Kitabı oku: «A Summer to Remember», sayfa 4
2007
‘I could get used to this.’ I’m lounging lazily on a swinging chair under the straw canopy of the hotel’s pool bar as Kev hands me a cocktail. Kev had surprised me with a last-minute trip to Mexico. My parents had thought we were mad as we’re supposed to be saving up to decorate and I hadn’t even had time to get my legs waxed but sitting here now, I know that Kev got it right. It’s a beautiful place.
‘Don’t get too comfy, it’s happy hour and you’re going up for the next round.’ He grins and I throw an ice cube at his bare chest.
‘Well, that was just uncalled for.’ He puts his drink underneath his chair and gives me a look filled with mischief.
‘Kev?’ I ask, nervously. I know something is coming, but I’m not sure what.
‘Sam?’ He mocks before straddling me on the swinging chair. ‘I wouldn’t do anything mean to you,’ he says. Slowly kissing my neck, he prises my drink out of my hand and puts it down on the floor.
Then, all of a sudden, he thrusts an ice cube down the front of my kaftan.
I scream and nearby sunbathers look up from their buy-one-get-one-half-price airport paperbacks and I feel ridiculous.
An almighty roar of thunder rips through the sky. Seconds later, the heavens open and torrential rain pounds the terrace. People scream and dart indoors or under the cover of the bar where we are.
Kev sips his drink and flashes me a mischievous grin.
‘What?’ I ask.
‘Nothing!’ He mimics my higher pitched tone. Gently, he scoops me up and lifts me off the safety of my seat.
The rain is like stair rods and I know his plan.
‘Fine, take me out in the rain. See if I care,’ I say, hoping to suck the fun out of his wicked plan.
He laughs. ‘You can try working your little mind game on me, Sam. It’s cute, really it is.’ He edges towards where the rain sloshes inside the open bar. ‘But we both know that today is not a hair wash day and you only have a drizzle of that anti-frizz serum left – you can’t afford an unscheduled hair wash.’
Damn! I’m torn between laughing at how well he knows me and the sheer fear of him seeing his plan through. He pretends to swoosh me out in the rain and I scream again, digging my fingers into his back.
‘It’s so warm,’ he says, inching closer to the rain. ‘I think I need to cool off.’
‘Don’t you dare!’ As I say it, he runs from under the canopy of the bar and out into the torrential rain. Within seconds we’re both drenched through.
I’m furious. ‘I hate you!’ I shout over the lashing rain, but he just gives me that lopsided grin that melts my insides. Slowly, he slides me down to my feet and pulls me into his body and kisses me as the cool rain beats down on our hot bodies.
Almost as soon as it started, the rain stops and the sun comes back out, burning through my wet kaftan.
‘You’re an idiot!’ I say, whacking him on the arm.
‘Sam, it was a joke.’
‘You knew I didn’t want to wash my hair,’ I say, squeezing out the excess water from my ponytail.
‘Let me show you something.’ He takes my hand and leads me up to our room.
‘You’re such an oddball, why are we going inside now the sun’s out?’
He doesn’t answer, instead, he opens the door and puts his hands on my shoulders, positioning me in front of the full-length mirror in the hallway.
Slowly, he peels off my kaftan. ‘Look,’ is all he says.
‘Frizzy hair, bloated all-inclusive belly, red, sunburned chest and freckles.’ I fold my arms.
‘Gorgeous, natural hair, a beautiful body and cute freckles.’ He kisses my neck and my insides flutter, it’s amazing he can still do that to me after all this time. ‘I’m with you on the sunburn though, but that’s your own fault, I told you to wear a higher factor.’
‘Oh, shut up!’ I bash him playfully.
‘My point is; you don’t need that hair-frizz gunk. Your hair is stunning as it is, just like the rest of you.’
I turn to face him, and my lips find his. His body feels hot against mine, which is still cold from my soggy kaftan.
‘What do you say we have a little siesta?’ he says cheekily.
