blown it. No second chances.
He couldn't go through this again.
Then she said, 'Where do you have in mind?'
'You're the estate agent. You know the local facilities.'
'Then let's go into town, shall we?'
There was a moment outside the house when neither was sure which car to take. In the end, they took hers.
Holly turned on the radio, saying, 'I love this song.'
She turned it up. It was Smokey Robinson.
Nathan said, 'I second that emotion.'
She sang under her breath and beat occasional time on the steering wheel. She did not seem sad.
She parked outside a primary school; in the car park, they were holding a car-boot sale to raise funds. Closing the car doors, they looked at the families gathered there. Nathan glanced at her, to see if there was anything in her eyes. But he saw nothing. He followed her round the corner, past a deli, a newsagent, an Algerian cafe. They walked into a tapas bar. Inside, she removed her coat. They sat and he offered her a cigarette.
'No. Thank you. But you go ahead.'
'Do you mind?'
'Not at all. Go ahead. I'll breathe it in if I can.'
He made as if to put the packet away and she told him: 'Really. I'd say if it was a problem.' Then, unwrapping her scarf, she said, 'To tell the truth, I'd love a cigarette. I only gave up at New Year.'
'I gave up once. For two years.'
'Twoyears? What made you start again?'
'Oh, y'know. Stress.'
'Tell me about it.'
'So, it's stressful, being an estate agent?'
'I'm not really an estate agent. I mean, it's not a vocation or anything.'
'So,
how long have you been doing it?'
'Oh, I don't know. Two years? Three years.'
'And how'd you get into it?'
'It's just one of those things. Life just. . .' She made a bird-like fluttering with one hand, then said, 'What about you? How long have you been
'A salesman.'
'That's right. And what is it you sell, again?'
'Greetings cards.'
'That's right.'
'It's not as boring as you might think.'
She crunched on a breadstick.
'All right,' he said. 'It's pretty boring.'
'How long have you been doing it?'
'Four years.'
Their coffees arrived. He took a sip, lit another cigarette. Holly said, 'So, are you one of these salesman-types who thrive on stress?
All that coffee, all those cigarettes.'
'Not really. I'm not really, like, one of nature's salesmen. It's just what I do.'
'So - I'm not a natural estate agent and you're not a natural salesman.'
'I
think you're probably a very good estate agent.'
She laughed, sudden and loud and raucous. Then she cupped a hand to her mouth as if amazed at herself and looked left and right.
'Sorry.'
'That's all right.'
She covered up the sudden flush by saying: 'So, if I'm that good, are you going to buy a house from me?'
'I might. If you play your cards right.'
'I think you're probably a very good salesman.'
The meals arrived. She dug in with a fork, in the American manner.
She leaned over, to steal one of his French fries and chomped on it, grinning.
Then she brushed hair from her eyes and grew quiet.
He said,'Are you okay?'
She waited a long time without answering, prodding at her food, taking a small mouthful, dabbing with a napkin at the corners of her mouth.
He said, 'Holly. You don't have to feel guilty for laughing.'
Her long silence intensified. She lay down her cutlery and looked at him.
'Why do you say that?'
'I don't know.'
She kept looking at him, as if suspecting they knew each other from way back, from long ago.
Lunch overran by half an hour.
Holly said, 'Well. Thanks for lunch.'
'Can we do it again? When you're less pressed. When you've got more time.'
'Usually I only get an hour for lunch. You know. It looks bad otherwise.'
'I'm
not talking about lunch. Dinner?'
She considered it.
'Dinner would be great. My treat.'
'Fine. Whatever. Great.'
'Wednesday?'
'Wednesday would be great.'
'Give me a call.'
'I will.' He mimed it, feeling like a dick. 'I'll call you.'
Then he stood on the street and watched her pull away: jerky, impulsive, somewhat dangerous. He stood there while her car waited at the lights. And he stood there when the car had gone, simply watching the empty space she had recently occupied.
Outside, Nathan told her he'd get a taxi back to the house and pick up his car from there. She thanked him. She was flustered, searching in her handbag for her car keys. She dropped them on the pavement.
They paused at the door of her car. She unlocked it with a flick of the wrist; there was a little beep of confirmation.
16
On Tuesday morning -- just after the marketing meeting -- Justin came into Nathan's office and perched on the edge of his desk.
Justin was tall and grossly overweight, in trousers that were always a little too short. He had a babyish face and curly hair and (when he chose) the entreating eyes of Bambi.
For several seconds, Nathan ignored him -- concentrating on a printed memo about another increase in paper costs. Then he swivelled round in his office chair.
Justin said, 'Are you okay?'
'What do you mean?'
'Well. You were off your game during the marketing meeting.'
'Look, I didn't mean to contradict you.'
