Twenties Girl

NINETEEN

It’s Sunday morning, and I’m still seething. At myself. How could I be so lame?

On Friday I was so shocked that somehow I let Natalie take charge of the situation. I didn’t confront her. I didn’t make any of my points. They were all buzzing around my head like trapped flies.

I know now all the things I should have said to her. I should have said, “You can’t just come back and act like nothing’s happened.” And: “How about an apology for leaving us in the lurch?” And: “Don’t you dare take credit for finding Clare Fortescue; that was all down to me!”

And maybe even: “So you were fired from your last job, huh? When were you planning to tell me that?”

But I didn’t say any of those things. I just gasped and said feebly, “Natalie! Wow! How come you’re-What-”

And she launched into a long story about how the guy in Goa turned out to be a two-timing asshole, and there’s only so much downtime you can have before you go crazy, and she’d decided to surprise me, and wasn’t I relieved?

“Natalie,” I began, “it’s been really stressy with you gone-”

“Welcome to big business.” She winked at me. “Stress comes with the territory.”

“But you just disappeared! We didn’t have any warning! We had to pick up all the pieces-”

“Lara.” She held out a hand, as though to say, Calm down. “I know. It was tough. But it’s OK. Whatever fuckups happened while I was gone, I’m here to put them right. Hello, Graham?” She turned to the phone. “Natalie Masser here.”

And she carried on all afternoon, moving seamlessly from phone call to phone call, so I couldn’t get a word in. As she left for the evening, she was gabbing on her mobile and just gave Kate and me a casual wave.

So that’s it. She’s back. She’s acting like she’s the boss and she did nothing wrong and we should all be really grateful to her for coming back.

If she winks at me one more time, I will throttle her.

Miserably, I wrench my hair into a ponytail. I’m barely making any effort today. Sightseeing does not require a flapper dress. And Sadie still thinks I’m going out with Josh, so she’s not bossing me around for once.

I eye Sadie surreptitiously as I do my blusher. I feel a bit bad, lying to her. But then, she shouldn’t have been so obnoxious.

“I don’t want you coming along,” I warn her for the millionth time. “Don’t even think about it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of coming along!” she retorts, affronted. “You think I want to trail along beside you and the ventriloquist’s dummy? I’m going to watch television. There’s a Fred Astaire special today. Edna and I will have a lovely day together.”

“Good. Well, give her my love,” I say sarcastically.

Sadie’s found an old woman called Edna who lives a few streets away and does nothing but watch black-and-white films. She goes there most days now, sits on the sofa beside Edna, and watches a movie. She says the only problem comes when Edna gets phone calls and talks through the movie-so now she’s taken to yelling, “Shut up! Finish your phone call!” right in Edna’s ear. Whereupon Edna gets all flustered and sometimes even thrusts the phone down mid-sentence.

Poor Edna.

I finish doing my blusher and stare at my reflection. Black skinny jeans, silver ballet pumps, a T-shirt, and a leather jacket. Normal, 2009-style makeup. Ed probably won’t recognize me. I should stick a feather in my hair just so he knows it’s me.

The thought makes me snort with laughter, and Sadie glances at me suspiciously.

“What’s funny?” She looks me up and down. “Are you going out like that? I’ve never seen such a dull ensemble. Josh will take one look at you and expire of boredom. If you don’t expire of boredom first.”

Oh, ha ha. But maybe she has a point. Maybe I’ve dressed down too much.

I find myself reaching for one of my twenties vintage necklaces and looping it around my neck. The silver and jet beads fall down in rows and click together as I move, and at once I feel a bit more interesting. More glamorous.

I line my lips again in a darker color, giving them a bit more of a twenties shape. Then I pick up a vintage silver leather clutch and survey myself again.

“Much better!” says Sadie. “And what about a darling little cloche?”

“No, thanks.” I roll my eyes.

“If it were me, I’d wear a hat,” she persists.

“Well, I don’t want to look like you.” I throw back my hair and smile at myself. “I want to look like me.”

I suggested to Ed that we start off our tour at the Tower of London, and as I come out of the tube station into the crisp air, I feel immediately cheered. Never mind about Natalie. Never mind about Josh. Never mind about the necklace. Look at all this. It’s fantastic! Ancient stone battlements, towering against the blue sky as they have done for centuries. Beefeaters wandering about in their red and navy costumes, like something out of a fairy tale. This is the kind of place that makes you feel proud to be a born-and-bred Londoner. How could Ed not even have bothered to come here? It’s, like, one of the wonders of the world!

Come to think of it, I’m not sure I’ve ever actually visited the Tower of London myself. I mean, gone in or anything. But that’s different. I live here. I don’t have to.

“Lara! Over here!”

Ed’s already in the queue for tickets. He’s wearing jeans and a gray T-shirt. He hasn’t shaved, either, which is interesting. I had him down as someone who’d look smart even at the weekend. As I draw near, he looks me up and down with a little smile.

“So you do sometimes wear clothes from the twenty-first century.”

“Very occasionally.” I grin back.

