“You detail for me a list of the emails you
“OK.”
“You hand the phone back tomorrow and that is the last I ever hear from you.”
“Shall I come to the office?”
“No!” He almost recoils at the idea. “We’ll meet at lunchtime. I’ll text you.”
“OK.” I heave a sigh, feeling quite downcast by now. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to mess up your life.”
I was half-hoping Sam might say something nice, like, “Don’t worry, you didn’t,” or “Never mind, you meant well.” But he doesn’t. He looks as merciless as ever.
“Is there anything else I should know about?” he asks curtly. “Be honest, please. Any more foreign trips you’ve signed me up to? Company initiatives you’ve started in my name? Inappropriate poetry you’ve written on my behalf?”
“No!” I say nervously. “That’s it. I’m sure.”
“You realize how much havoc you’ve caused?”
“I know.” I gulp.
“You realize how many embarrassing situations you’ve put me in?”
“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry,” I say desperately. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I didn’t mean to create trouble. I thought I was doing you a favor.”
“A favor?” He stares at me incredulously. “A
“Hey, Sam.” A breathy voice interrupts us, and I get a waft of perfume. I turn to see a girl in her late twenties, wearing skyscraper heels and lots of makeup. Her red hair is tonged into curls and her dress is
“Oh! Er … sure.” I move away a few steps, but not so far that I can’t just about hear them.
“So. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow.” She’s gazing up at Sam and batting her false eyelashes.71 “In your office. I’ll be there.”
Sam looks perplexed. “Do we have an appointment?”
“That’s the way you want to play it?” She gives a soft, sexy laugh and swooshes her hair, like actresses do on those American TV drama series set in beautiful kitchens. “I can play it any way you like.” She lowers her voice to a throaty whisper. “If you know what I mean, Sam.”
“I’m sorry, Lindsay … ” Sam frowns, obviously at a loss.
Oh no. Oh no, oh no. This isn’t good. I knew I should have canceled out Sam’s kisses. I knew that winky face meant something. I’m almost hopping with alarm. Can I warn Sam? Should I somehow semaphore to him?
“I knew,” she’s murmuring now. “The first time I saw you, Sam, I knew there was a special vibe between us. You’re
Sam looks disconcerted. “Well … thanks, I guess. But, Lindsay, this really isn’t—”
“Oh, don’t worry. I can be very discreet.” She runs a lacquered nail gently down his shirt. “I’d almost given up on you, you know that?”
Sam takes a step backward, looking alarmed. “Lindsay —”
“All this time, no signs—then out of the blue you start contacting me.” She opens her eyes wide. “Wishing me happy birthday, complimenting my work—I knew what that was really about. And then tonight … ” Lindsay moves close to Sam, speaking even more breathily. “You have no
I should have run. While I had the chance. I should have run.
66 Where did he get that? Why has nobody offered me a shot?
67 He claimed it was a typo. Yeah, I’m sure his finger just happened to slip two spaces to the left.
68 Doesn’t everyone want to go to Iceland? Why would you say no to Iceland?
69 So not
70 OK, I know it’s not brilliant. In my defense, I chose it in a hurry from some e-card site, and the picture was really good. It was a line drawing of an empty dog basket, and it nearly made
71 What
9
I am the sorriest sorry person there ever was.
I really screwed up. I can see that now. I’ve caused Sam a whole load of work and aggro and I’ve abused his trust and been a complete pain in the neck.
Today was supposed to be a fun day. A weddingy day. I’ve got a whole load of days booked off work for last-