I shrug. ‘Guess so.’
‘Film deals too.’ He looks up. ‘This could be you.’
‘What?’
‘Yeah, your ticket to a book deal – get kidnapped, escape and write about it. Then you won’t just have Harriers falling at your feet. Didn’t your agent say true crime was selling right now? Looks like it always does.’
I stare at him, trying to figure out if this is a joke but his face gives nothing away. He’s right though. They do all have books. I’ve read them. Every single one. They’re unputdownable. A guaranteed bestseller. ‘You can’t be serious …’
Jack is watching me closely; that intensity is back in his gaze and my heart races in response. I feel the way I do right before a thunderstorm, caught in the crackling, singing tension that fills the air as you wait for something to happen, something electric and terrifying. Then he laughs and just like that, the perfect, terrifying thunderstorm moment passes. Jack takes a piece of garlic bread from the plate. ‘Want some?’
I shake my head, my heart still beating too fast.
‘You’ve lost weight,’ he comments.
‘Only a little.’ I pout, then whine, ‘Feed me. I’m poor.’ Jack is unmoved by my attempt at cuteness. I shrug. ‘I’ve been stressed. I don’t know how anyone can eat when they’re stressed.’ That, and I’m living off a student diet of beans and pasta again because it’s cheap. How is it I graduated seven years ago and I’m no better off?
‘Of course you’re stressed – some weirdo is following you around everywhere. You should stay here tonight. You can stay as long as you need. Move in if you have to.’
His sincerity and generosity are so overwhelming, I look away. The truth is, I can’t move into his spare room, with only bricks between us, and listen to him with a different woman every weekend. Besides, moving in with Jack would mean explaining to my parents and my perfect sister that I have failed and needed rescuing. ‘Thanks, Jack, but can we please not talk about my stalker?’
‘Stalker,’ he repeats, and I wince, wishing I’d marshalled my words. Labelling that man a ‘stalker’ has put Jack on high alert. He’s protective, which makes me feel loved and special, but it comes with a side of guilt because I don’t like that he gets riled up on my behalf. I don’t like that I am forever dragging him into the murky waters of my life. ‘If I see him, I’ll kill him.’ My pulse kicks because, just for a second, I see a flash of something dangerous in Jack’s eyes. Then he grins and it’s gone. ‘Sure you don’t want that wine?’
Chapter Seven
23 Days Before
Elodie Fray
‘What do you mean, I’m fired?’ I am standing behind the Mugs counter staring at a smug-faced Richard.
‘I mean you called in sick two days ago and a couple of hours later, Hannah saw you jogging merrily around Victoria Park.’
My attention flickers in her direction. She’s currently thrusting change at a customer and dramatically wiping her forehead with the back of her hand to make sure we know what an overworked little bee she is.
‘In the year I’ve worked here, I’ve never had a sick day. Not one. I’ve never missed a shift. I just needed the afternoon off; I was feeling hideous in the morning and went for a run when I was feeling better.’ Which is all true, but Richard doesn’t care; he turns his back on me, pouring himself an espresso. ‘I have rent to pay,’ I say, trying to appeal to his better side which might’ve worked … if he had one.
‘Not my problem.’
‘Hannah’s had a day off pretty much every other week since she started.’ This is a childish move, but I make it anyway.
Richard holds up his hand as though he’s stopping traffic, then glances at the customer who’s pretending to read the menu above the counter but is obviously listening to our spat. Richard turns and motions for me to follow him. As I pass Hannah, she mutters ‘bitch’ under her breath.
Richard’s office is a small kingdom with an Argos desk and a beaten-up filing cabinet I don’t think he even has the key to. Still, he sits back in his blue polyester spin chair like it’s a gilded throne. I take a seat, pauper’s side, on the folding metal chair opposite. I know I should look cowed, repentant, should flutter my lashes like Hannah does, win him round with the suggestion I might let him fuck me if I can just keep my job. But I can’t. It’s not even that he has a receding hairline or that he wears check shirts in pastels or that his too-long toenails stab through the woollen socks he insists on pairing with sliders. It’s that he isn’t a nice man; he’s rude to customers he believes don’t have much money, he takes fistfuls of change from the tip jar, and I’ve caught him staring down my top when he thinks I’m not looking.
He lounges in his chair now, hands clasped behind his head, so I get a perfect view of his sweat-stained pits. ‘Elodie, I’m afraid my hands are tied.’ He shrugs in a I-don’t-make-the-rules-I-just-think-them-up-and-write-them-down way that sets my teeth on edge.
‘But you’re my manager.’ If I reason with him, maybe he’ll show willing. ‘Look, I have rent to pay. I live alone. This job is my only source of income right now. I really wasn’t well the morning I called in sick. I was vomiting and I had a headache.’ Though this is all true, I don’t tell him it was self-induced. ‘I need this job.’ As I say it out loud, the weight of the situation presses down on my chest like a breeze-block because I do need this job. Rent is due and I rely on my wages from this place to pay it. What the hell will I do if I don’t have a job?
He studies me.
‘Richard, please,’ I start because I’m not above begging. ‘I’m serious. This is my income.’
The only thing I have going for me is my independence. If I can’t pay my rent, I have nothing. I can’t add ‘homeless’ to my list of failings.
‘Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you called in sick.’ His tone is all condescending middle-management. ‘Now, if you want the money from today’s shift, I suggest you leave my office and get to work.’
I do as he says because I need each precious penny from each pitiful minute I work here. Defeat hangs from my body like an ill-fitting dress. Strange, it should be snug now, I am so used to its company. For once, Hannah gives me a wide berth. I serve coffee and clean the machines and cut slices of carrot cake.
When Hannah goes on her break, I stuff a handful of biscotti into my apron pocket.
George looks up from his crossword as I approach. ‘Nine-letter word meaning risky or indecent.’
‘Starting letter?’
‘S.’
I think a moment, arranging and rearranging the letters in my mind until they take on a definite shape. ‘Salacious?’
George glances at the page, then nods. ‘Spot on, young lady. Spot on.’