Match Me If You Can Page 14

  ‘Is this where we have the talk about our pasts?’ Rachel asked. ‘I’m not really up on the protocol.’

  He smiled a big dimply grin. ‘Me either but aye, we may as well get it over with. Ladies first?’

  She sipped her wine, thinking. ‘James and I are still friends, well obviously or he wouldn’t have joined. We’re colleagues actually, and we went out ages ago for about a year.’ She shrugged. ‘That’s it, really. You?’

  ‘Milly, my first real girlfriend, when we were seventeen. She was my neighbour and our parents are best friends. She’s like my sister.’

  ‘Your first girlfriend is like your sister? You do things differently in Edinburgh,’ she joked.

  Thomas turned serious. ‘Milly’s a good friend. And she’s very popular on the site.’

  ‘Oh, well, yes, I’m sure she is. A friend. And popular.’ She could feel her face turning beetroot.

  Someone jostled her from behind. She glanced over her shoulder at the three guys getting shouty behind her. They seemed to be friends but their language was pretty colourful.

  ‘Someone started early,’ she whispered to Thomas.

  The guy knocked her chair again.

  ‘He could say he’s sorry,’ Thomas said, his brow furrowing with concern.

  ‘Don’t worry, it was an accident.’ She hoped Thomas wasn’t the aggressive type. She was usually a pretty patient person, but she couldn’t handle a fighter.

  When the guy bumped her chair again she tried to cover it by scooting in.

  ‘He needs to calm down,’ Thomas said. His hands were clenched on the table.

  Rachel’s mind raced for some way to distract him. What was she supposed to do, flash him her boobs?

  ‘Erm, so tell me about snowboarding,’ she said instead, saving her boobs as a last resort. ‘I saw lots of photos. Where do you like to go? I’ve been to Cortina, though just once. I’m a crap skier.’ She wound her finger into the hair at her temple, a nervous habit. ‘But I’m an excellent après skier.’

  ‘I usually go to France,’ he said, smiling with obvious pleasure at the memory. ‘Or Verbier in Switzerland. I love it. And the snow’s been awesome this year. I’ll try to get out there again before the season’s up.’

  ‘Do you go with a big group?’ she asked, wanting to know more about something that so obviously made Thomas happy.

  ‘Sometimes, but I go alone too.’

  Alone? She’d be bored silly after two days on her own. She once took herself off for a long weekend spa break but after the first night by herself in the restaurant she ordered room service for the rest of the stay.

  The drunks moved away to refuel at the bar and Rachel could see Thomas relax as he chatted about the beauty of the mountains in winter.

  That’s what she’d missed from most of her dates lately: passion. Not tearing her clothes off but talking with someone who cared about things. She might not have a huge catalogue of interests, but what she did like, she liked very much. She was tired of asking guys what they liked and hearing variants of ‘Dunno. I like the pub.’

  ‘This has been fun,’ said Thomas after their second drink. ‘I’d love to monopolise your whole night but that wasn’t the deal, so maybe we can go out again some time?’

  ‘I’d love to! Hang on, I can check when I’m free. Sorry, I know that’s wanky but I have to work late on projects when meetings are coming up.’

  As she took her phone out, its face lit up with a text.

  How’s your date? James had texted. Don’t do that thing with your hair. It makes you look like you’re ten. xo

  Rachel unwound her finger from her hair. ‘I’m free any night but Thursday and Friday,’ she said.

  Then she turned her phone off.

  ‘So? You didn’t text me back,’ James said the next morning as he hovered in her office doorway. ‘Does that mean the date was good, or not worth talking about? Or so bad that you’ve blocked it out?’

  She found she didn’t want to play this game with him. She liked Thomas. At least she liked what she knew of him so far. She didn’t need any of James’s snide comments. ‘It was good, thanks.’

  ‘And? Don’t leave a guy hanging,’ he said.

  ‘And what?’

  ‘And aren’t you going to talk about it for the next two days like you always do?’

  ‘No, in fact I’m not.’

  ‘Oh,’ he murmured. ‘Was it really good then?’

  ‘This is me not talking about it, James. Are we working on these designs or not?’ She pointed at the drawings under his arm.

