Miracle on Regent Street (40 page)

‘Sure. I didn’t recognize you all dressed up like that. Hey,’ she winks, ‘have you been out all night?’

I glance back over my shoulder and see that Joel is approaching the curve in the road and if he looks up in the next five seconds he’s bound to see me on Carly’s doorstep, talking to
her, and then I am going to have some serious explaining to do.

‘It’s complicated!’ I squeak, pushing past Carly and into her hallway without being invited. Thankfully she shuts the door behind me quickly.

‘Are you OK, Sarah? You seem really out of sorts,’ she says, clasping my arm in concern. ‘What are you doing here anyway? I was just on my way out for a run.’ She laughs
somewhat forcefully and holds her forehead. ‘I’ve found it’s, you know, the best way to cure a hangover. I, er, had a really big night out last night too at this great new club on
the King’s Road. I was out with all my girlfriends and we had this completely crazy night. You’ll never guess what happened. We, er . . .’ She pauses and bites her thumbnail.
‘Sorry, do you want a cup of tea?’

‘That would be great!’ I say, edging into lounge and away from the front door.

I take a moment to glance around. The room has got a blue sofa and an old, stained white armchair covered with a throw. There is a parquet floor with an old, cappuccino-coloured rug on the
floor, which I recognize as being from Ikea. In fact, it all looks entirely furnished by Ikea. White church candles and magazines are scattered on the tea-ringed coffee table. There is a single
plate with some leftover pasta and a half-empty glass of wine on the table and a TV guide open tellingly at Saturday night’s pages.

‘You know,’ Carly calls, poking her head round from the galley kitchen just off the lounge, ‘I didn’t know you knew where I lived.’ She glances at the plate and
then back at me. ‘Oh,’ she blusters. ‘That was the dinner I ate before I went out on my
crrrazy
night last night!’ She comes in and scoops up the plate and the wine
glass, then scurries back out again.

I hear the kettle boiling and water being poured into two cups. I use the opportunity to open the blinds and peer out at the street. Joel has paused in front of Carly’s front gate, his
back to the flat, fumbling with his earphones, which he is stuffing into his pockets. He smooths back his hair and turns round, and I quickly close the blind just as Carly comes into the room
holding two cups of steaming tea.

I hear footsteps on the pathway and panic. Joel is about to knock on the door.

‘Sugar!’ I shout, thrusting my cup back at her. ‘I need sugar, please!’ Carly looks at me strangely but takes the cup and walks back into the kitchen. She pauses mid-walk
as there’s a knock at the door, and turns back to me in the lounge.

‘Who can that be? I’m not expecting anyone.’

‘Oh, er, it must be the religious nuts I saw earlier when I was waiting for you,’ I say, thinking quickly. ‘They’ve been knocking on doors all down the street.
Don’t worry! I’ll get rid of them for you!’

She disappears into the kitchen and I dive into the hallway and open the front door breathlessly.

‘Joel!’ I whisper, and smile at him. He leans forward to kiss me but I push him away with my hand. He looks confused.

‘Not here,’ I hiss. ‘Er, the neighbours might see.’ I tap my finger against my nose. ‘They’re nosy, verrrry nosy.’

‘R-ight,’ he says, a hint of a smile forming on his lips. ‘Can I come in then?’

‘No!’ I say, squeezing the front door shut against my head. ‘I can’t let you in. The place is in a real state and, er, I’m embarrassed! Yep, that’s right.
I’m ashamed.’

‘You don’t have to be . . .’

‘I do! It’s really awful. Listen, give me fifteen minutes and I’ll be right out. I’ll meet you at the little café at the bottom of the road. You can see my place
another time.’ And I slam the door in front of Joel before he has a chance to protest. I lean back against it, breathing heavily before dashing back into the lounge just as Carly re-enters
with our tea.

‘Who was it?’ she asks.

‘Oh, you know,’ I roll my eyes, ‘just those Bible nuts, like I said. I told them we’re not interested.’

‘Thanks, Sarah,’ she says handing me my tea. ‘Now, is everything all ri—’

I take a sip of tea and glance over my shoulder at the window. ‘Shi-SUGAR!’ I shout again, thrusting my cup back at Carly. ‘I need another sugar!’

