“Jesus Christ!” Ed rushes forward as I tumble down. He doesn’t exactly catch me in his arms so much as break my fall with his head.
“Ow!”
“Oof!” I crash to the floor. Ed grabs my hand and helps me to my feet, then rubs his chest with a wince. I think I kicked it by mistake on the way down.
“Sorry.”
“What are you doing?” He stares at me incredulously. “Is something wrong?”
I shoot an agonized glance at the door to the banquet room. Following my gaze, he goes and shuts it. “What’s up?” he says more gently.
“I can’t do magic,” I mumble, staring at my feet.
“What?”
“I can’t do magic!” I look up in desperation.
Ed eyes me uncertainly. “But… you did it.”
“I know. But I can’t do it anymore.”
Ed surveys me silently for a few seconds, his eyes flickering as they meet mine. He looks deadly grave, as if some massive worldwide company is facing collapse and he’s working out a master plan to save it.
At the same time, he quite looks like he wants to laugh.
“You’re saying your mysterious Eastern mind-reading powers have deserted you,” he says at last.
“Yes,” I say in a small voice.
“Any idea why?”
“No.” I scuff my toe, not wanting to look at him.
“Well. Just go out there and tell everybody.”
“I can’t!” I wail in horror. “Everyone will think I’m a flake. I’ve been The Great Lara. I can’t just go and say, ‘Sorry, I can’t do it anymore.’”
“Sure you can.”
“No.” I shake my head firmly. “No way. I have to go. I have to escape.”
I start heading toward the fire exit again, but Ed grabs my arm.
“No escaping,” he says firmly. “No running away. Turn the situation around. You can do it. C’mon.”
“But how?” I say hopelessly.
“Play with them. Make it an entertainment. So you can’t read their thoughts-you can make them laugh. And then we leave, right away, and you’re still The Great Lara in everyone’s mind.” His gaze bores firmly into mine. “If you run away now, you really will be The Great Flake.”
He’s right. I don’t want him to be right, but he is.
“OK,” I say at last. “I’ll do it.”
“D’you need some more time?”
“No. I’ve had enough time. I just want to get it over with. And then we go?”
“Then we go. Deal.” A tiny grin pops through again. “Good luck.”
“Thanks.” That’s two smiles, I want to add. (But don’t.)
Ed strides through the door and I follow him, somehow managing to hold my head high. There’s a buzz of chatter, which dies down as I appear, and turns to a roar of applause. I can hear wolf whistles from the back, and someone’s even videoing me on their phone. I’ve been out so long, they obviously think I’ve been building up to some amazing finale.
The five victims are sitting on chairs, each holding a piece of paper and a pen. I smile at them, then look at the crowd.
“Ladies and gentlemen, forgive my leave of absence. I have been opening my mind to a number of thought waves tonight. And quite frankly… I’m shocked at what I’ve discovered. Shocked! You.” I wheel around to the first girl, who’s holding her piece of paper close to her chest. “Obviously I know what you’ve drawn.” I make a brushing-aside gesture, as though what she’s drawn is neither here nor there. “But far more interesting is the fact that there’s a man in your office who you think is rather delicious. Don’t deny it!”
The girl flushes, and her reply is drowned by a roar of laughter. “It’s Blakey!” someone yells, and there’s more laughter.
“You, sir!” I turn to a cropped-haired guy. “They say most men think about sex once every thirty seconds, but with you it’s far, far more frequent than that.” There are gales of laughter, and I hastily turn to the next man. “Whereas you, sir, think about money every thirty seconds.”
The man bursts into laughter. “She is a bloody mind reader!” he calls out.
“Your thoughts were unfortunately too steeped in alcohol for me to make out.” I smile kindly at the portly guy sitting on the fourth chair. “And as for you…” I pause as I face the girl on the fifth chair. “I suggest you never, ever tell your mother what you were just thinking.” I raise my eyebrows teasingly, but she doesn’t rise.
“What?” She frowns. “What are you talking about?”
Shit.