“I was convinced you were going to turn up in another twenties dress. In fact, I found an accessory for myself. Just to keep you company.” He reaches in his pocket and produces a small rectangular case made of battered silver. He springs it open and I see a deck of playing cards.

“Cool!” I say, impressed. “Where did you get this?”

“Bid for it on eBay.” He shrugs. “I always carry a deck of cards. It’s 1925,” he adds, showing me a tiny hallmark.

I can’t help feeling touched that he went to that effort.

“I love it.” I look up as we arrive at the head of the queue. “Two adults, please. This is on me,” I add firmly as Ed makes to get out his wallet. “I’m the host.”

I buy the tickets and a book called Historic London and lead Ed to a spot in front of the tower.

“So, this building you see before you is the Tower of London,” I begin in a knowledgeable, tour-leader tone. “One of our most important and ancient monuments. One of many, many wonderful sights. It’s criminal to come to London and not find out more about our amazing heritage.” I look at Ed severely. “It’s really narrow-minded, plus you don’t have anything like it in America.”

“You’re right.” He looks suitably chastened as he surveys the tower. “This is spectacular.”

“Isn’t it great?” I say proudly.

There are some times when being English is really the best, and big-historic-castle time is one of them.

“When was it built?” asks Ed.

“Um…” I look around for a handy sign. There isn’t one. Damn. There should be a sign. I can’t exactly look it up in the guidebook. Not with him watching me expectantly.

“It was in the…” I turn casually away and mumble something indistinct. “… teenth century.”

“Which century?”

“It dates from…” I clear my throat. “Tudor. Er… Stuart times.”

“Do you mean Norman?” suggests Ed politely.

“Oh. Yes, that’s what I meant.” I dart him a suspicious look. How did he know that? Has he been boning up?

“So, we go in this way.” I lead Ed confidently toward a likely-looking rampart, but he pulls me back.

“Actually, I think the entrance is this way, by the river.”

For God’s sake. He’s obviously one of these men who have to take control. He probably never asks for directions either.

“Listen, Ed,” I say kindly. “You’re American. You’ve never been here before. Who’s more likely to know the way in, me or you?”

At that moment, a passing Beefeater stops and gives us a friendly beam. I smile back, ready to ask him the best way in, but he addresses Ed cheerily.

“Morning, Mr. Harrison. How are you? Back again already?”

What?

What just happened? Ed knows the Beefeaters? How does Ed know the Beefeaters?

I’m speechless as Ed shakes the hand of the Beefeater and says, “Good to see you, Jacob. Meet Lara.”

“Er… hello,” I manage feebly.

What’s going to happen next? Will the queen arrive and ask us in for tea?

“OK,” I splutter as soon as the Beefeater has continued on his way. “What’s going on?”

Ed takes one look at my face and bursts into laughter.

“Tell me!” I demand, and he lifts his hands apologetically.

“I’ll come clean. I was here Friday. It was a work team-building day out. We were able to talk to some of the Beefeaters. It was fascinating.” He pauses, then adds, his mouth twitching, “That’s how I know the tower was begun in 1078. By William the Conqueror. And the entrance is this way.”

“You could have told me!” I glare at him.

“I’m sorry. You seemed so into the idea, and I thought it would be cool to go around with you. But we can go someplace else. You must have seen this a million times. Let’s rethink.” He takes the Historic London guidebook and starts consulting the index.

I’m flipping the tickets back and forth in my hands, watching a group of schoolkids take pictures of one another, feeling torn. Obviously he’s right. He saw the tower on Friday so why on earth would we go around it again?

On the other hand, we’ve bought the tickets now. And it looks amazing. And I want to see it.

“We could head straight down to St. Paul’s.” Ed is peering at the tube map. “It shouldn’t take too long-”

“I want to see the Crown jewels,” I say in a small voice.

“What?” He raises his head.

“I want to see the Crown jewels. Now we’re here.”

“You mean… you’ve never seen them?” Ed stares incredulously at me. “You’ve never seen the Crown jewels?”

“I live in London!” I say, nettled at his expression. “It’s different! I can see them anytime I want, when the occasion arises. It’s just that… the occasion has never arisen.”

“Isn’t that a bit narrow-minded of you, Lara?” I can tell Ed’s loving this. “Aren’t you interested in the heritage of your great city? Don’t you think it’s criminal to ignore these unique historic monuments-”

“Shut up!” I can feel my cheeks turning red.

Ed relents. “Come on. Let me show you your own country’s fine Crown jewels. They’re great. I know the whole deal. You realize that the oldest pieces date from the Restoration?”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes.” He starts guiding me through the crowd. “The Imperial State Crown contains an enormous diamond cut from the famous Cullinan Diamond, the largest diamond ever mined.”

“Wow,” I say politely. Obviously Ed memorized the entire Crown jewels lecture yesterday.

“Uh-huh.” He nods. “At least, that’s what the world thought until 1997. When it was discovered to be a fake.”

“Really?” I stop dead. “It’s fake?”