Chapter 10
When I arrive back at the bike rental place, the Grinch is messing with the wheel of a large black and red mountain bike outside. The anger I felt towards him earlier has dissipated a little, in light of such a wonderful afternoon. I’m ready to return the bike and go back to my hotel, freshen up and perhaps find a new bike rental place should I ever need one.
He gives the wheel a little shake to make sure it’s fastened on tightly and then glances up at me, his hair falling into his eyes. ‘You found your way back then?’
‘Oh, ha-ha.’ I sound very British, like the British people in American films do. It’s odd to hear myself this way and it isn’t as though I’m speaking any differently; I just sound different because of the thick American accents around me.
He stands up, wiping a streak of black grease on his jeans. He’s intimidatingly close, almost a full head-height taller than me and a good six inches too close. Scratch that, he’s six feet too close. I swallow hard, unsure as to whether I’m going to get another earful. I’m braced and ready. He’s only a foot away, and I can feel something between us. An energy of some sort which binds itself into a hard knot in my chest. I don’t step back. I put my hands on my hips and stand my ground.
‘Do you want to pay cash or card?’ he says eventually, slicing through the tension. The breath I was holding escapes. Was that it?
‘Er, cash … no, card.’
‘Do you need a moment to think about it?’ There’s a frustrating sarcasm in his tone.
‘You do know there are customer service courses available, don’t you? I bet repeat custom isn’t the foundation of your business model.’ I jab the air in front of his chest. ‘It’s a good job you’re based in a tourist town where you have a constant flow of new and unsuspecting victims to rent bikes to. You could be the Bates Motel of the bike rental world.’ Too far?
The corner of his mouth curls up in a bemused smirk that makes me all the more cross. ‘If you’re finished, and I really hope you are, closing time was fifteen minutes ago and I’m starving so I’d like to wrap this up. I open up again at 9 a.m. tomorrow though, if you’d like to carry on.’
‘Oh.’ Okay, so maybe I’m in the wrong this time but that just makes us even. ‘Well, here.’ I hand over my card, and he heads inside without a word. I follow because, well, he has my card.
‘You could have just said you were closing,’ I say when I reach the counter.
‘Well, you know … customer service.’
Touché.
He runs off a piece of paper and presents a slip for me to sign. I haven’t paid this way in ages. I look at him to check it’s right, and he gives me an impatient look, so I scribble my signature and slide the paper back across the counter.
‘All done then?’ I ask, and he nods. ‘Okay, well thank you and goodbye.’ Eurgh, why did I thank him? I just can’t help myself. He raises a hand, and I walk out with the strange feeling of unfinished business.
Chapter 11
‘There you are!’ I spot Barney and Harry at a long wooden table in the outdoor bar. The decking offers views across the bay and the calm ocean, which appears to be resting after a busy day of throwing kayakers from their vessels. The bar is bustling, and I had to fight my way over to their corner. I plonk my handbag on the table and slump down on the bench.
‘Well, you’re not a happy camper,’ Barney says.
‘Is it that obvious?’ I ask dryly.
‘What happened to the perfect day you had planned out?’ Harry said. ‘Actually, hold that. You need a drink first.’ He holds three fingers in the air. The bartender nods and I assume three ‘somethings’ will arrive soon.
I give a wistful sigh. ‘It was perfect – I read by the pool and had lunch on the beach. Then I found the bike hire place—’
Barney gushes. ‘So, you met Ethan?’
I frown, unsure why anyone would react that way. ‘Yes. And why on earth are you friends with such an arrogant—’
Barney gasps, clutching both hands to his face. I glare at him.
‘If you keep reacting so dramatically, I’m not telling the story.’
‘Sorry, but I’ve never met anyone who hates Ethan before. We adore him and thought you would too. All the women in this town are head-over-heels besotted with him. I don’t know how he manages to stay single.’ The barman places three elaborately adorned cocktails down, breaking Barney’s trail of thought, so I seize the opportunity to fill them in on our encounter in Boston and his lack of regret today.