  ‘Then I guess you don’t want to know about my dates either?’ he asked.

  ‘Plural? You’ve had more than one?’

  ‘Well no, but I might soon,’ he said.

  ‘Good. Then I’ll be sure to text you a helpful tip in the middle of it, like you did to me. Now, the plans?’

  He sighed as he sat in her extra chair. ‘The plans. We need one cohesive design for the meeting, so somehow we have to marry your cheese grater—’

  ‘—with your treehouse. Right. So let’s take each component and decide whose is best.’

  ‘Let’s start with the doors,’ he said.

  ‘Okay, that’s easy. We can’t have yours. Bi-fold doors are fine for a deck off the kitchen, but they’re completely impractical for an office building.’

  James crossed his arms. ‘No more so than they are for a deck off the kitchen. Retail spaces use bi-fold doors all the time. Why shouldn’t an office building?’

  ‘Because we’re not designing a shopfront. And there’s security to think of as well.’

  ‘What’s your alternative, revolving doors? Do you really think those would stop a terrorist attack? I’m sure they’ll throw down their Kalashnikovs, peel off their balaclavas and go home when they realise they have to enter single file.’

  Rachel thought for a moment. ‘If I let you have the doors, can I have the external skin over the lifts?’

  He sat back. ‘Possibly. Let’s park the doors for the moment and talk about something smaller.’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Did your date have a little package? Is that why you don’t want to talk about it?’

  ‘James. Just shut up, will you?’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Sarah

  Sarah’s phone chirped just as she walked with Rachel up the last few steps at Bond Street Tube. She reached for it, smiling in anticipation. Her inbox had been steadily filling ever since they’d put up her profile a few weeks ago. Who knew there were so many available guys in London? She might be passing them on the pavement right now and not know it. Someone should make a singles equivalent to those Baby on Board badges that pregnant women wore on the Tube. Then she’d be able to pick them out in real-life situations.

  Her hand hesitated. No, it would be rude to check her messages with Rachel there. Not when she’d taken time out of her day to meet her.

  But she so wanted to look. She’d become one of those obsessive phone people she hated. Must get a grip.

  ‘Thanks again,’ she said to Rachel, who was hurrying beside her.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Signing me up for RecycLove. You were right.’

  ‘Don’t mention it, and will you please slow down? Short-arses like me haven’t got your stride, you know.’

  ‘Sorry! I guess I’m just excited.’

  Rachel grabbed her arm. ‘Is this possible? You’re excited to go shopping?’

  But Sarah shook her head. ‘No. I hate trying on clothes. I’m excited about the makeover bit.’

  In her pocket, her thumb reflexively played with the phone’s home button.

  Just one little peek. It would take five seconds.

  The phone came out with her hand. That thing had a mind of its own.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Rachel snapped.

  ‘Nothing.’ Guiltily, she slid it back into her pocket and scrunched deeper inside her old coat.

  ‘Were you going to check
RecycLove messages?’ Rachel’s tone was playful rather than accusatory.

  ‘No!’

  ‘Because I will if you will.’

  It was a technological Get Out Of Jail Free card. She’d take it.

  ‘Anything?’ Rachel asked, scrolling through her messages.

  ‘Just one,’ said Sarah, clicking on the icon. ‘You?’

  ‘Three. Hellllo, he’s not bad.’ She flipped her phone around.

  A blond man with film star looks smouldered for the camera. ‘Oh, never mind,’ Rachel said. ‘He lives in Leeds. Too far away.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Sarah showed Rachel the photo attached to her new message. ‘Mine looks like your dad.’

  ‘God, he really does, doesn’t he? What’s he say?’

  Hi Sarah, I never really know what to say in these messages. Not that I write them a lot. Obviously I’m interested in talking with you or I wouldn’t be in contact. Maybe that’s enough to say? The rest is on my profile and I don’t want to waste your time making you read everything twice so I guess that’s it. Message me back if you’re interested.

  Yours sincerely,

  Larry

  Rachel pulled a cringy face. ‘I’m not sure I could handle having my dad’s doppelgänger in his pants sharing breakfast with us.’

