Cecelia Ahern - The Time of My Life

I was confused.

‘He doesn’t speak very good English,’ she said.

‘Oh. For a minute there I thought you wanted me to sleep with him.’

It could have gone either way. Instead she threw her head back and laughed heartily. ‘Oh Lucy, you’re the perfect medicine; I needed that, thank you. Now I know you like to do your own thing at lunchtime but I’ll have to ask you to stay in here just in case he drops by. Michael O’Connor is showing him around the building, of course, but when he gets here it would be nice to welcome him to our little group. Tell him what everybody does and how hard we’re all working. You know?’ She was giving me the eye. Please don’t let any of us get fired . I liked that she cared.

‘No problem. I get it.’

‘How’s everyone doing out there?’

‘Like they’ve just lost a friend.’

Edna sighed and I heard and felt the stress she must have been under. I left the office and they were all gathered around Mouse’s desk, like penguins huddled together for warmth afraid to drop their eggs, all looking at me in anticipation, pale faces worried that I’d been fired.

‘Does anyone have a spare cardboard box?’

There was a chorus of distressed tones.

‘Just joking, but nice to know you care,’ I smiled and they relaxed but were a little annoyed. But then something Edna had said hit me and I suddenly tensed up. I knocked on the door, went back inside. ‘Edna,’ I said rather urgently.

She looked up from her paperwork.

‘Augusto, he’s from …’

‘Head office, in Germany. Don’t tell the others, I don’t want them to worry any more than they already are.’

Relief. ‘Of course. It’s just not a typical German name,’ I smiled. I went to close the door.

‘Sorry, Lucy, I understand what you mean now,’ she called out to me. ‘He’s Spanish.’

I smiled but inside I wept. I was worried, I was very worried, because apart from having only just enough Spanish to order a round of Slippery Nipples and to ask for a limbo bar, I had very little other vocabulary in my head, and though they didn’t know it yet the team were relying on my schmoozing to get them through the next elimination process. It was only then when I sat down and saw the letters still lying on my desk that the conversation made sense.

Him and his analogies; Life had thrown me a curveball.

CHAPTER NINE

‘He did the Inca Trail last week, did you see that?’ my friend Jamie said to the table.

We were in The Wine Bistro in the city, our usual haunt for catching up, and being served by the usual gay waiter with the fake French accent. There were seven of the usual suspects gathered around for Lisa’s birthday. There used to be eight before Blake had started all his travelling but he might as well have been sitting at the head of the table that night, exactly opposite from me, from the way they were all going on. They’d been talking about Blake for the past twenty minutes, ever since main course had arrived, and I sensed it could go on for another twenty so I had stuffed my mouth with as much salad as I could. Silchesters didn’t talk while eating so apart from the occasional nod of interest and raised eyebrow I didn’t need to take part. They talked about last night’s episode where he’d travelled around India; I’d watched it and hoped Jenna had gotten Delhi belly. They talked about things he’d said, things he’d seen, things he’d worn and then they lovingly ripped him apart about his smarmy final comments and that cheesy look down the camera lens followed by the wink – that was personally my favourite part, but I didn’t tell them that.

‘What did you think of it, Lucy?’ Adam asked, killing their discussion and directing it all at me.

I took a while to chew then swallowed some lettuce leaves. ‘I didn’t see it.’ I shoved more into my mouth.

‘Oooh,’ Chantelle joked, ‘she’s so cold.’

I shrugged.

‘Have you ever seen it?’ Lisa asked.

I shook my head. ‘I’m not sure if I have the station. I haven’t checked.’

‘Everyone has the station,’ Adam said.

‘Oh. Whoops.’ I smiled.

‘You were supposed to go on that trip together, weren’t you?’ Adam asked again, leaning on the table, pushing all his energy towards me.

Adam pretended to joke but even if it was almost three years ago, his best friend being dumped still seriously aggrieved him. If I hadn’t been the target of his aggression my admiration for his loyalty would have been far greater. I’m not quite sure how Blake had managed to create such steadfast devotion in Adam but whatever he said, or whatever crocodile tears he’d spilled with him, it had worked and I was public enemy number one. I knew it and Adam secretly wanted me to know it, but it seemed that nobody else knew it. Again paranoia was taking over but I followed it like it was my guide.

I nodded at Adam. ‘Yeah, we planned to go for his thirtieth.’

‘And you made him go on his own, you cruel bitch,’ Lisa said, and they laughed.

‘With a film crew,’ Melanie added, kind of in my defence.

‘And a spray tanner, by the looks of it,’ Jamie added and they laughed.

And Jenna. The bitch. From Australia.

I just shrugged again. ‘That’s what you get when you give me fried eggs instead of poached. A girl can’t be dealing with shoddy breakfast in bed.’

They laughed, but Adam didn’t. He glared at me in defence of his friend. I shovelled more salad into my mouth and looked at Melanie’s plate to see what I could steal. As usual it was full of food. I speared a baby tomato, that’d give me at least twenty seconds of chewing. The tomato burst in my mouth and the seeds fired down my throat and made me choke. Not a cool reaction. Melanie handed me a glass of water.

‘Well, he didn’t do too badly, we did end up in Vegas for his thirtieth,’ Adam said and gave me a long knowing look that just killed me. The lads looked at each other with cheeky expressions, instantly sharing a weekend of craziness that would never be revealed. My heart twisted as I pictured Blake on a bar with a stripper licking Pernod off his abs and popping olives from his belly button. It wasn’t a party trick of his, just a mind trick of my own.

My phone beeped. Don Lockwood’s name flashed up onto my screen. Since our phone conversation over a week ago I’d tried to think of some kind of comeback for the Aslan song but failed. As soon as I opened the text a photo popped up. It was a porcelain figure of a haggard old woman with an eye patch and beneath it his text read:

–Saw this and thought of you .

I zoned out of the conversation and immediately texted back.

– It’s rude to take my photo without permission. Would have given you my winning smile.

– You have no teeth, remember?

I smiled cheesily, and took a photo of my teeth. I pressed send.

Melanie gave me a curious smile.

‘Who are you texting?’

‘No one, I was just seeing if I’ve lettuce stuck in my teeth,’ I said, easily. Too easily. I was getting good at this.

‘You could have asked me. Seriously, who is it?’

‘Just a wrong number.’ It wasn’t a lie. I reached into my bag and put twenty euro on the table. ‘Guys, it was swell but I have to go now.’

Melanie groaned. ‘But we hardly got to talk.’

‘We’ve done nothing but talk,’ I laughed, standing up.

‘But not about you.’

‘What do you want to know?’ I took my coat from the gay waiter with the fake French accent who’d pointed at the coat rack and said, ‘ Zees one? ’