‘I have. Well, I had. It’s just been a … peculiar … few days.’
‘What’s wrong, is it the S&D account?’
Nick paused to take in the view of Birmingham’s city centre from his spot on the office building’s fire escape. He could hear the warning bells of the trams making their way up New Street, while below him rush hour commuters bustled along Corporation Street towards the train station.
Rhian had been leaning against the railings puffing on her vaporiser when Nick appeared. He too had an e-cigarette in his desk drawer, but today wasn’t a day for half measures.
He’d promised Sally he’d given up as a New Year’s resolution. It would be another lie to add to the rapidly growing list. He’d also promised that he was still 100 per cent sure Sally was the only one for him, that they could live happily ever after and that he hadn’t given Alex a second thought since he’d met him. In reality, he was all Nick had thought about.
‘Yes, it’s the S&D account,’ Nick told Rhian. ‘The MD is getting confused about the message he’s trying to get across. It’s such a ball-ache.’
‘Well, start channelling your inner Don Draper because you’ll need to pull something out of the bag.’
In his three years at the agency as a junior copywriter, Nick had yet to be beaten by an account he’d been assigned to manage, even though he worked on many obscure products he hadn’t previously heard of or even dreamed had existed. His work in making market leaders of a new yeast infection cream and a herbal remedy for erectile dysfunction had won him the office nickname of The Genital Giant, which quietly amused him. He prided himself on being able to sell anything to anyone with a smart tag line, but this week he’d been too preoccupied to make a pubic lice lotion palatable.
He’d tried his hardest not to allow his mind to wander towards Alex, and had come close to convincing himself that the emotions he’d stirred in him were imaginary. But while Nick made a living persuading consumers to buy into something they hadn’t realised they needed, he knew he couldn’t fool himself. He had truly felt something and it wasn’t like anything he had ever experienced before. And he was convinced Alex had too.
Nick slept very little in the days after their meeting and his constant fatigue made him impatient and ratty with Sally. He found himself sniping at everything she said or did, from her innocuous requests to pick up more kale from the little Waitrose on the way home to what new box set they should begin on Netflix.
Something in Nick’s heart had deviated from the path it had been following, and it was making him nauseous. Or maybe at that moment it was the cigarette that made him want to vomit, he couldn’t be sure.
As Rhian headed back inside the building, he took one long, last drag right down to the filter and stubbed the cigarette out on the metal step. He sniffed his fingers and turned his nose up at the smell. Stinking clothes and skin – he hadn’t missed these bi-products of being a slave to nicotine.
His mobile rang and he looked at the screen – the number was withheld but he answered it anyway.
‘Hello, Nick Wallsworth speaking,’ he began.
There was a pause that Nick assumed meant an automated message was about to begin, inviting him to talk to someone about claiming a PPI refund, and he prepared to hang up, until he heard a voice that he recognised immediately.
‘Hi,’ Alex said.
Nick’s heart went from zero to sixty in a second. He felt part terrified, part thrilled.
‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ Alex continued. ‘Who came to see me.’
‘Yes,’ Nick whispered, his mouth suddenly dry. Neither spoke for a moment before Alex broke the silence.
‘Why didn’t you tell me who you were?’
‘In case you thought I was mad. And because I don’t believe in the whole Match Your DNA thing.’
‘Neither do I. Well, I didn’t until …’
‘… until I was leaving …’
‘… and you felt something too, didn’t you? It wasn’t my imagination, was it?’
‘No, mate, it wasn’t.’ Nick felt his body shiver even though he wasn’t cold. ‘I’m sorry I lied about my name. How did you find me?’
‘I got the Match Your DNA email and I knew my Match was a guy. Then as you were leaving I just knew it was you. I paid to access your details and guessed you’d used a different name.’
‘Sorry.’
‘It’s OK, I probably would have done the same myself.’
There was another break in the conversation as both men fell silent. Nick steadied the hand he used to clasp the phone to his ear to stop it from trembling.
‘This is awkward, isn’t it?’ said Alex.
‘You’re not kidding.’
‘It’s bullshit though, right? The test results, bullshit.’
‘Yeah, of course. Total bullshit.’
‘How has it happened?’
‘Some glitch or ghost in the machine or something.’
‘That sounds about right.’
‘Do you think we should get together and talk about it? You know, over a couple of beers some time, if you think that’s a good idea?’
‘How about now?’ Nick caught himself saying.
‘OK, say in half an hour in the Bacchus Bar in the arcade?’
‘Yeah, sure. See you there.’
Alex was the first to hang up and Nick froze, waiting for his head to stop spinning, before he hurried back to his office to grab his coat.
Chapter 30
ELLIE
‘Sorry, they look really pathetic, don’t they?’ Tim looked sheepish as he presented Ellie with the bouquet of flowers lying on the bar in front of him. ‘I didn’t pinch them from a cemetery, honest.’
‘No, they’re lovely,’ Ellie replied, glancing at the poor selection of wilting white carnations and red roses, their stalks wrapped in brown paper. She appreciated the gesture though.
Tim raised his eyebrows like he didn’t believe her.
‘Well, they’re a tiny bit pathetic, but it was a very sweet thought.’ She smiled.
‘I’ve been carrying them around all day which is why they’re battered. I bought them this morning in case I couldn’t find another florist.’
Ellie was touched by his naivety in thinking there might only be one flower seller in London.
He’d already been waiting at the restaurant when Ellie arrived several minutes late. She’d gone against her security chief Andrei’s wishes and had set off alone by taxi, despite his protestations that now, with a serial killer loose in the city, the need for him to escort her was more important than ever. The venue of their second date, this time in a quiet street near London’s Notting Hill, had been chosen by Tim: a family-run French brasserie whose decor hadn’t seen a lick of paint since the Thatcher government.
He sat on a bar stool, peeling the label from his bottle of imported beer, waiting for her to arrive. From the pavement outside, she spotted the dark suit he was wearing. His hair was slicked down into a side parting and he was nibbling at his fingernails. He appeared to have made more of an effort this time and looked much more nervous.
His apparent anxiety made Ellie’s body tense. She wondered if Tim had discovered who she was and, as a result, felt under pressure to make a better impression. It wasn’t what she wanted from him at all – time and time again she’d witnessed first-hand the lengths some men went in their quest to compete with her, or others who had assumed that by showering her with expensive gifts they would win her heart. As much as she admired a strong female role model like Madonna, Ellie was no material girl.
‘Can I get a Hendrick’s gin and tonic please?’ Tim asked the barman as Ellie took a seat by his side. She liked that he’d remembered her favourite brand. ‘You look really nice,’ he said, taking in her black top, knee-length skirt and black, leather boots.