  Sarah understood completely. The resemblance was uncanny. ‘Imagine if I called him Mr Lambert by mistake.’

  ‘If you shouted it from your bedroom I’d need therapy.’

  Sarah deleted the message. ‘You don’t need to worry about that.’

  They put their phones away and continued to Fenwick’s.

  When she walked through the main doors into the jewellery hall, she felt a stab of recognition.

  ‘Mum and I came here,’ she told Rachel. ‘I was in my tomboy phase so she dragged me. I was a cow to her that day. I didn’t remember it till now.’

  Rachel put her arm round her friend’s shoulder. ‘I’m sure you were just being a teenager.’

  Sarah shrugged. ‘She was gutted. She wanted to buy me all this new clobber, heels and dresses and the like, and I was such an arsehole to her. Make sure you appreciate your parents, Rachel. Because you never know how long you’ll have them around.’

  ‘You’re wise beyond your years, Sarah Lee.’

  Sarah smiled. She knew her mum would be happy to see her there today, so she promised herself not to be too miserable about the shopping.

  Rachel led the way towards two women dressed in white at the Clinique counter.

  ‘Aren’t you making me shop first?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘Nah, we’ll do your makeover first.’

  Sarah knew it was a pity change of scheduling.

  ‘Besides, it’ll be better to have your make-up done already when you try on clothes. That way you can see the whole effect.’ She turned to the pretty Asian woman waiting to help. ‘My friend needs all new make-up. Could you maybe suggest what colours would suit her?’

  ‘All right, Samira?’ Sarah said, reading the woman’s name badge. ‘I’m Sarah. I don’t usually wear make-up so if you could find something that’s not too heavy, that’d be great.’

  ‘Ignore her,’ Rachel said. ‘Make her look beautiful!’

  Sarah was about to object, then remembered her mum. It wasn’t like she couldn’t wipe it all off later if she didn’t like it. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Make me beautiful!’

  Samira got to work. ‘Do you have any make-up on now?’

  Sarah shook her head, but Samira didn’t believe her because she ran a cold wet cotton pad over her face anyway. Like a doctor with a skittish patient, Samira then talked Sarah through every step of the procedure.

  After nearly half an hour, during which Rachel gave a running commentary and twice suggested colour alternatives, Samira decided they were finished. She held the mirror up for Sarah.

  ‘Wait, hang on a sec,’ Rachel said. ‘Take that hair tie out first.’

  Obediently, Sarah undid her ponytail and let her hair fall to her shoulders.

  She could hardly believe what she saw in the mirror. The woman staring back at her was nearly a stranger. Her greeny-grey eyes looked huge, fringed with thick black lashes, deepened by liner and shadow in a rich plum. The lipstick that Samira had used gave her a killer smile, and she had cheekbones. Actual cheekbones!

  Samira had done it. She really did feel beautiful.

  ‘Happy?’ Rachel asked as Samira returned Sarah’s card. They started for the escalators.

  ‘Happy,’ she said, sneaking glimpses in the mirrors they passed on the way up to women’s fashion. She never thought a bit of slap could have such an effect. Maybe that Maybelline advert wasn’t a complete load of piffle after all.

  Upstairs, Rachel stroked a pale blue silk full-skirted print dress. ‘Ooh look at this. I love it!’

  It looked a bit busy to Sarah. ‘Mmm, how about this?’ She held up a black and white block print shift dress instead.

  ‘No. That’s something Uhura would wear on Star Trek for an intergalactic business meeting.’

  ‘I think it’s nice.’

  ‘You’re too straight up and down, Sarah. You’d look like a wooden plank in that dress.’

  ‘Ta very much.’

  ‘All I mean is that you’re athletic so we need to give you some curves.’ Rachel ran her hand across a rail of pastel frocks, plucking as she went. ‘Let’s get a bunch of options. Then we won’t have to keep going in and out of the fitting room.’

  ‘These are nice,’ Sarah said, moving to another colourful rail in the all-white room. It felt like shopping inside a pillowcase.

  ‘But they won’t suit your figure,’ Rachel said. ‘The nineteen-fifties look is better for you.’