Ed’s mouth twitches. “Just checking you’re listening.”

We see the jewels and we see the ravens and we see the White Tower and the Bloody Tower. In fact, all the towers. Ed insists on holding the guidebook and reading out facts, all the way around. Some of them are true and some of them are bullshit and some… I’m not sure. He has this totally straight face with just a tiny gleam in his eye, and you honestly can’t tell.

As we finish our Yeoman Warder’s tour, my head is spinning with visions of traitors and torture, and I feel I don’t need to hear anything else about When Executions Go Horribly Wrong, ever again. We wander through the Medieval Palace, past two guys in medieval costume doing medieval writing (I guess), and find ourselves in a room with tiny castle windows and a massive fireplace.

“OK, clever clogs. Tell me about that cupboard.” I point randomly at a small, nondescript door set in the wall. “Did Walter Raleigh grow potatoes in there or something?”

“Let’s see.” Ed consults the guidebook. “Ah, yes. This is where the Seventh Duke of Marmaduke kept his wigs. An interesting historical figure, he beheaded many of his wives. Others he cryogenically froze. He also invented the medieval version of the popcorn maker. Or ye poppecorn, as it was known.”

“Oh, really?” I adopt a serious tone.

“You’ll obviously have learned about the poppecorn craze of 1583.” Ed squints at the guidebook. “Apparently Shakespeare very nearly called Much Ado About Nothing, Much Ado About Ye Poppecorn.”

We’re both gazing intently at the tiny oak door, and after a moment an elderly couple in waterproof jackets joins us.

“It’s a wig cupboard,” says Ed to the woman, whose face lights up with interest. “The wigmaster was compelled to live in the cupboard along with his wigs.”

“Really?” The elderly woman’s face falls. “How terrible!”

“Not really,” says Ed gravely. “Because the wigmaster was very small.” He starts to demonstrate with his hands. “Very, very tiny. The word wig is derived from the phrase small man in a cupboard, you know.”

“Really?” The poor woman looks bewildered, and I nudge Ed hard in the ribs.

“Have a good tour,” he says charmingly, and we move on.

“You have an evil streak!” I say as soon as we’re out of earshot. Ed thinks about this for a moment, then gives me a disarming grin.

“Maybe I do. When I’m hungry. You want some lunch? Or should we see the Royal Fusiliers Museum?”

I hesitate thoughtfully, as though weighing these two options. I mean, no one could be more interested in their heritage than me. But the thing with any sightseeing is, after a while it turns into sight-trudging, and all the heritage turns into a blur of winding stone steps and battlements and stories about severed heads stuffed on pikes.

“We could do lunch,” I say casually. “If you’ve had enough for now.”

Ed’s eyes glint. I have this disconcerting feeling he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

“I have a very short attention span,” he says, deadpan. “Being American. So maybe we should eat.”

We head to a café serving things like “Georgian onion soup” and “wild boar casserole.” Ed insists on paying since I bought the tickets, and we find a table in the corner by the window.

“So, what else do you want to see in London?” I say enthusiastically. “What else was on your list?”

Ed flinches, and I suddenly wish I hadn’t put it like that. His sightseeing list must be a sore point.

“Sorry,” I say awkwardly. “I didn’t mean to remind you-”

“No! It’s fine.” He considers his forkful for a moment, as though debating whether to eat it. “You know what? You were right, what you said the other day. Shit happens, and you have to get on with life. I like your dad’s thing about the escalator. I’ve thought about that since we talked. Onward and upward.” He puts the fork in his mouth.

“Really?” I can’t help feeling touched. I’ll have to tell Dad.

“Mmm-hmm.” He chews for a moment, then eyes me questioningly. “So… you said you had a breakup too. When was that?”

Yesterday. Less than twenty-four hours ago. Even thinking about it makes me want to close my eyes and moan.

“It was… a while ago.” I shrug. “He was called Josh.”

“And what happened? If you don’t mind me asking?”

“No, of course not. It was… I just realized… we weren’t-” I break off, with a heavy sigh, and look up. “Have you ever felt really, really stupid?”

“Never.” Ed shakes his head. “Although I have on occasion felt really, really, really stupid.”

I can’t help a little smile. Talking to Ed puts everything into perspective a bit. I’m not the only person in the world to feel like a fool. And at least Josh didn’t two-time me. At least I didn’t end up marooned all alone in a strange city.

“Hey, let’s do something that wasn’t on your list,” I say on impulse. “Let’s see some sight that was never in the plan. Is there anything?”

Ed breaks off a piece of bread, mulling.

“Corinne didn’t want to go on the London Eye,” he says at last. “She’s scared of heights and she thought it was kinda dumb.”

I knew I didn’t like this woman. How can anyone think the London Eye is dumb?

“London Eye it is,” I say firmly. “And then maybe Ye Olde Starbucks? It’s a traditional English custom, very quaint.”

I wait for Ed to laugh, but he just gives me an appraising look as he eats his bread.

“Starbucks. Interesting. You don’t go to Lingtons Coffee?”

