Miracle on Regent Street (39 page)

‘I know all that, but we can work it out. I really like you, Carly.’

‘And I-I like you, too,’ I reply at last.

‘Well, at least that’s settled!’ he laughs. ‘As I was saying, I just want to spend as much time with my
girlfriend
as possible. So, can I see you tomorrow? I know
it’s short notice for a Saturday night and a girl like you has probably got lots of offers . . .’

I can’t help but smile through the tears that are forming in my eyes. If only he knew. I want to see him so badly but I promised ages ago that I’d baby-sit for Delilah as she’s
going out with her girlfriends. But, I’m so tempted to see Joel. After all, there’s only just over two weeks left till Christmas and I have to make the most of these precious moments
before he goes back to Pennsylvania and I never see him again. But Delilah, the kids . . . I’ve barely been there all week. And I promised. I can’t go back on my promise.

‘I can’t. I’m baby-sitting,’ I reply remorsefully.

‘I could keep you company?’ he offers, with a sexy tease to his voice.

‘Oh, you don’t want to do that,’ I say quickly, knowing I can’t bring him back to Delilah’s house in case I slip up and he realizes I live there. ‘Not on a
Saturday night. Let me see if I can get out of it. I’m sure my sis— I mean, my
friend
won’t mind. Let me just call her and I’ll call you right back.’

I dial Delilah’s number and she picks up immediately.

‘Evie?’ she says. ‘Are you OK?’ She sounds strange.

‘I’m fine, I’ve just been really busy at work,’ I reply, feeling guilty for neglecting her.

‘But you didn’t come back at all last night,’ she points out.

‘Oh, that.’ I feel myself blushing. ‘I went to see Joel. I left you a note.’

‘I saw it,’ Delilah says, the disapproval apparent in her voice. ‘I just hope you know what you’re doing, Evie.’

‘I do!’ I reply defensively. ‘He really likes me, Lila, honestly he does.’

‘Of course he does,’ she says softly. ‘How could he not? Just be careful, that’s all I’m saying. I know how vulnerable you are.’

I swallow, trying hard not to cry as I think of how she nursed me through my last break-up, a break-up that until I met Joel still felt terribly raw. And now I think of what I overheard Will
saying and how vulnerable my big sister is, while she is busy worrying about me. I feel a stab of guilt at what I’m hiding from her.

‘I know, Lila, but you needn’t worry. Joel’s a really nice guy, honestly. I think you’d like him,’ I add shyly, suddenly imagining him reclining on one of her Eames
chairs after a cosy dinner party. Just like one of the family.

She doesn’t reply. I try to gauge if this is a good moment to ask for more time off. ‘Actually, Delilah, I was just calling to ask you something.’

‘I hope it’s not another night off,’ she says curtly.

That’ll be no, then.

‘Erm, it was actually,’ I say tentatively, then can’t help blurting out, ‘Joel wants to see me tomorrow and I really want to so please say I can, Lila, pleeeease.’
I hear the begging tone in my voice and suddenly see how ridiculous this is. I’m twenty-eight years old and I feel like a child asking her mother for permission to go round her friend’s
house on a Saturday night. Shouldn’t a woman of my age have more freedom? I realize I’m holding my breath, waiting for my sister to answer.

‘What? No! I’m meant to be going out with the girls, Evie. And after the week I’ve had I really need to let off some steam.’

‘But Joel’s—’

‘Joel’s seen more of you this week than I have!’ Delilah shoots back. ‘Anyway, you were with him last night!’

‘I know, I know, but—’ I begin, hoping that Delilah will change her mind. She knows how much I’ve needed this – and how long I’ve waited for it

‘No buts, Evie,’ Delilah says firmly. ‘I need you home tomorrow tonight.’ And she puts down the phone before I can respond.

I press redial to Joel’s mobile miserably.

‘Hey,’ he answers warmly. ‘So do we have a date?’

‘Um, I’m really sorry, Joel,’ I say, trying to stop my voice from cracking. ‘I can’t tomorrow. I, um, I have to baby-sit.’ It’s not that I’m upset
that I can’t see Joel, but more that Delilah put down the phone on me. She’s never done that. Ever.

‘Oh, that sucks,’ he says distractedly. ‘Are you sure I can’t join you?’

‘No!’ I exclaim, then realize how bad that must sound. ‘It’s just, er, my friend isn’t keen on people she doesn’t know coming over when the kids are in bed,
you know, just in case they wake up and get scared that a stranger is in the house.’

‘OK, I can understand that,’ he says reasonably. Then adds:‘How about Sunday? You’re not working then, are you?’

‘I’m not,’ I smile, thinking of my rare one day off a week from both the store and the kids – and feeling happier just at the thought of seeing him.

‘Great! Let’s do something fun. You said you live in Clapham, right? I’ll come and pick you up.’

‘No!’ I exclaim. Oh shit. Oh, I’m such an idiot. Why didn’t I foresee this happening? If he picks me up from there, he’ll find out who I really am. I laugh
forcibly. ‘I mean no you don’t have to pick me up. We can meet somewhere else . . . like the, uh, tube station?’ I add somewhat desperately.

‘Fine . . .’ Joel says quietly. There’s a long pause before he speaks again. ‘Listen, Carly, I’m kinda getting the feeling that you’re blowing hot and cold on
me. Is there anything you’re not telling me? I mean, I’d love to see where you live and meet your friends, but if it’s too soon or if I’m crowding you or coming on too
strong, then just tell me . . .’

‘No!’ I almost shout. I have to think of something else to say other than no. But here it is again. ‘No,’ I say again. ‘Look, Joel,’ I try to elaborate but
don’t know how to without telling him the truth, ‘it’s not that you’re crowding me, I promise, it’s just . . .’ I’m scrabbling around for words,
desperately trying to think of a way to convince him that everything is OK. ‘. . . You know what?’ I say at last, beaten by my lack of imagination. ‘I’d really love for you
to see where I live . . .’