  Maybe so, but they weren’t really her style. She was tempted to object before she remembered that she didn’t have a style. That’s why they were there. ‘You pick out the dresses for me,’ she said. ‘I’m happy to try on any clobber you want.’

  After searching all the rails, Rachel deposited an armload of frocks on the hooks in the fitting room.

  ‘I’ll be right outside,’ she said, sitting on the leather pouffe in the corridor. ‘Show me when you get them on.’

  ‘How’s this?’ Sarah said a few minutes later, stepping shyly into the corridor.

  ‘Definitely not with those running shoes! Take them off so I can get a better idea.’

  Sarah kicked off her shoes and peeled off the white sports socks. ‘Better?’

  ‘Better, but you’re still too planky in it. Don’t worry about the green one, it’ll fit the same. I think the other shape will be better.’

  She was right. Four of the dresses gave Sarah curves she didn’t realise she had. So she exercised her still-smarting card again and got a new wardrobe to go with her new make-up.

  She didn’t remember the last time she felt so good.

  ‘Oh my God, I have something to tell you,’ Rachel said as she checked her phone on the way back to the Tube. ‘Let’s go get a drink.’ She started looking around for a pub.

  ‘How come we need a drink?’ Sarah was suspicious. Nobody makes you drink before giving you good news.

  ‘Just … let’s get a drink. Trust me.’

  Rachel hurried up the road surprisingly fast for someone claiming short-arse legs. ‘Where’s a damn pub when you need one?’

  ‘Why do we need one?’

  ‘It’s a surprise.’

  Sarah didn’t like the sound of that.

  ‘A nice surprise.’

  Still not convinced, she thought.

  Rachel steered her into a dark pub. When she got the barman’s attention, she said, ‘May I have a bottle of house champagne, please?’

  Sarah gasped. It must be about Rachel’s designs at work! Her boss picked hers. She probably got a promotion. And a raise. And a new office that she’d get to decorate herself and …

  She threw herself at Rachel, who put her arms out just in time to keep from being knocked over.

  ‘Whoa,
what’s that for? You don’t even know what I’m going to say.’

  Sarah mumbled into Rachel’s shoulder.

  ‘What? I can’t hear you.’

  ‘… And your office will be powder blue and then you’ll be the most famous architect in the world!’

  ‘What are you talking about? Sarah, you are one weird girl. Are you ready for the news?’

  ‘Isn’t it that you’re going to redecorate your office and be world-famous?’

  ‘Nooo, but maybe you are.’ Rachel took a deep breath. ‘Now, please don’t flip out but … I put your application in for The Great British Bake Off.’

  A chill ran up Sarah’s spine. ‘You what?’

  ‘And you’ve been chosen for an audition! Sarah, this is such an opportunity and you were too modest to apply so please don’t be mad at me. I just knew you’d be perfect and you’re such an amazing baker that you could totally win. But not if you didn’t apply. So you did. Or I did. Are you mad?’

  ‘I’ve been chosen? No way!’

  Rachel beamed. ‘Look, read this.’ She flipped her phone so Sarah could see.

  teambakeoff@gbbo.co.uk 6.02pm (12 minutes ago)

  To: me

  Dear Ms Hamilton,

  We are delighted to let you know that your application for The Great British Bake Off 2016 has been successful, and we would like to talk with you more about your technical skills and baking aspirations. This is the first step in the Bake Off selection process – congratulations! If after this conversation you are chosen to audition, you’ll need to bring two bakes, one sweet and one savoury, to the London trials.

  We’d like to talk to you at your earliest convenience. The interview will take place by phone so please let us know by return email when would be a good time to ring.

  With warm wishes,

  Jessica Howzer

  Programme Coordinator

  ‘But I can’t do that!’ Sarah said. Imagine being on national telly. What a horrifying idea. The one time her mum made her join a school play she got so nervous that she threw up all over little baby Jesus in the manger. She wasn’t about to vomit into her signature bake. ‘I can’t go on telly.’

  ‘You don’t have to! At least not yet. It’s only a phone call at first. They just want to run you through some questions before the audition. I’m sure this Jessica woman is very nice. She must be. She deals with nans, Sarah. Baking nans.’