Oh, right. So he’s worked it out.

“Sometimes. Depends.” I shrug defensively. “So… you know I’m related.”

“I told you, I asked around about you.”

His face is impassive. He hasn’t done what people usually do when they find out about Uncle Bill, which is say, “Oh, wow, that’s amazing, what’s he like in real life?”

Ed’s in big business, it occurs to me. He must have come across Uncle Bill in some way or another.

“What do you think of my uncle?” I say lightly.

“Lingtons Coffee is a successful organization,” he replies. “Very profitable. Very efficient.”

He’s avoiding the question. “What about Bill?” I persist. “Have you ever come across him?”

“Yes. I have.” He swallows his wine. “And I think Two Little Coins is manipulative bullshit. Sorry.”

I’ve never heard anyone be so rude about Uncle Bill, not to my face. It’s kind of refreshing.

“Don’t be sorry,” I say at once. “Say what you think. Tell me.”

“What I think is… your uncle is the one in the million. And I’m sure a lot of different factors went into his success. But that’s not the message he’s selling. He’s selling the message ‘It’s easy! Come be a millionaire like me!’” Ed sounds curt, almost angry. “The only people who go to those seminars will be self-deluding fantasists, and the only person who’ll make any money is your uncle. He’s exploiting a lot of sad, desperate people. Just an opinion.”

The instant he says all this, I know it’s true. I saw the people at the Two Little Coins seminar. Some of them had traveled miles. Some of them did look desperate. And it’s not like the seminar cost nothing.

“I went to one of his day seminars once,” I admit. “Just to see what it was all about.”

“Oh, really. And did you instantly make your fortune?”

“Of course I did! Didn’t you spot my limo earlier?”

“Oh, that was yours. I assumed you’d use your helicopter.”

We’re both grinning by now. I can’t believe I called Ed Mr. American Frown. He doesn’t frown that often. And when he does, he’s usually thinking of something funny to say. He pours me some more wine and I lean back, relishing the view of the tower, and the warm glow that the wine is giving me, and the prospect of the rest of the day ahead.

“So, why do you carry cards with you?” I say, deciding it’s my turn to start. “Do you play patience the whole time or something?”

“Poker. If I can find anyone to play with. You’d be great at poker,” he adds.

“I’d be terrible!” I contradict him. “I’m crap at gambling, and-” I stop as Ed shakes his head.

“Poker’s not about gambling. It’s about being able to read people. Your Eastern mind-reading powers would come in handy.”

“Oh, right.” I blush. “Well… my powers seem to have abandoned me.”

Ed raises an eyebrow. “You’re not hustling me here, Miss Lington?”

“No!” I laugh. “They really have! I’m a total novice.”

“OK, then.” He takes out the pack of cards and shuffles it expertly. “All you need to know is, do the other players have good cards or bad? Simple as that. So you look at your opponents’ faces. And you ask yourself, Is something going on? And that’s the game.”

“‘Is something going on?’” I repeat. “And how can you tell?”

Ed deals himself three cards and glances at them. Then he gazes at me. “Good or bad?”

Oh God. I have no idea. His face is dead straight. I survey his smooth forehead, the tiny lines around his eyes, the hint of weekend stubble-searching for clues. There’s a glint in his eye, but that could mean anything.

“Dunno,” I say helplessly. “I’ll go with… good?”

Ed looks amused. “Those Eastern powers really did desert you. They’re terrible.” He shows me three low cards. “Now your turn.” He shuffles the pack again, deals out three cards and watches me pick them up.

I’ve got the three of clubs, the four of hearts, and the ace of spades. I study them, then look up with my most inscrutable expression.

“Relax,” says Ed. “Don’t laugh.”

Of course, now he’s said that, I can feel my mouth twitching.

“You have a terrible poker face,” says Ed. “You know that?”

“You’re putting me off!” I wriggle my mouth around a bit, getting rid of the laugh. “OK, then, what have I got?”

Ed’s dark brown eyes lock on mine. We’re both silent and still, gazing at each other. After a few seconds I feel a weird flip in my stomach. This feels… strange. Too intimate. Like he can see more of me than he should. Pretending to cough, I break the spell and turn away. I take a gulp of wine and look back to see Ed sipping his wine too.

“You have one high card, probably an ace,” he says matter-of-factly. “And two low ones.”

“No!” I put the cards down. “How do you know?”

“Your eyes popped out of your face when you saw the ace.” Ed sounds amused. “It was totally obvious. Like, ‘Oh wow! A high one!’ Then you looked right and left as though you might have given yourself away. Then you put your hand over the high one and gave me a dirty look.” He’s starting to laugh now. “Remind me not to give you any state secrets to keep anytime soon.”

I can’t believe it. I thought I was being really inscrutable.

“But, seriously.” Ed begins shuffling the cards again. “Your mind-reading trick. It’s all based on analyzing behavioral traits, isn’t it?”

“Er… that’s right,” I say cautiously.

“That can’t have just deserted you. Either you know that stuff or you don’t. So what’s going on, Lara? What’s the story?”