Carly looks at me and shakes her head as if I am mad, but takes the cup and walks back to the kitchen just as Joel passes by the lounge window. This time I follow her into the small galley
kitchen. Dirty plates and cups line the surfaces and Carly is trying to stack them quickly into the sink. Her flat isn’t at all like she described. She always made it sound so perfect and
stylish; a real haven. But it looks like she and her best friend live in very messy, rented digs. I glance at the old, white fridge that is covered with Post-it notes of scrawled messages like
‘Carly, don’t touch my milk!’, ‘Pay the leccy bill!’ and ‘Anna’s food on the left, do not touch!’ I furrow my brow as I look at them. I thought Carly
shared with her best friend. She has always talked about how well they get on. But this Anna girl, whoever she is, doesn’t sound at all like a friend. A friend would share everything, surely?
As much as Delilah and I aren’t getting on right now, she would never leave me messages like that. It’s just disrespectful. Then again, maybe I have an unrealistically romantic vision
of what flatshares are like. I’ve never had one, after all.

Or maybe
, a voice inside my head says,
Carly has painted an unrealistic vision of her flatshare
. I am beginning to think, having seen her home, that Carly’s life isn’t
as fabulous as she’s made out. I suspect that the pasta, wine and TV guide was her actual Saturday night, not the crazy night out clubbing she was telling me about.

I glance at her as she stirs my tea, wondering if Carly hasn’t been 100 per cent honest with me either.

Half an hour later I manage to escape Carly’s flat. She didn’t seem to want me to leave. She started interrogating me about what had caused me to end up at her flat
early on a Sunday morning. I just invented some work crisis, which meant she quickly lost interest and moved on to telling me all about her fabulous weekend, and what she is planning to do for
Christmas. But right now I wouldn’t be surprised if Carly is actually going to be home alone for most of it. Her perfect life just doesn’t ring true any more.

I push open the café door and immediately spot Joel, sitting in the middle of the room, nursing a coffee and reading the Sunday papers.

‘Joel,’ I say, standing in front of him. He doesn’t look up. I pull out a chair and sit down. ‘I’m so sorry about that. I’m a bit OCD when it comes to
tidiness; my sister calls me OCD-Evie, actually,’ I babble and Joel frowns.

‘Why?’

‘Why what?’

‘Why does she call you OCD-Evie? That’s not your name,’ Joel points out.

My heart actually properly stops beating for a moment and I think I might just throw up.

‘Oh, pff,’ I say, waving my hand dismissively, ‘you know, it’s just a stupid pet name. She thinks it’s funny.
Obviously
, it’s not. Sisters, eh,
who’d have ’em?’

Joel smiles weakly and takes a sip of his espresso.

‘Do you want a coffee?’ he asks politely, all intimacy gone between us.

I gulp, thinking about the fact that Carly may soon leave her flat to go to the gym and I stand up again. ‘No, thanks,’ I say with a big, fake smile. ‘Shall we just go?
I’ve had a good idea for what we can do today.’

I walk towards the door eagerly and open it, glancing out covertly first to check that Carly isn’t jogging down the street.

Joel looks up at me, frowns and shrugs as he drains the rest of his coffee.

‘OK, you’re the boss,’ he says, and he throws some money on the table and walks past me, his hands plunged into his pockets, eyes averted.

You could literally drive a bus between us, I think as we wait at the bus stop for the double-decker that will take us to Waterloo. Joel is standing two feet away from me, staring ahead, his
hands still in his pockets as if to ensure that they don’t roam anywhere near mine. I don’t blame him, though. For one thing, it is very cold, and for the other I’ve been acting
so strangely this morning I’m clearly going to have to work really hard to build up his trust again. He hasn’t accepted my excuses in the same way that Carly did. It’s as if he
knows me better than that.

We hop on the bus and Joel takes the seat in front of me.

‘So where are we going then?’ he says, turning round to face me without much enthusiasm. I swallow, desperate to win back his affection. I hate him being so distant from me. Not when
we’ve shared so much already.

‘Um, well, I thought you probably haven’t had a chance to see much of London and I figured there was one brilliant way to do it. Especially on a day like today.’ I glance out
of the window just as a burst of bright sunshine beams through. I delve into my handbag and pull out two tickets and present them shyly. ‘We’re going on the London Eye!’

His face breaks into a welcome smile and he takes the tickets and looks at them.

‘For real? I’ve wanted to do that since I got here!’

