Quite skinny, in orange pedal pushers and one of those crisp white sleeveless tops that women wear in ads for low-fat yogurt or toothpaste. The kind of top you can only wear if you’re good at ironing, which just shows how tedious she must be. Her arms are tanned and there are streaks in her hair, as though she’s been on holiday.

As I shift my gaze to Josh, I feel my stomach go all slithery. He’s just … Josh. Same fair floppy hair, same goofy lopsided grin as he greets the maître-d’, same faded jeans, same canvas sneakers (some cool Japanese label I’ve never quite got the hang of pronouncing), same shirt—

Hang on. I stare at him in disbelieving shock. That’s the shirt I gave him for his birthday.

How can he be doing this? Does he have no heart? He’s wearing
my
shirt in
our
place. And he’s smiling at this girl as though no one exists but her. Now he’s taking her arm and making some joke which I can’t hear but makes her throw back her head and laugh with her toothpaste-ad white teeth.

“They look very well suited,” says Sadie brightly in my ear.

“No, they don’t,” I mutter. “Be quiet.”

The maître-d’ is showing them to the window table. Keeping my head down, I reach into my pocket and switch on the remote control for the microphone.

The sound is faint and buzzy, but I can just about hear his voice.

“… totally wasn’t paying attention. ’Course, it turns out the bloody GPS has sent me to completely the wrong Notre Dame.” He gives her a charming grin and she giggles.

I almost want to leap up from my table, I’m so livid. That’s
our
anecdote! That happened to
us!
We ended up at the wrong Notre Dame in Paris and we never saw the real one. Has he forgotten he was with me? Is he just editing me out of his life?

“He looks very happy, don’t you think?” observes Sadie.

“He’s not happy!” I give her a venomous glare. “He’s in total denial.”

They’re ordering a bottle of wine. Great. Now I have to watch them get all merry. I take a few olives and munch disconsolately. Sadie has slid into the seat opposite and is watching me with a trace of pity.

“I warned you, never be a trailer.”

“I’m not being a trailer! I’m … trying to understand him.” I swirl my wine around a few times. “We ended so suddenly. He just cut me off. I wanted to work at our relationship, you know? I wanted to talk things through. Like,
was
it the commitment thing? Or was there something else? But he wouldn’t. He didn’t give me a chance.”

I glance over at Josh, who is smiling at Marie while the waiter uncorks a bottle. I could be watching our own first date. It was just the same, all smiles and amusing little stories and wine. Where did it go wrong? How did I end up sitting in a corner bugging him?

And then the solution hits me, with total clarity. I lean over toward Sadie with urgency.

“Go and ask him.”

“Ask him what?” She makes a face.

“Where it went wrong! Ask Josh what was wrong with me! Get him to speak out loud, the way you did with Ed Harrison. Then I’ll know!”

“I can’t do that!” she objects at once.

“Yes, you can! Get inside his head! Make him talk! This is the only way I can get to him—” I break off as a waitress approaches the table, her notepad out. “Oh, hi. I’d love some … um … soup. Thanks.”

As the waitress moves off, I gaze entreatingly at Sadie. “Please. I’ve come all this way. I’ve made all this effort.”

There’s a moment’s silence—then Sadie rolls her eyes. “Very well.”

She disappears, then a moment later reappears right by Josh’s table. I watch, my heart galloping. I push my earpiece more firmly into my ear, ignoring the buzz, and listen to Marie’s rippling laugh as she tells some story about horse riding. She’s got a faint Irish brogue, which I didn’t notice before. As I glance over, I see Josh topping up her glass of wine.

“Your childhood sounds amazing,” he’s saying. “You have to tell me more.”

“What do you want to know?” She breaks off a piece of bread. But doesn’t put it in her mouth, I notice.

“Everything.” He smiles.

“Could take a while.”

“I’m in no hurry.” Josh’s voice has deepened a smidgen. I’m watching in horror. They’ve got that whole eyes-meeting frissony
thing going on. Any minute he’ll take her hand, or even worse. What’s Sadie
waiting
for?

“Well, I was born in Dublin.” She smiles. “Third of three.”

“Why did you break up with Lara?”
Sadie’s voice is so piercing through my earpiece, I nearly jump out of my chair.