He leans forward intently, as though waiting for an answer. I feel a bit thrown. I’m not used to this kind of focused attention. If he were Josh, I’d have been able to fob him off easily. Josh always took everything at face value. He’d have said, “Right, babe,” and I could have moved the subject on quickly and he never would have questioned it or thought about it again…

Because Josh was never really that interested in me.

It hits me like a drench of cold water. A final, mortifying insight that instantly has the feel and ring of truth to it. All the time we were together, Josh never challenged me, never gave me a hard time, barely even remembered the fine details of my life. I thought he was just easygoing and laid-back. I loved him for it. I saw it as a plus. But now I understand better. The truth is, he was laid-back because he didn’t really care. Not about me. Not enough, anyway.

I feel like I’m finally stepping out of some trance. I was so busy chasing after him, so desperate, so sure of myself, I never looked closely enough at what I was chasing. I never stopped to ask if he really was the answer. I’ve been such an idiot.

I look up to see Ed’s dark, intelligent eyes still keenly scanning me. And in spite of myself I feel a sudden weird exhilaration that he, someone I barely know, wants to find out more about me. I can see it in his face: He’s not asking for the sake of it. He genuinely wants to know the truth.

Only I can’t tell him. Obviously.

“It’s… quite tricky to explain. Quite complicated.” I drain my glass, stuff a last bite of cake into my mouth, and beam distractingly at Ed. “Come on. Let’s go to the London Eye.”

As we arrive at the South Bank, it’s buzzing with Sunday afternoon tourists, buskers, secondhand-book stalls, and lots of those living statues, which always slightly freak me out. The London Eye is creeping around like a massive Ferris wheel, and I can see people in each transparent pod, peering down at us. I’m quite excited, actually. I’ve only been in the London Eye once before, and that was at a work do with lots of obnoxious drunk people.

A jazz band is playing an old twenties tune to a crowd of onlookers, and as we pass I can’t help meeting Ed’s eye. He does a couple of Charleston steps and I twirl my beads at him.

“Very good!” says a bearded guy in a hat, approaching us with a bucket for donations. “Are you interested in jazz?”

“Kind of,” I say as I root in my bag for some money.

“We’re interested in the 1920s,” says Ed firmly, and winks at me. “Only the twenties, right, Lara?”

“We’re holding an open-air jazz event in Jubilee Gardens next week,” says the guy eagerly. “You want tickets? Ten percent off if you buy them now.”

“Sure,” says Ed, after glancing at me. “Why not?”

He hands the guy some money, takes two tickets, and we walk on.

“So,” says Ed after a bit. “We could go to this jazz thing… together. If you wanted to.”

“Er… right. Cool. I’d like that.”

He gives me one of the tickets, and a little awkwardly I put it in my bag. For a while I walk on silently, trying to work out what just happened. Is he asking me on a date? Or is this just an extension of the sightseeing? Or… what? What are we doing?

I reckon Ed must be thinking something along the same lines, because as we join the queue for the Eye, he suddenly looks at me with a kind of quizzical expression.

“Hey, Lara. Tell me something.”

“Er… OK.” I’m instantly nervous. He’s going to ask about me being psychic again.

“Why’d you burst into that conference room?” His forehead crinkles humorously. “Why did you ask me on a date?”

A million times worse. What am I supposed to say?

“That’s… a good question. And… and I have one for you,” I parry. “Why did you come? You could have turned me down!”

“I know.” Ed looks mystified. “You want to know the truth? It’s almost a blur. I can’t decipher my own thought processes. A strange girl arrives in the office. Next moment I’m on a date with her.” He turns to me with renewed focus. “C’mon. You must have had a reason. Had you seen me around the place or something?”

There’s an edge of hope to his voice. Like he’s hoping to hear something that will make his day better. I feel a sudden, horrible pang of guilt. He has no idea he’s just being used.

“It was… a dare with a friend.” I stare over his shoulder. “I don’t know why I did it.”

“Right.” His voice is as relaxed as before. “So I was a random dare. Doesn’t sound so good to the grandkids. I’ll tell them you were sent to me by aliens. Right after I tell them about the Duke of Marmaduke’s wigs.”

I know he’s joking. I know this is all banter. But as I glance up I can see it in his face. I can see the warmth. He’s falling for me. No, scratch that, he thinks he’s falling for me. But it’s all fake. It’s all wrong. It’s another puppet show. He’s been manipulated by Sadie as much as Josh was. None of this is real, none of it means anything.

I feel suddenly, ridiculously upset. This is all Sadie’s fault. She creates trouble wherever she goes. Ed is a really, really nice guy and he’s been screwed up enough already, and she’s messed with him and it’s not fair.

“Ed.” I swallow.

“Yes?”

Oh God. What do I say? You haven’t been dating me, you’ve been dating a ghost, she’s been influencing your mind, she’s like LSD without the upside…

“You might think you like me. But… you don’t.”

“I do.” He laughs. “I really like you.”