‘That doesn’t sound like Ethan at all,’ Barney says.
‘I don’t know; he can be a bit of a brooder,’ Harry adds.
‘I kinda like that,’ Barney says.
‘When was it you say it happened?’ Harry says, ignoring Barney.
‘A few weeks ago.’
Harry and Barney exchange glances and when they don’t elaborate, I sit confused for a minute. Then it hits me. All that talk about head-over-heels women and whatnot. They’re matchmakers, I bet he’d had a bad date that day and took his hatred of womankind out on me.
‘I do hope you only sent me there for the bikes.’ I give them a warning look.
‘Well, of course,’ Barney says, and in fairness he does look quite horrified at the thought.
Harry shakes his head. ‘Ethan is a great guy. You just have to get to know him.’
Barney rests his chin on his hands and smiles. ‘It’s as though his mother went to the gene-pool buffet when she was making him and had first dibs on all the good stuff.’ He puts on what I assume is supposed to be a female voice. ‘I’ll have a couple o’ those blue eyes, some sun-kissed skin and a chiselled jaw for this one.’ Harry giggles at Barney’s impression and it shows a side to him I hadn’t witnessed before. I swear, if these two were emojis, they’d have hearty eyes.
‘Looks aren’t everything.’
‘Well, I’ve never met a woman, or a man of that inclination, who didn’t swoon over Ethan before. You, Sam, are a tough nut to crack.’
‘I swear, if you were trying to play matchmaker …’ The thought still horrifies me.
Barney and Harry shake their heads a little too quickly and I resist the urge to discreetly check my breath doesn’t smell.
‘Good. I would hate for our friendship to be over before it’s even started.’ I punctuate my stern words with a sip of my cocktail. ‘Mmm. This is nice. What is it?’
‘It’s a ginger Cosmo. Aren’t they yummy?’ Barney sounds excited. Like Dory the fish, it seems he’s already forgotten about my warning.
‘Sam …’ Barney suddenly sounds serious, and he glances at Harry warily. Harry shakes his head and tries to brush away whatever it is Barney wants to say.
‘What?’ I ask.
Harry looks at Barney. ‘Do we need more drinks? I think we need more drinks.’ He stands up to walk to the bar.
‘What on earth is going on?’
If the ocean was guilt, a huge wave has just slapped Barney in the face and drenched him. ‘We’ve invited some friends to join us tonight, that’s all.’ He sips his drink, but the slight rise to his eyebrows suggests it’s not a simple case of friends getting together.
‘Oh, okay. What friends?’ I hadn’t anticipated there would be people joining us and try my best to avoid giving any hint of the disappointment I feel at having to share company and make small talk with strangers.
‘There’s, Susie the cake girl, Blair the gift-store owner, Marty the coffee-shop guy, who we just invited because he overheard us talking about drinks, and then … Ethan the bike guy.’ He says the last bit even quicker than usual.
‘What?’ I groan. This is all I need. I suppose I could always talk to the others. I don’t have to speak to him.
Harry returns with three more cocktails, different this time, and catches the disappointment on my face. ‘Ahh good, you told her Blair and Susie can’t make it. Don’t worry about being the only girl in our gang.’ Barney makes a cut-throat gesture at Harry to shut him up.
I guess I can talk to Marty.
He looks at Barney. ‘Oh, and I already told you Marty couldn’t make it.’ Barney’s face is a picture. ‘Oh, I didn’t.’
‘You know what, Ethan is your friend, and I am someone you’ve just met and kindly invited out. You’ve every right to invite your friend for drinks.’ I can be civilised.
Barney seems to get a sudden whoosh of positive energy and sits upright. ‘Oh good, because he’s here.’
My insides wither as he approaches our table. He’s smiling at Barney. It makes his face look weird, completely different in fact, like a light has come on. When he catches sight of me the light goes out. ‘You again,’ he says with disbelief.
‘Nice to see you too,’ I retort as he slides on to the bench opposite me.
