Twenties Girl

Twenties Girl Page 79

“I told you,” she says at last. “When I wore it, I felt beautiful. Like a goddess. Radiant.” She leans against the window frame. “You must have something in your wardrobe that makes you feel like that.”

“Er…” I hesitate.

I can’t honestly say I’ve ever felt like a goddess. Or particularly radiant, come to that.

As if she can read my thoughts, Sadie turns and surveys my jeans dubiously. “Maybe you don’t. You should try wearing something beautiful for a change.”

“These are nice jeans!” I pat them defensively. “Maybe they’re not beautiful, exactly-”

“They’re blue.” She’s regained her spirit by now and shoots me a scathing look. “Blue! The ugliest color in the rainbow. I see the whole world, walking around with hideous blue legs. Why blue?”

“Because…” I shrug, nonplussed. “Dunno.”

Kate has left the office early to go to the orthodondist, and all the phones are quiet. Maybe I’ll leave too. It’s nearly time, anyway. I glance at my watch and feel a shot of anticipation.

I adjust the pencil stuffed into my hair, stand up, and check over my outfit. Quirky printed T-shirt from Urban Outfitters. Cute little pendant of a frog. Jeans and ballet pumps. Not too much makeup. Perfect.

“So… I thought we could go for a walk, maybe,” I say super-casually to Sadie. “It’s such a nice day.”

“A walk?” She peers at me. “What kind of walk?”

“Just… a walk!” Before she can say any more, I close down my computer, set the office answering machine, and grab my bag. Now that my plan is about to come to fruition, I’m quite excited.

It only takes twenty minutes to get to Farringdon, and as I hurry up the tube steps I glance at my watch-5:45. Perfect.

“What are we doing?” Sadie’s suspicious voice follows me. “I thought you said we were going for a walk.”

“We are. Kind of.”

I half wish I’d ditched Sadie. The trouble is, I think I might need her in reserve if things get tricky. I head to the corner of the main road and pause.

“What are you waiting for?”

“No one,” I say, a little too defensively. “I’m not waiting for anyone. I’m just… hanging out. Watching the world go by.” I lean casually against a pillar-box to prove my point, then hastily move away as a woman approaches to post a letter.

Sadie appears in front of me and scans my face, then suddenly inhales as she sees the book in my hand. “I know what you’re doing! You’re trailing! You’re waiting for Josh! Aren’t you?”

“I’m taking control of my life.” I avoid her eye. “I’m showing him I’ve changed. When he sees me, he’ll realize his mistake. You wait.”

“This is a very bad idea. A very, very bad idea.”

“It’s not. Shut up.” I check my reflection and apply more lip gloss, then blot it off.

I’m not going to listen to a word Sadie says. I’m totally psyched and ready to go. I feel empowered. All those times I tried to get inside Josh’s head, all those times I tried to ask him what he really wanted out of our relationship, he kept batting me away. But now, finally, I know what he wants! I know how to make things work!

Ever since that lunch, I’ve totally transformed myself. I’ve kept the bathroom tidy. I’ve stopped singing in the shower. I’ve made a resolution never to mention anyone else’s relationship, ever. I’ve even looked at that William Eggleston photography book, but I think it would seem a bit of a coincidence to be actually holding it. Which is why I’m clutching a book called Los Alamos , another collection by him. Josh is going to see me so differently. He’s going to be amazed! Now I just have to bump into him accidentally-on-purpose as he leaves his office. Which is about two hundred yards away.

Keeping my eyes fixed on the entrance, I head toward a tiny alcove next to a shop where I have a good view of everybody as they head toward the tube station. A couple of Josh’s colleagues hurry past, and I feel a clench of nerves in my stomach. He’ll be here soon.

“Listen.” I turn urgently to Sadie. “You might possibly have to help me out a bit.”

“What do you mean, help you?” she says haughtily.

“Prompt Josh a bit. Tell him he likes me. Just to make sure.”

“Why will he need telling?” she retorts. “You said he was going to realize his mistake when he saw you.”

“He will,” I say impatiently. “But he might not realize it straightaway . He might need… a nudge. A kick-start. Like old cars,” I add in a moment of inspiration. “Like in your times. Remember? You wound the handle round and round and then suddenly the engine caught and off it went. You must have done that millions of times.”