“You don’t.” I’m struggling here. “You’re not thinking for yourself. I mean… this isn’t real.”

“Feels pretty real to me.”

“I know it does. But… you don’t understand-” I break off, feeling helpless. There’s silence for a moment-then, Ed’s face abruptly changes.

“Oh. I see.”

“You do?” I say doubtfully.

“Lara, you don’t have to soften me with an excuse.” His smile turns wry. “If you’ve had enough, just say. I can cope with an afternoon on my own. It’s been fun and I appreciate the time you’ve taken, thanks very much-”

“No!” I say in dismay. “Stop it! I’m not trying to bail out! I’m having a really good time today. And I want to go on the London Eye.”

Ed’s eyes scan my face, up and down, left and right, as though they’re lie detectors.

“Well, so do I,” he says at last.

“Well… good.”

We’re so engrossed in our conversation, we haven’t noticed the gap growing in the queue ahead of us.

“Get on with it!” A guy behind suddenly prods me. “You’re on!”

“Oh!” I wake up. “Quick, we’re on!” I grab Ed’s hand and we run forward toward the big oval pod. It’s inching its way along the platform, and people are stepping on, amid giggles and shrieks. I step on, still hand in hand with Ed, and we beam at each other, all the awkwardness gone.

“OK, Mr. Harrison.” I revert to my tour-operator voice. “Now you’re going to see London.”

It’s brilliant. I mean, it just is brilliant.

We’ve been right up to the top and seen the whole city stretching out below us, like the A-Z map come to life. We’ve peered down at the little people scurrying around like ants, getting into ant cars and ant buses. I’ve knowledgeably pointed out St. Paul’s, and Buckingham Palace, and Big Ben. Now I’ve taken charge of the Historic London guidebook. It doesn’t have a section on the London Eye, but I’m reading out facts from it anyway, which I’m making up.

“The pod is made of transparent titanium melted down from eyeglasses,” I inform Ed. “If plunged underwater, each pod will automatically convert to a fully operational submarine.”

“I would expect no less.” He nods, gazing out of the glass.

“Each pod could survive underwater for thirteen hours…” I trail off. I can tell he isn’t really listening. “Ed?”

He turns around to face me, his back against the glass wall of the pod. Behind him, the panoramic view of London is shifting slowly, infinitesimally upward. While we’ve been up, the sunshine has disappeared, and solid gray clouds are gathering overhead.

“You want to know something, Lara?” He glances around to check no one is listening, but everyone else in the pod has piled to the other side, watching a police boat on the Thames.

“Maybe,” I say warily. “Not if it’s a really important secret and I’m not supposed to give it away.”

Ed’s face flickers with a smile. “You asked me why I agreed to go on that first date with you.”

“Oh. That. Well, it doesn’t matter,” I say hurriedly. “Don’t feel you have to tell me-”

“No. I want to tell you. It was… freaky.” He pauses. “I felt as though something inside my head was telling me to say yes. The more I resisted, the louder it shouted. Does that make any sense?”

“No,” I say hastily. “None. I’ve no idea. Maybe it was… God.”

“Maybe.” He gives a short laugh. “I could be the new Moses.” He hesitates. “Point is, I’ve never felt such a strong impulse, or voice, or whatever it was. Kinda blew me away.” He takes a step forward, his voice lower. “And whatever instinct it was-whatever deep place it came from-it was right. Spending time with you is the best thing I could have done. I feel like I’ve woken up from a dream, or limbo… and I want to thank you.”

“There’s no need!” I say at once. “It was my pleasure. Anytime.”

“I hope so.” His tone is oblique, and I feel a bit flustered under his gaze.

“So… um… you want to hear more from the guidebook?” I riffle through the pages.

“Sure.”

“The pod is… um.” I can’t concentrate on what I’m saying.

My heart has started beating more quickly. Everything seems heightened. I’m aware of every movement I’m making.

“The wheel travels… it goes around…” I’m making no sense. I close the book and meet Ed’s gaze head-on, trying to match his deadpan expression, trying to appear as if nothing’s concerning me at all.

Except quite a lot of things are concerning me. The heat rushing to my face. The hairs prickling at the back of my neck. The way Ed’s eyes are boring into mine, like they want to get straight to the point. They’re giving me twinges.

Truth is, he’s giving me twinges all over the place.

I don’t know how I ever thought he wasn’t good-looking. I think I must have been a bit blind.

“Is something going on?” says Ed softly.

“I… I don’t know.” I can barely speak. “Is something going on?”

He puts a hand up to my chin and cups it for a moment, as though surveying the terrain. Then he leans forward and pulls my face gently up to his with both hands and kisses me. His mouth is warm and sweet and his stubble is grazing my skin but he doesn’t seem to care and… oh God. Yes, please. All my twinges have turned into singing, dancing urges. As he wraps his arms around me and pulls me tighter to him, two thoughts are jostling in my brain.

He’s so different from Josh.

He’s so good.

I’m not having many other thoughts right now. At least you couldn’t really call them thoughts so much as ravening desires.

