Twenties Girl - Kinsella Sophie - Страница 55
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I head quickly through the applauding audience toward Ed.
“I got your bag,” he murmurs above the clapping. “One more bow, then we’re out.”
I don’t breathe until we’re safely out on the street. The air is clear and there’s a warmish breeze. The hotel doorman is surrounded by groups of people waiting for taxis, but I don’t want to risk anyone from the dinner catching up with me, so I hastily walk down onto the pavement.
“Well done, Greatie,” says Ed as we fall into step.
“Thanks.”
“Shame about the magic powers.” He’s looking at me inquiringly, but I pretend not to notice.
“Yes, well.” I shrug casually. “They come, they go, that’s the mystery of the East. Now, if we walk this way”-I squint at a street sign-“we should be able to pick up a taxi.”
“I’m in your hands,” says Ed. “I don’t know this area.”
This not-knowing-London is really starting to annoy me.
“Is there any area you do know?”
“I know my route to work.” Ed shrugs. “I know the park opposite my building. I know the way to Whole Foods.”
OK, I’ve had it. How dare he come to this great city and show zero interest in it?
“Don’t you think that’s really narrow-minded and arrogant?” I stop dead. “Don’t you think if you come and live in a city you should respect it enough to get to know it? London is one of the most fascinating, historic, amazing cities in the world! And bloody Whole Foods! That’s an American shop! Couldn’t you try Waitrose?” My voice rises. “I mean, why did you take a job here if you weren’t interested in the place? What were you planning to do?”
“I was planning to explore it with my fiancee,” Ed says calmly.
His answer slightly takes the wind out of my sails.
Fiancee. What fiancee?
“Until she broke up with me, a week before we were supposed to come,” Ed continues conversationally. “She asked her company to transfer her London placement to someone else. So, you see, I had a dilemma. Come to England, stay focused, and do the best I could, or stay in Boston, knowing I’d see her almost every day. She worked in the same building as me.” He pauses a second before adding, “And her lover.”
“Oh.” I stare at him in dismay. “I’m sorry. I… didn’t realize.”
“No problem.”
His face is so impassive, it almost seems like he doesn’t care-but I’m getting to understand his deadpan style. He does care, of course he does. Suddenly his frown is making more sense. And that closed-up expression. And that weary voice he had in the restaurant. God, what a bitch his fiancee must be. I can see her now. Big white American teeth and swingy hair and killer heels. I bet he bought her a massive ring. I bet she’s kept it.
“That must have been horrible,” I say feebly as we start walking again.
“I had the guidebooks.” He’s gazing resolutely ahead. “I had the itineraries. I had a million projects planned. Stratford-upon-Avon… Scotland… Oxford… But they were all planned with Corinne. Kind of takes the fun out of it.”
A vision comes to me of a pile of guidebooks, all scribbled and annotated with their exciting plans. And then shut away. I feel so sorry for him, I think I should probably shut up now and stop giving him a hard time. But some stronger instinct makes me push on.
“So you just go your route to work and back again every day,” I say. “You never look left or right. You go to Whole Foods and the park and back again and that’s it.”
“Works for me.”
“How long have you been over here again?”
“Five months.”
“Five months?” I echo in horror. “No. You can’t exist like that. You can’t lead your life in tunnel vision. You have to open your eyes and look around. You have to move on.”
“Move on,” he echoes, in mock-amazed tones. “Wow. Right. Not a phrase anyone’s said to me much.”
OK, so obviously I’m not the only one who’s given him a pep talk. Well, too bad.
“I’ll be gone in two more months,” he adds curtly. “It hardly matters whether I get to know London or not-”
“So, what, you’re just treading water, just existing, waiting until you feel better? Well, you never will! Not unless you do something about it!” All my frustration with him pours out in a stream. “Look at you, doing memos for other people, and emails for your mum, and solving everyone else’s problems because you don’t want to think about your own! Sorry, I overheard you in Pret A Manger,” I add sheepishly as Ed’s head jerks up. “If you’re going to live in a place, doesn’t matter how long, you need to engage with it. Otherwise you’re not really living. You’re just functioning. I bet you haven’t even unpacked properly, have you?”
“As it happens…” He pauses for a few steps. “My housekeeper unpacked for me.”
“There you go.” I shrug, and we walk on a little more in silence, our footsteps almost in time. “People break up,” I say at last. “It’s just the way things are. And you can’t dwell on what might have been. You have to look at what is.”
As I’m saying the words, I have a weird flash of deja vu. I think Dad said something to me like this once about Josh. In fact, he might even have used those exact words.
But that was different. I mean, obviously it’s an entirely different scenario. Josh and I weren’t planning a trip, were we? Or to move cities. And now we’re back together again. Totally different.
“Life is like an escalator,” I add wisely.
When Dad says that to me, I get all annoyed because he just doesn’t understand. But somehow it’s different when I’m giving advice.
“An escalator,” echoes Ed. “Thought it was a box of chocolates.”
“No, definitely an escalator. You see, it carries you on regardless.” I mime an escalator. “And you might as well enjoy the view and seize every opportunity while you’re passing. Otherwise it’ll be too late. That’s what my dad told me when I broke up with this… this guy.”
Ed walks on a few paces. “And did you take his advice?”
“Er… well…” I brush my hair back, avoiding his eye. “Kind of.”
Ed stops and looks at me gravely. “Did you ‘move on’? Did you find it easy? Because I sure as hell haven’t.”
I clear my throat, playing for time. What I did isn’t really the point here, surely?
“You know, there are lots of definitions of ‘move on.’” I try to maintain my wise tone. “Many different variations. Everyone has to move on in their own way.”
I’m not sure I want to get into this conversation, actually. Maybe now is the moment to find a cab.
“Taxi!” I wave my hand at a passing cab, but it sails past, even though its light is on. I hate when they do that.
“Let me.” Ed approaches the curb, and I take out my mobile phone. There’s a pretty good minicab company that I use. Maybe they could come and pick us up. I retreat into a doorway, dial the number, and wait on hold, before I eventually discover that all the cabs are out tonight and it’ll be a half-hour wait.
“No good.” I come out of the doorway to see Ed standing stock still on the pavement. He’s not even trying to hail a cab. “No luck?” I say in surprise.
“Lara.” He turns to me. His face is confused and his eyes are a little glassy. Has he been taking drugs or something? “I think we should go dancing.”
“What?” I peer at him, perplexed.
“I think we should go dancing.” He nods. “It would be a perfect way to round off the evening. It just came to me out of the blue.”
I don’t believe it. Sadie.
I whirl around on the pavement, searching the darkness, and suddenly spot her, floating by a lamppost.
“You!” I exclaim furiously, but Ed doesn’t even seem to notice.
“There’s a nightclub near here,” he’s saying. “Come on. Let’s have a quick dance. It’s a great idea. I should have thought of it before.”
“How do you know there’s a nightclub here?” I retort. “You don’t know London!”
“Yeah, right.” He nods, looking a bit flummoxed himself. “But I’m pretty sure there’s a nightclub down that street.” He gestures. “Down there, third left. We should go check it out.”
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