‘Ethan, I got you a cocktail.’ Harry pushes his own glass over to Ethan, but Ethan’s eyes remain fixed on mine, even as he moves his hand to the drink and takes a sip. The golden light of the setting sun casts a glow across his face, illuminating him like an exhibit in a museum and his eyes shine like jewels.
‘Phew-ee, you could cut this tension with a knife,’ says Barney, flapping his hands around wildly. Ethan looks away, but his jaw is tense and the muscles twitch beneath his skin. My insides turn to lead. If he’s purposely trying to make me feel uncomfortable, it’s working and I can’t bear it. I’ll finish my drink and go.
‘Sorry, guys.’ Ethan’s face relaxes again. ‘I’ve just suffered an earful from her today.’ He nods at me as Barney and Harry, who are now flanking Ethan, each place a consoling hand on his shoulder and give him ‘there, there’ looks. Ethan’s solid frame doesn’t flinch, even though I suspect Harry and Barney (but mostly Barney) are enjoying the contact more than they should be.
‘Why don’t we clear the air?’ Harry suggests. I tilt my head to the side expectantly and Ethan sips his drink like he hasn’t got a care in the world. He’s infuriating.
‘For the sake of enjoying a few drinks in peace, I’m sorry,’ Ethan says, but there’s no feeling in it. He’s doing it purely for the benefit of his friends, and since I’m an outsider, I’m hardly going to make a big deal out of it. I’m going back to Boston tomorrow anyway.
‘For the sake of enjoying the rest of the evening, I accept.’ I hold out my glass and he clinks it.
‘Great,’ says Barney with an excited clap. ‘We just knew you two would get along.’ For someone who professes to be intuitive, he really isn’t.
The next few hours pass amicably. Harry and Barney flirt ostentatiously and without shame, both with each other and with Ethan. I pretend not to notice, but I get the feeling that Ethan actually doesn’t notice at all. He’s so sure of himself.
Harry slurps the last dregs of his cocktail and frowns, realising it’s all gone. ‘So, are you heading back to Boston tomorrow?’
‘Yes, let’s see if I can find my place.’ I wink.
‘You will. Think Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada,’ he says with a wink.
‘At this point, I’d settle for Anne Hathaway’s role. I’ll just be happy if someone acknowledges my presence,’ I say.
Ethan snorts. ‘Huh! You’re definitely more of a Streep.’
‘Excuse me?’ I ask. He hasn’t spoken to me directly in over an hour, and when he does, he basically calls me a bitch.
‘Oh, come on. I was joking. That’s what we do, isn’t it?’
I’m a little bit lost for words. I wouldn’t exactly call it joking, it’s more of a strange bitterness between us. Whatever it is, it feels weird to address it, we don’t even know one another.
Ethan drains the last of his cocktail. ‘Anyway, Hathaway, tell me what’s happened?’ I look at him, shocked he even cares enough to ask and also slightly surprised he knows so much about the film. I assume he’s just making polite conversation for Barney and Harry’s benefit but explain regardless.
‘Well, that sucks. If you’ve been sent here, your boss back in England must think you’re up to the job.’
‘My thoughts exactly. You know, my impression of American men hasn’t been great. Present company excluded.’ I gesture to Barney and Harry. ‘You’re not excluded,’ I say to Ethan, but light-heartedly, since he’s making an effort and all.
‘Okay, okay. Look, I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did back in Boston. I was … having a bad day.’ The alcohol has obviously infused his system because he’s more relaxed now. He’s speaking to me like a human being, which I believe is progress.
‘It’s fine. It really doesn’t matter. I was perhaps a tad sensitive because I’d just arrived in the city all excited and you smothered my excitement with a huge wet blanket.’
‘Well. On that note …’ He claps his hands together. ‘I’m going to call it a night. Some of us need our beauty sleep.’ Ethan stands with one hand on Barney’s shoulder and the other on Harry’s. They both look delighted. On the other hand, I’m left feeling a little deflated. I opened up to Ethan to try and move on from our little spat and he basically ignored me. Just when I thought he might be decent too.