At last Ed pulls away, his hands still cradling the back of my neck.

“You know… that wasn’t the plan for today,” he says. “Just in case you were wondering.”

“Wasn’t my plan either,” I say breathlessly. “Not at all.”

He kisses me again, and I close my eyes, exploring his mouth with mine, inhaling the scent of him, wondering how much longer this London Eye ride has to go. As though reading my mind, Ed releases me.

“Maybe we should look at the view one more time,” he says with a small laugh. “Before we land.”

“I suppose we should.” I give him a reluctant smile. “We’ve paid for it, after all.”

Arm in arm, we turn to face the transparent wall of the pod. And I scream in fright.

Hovering outside the pod, looking in with searing, laserlike eyes, is Sadie.

She saw us. She saw us kissing.

Shit. Oh… shit. My heart is thumping like a rabbit’s. As I quiver in terror, she advances through the transparent wall, her nostrils flared, her eyes flashing, making me back away on stumbling legs as if I really have seen a terrifying ghost.

“Lara?” Ed is staring at me in shock. “Lara, what’s wrong?”

“How could you?” Sadie’s shriek of betrayal makes me clap my hands to my ears. “How could you?”

“I… I didn’t… it wasn’t…” I gulp, but the words won’t come out properly. I want to tell her I didn’t plan all this, that it’s not as bad as she might think-

“I saw you!”

She gives a huge, racking sob, wheels around, and disappears.

“Sadie!” I rush forward and clutch at the transparent wall of the pod, peering out, trying to glimpse her in the clouds or in the rushing water of the Thames or among the nearing crowds of people on the ground.

“Lara! Jesus! What happened?” Ed looks totally freaked out. I suddenly notice that all the other people in the pod have stopped staring out at the view and are goggling at me.

“Nothing!” I manage. “Sorry. I just… I was…” As he puts his arm around me, I flinch. “Ed, I’m sorry… I can’t…”

After a pause Ed takes his arm away. “Sure.”

We’ve reached the ground now. Shooting anxious glances at me, Ed ushers me off the pod and onto solid ground.

“So.” His tone is cheerful, but I can tell he’s perturbed. As well he might be. “What’s up?”

“I can’t explain,” I say miserably. I’m desperately scanning the horizon, searching for any sight of Sadie.

“Would a Ye Olde Starbucks help? Lara?”

“Sorry.” I stop looking around and focus on Ed’s concerned face. “Ed, I’m so sorry. I can’t do… this. It’s been a lovely day, but…”

“But… it didn’t go according to plan?” he says slowly.

“No. It’s not that!” I rub my face. “It’s… it’s complicated. I need to sort myself out.”

I look up at him, willing him to understand. Or half understand. Or at least not think I’m a flake.

“No problem.” He nods. “I get it. Things aren’t always clear-cut.” He hesitates, then touches my arm briefly. “Let’s leave it here, then. It’s been a great day. Thanks, Lara. You’ve been very generous with your time.”

He’s retreated into his formal gentlemanly style. All the warmth and joking between us has ebbed away. It’s like we’re two distant acquaintances. He’s protecting himself, I suddenly realize with a pang. He’s going back into his tunnel.

“Ed, I’d love to see you again sometime,” I say desperately. “Once things are… sorted out.”

“I’d like that.” I can tell he doesn’t believe me for a minute. “Let me call you a taxi.” As he looks up and down the road, I can see his frown returning, like little lines of disappointment.

“No. I’ll just stay here a bit and wander about, get my head straight.” I muster a smile. “Thanks. For everything.”

He gives me a farewell wave, like a salute, then heads off into the crowd. I stare after him, feeling crushed. I like him. I really, really like him. And now he feels hurt. And so do I. And so does Sadie. What a mess.

“So this is what you do behind my back!” Sadie’s voice in my ear makes me jump and clasp my chest. Has she been waiting there all this time? “You lying snake. You backstabber. I came here to see how you were getting on with Josh. With Josh!”

She whirls around in front of me, looking so incandescent, I find myself backing away.

“I’m sorry,” I stutter, clutching my phone to my ear as camouflage. “I’m sorry I lied to you. I didn’t want to admit Josh and I broke up. But I’m not a backstabber! I didn’t mean for Ed and me to kiss, I didn’t mean any of this, I didn’t plan it-”

“I don’t care whether you planned it or not!” she shrieks. “Keep your hands off him!”

“Sadie, I’m really sorry-”

“I found him! I danced with him! He’s mine! Mine! Mine!”

She’s so self-righteous, and so livid, and she’s not even listening to what I’m saying. And suddenly, from underneath all my guilt I feel a surge of resentment.

“How can he be yours?” I hear myself yelling. “You’re dead! Haven’t you realized that yet? You’re dead! He doesn’t even know you exist!”

“Yes, he does!” She brings her face close to mine, a murderous look in her eye. “He can hear me!”

“So what? It’s not like he’ll ever meet you, is it? You’re a ghost! A ghost!” All my misery at the situation is bursting out in a vent of anger. “Talk about self-deluded! Talk about not facing up to the truth, Sadie! You keep telling me to move on! How about you move on?”