‘Great!’ he replies enthusiastically. ‘So shall I pick you up at yours then?’

‘Yes! Lovely!’ I say in a strangulated voice. ‘Shall we say, er, 8.30 a.m? Nice and bright and early! We could er, go for breakfast or something?’

‘O . . . K,’ Joel replies. ‘I can do early. What’s your address again?’

‘Um, it’s, er, Venn Street,’ I say, trying to remember Carly’s address.

‘Oh, yeah,’ he drawls, ‘I remember. Number thirty-four, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ I squeak.

‘Great. I’ll be there!’ And Joel rings off.

I put my phone back in my bag and rub my forehead wearily. I now just have to hope that Carly has one of her usual big Saturday nights out and won’t be getting up till past lunchtime. I
know she’s not usually an early riser at weekends, which is why I suggested to Joel that he come round so early. If I can just get him to meet me outside the flat, time it so I can just
pretend to shut and lock the front door, I can somehow steer him away for breakfast without Carly seeing us, or having to show him inside the flat. It’s a crazy, desperate plan . . . but if
I’m lucky it might just work.

Sunday 11 December

14 Shopping Days Until Christmas

M
y Saturday night spent baby-sitting for a sleeping Lola and Raffy was interminably long and uncomfortable, mainly because I couldn’t
concentrate on anything, so consumed was I with worry for Delilah who, since our phone conversation the day before, kept making snide comments in my direction via her dialogue with the kids. It was
all, ‘Isn’t Auntie Teevee looking pretty these days, Lola? She’s got a new boyfriend. That’s why we hardly see her any more.’ She was being unfair but I couldn’t
say anything as I knew her mood was blacker than black because of Will’s absence all day (at a weekend work meeting on the golf course, apparently). But even when she left the house to go on
her night out, the icy atmosphere remained. I went to bed at ten o’clock, feeling increasingly like I was living in a place I didn’t belong. That’s why I’m so thankful that
it’s finally Sunday and I can relax and be myself for the day. Well, kind of.

The tube shudders to a stop at Clapham Common station at just gone 8 a.m., and I pick up my bag and bound out of my empty carriage. On the platform, a handful of miserable,
tired-looking people stare blankly into the distance as I walk past them, the unfortunate few for whom Sunday is a working day just like any other. I smile sympathetically at them as I pass, but
they don’t seem to see me, or if they do, they choose to ignore me. One of the downsides of working in retail is that weekends are no longer your own but I’ve always been lucky enough
to have Sundays off.

I exit the station shivering and clutching my A-Z. It’s a bright but cold morning and Clapham High Street is devoid of life, save for a few stragglers from the night before. I cross the
street, past Starbucks and the newsagent’s, and take an immediate left into Venn Street, past some cute bars and restaurants and a little cinema. It’s a nice but not particularly
salubrious street, which surprises me. The houses are all unremarkable Victorian terraces, not at all where I imagined Carly living. I’d always seen her in some swanky modern riverside flat
with a private gym and roof terrace. But this is all very . . . ordinary.

I walk down the street, squinting to look at the numbers on each of the doors before coming to a halt in front of number 34. I glance at my watch: eight fifteen. Joel won’t be here for at
least another fifteen minutes. He might even be late. Oh God, please don’t be late, I think, staring at Carly’s flat. All the blinds are closed, which is a good sign. Hopefully my
calculations were right and she’ll be in bed most of the morning recovering from a big night out.

I sit on the wall by the front gate and wait, feeling sick with anticipation and nerves, not just because I’m seeing Joel, but because of my deception. I mean, who does this? Who goes to
these kinds of lengths to pretend to a guy they’re someone they’re not in order to date them? If anyone had asked me a month ago if this is what I’d be doing then I’d have
told them they were mad. But then again, these days I really don’t recognize much about myself.

I spot Joel approaching round the corner and I jump off the wall and run up to the front door, fiddling with my keys and looking around furtively. He is walking slowly, distinctive white
earphones plugged in his ears with the wires leading down to his pockets, which his hands are thrust into, his head bobbing to the tune playing on his iPod, and as I watch him, I suddenly remember
why I’m going to all this trouble. I’m doing it because Joel is gorgeous and interesting and funny, and he would never be interested in a girl like me otherwise. This is the only way I
can get a taste of what life is like for girls like Carly; beautiful girls with great jobs and their own flat and lots of friends. A life I can only dream of – or at best, pretend to
have.

I am still fumbling with my own house keys, pretending to use them to lock Carly’s front door when, to my horror, the front door swings open and Carly herself appears before me. Her
chestnut hair is scraped back into a pony tail, she has a black baseball cap on, and gym clothes and trainers. Understandably she looks somewhat surprised and confused to see me. So much so that
she appears to be struggling to work out who the hell I am.

‘Who the hell are y . . . ?’ she begins, peering at me from under the shadow of her baseball cap. ‘Sarah?’ she finishes incredulously, looking me up and down. In her
defence I guess I do look more dressed up than normal. Today I have chosen a cute 1960s orange dress with contrasting white collar, sleeves and pockets. I curled my hair and pulled it back into a
ponytail so it’s really bouncy, and I’m wearing black tights, my black brogues and a cropped black jacket, with a thick white scarf wrapped around my neck. It’s kind of quirky but
I’m hoping it says ‘relaxed but stylish Sunday attire, perfect for a day spent sightseeing and snogging a gorgeous American’. Either that or it just says
‘overdressed’.

I wave and smile slightly desperately. ‘Hiya, Carly! Er, can I come in?’