I’m sure I felt my skin crawl.
‘It’s Em-i-ly, not Em,’ I said, exasperated. ‘And I didn’t think we worked particularly well together at all.’
‘Oh, come on,’ he said, looking around, his face betraying the confidence in his voice. ‘We were a good team. You must have felt it.’ I stared emptily back at him. There were no words of recourse, and, even if there were, I wouldn’t have wasted my breath. I shook my head as the rest of the group looked awkwardly to the floor. No doubt as soon as I turned on my heels, they’d be patting him on the back for a job well done.
I took myself and my half-drunk wine to the space at the end of the crowded bar. I’d only been there two minutes before I realized that the reason no one else was standing there was because, every few seconds, I was getting hit in the back by a bony elbow or shouldered out of the way by the waiting staff, as they busily collected drinks and returned glasses. ‘This is our area,’ barked a young girl, her face all pinched and pointed. ‘Keep it clear.’
‘Please,’ I said, under my breath, but she was far too important to stand still long enough to hear it. Still, I edged up a little to remove myself from ‘her area’ and rummaged around in my bag for my phone. I only had three more sips, or one big gulp, of wine left. Four minutes max and I’d be on my way.
I surreptitiously ran through my emails, in the hope that a) I wouldn’t be bothered by anybody and b) it’d look like I was waiting for someone. I wondered what we’d done before mobiles and their far-reaching information trails. Would I be standing here perusing the Financial Times or, better yet, feel inclined to strike up a conversation with someone who might prove to be interesting? Either way, I’d most definitely be better informed as a result, so why, then, do I log on to Twitter to see what Kim Kardashian’s up to?
I groaned inwardly as I heard someone shout, ‘Emily, fancy another drink?’ Really? Did he not get the hint? I looked over at Ivor, but he was engrossed in conversation. I had a furtive glance around, embarrassed to know that the person who had said it would be watching my confusion. My eyes fleetingly settled on Mr Peroni, who was grinning broadly, revealing straight white teeth. I smiled to myself as I remembered Mum’s erstwhile advice. ‘It’s all in the teeth, Emily,’ she’d said after she met my last boyfriend, Tom. ‘You can always trust a man with nice teeth.’ Yeah – and look how that turned out.
I put more importance on whether someone’s smile reaches their eyes, and this guy’s, I noticed, definitely did. I mentally undressed him, without even realizing I was doing it, and registered that his dark suit, white shirt, and slightly loosened tie were hanging from a well-built body. I imagined his wide shoulders sitting either side of a strong back that descended into a narrower waist. Triangular shaped. Or maybe not. It’s difficult to tell what a suit is disguising; it could be hiding a multitude of sins. But I hoped I was right.
Heat rose up my neck as he stared intently at me, his hand pushing his hair to one side. I offered a watery smile, before turning my head a full 360 degrees, looking for the voice.
‘Is that a yes or no?’ it said again, a little closer now. Mr Peroni had manoeuvred himself so that he was now my next-door neighbour but one. What an odd expression that is, I thought to myself, oblivious to the fact that he was now standing right beside me. Can you also have a next-door neighbour but two, and three, I wondered?
‘How many have you had?’ He laughed, as I continued to look at him blankly, though not without acknowledging that he was taller when he was close up.
‘I’m sorry, I thought I heard someone call my name,’ I replied.
‘I’m Adam,’ he offered.
‘Oh. Emily,’ I said, thrusting out my hand, which had instantly become clammy. ‘I’m Emily.’
‘I know, it’s written in rather large letters across your chest.’
I looked down and felt myself flush. ‘Aha, so much for playing hard to get, eh?’
He tilted his head to one side, a naughty twinkle in his eye. ‘Who said we were playing?’
I had no idea whether we were or weren’t. Flirting has never been my strong suit. I wouldn’t know where to start, so if it was a game he was after, he was playing on his own.
‘So, what’s the deal with the name badge?’ Mr Peroni, aka Adam, asked, as coquettishly as a man can.
‘I’m a member of an elite conference,’ I said, far more boldly than I felt.
‘Is that so?’ He smiled.
I nodded. ‘I’ll have you know I’m the cream of the crop in my industry. One of the highest-ranking performers in the field.’
‘Wow.’ He smirked. ‘So, you’re part of the Toilet Roll Sellers seminar? I saw the board for it when I walked in.’
I suppressed a smile. ‘Actually, it’s a secret meeting of MI5 agents,’ I whispered, looking around conspiratorially.
‘And that’s why they wrote your name all over your chest, is it? To make sure nobody finds out who you are.’
I tried to keep a straight face, but the corners of my mouth were curling upwards. ‘This is my undercover name,’ I said, tapping the cheap plastic. ‘My conference pseudonym.’
‘I see, Agent Emily,’ he said, rolling up his sleeve and talking into his watch. ‘So, is the gentleman at three o’clock also an agent?’ He waited for me to catch up, but I didn’t even know which way to look. I was twisting myself in every direction, haplessly trying to find three o’clock on my internal compass. He laughed as he caught hold of my shoulders and turned me to face Ivor, who was gesticulating wildly to a male colleague, whilst looking longingly at a female dressed in tight leather trousers behind him. She was happily unaware that his eyes were drinking her in. I shuddered involuntarily.
‘Negative,’ I replied, one hand to my ear. ‘He is neither an agent nor a gentleman.’
Adam laughed, as I warmed to the theme. ‘Can we class him as the enemy?’
‘Affirmative. Take him down if you wish.’
He squinted, in an effort to read the perpetrator’s name badge. ‘Ivor?’ he questioned.
I nodded.
‘Ivor Biggun?’ He looked at me, waiting for a reaction. It took me a while, a long while in fact, to get it, but until I did, he just stood there, staring at me.
2
I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend. I hadn’t even known I’d wanted one until Adam showed up. Pippa, my flatmate, and I were blissfully content, going to work, coming home, eating our tea on trays, then gorging ourselves on chocolate whilst watching back-to-back episodes of Prison Break. It’s heaven on earth for those few short hours, but the next morning, I’d get on the scales and damn my nine pounds of winter weight gain. It’s the same every year – and not helped by the fact that I never go to the gym that I pay seventy-two pounds a month for. I can no longer fit into the size-twelve jeans I wore last summer, but instead of buying myself a size fourteen, I’d rather scour the shops to find a more generous size-twelve pair that I can pour myself into. I’d spent the entire summer ‘in denial’, and was still kidding myself that the promised Indian summer would be sure to see my motivation return.