Even as I’m uttering the words, I’m realizing how they sound, how they might be misinterpreted. And I’m wishing beyond anything I could take them back. A tremor of shock passes across Sadie’s face. She looks as though I’ve slapped her.

She can’t think I meant…

Oh God.

“Sadie, I wasn’t… I didn’t…” My words are all jumbled up in my mouth. I don’t even quite know what I want to say. Sadie looks hollow-eyed. She’s gazing out at the river as though she’s not even aware of me anymore.

“You’re right,” she says at last. All the spirit has gone out of her voice. “You’re right. I’m dead.”

“No you’re not!” I say in distress. “I mean… OK, maybe you are. But-”

“I’m dead. It’s over. You don’t want me. He doesn’t want me. What’s the point?”

She starts walking away toward Waterloo Bridge and disappears from view. Racked with guilt, I hurry after her and up the steps. She’s already halfway along the bridge, and I run to catch up. She’s standing still, staring out toward St. Paul’s Cathedral, a willowy figure in the grayness, and gives no sign of realizing I’m there.

“Sadie, it’s not over!” My voice is almost lost in the wind. “Nothing’s over! I wasn’t thinking, I was just angry at you, I was talking rubbish-”

“No. You’re right.” She speaks fast, without turning her head. “I’m as self-deceiving as you. I thought I could have some last fun in this world. I thought I could have a friendship. Make a difference.”

“You have made a difference!” I say in dismay. “Please don’t talk like this. Look, come home, we’ll put on some music, have a good time-”

“Don’t patronize me!” She turns her head and I can see her trembling. “I know what you really think. You don’t care about me, no one cares about me, some meaningless old person-”

“Sadie, stop it, that’s not true-”

“I heard you at the funeral!” Sadie suddenly erupts passionately, and I feel a cold horror. She heard us?

“I heard you at the funeral,” she repeats, regaining her dignity. “I heard all the family talking together. Nobody wanted to be there. Nobody mourned me. I was just a ‘million-year-old nobody.’”

I feel queasy with shame as I remember what everyone said. We were so callous and horrible. All of us.

Sadie’s chin is taut and she’s gazing fixedly over my shoulder. “Your cousin put it exactly right. I didn’t achieve anything in my life, I left no mark, I wasn’t anything special. I don’t know why I bothered living, really!” She gives a brittle laugh.

“Sadie… please don’t.” I swallow.

“I didn’t have love,” she continues, inexorably, “or a career. I didn’t leave behind children or achievements or anything to speak of. The only man I ever loved… forgot about me.” There’s a sudden shake in her voice. “I lived for one hundred and five years, but I didn’t leave a trace. Not one. I didn’t mean anything to anybody. And I still don’t.”

“Yes, you do. Of course you do,” I say desperately. “Sadie, please-”

“I’ve been a fool, clinging on. I’m in your way.” With dismay, I see that her eyes are glimmering with tears.

“No!” I grasp at her arm, even though I know it’s useless. I’m almost crying myself. “Sadie, I care about you. And I’m going to make it up to you. We’ll dance the Charleston again, and we’ll have some fun, and I’m going to get your necklace for you if it kills me-”

“I don’t care about the necklace anymore.” Her voice wobbles. “Why should I? It was all nothing. My life was all for nothing.”

To my horror, she disappears over the side of Waterloo Bridge.

“Sadie!” I yell. “Sadie, come back. Sa-die!” I’m peering desperately down at the murky, swirling water, tears streaming down my cheeks. “It wasn’t for nothing! Sadie, please, can you hear me?”

“Oh my God!” A girl beside me in a checked coat gasps. “Someone’s jumped in the river! Help!”

“No, they haven’t!” I lift my head, but she’s not listening; she’s beckoning her friends. Before I can gather my wits, people are crowding around the parapet and gazing down at the water.

“Someone’s jumped!” I can hear people saying. “Call the police!”

“No, they haven’t!” I say, but I’m drowned out. A boy in a denim jacket is already filming the water with his mobile phone. A man to my right is peeling off his jacket as though preparing to dive in, while his girlfriend watches admiringly.

“No!” I grab at his jacket. “Stop!”

“Someone’s got to do the right thing,” says the man, in a hero-like voice, glancing at his girlfriend.

For God’s sake.

“No one’s jumped!” I shout, waving my arms. “There’s been a mistake! Everything’s fine! No one’s jumped; repeat, no one’s jumped!”

The man stops, halfway through taking off his shoes. The boy with the mobile phone swivels and starts filming me instead.

“Then who were you talking to?” The girl in the checked coat gives me an accusing look, as though suspecting me of lying. “You were shouting at the water and crying! You gave us all a fright! Who were you talking to?”

“I was talking to a ghost,” I say shortly. I turn away before she can reply, and push my way through the crowd, ignoring the exclamations and grumbling comments.

She’ll come back, I tell myself. When she’s calmed down and forgiven me. She’ll come back.