‘We’ll see you soon, honey,’ Barney says as Ethan walks off, taking away a strange feeling of tension with him. Now I can relax.
‘So how do you know Ethan?’ I ask, interested by the strange dynamic. I wonder if Ethan knows that these two fancy the pants off him. Maybe he’s gay, and he thought I was trying to flirt with him when I asked him to take the photo. Maybe he’s sick of women trying to come on to him. Not that I was, but he’s definitely cock-sure enough to have assumed so.
Barney wiggles into position to fill me in. ‘Ethan was one of the first people we met when we came here. His family own a lot of the local businesses, and he’s such a nice guy, he made us feel right at home.’
Really? ‘He doesn’t strike me as much of a talker.’
‘Granted, he’s a man of few words, but what he does say is kind and generous.’ Barney presses his palms to his cheeks. ‘He’s a manly man. A real alpha-male.’
I stifle a giggle.
‘He’s the best of the best.’ Harry smiles with warmth.
‘I’ll take your word for it.’ I drain the last of my drink. ‘I suppose I’d better go to bed too.’
Harry’s and Barney’s faces drop. ‘Oh, Sam, are you going to come back? We’re not going to lose you forever, are we?’ I giggle at Barney’s theatrics.
I’m sure Boston is great, but it’s lonely and I haven’t really felt at home there. Provincetown is beautiful, and even when I’ve been alone here, I haven’t felt lonely. The sound of the ocean, the friendly hellos from passers-by and the feeling of the warm sun together make for one big snuggly blanket of comfort. I would like to come back.
‘I hadn’t thought about it,’ I lie.
‘You must come back next weekend. We’re having a cookout on the beach, and everyone is invited,’ Barney says.
Next week will probably be as horrendous as the last and escaping to this beautiful, quaint little town will be a healthier equivalent of taking a few Xanax. Plus, these two let me vent.
‘That sounds fabulous. Are you sure I wouldn’t be imposing?’ I chew the side of my lip self-consciously.
‘Not at all. We’d love you to come,’ says Harry with sincerity.
Chapter 12
The following week is just as horrible as I’d imagined it would be. I’m sent for coffee on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, and not one of my English colleagues speaks up or offers to go on my behalf, though I did think I caught a very subtle flash of sympathy from Tony. This lunchtime, I was sent on a sandwich run while the men were actually fleshing out key components of the media campaign. It was almost the final straw. I was going to stand up for myself and say something – part of me is still reeling that I didn’t – but throwing away the seven years of hard work it took to get here seemed too big a trade-off. Harry was right: I’ve got my place, but I need to work on getting a better one. I’ll bide my time and be smart about it.
When I’m tucked away in my room away from the others, I call Bridget for a catch-up.
She answers on the third ring. ‘Hello, you.’
‘Hello,’ I say, exhaling loudly for effect.
‘Oh no. Are things still terrible?’
‘Yes! When I speak it’s like nobody at all has heard me. Honestly, I’m not exaggerating. It’s bizarre. There are moments where I sit there wondering if I’ve actually spoken at all, or if I just thought the words in my head. I honestly think I could strip naked in the centre of the boardroom and nobody would notice.’
‘Oh, honey. Please don’t strip naked in the boardroom. Have you spoken to any of the UK team about it?’
‘I tried to after the first couple of days. It just sounded so petty and whiney when I said it aloud. I asked Tony if he’d heard my idea today, and he just paused for a moment until I reminded him what it was, then he said, “Oh yeah, I think so” but that was it. Nobody is interested in what I have to say. It wouldn’t be so bad if they were interested enough to say, “Your ideas are rubbish”, but they don’t even do that. I might as well be invisible.’ My voice falters on the last word as emotion hits me from nowhere. Even my own body is choosing to ignore me. I’m not even emotional, I’m angry.
‘Oh, Sam,’ she says. ‘Keep at it, hon.’