Josh has heard her, I can tell. His hand has stopped halfway through pouring out fizzy water.

“My two brothers tormented me, all through my childhood.” Marie is still speaking, obviously unaware of anything. “They were so evil. …”

“Why did you break up with Lara? What went wrong? Talk to Marie about it! Talk, Josh!”

“… found frogs in my bed, in my satchel… once even in my cereal bowl!” Marie looks up at Josh, clearly expecting him to respond. But he’s frozen like a statue, as Sadie yells in his ear,
“Say it, say it, say it!”

“Josh?” Marie waves her hand in front of his face. “Did you hear a word I said?”

“Sorry!” He rubs his face. “I don’t know what happened there. What were you saying?”

“Oh … nothing.” She shrugs. “Just telling you about my brothers.”

“Your brothers! Right!” With an obvious effort, he refocuses on her and smiles charmingly. “So, are they very protective of their little sister?”

“You’d better watch out!” She smiles back and takes a sip of wine. “How about you, any siblings?”

“Say why you split up with Lara! What was wrong with her?”

I can see Josh glaze over again. He looks as though he’s trying to catch the distant echo of a nightingale across the valleys.

“Josh?” Marie leans forward. “Josh!”

“Sorry!” He comes to and shakes his head. “Sorry! It’s weird. I was just thinking about my ex, Lara.”

“Oh.” Marie keeps smiling, exactly the same amount of
smile, but I can see the muscles tense up a little in her jaw. “What about her?”

“I don’t know.” Josh screws up his face, looking perplexed. “I was just thinking what it was about her and me that went wrong.”

“Relationships end.” Marie sips her water. “Who knows why? These things happen.”

“Yes.” Josh still has a faraway look in his eyes, which isn’t surprising, as Sadie is yelling like a siren in his ear.
“Say why it went wrong! Say it out loud!”

“So.” Marie changes the subject. “How was your week? I’ve had a hellish time with that client. Remember the one I was telling you about—”

“I suppose she was a bit intense,” Josh blurts out.

“Who was?”

“Lara.”

“Oh, really?” I can see Marie trying to feign interest.

“She used to read me out ‘relationship issues’ from some bullshit magazine and want to talk about how similar we were to some other random couple. For hours. That annoyed me. Why did she have to analyze everything? Why did she have to unpick every single row and conversation?”

He gulps at his wine and I stare at him across the restaurant, stricken. I never knew he felt that way.

“That does sound annoying.” Marie nods sympathetically. “Anyway, how did that big meeting go? You said your boss had some announcement to make?”

“What else?”
Sadie is shrieking at Josh, drowning out Marie.
“What else?”

“She used to litter the bathroom with her creams and crap.” Josh frowns distantly at the memory. “Every time I tried to shave I had to fight through this thicket of pots. It drove me mad.”

“What a pain!” says Marie, overbrightly. “Anyway—”

“It was the little things. Like the way she used to sing in the
shower. I mean, I don’t mind singing, but the same song every bloody
day?
And she didn’t want to open her mind. She’s not interested in traveling, not interested in the same things as me. … Like, I once bought her this book of William Eggleston photography; I thought we could talk about it or whatever. But she just flipped through with zero interest—” Josh suddenly notices Marie, whose face has almost seized up with the effort of listening politely. “Shit. Marie. I’m sorry!” He rubs his face with both hands. “I don’t know why Lara keeps popping into my head. Let’s talk about something else.”

“Yes, let’s do that.” Marie smiles stiffly. “I was going to tell you about my client, the really demanding one from Seattle? You remember?”

“Of course I remember!” He reaches for his wine—then seems to change his mind and picks up his glass of fizzy water instead.

“Soup? Excuse me, miss, didn’t you order the soup? Excuse me?”

Suddenly I realize a waiter is standing by my table with a tray of soup and bread. I have no idea how long he’s been trying to get my attention.

“Oh, right,” I say, quickly turning to him. “Yes, thanks.”

The waiter deposits my food and I pick up a spoon, but I can’t eat. I’m too flabbergasted by everything Josh just said. How could he have felt all this and never mentioned it? If he was annoyed by my singing, then why didn’t he say? And as for the photography book, I thought he’d bought it for himself! Not for me! How was I supposed to know it meant so much to him?