I exhale in relief. ‘Oh, I’m so glad,’ I say, beaming back at him. ‘I thought maybe you’d done the whole tourist thing here already. After all, you are
American,’ I add playfully, slightly nervous about teasing him when he is clearly so confused by my behaviour. There is a moment of silence and I wonder if my gamble has backfired.

‘Will I be able to see Li-
che
-ster Square?’ Joel drawls loudly, deliberately using the wrong pronunciation so that the other passengers on the bus overhear him and roll their
eyes. ‘What about Bucking
ham
Palace?’ he adds. Then his eyes crinkle and he laughs loudly. I join him, mostly out of relief that the Joel I know and, well, like a lot, is back
with me. For now.

The queue for the London Eye is long, winding back and forth along the Southbank. The traditional German-style Christmas market is just opening; there are little log cabins
dotted along the river’s edge, selling all sorts of festive goodies, including hot cider. After the morning I’ve had, I’m tempted to buy one, but acknowledge it’s a little
early. We grab a couple of lattes instead and join the end of the queue, chatting animatedly about our week. Joel seems to have thawed considerably and is back to his friendly self, but he has
still made no effort to kiss me or even hold my hand. I try not to worry as I stand next to him and focus on being myself.

Joel takes a sip of his coffee and wraps his other arm around his body. It is bitterly cold and the only thing saving us from frostbite is the bright sunshine. I’m sure we’d both be
warmer if we were snuggled closer together, but clearly I’ve messed up that oppor tunity for today. And Joel looks so cosy, too. He always looks great in his suits (not to mention out of
them) but I’m really loving his off-duty casual look: soft, cashmere jumper and big, navy military-style coat thrown over the top. There is a shadow of stubble over his chin, and his lips and
his cheeks are flushed with the cold. He’s wearing dark jeans with big leather boots and a red and brown scarf looped around his neck. He’s even wearing a cute red skater-style beanie
hat pulled over his ears. It would look ridiculous on anyone else other than him. Or Sam, come to think of it.

‘So how’s business at Hardy’s?’ he enquires, folding his arms and leaning towards me intently. I love the interest he always shows in my job. For so many years I was
working at crappy jobs, following Jamie around whilst he pursued his career as a chef, that I could never imagine what it’d be like to do something that people were actually interested in.
And since I’ve been working at Hardy’s no one has been impressed by my stockroom status. Quite understandably, really. But Joel? He loves to hear all about Hardy’s and seems
genuinely interested in what’s happening at the store.

I tell him about the makeovers and he nods thoughtfully.

‘It does seem to be making a difference, doesn’t it?’ he replies, staring into the distance. ‘And no one knows who’s doing it?’ I shake my head. He leans in a
little closer to me so his lips are deliciously close to mine and for a moment, I honestly think I might faint. ‘Not even you?’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I reply defensively.

He laughs and puts his arm round me and draws me in to him. He smells of cinnamon and musk and, God, just of
man
, really. I glance at his hand, which is squeezing my arm. His fingernails
are filed to perfection and seem to shimmer with health, and I fleetingly wonder if he has regular manicures. It wouldn’t surprise me. He puts his head on my neck so that his mouth is right
by my ear and I pray that my knicker elastic is strong enough not to ping right off and my knickers fall on the floor there and then.

‘Sometimes you’re too modest. Everyone thinks it’s you. Rupert always talks about how good you are at your job.’

‘He does?’ I’m overcome with pleasure, then realize that Joel is talking about Carly. ‘What does he say?’ I ask, slightly less enthusiastically.

‘Just how visionary you are, and that he loves your ideas for the future of Hardy’s. He thinks you’re a great personal shopper, obviously, but that you have great management
potential too and he’s convinced that together you and he can turn the store’s fortunes around.’

‘Wow,’ I say, thinking that Rupert couldn’t be more wrong. Carly’s vision is entirely misplaced and none of the staff is responding well to her so called
‘management skills’. ‘That’s nice. How do you know Rupert, again?’

‘Oh, we go way back,’ Joel says. ‘We did our MBAs at Harvard Business School together.’

‘Clever and cute,’ I say without thinking.

‘Me or Rupert?’ grins Joel.

‘Oh God, not Rupert,’ I say a little too vehemently. ‘Shit, that didn’t come out right. I mean . . .’

Joel laughs. ‘It’s OK, you don’t have to explain. Rupert’s a good guy. And so passionate about his family business. That was part of the reason we hit it off. We each
have a family legacy we wanted to save.’