‘I know. I’ve just never felt so small and insignificant before.’ Or at least not in a very long time. I suck up a lungful of air. ‘At least I’m in a wonderful place and I can go to the beach at the weekends.’
‘Definitely. How was Cape Cod?’
‘Amazing.’ I fill her in on my escapades and Harry and Barney and Ethan.
‘So, let me get this straight; Ethan is the arse from Boston? And he was there?’
‘Yes, and yes. What are the odds of that? He has now apologised, at least. He was having a bad day apparently.’
‘Well, we all have those but jeez. At least you can put it behind you now.’
‘Yes,’ I agree. Except I can’t. Not the incident as such, but Ethan. Over the past few days, I’ve caught myself randomly thinking of him. When I’m walking to the office, eating lunch, even brushing my teeth, for goodness’ sake, I see his face and hear his voice. He’s got under my skin and I don’t know why. I’ve encountered rude people before, but something about the dark look in his eyes that day, the tense muscles in his face, were different to how he was on Saturday night at the bar. Even when he was being all cocky in the bike place, the vacant, disengaged look I saw at the harbour was nowhere to be seen. I can’t shake the feeling that he was having more than just a bad day.
‘I’m going back to Provincetown at the weekend for a cookout – a barbecue, as far as I can tell – with Harry and Barney.’
‘Ooh, lovely. Don’t forget your real friends here in miserable and grey London, will you?’
I giggle. ‘As much as I love the sunshine and gorgeous beaches of Massachusetts, you can’t beat a bit of drizzle and a bitch-fest with you lot.’
‘My sentiments exactly. Anyway, I have to go. I need to be in bed before midnight at least one day this week.’
‘Oops. I’d forgotten about the time difference,’ I say, feeling bad for calling so late.
‘It’s fine, I’ll catch a few mid-morning zeds when I’m at my desk tomorrow.’
‘I hope you’re joking, I can never tell.’
‘Unfortunately, the truth is in the eyebags,’ she cackles.
‘Okay, give the others my love.’ We exchange goodbyes, and I hang up feeling a little lighter. Just one more day of work to survive before I’m back in my happy place.
***
The ferry journey to Provincetown passes pleasantly. It’s a great way to blow away the office cobwebs on a Friday afternoon. I shall definitely be making it a thing. I while away the time switching between reading and looking out across the ocean, watching the city fade away until it’s clouded by the rugged little islands that surround it and the deep blue of the water and sky all around.
I get a warm welcome back at the hotel as the lady on reception recognises me, and once I’ve dumped my bags, I head to the main street to find Barney and Harry, who are just packing away their body paints.
‘Knocking off early?’ I say.
‘I need to go and see my meat guy for the cookout tomorrow.’
‘Your meat guy?’ I ask.
‘He means the butcher,’ Barney says. ‘Everyone has to be “a guy”.’
‘Oh, okay,’ I say, trying to sound upbeat at the discovery of my being at a loose end.
‘You should come,’ Barney says. ‘We’re going to cocktail afterwards.’ He does a little wiggly finger dance, whilst I amuse myself, imagining the Collins Dictionary entry for his new use of cocktail:
Cocktail (verb)
Kok-teyl
to sip mixed alcoholic drinks in the company of friends.
Unless to cocktail is like the US version of peacocking or something. I hope it isn’t. I hate drawing attention to myself, and besides, I don’t have my good shoes. ‘That sounds great. Are you sure you don’t mind me tagging along?’
‘We invited you. Of course not.’
I relax a little. ‘Okay, but this time, cocktails are on me.’
Harry winks. ‘I knew we liked you.’
***
‘So, have you climbed a rung of the ladder yet?’ Harry leans on the wooden table, sipping a blue cocktail which he says is called ‘The Harry’. It tastes like a Blue Lagoon to me, with perhaps a hint of something cherry-flavoured if I’m being optimistic. Barney has gone to back to their apartment to put the meat in the fridge and said he’ll catch us up.
