leg pressing against mine...
‘Is this about to turn into one of those mucky dreams?’
‘Sadly not. We didn’t have time. My alarm went off.’ Lola passed Cheryl a handful of Dan Browns; it was Monday afternoon, three days since the party, and Dougie had taken up more or less permanent residence inside her head. It wasn’t going to be easy, making someone love you again when they didn’t even want to see you, but she’d never felt this way about anyone else; having him reappear in her life like this was just
‘By the way, someone’s watching you,’ said Cheryl.
‘They are? Who?’ It didn’t take long to conjure up a fantasy; in less than a split second Lola had the whole Officer-and-a-Gentleman scenario rolling. When she turned round, Dougie would be making his way across the shop floor towards her like Richard Gere. OK, maybe he wouldn’t actually be wearing that white officer’s uniform but he’d still sweep her effortlessly up into his arms and carry her out, while staff and customers alike clapped and cheered, whooping with delight and calling out, Way to go, Lola.’
‘That one over there by autobiographies.’
Lola turned slowly and another delicious fantasy was dashed. For crying out loud, the man was in his fifties; why would she even want him to carry her out of the shop?
‘That’s not Doug.’
Cheryl rolled her eyes. ‘I didn’t say it was. He’s been looking over at you, that’s all. Really looking.’
‘Probably saw me on TV last week and now he’s trying to pluck up the courage to ask for my autograph.’ Lola prepared to smile in a cheery, down-to-earth fashion and prove that fame hadn’t gone to her head — God, wouldn’t it be fantastic if he really did ask? — but the man had turned away. Oh well. Ooh, unless he was a private detective hired by Dougie to find out if she was a nicer person now than she’d been ten years ago .. . he’d done his best to put her out of his mind but hadn’t been able to ... maybe he could forgive her after all ...
‘Are you daydreaming again? Tim’s waving at you,’ Cheryl pointed out. ‘They’re short-handed over at the pay desk.’
Ten minutes later Lola’s fan arrived at her till. Up close he was younger than she’d first thought; in his mid- forties probably. His hair was dark and just that bit longer than usual, and he was wearing a striped mulberry and olive shirt with well-cut black trousers. Quite trendy for a man of his age. Nice grey eyes too.
‘I’ve never read one of these before.’ He passed over the book, a thriller by a prolific American author. ‘Is he good?’
‘Seriously good.You won’t be able to stop reading even when you want to.You’ll be holding your breath for hours.’ Lola rang the book up, aware that the man was studying her name badge.
‘Sorry.’ He saw that she’d noticed. ‘Nice name. Unusual.’
‘Thanks.’ She took his ten pound note and scooped the change out of the till. He was way too old for her to be interested in him in any romantic way but he had an attractive smile. ‘There you go.
Hope you enjoy it. Don’t blame me if you get sacked for not being able to stay awake at work tomorrow.’
His smile broadened. ‘And if I do enjoy it, I’ll be back to buy another one.’
There was something about the way he was looking at her that made Lola wonder if this was how it felt to be famous. She said lightly, ‘Do you recognise me?’
He looked startled. ‘What?’
‘I was interviewed on TV the other night. I thought maybe you’d seen it.’
The man’s expression cleared. ‘No, I’m afraid I missed that. I just came in to buy a book.’
Damn, she wasn’t famous after all. ‘Sorry.’
‘No problem.’ He relaxed visibly. ‘I’m sorry I missed it. Were you good?’
‘I was brilliant.’ As Lola passed him the bag containing his thriller a thought struck her: Why was he now visibly relaxed? Innocently she said, ‘Does anyone ever recognise you?’
Ha, that surprised him.
‘Excuse me?’
‘I just wondered if people ever realised who you are.’ Another pause. ‘Why would they?’
‘Maybe because they’re very clever and they’ve worked it out.’ Lola flashed him a sunny smile.
He looked at her. ‘Worked what out?’
‘That you’re a private detective.’
‘Me?’ He pointed to his chest, shaking his head in amused disbelief. ‘Is that what you think? I’m not a private detective.’
Luckily there was a lull at the tills; no other customers were waiting to be served.
‘Ah,’ said Lola, ‘but you would say that, wouldn’t you?’
‘I suppose so. But I’m still not one.’
‘Except that could be you covering your tracks, like any good private detective would.’
He tilted his head to one side. ‘So if I was, which I promise I’m not, who would I be spying on?’
‘Ooh, I don’t know Anyone in this shop.’ Lola shrugged playfully. ‘Me, perhaps.’
‘You. And why would a private detective be tailing you?’ Another brief pause. ‘Are you in some kind of trouble?’
‘Not at all.’ She’d only said it on the spur of the moment – nothing ventured, nothing gained –