I shake my head. ‘I almost gave a big Jerry-Maguire-cum-Erin-Brockovich speech, but I didn’t think it would get me anywhere.’
‘Good. It wouldn’t have. What you need to do is show, not tell.’ Harry’s tongue is blue. It’s hard to take serious advice from him when he looks like he’s eaten a Smurf.
‘How do I do that then?’
‘Well, you’ve said their campaign ideas are unoriginal and that you’ve tried telling them how to be different, yes?’
I nod. ‘The problem is, I’m dealing with an international company who’ve been running campaigns for some of the biggest global brands for years. What if I’m wrong? All my other projects have been for much smaller, local businesses in London.’
‘Are those things on your feet the trainers you’re marketing?’
‘Uhm, yes.’ I’d forgotten I was wearing them. As hideous as Rocks are on a woman of my age, they are bloody comfortable.
‘Okay, so I’m assuming your target market is tweens to teens?’ he says.
‘How did you guess?’ I say dryly. ‘They don’t seem to have the target audience in mind, though. They’ve gone too young with the pitch, and I think that kind of campaign will alienate the older kids. Young kids will want them anyway if the older ones are wearing them, so targeting them seems redundant.’
‘I agree with you, not that I know anything about the field of marketing, but I definitely think the image needs to be cool.’
‘I think they’re trying to go head to head with Strides, and to me that seems like a bit of a cop-out. They can piggyback off the brand strength of Strides and undercut the prices or throw in some tacky gimmick like a free keyring or something, but that won’t build the Rocks brand, which is I’m sure what the client will want.’
Harry nods. ‘Agreed.’
I sigh. ‘So, what are teens into? I could sell sand to a desert-dweller normally, but when it comes to kids, I’m not really au fait.’
‘Pop concerts, smartphones, skateboarding …’ Harry tails off.
‘They have a pigtailed girl holding a doll at the centre of their campaign idea. Rocks are going to hate it. I just don’t know how to get them to listen to me so we can actually work on something worthwhile.’
‘You can’t. But you can show them. Put a mood board together or something, and you can storm in there on Monday with something real to show them.’
Could I do that? Usually, we discuss our ideas first and then put the concepts down on paper, but I don’t want to bore Harry with that fact. I’m not sure how I’ll be perceived if I go rogue. Still, I can’t exactly sink any lower in any of their estimations and there’s no obvious Spice Girl Patrick could call me in that scenario, so what do I have to lose?
‘I’ll have a think,’ I say. ‘You’re good at this. Why on earth did Barney want advertising advice from me when he already has you?’
‘He doesn’t think I know what I’m talking about.’
‘Well, he’s wrong.’
‘It was Barney’s way of befriending you. I don’t like to massage his ego too much, but he is intuitive. He just has this knack for knowing when he meets a great person.’
Heat floods my cheeks. ‘Well, I’m glad you think so.’
‘You know, maybe tomorrow night I can help you out a little with your project.’
That sounds promising. Before I can reply, Barney comes bounding over. ‘I’ve worked up a thirst.’ He presses the back of his hand to his forehead dramatically. Harry moves a blue cocktail over, and Barney takes a huge gulp.
***
The next day, the cookout starts at six, and Harry and Barney have refused my offer of help – despite getting all frazzled when discussing the planning – so I’ve decided to rent a car for the day and explore a little. They recommend a ‘car rental guy’ just off the main street. When I arrive, I see a few different types of cars on the small forecourt, but it’s the shiny red soft-top Jeep on the road outside that catches my eye.
I go inside and ring the bell on the counter as instructed by a little pink sticky note beside it. The small office smells of oil and rubber, and a sports car calendar hangs on the grubby wall behind the desk.
‘Hello there, what can I do you for?’ a cheerful older man asks as he comes in from a side room marked ‘Private’.
‘I’d like to rent a car for a few hours, please.’
‘Well, you’ve come to the right place.’ He laughs and then coughs with the dryness of it.
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