“You know.” I force myself to hold my smile steady. “You know…”
“No.” She shakes her head stolidly. “I’ve got no idea what you’re on about.”
The audience’s chatter has died away. Faces are turned to us with interest.
“Do I have to spell it out?” My smile is becoming forced. “Those… thoughts? Those particular thoughts you were just having…” I’m nearing the end of my rope here. “Just now…”
Suddenly her face snaps in horror. “Oh God. That. You’re right.”
Somehow I manage not to expire with relief.
“The Great Lara is always right!” I make an elaborate bow. “Farewell, and see you all again.”
I head quickly through the applauding audience toward Ed.
“I got your bag,” he murmurs above the clapping. “One more bow, then we’re out.”
I don’t breathe until we’re safely out on the street. The air is clear and there’s a warmish breeze. The hotel doorman is surrounded by groups of people waiting for taxis, but I don’t want to risk anyone from the dinner catching up with me, so I hastily walk down onto the pavement.
“Well done, Greatie,” says Ed as we fall into step.
“Thanks.”
“Shame about the magic powers.” He’s looking at me inquiringly, but I pretend not to notice.
“Yes, well.” I shrug casually. “They come, they go, that’s the mystery of the East. Now, if we walk this way”-I squint at a street sign-“we should be able to pick up a taxi.”
“I’m in your hands,” says Ed. “I don’t know this area.”
This not-knowing-London is really starting to annoy me.
“Is there any area you do know?”
“I know my route to work.” Ed shrugs. “I know the park opposite my building. I know the way to Whole Foods.”
OK, I’ve had it. How dare he come to this great city and show zero interest in it?
“Don’t you think that’s really narrow-minded and arrogant?” I stop dead. “Don’t you think if you come and live in a city you should respect it enough to get to know it? London is one of the most fascinating, historic, amazing cities in the world! And bloody Whole Foods! That’s an American shop! Couldn’t you try Waitrose?” My voice rises. “I mean, why did you take a job here if you weren’t interested in the place? What were you planning to do?”
“I was planning to explore it with my fiancée,” Ed says calmly.
His answer slightly takes the wind out of my sails.
Fiancée. What fiancée?
“Until she broke up with me, a week before we were supposed to come,” Ed continues conversationally. “She asked her company to transfer her London placement to someone else. So, you see, I had a dilemma. Come to England, stay focused, and do the best I could, or stay in Boston, knowing I’d see her almost every day. She worked in the same building as me.” He pauses a second before adding, “And her lover.”
“Oh.” I stare at him in dismay. “I’m sorry. I… didn’t realize.”
“No problem.”
His face is so impassive, it almost seems like he doesn’t care-but I’m getting to understand his deadpan style. He does care, of course he does. Suddenly his frown is making more sense. And that closed-up expression. And that weary voice he had in the restaurant. God, what a bitch his fiancée must be. I can see her now. Big white American teeth and swingy hair and killer heels. I bet he bought her a massive ri
ng. I bet she’s kept it.
“That must have been horrible,” I say feebly as we start walking again.
“I had the guidebooks.” He’s gazing resolutely ahead. “I had the itineraries. I had a million projects planned. Stratford-upon-Avon… Scotland… Oxford… But they were all planned with Corinne. Kind of takes the fun out of it.”
A vision comes to me of a pile of guidebooks, all scribbled and annotated with their exciting plans. And then shut away. I feel so sorry for him, I think I should probably shut up now and stop giving him a hard time. But some stronger instinct makes me push on.
“So you just go your route to work and back again every day,” I say. “You never look left or right. You go to Whole Foods and the park and back again and that’s it.”
“Works for me.”
“How long have you been over here again?”
“Five months.”
“Five months?” I echo in horror. “No. You can’t exist like that. You can’t lead your life in tunnel vision. You have to open your eyes and look around. You have to move on.”
“Move on,” he echoes, in mock-amazed tones. “Wow. Right. Not a phrase anyone’s said to me much.”
OK, so obviously I’m not the only one who’s given him a pep talk. Well, too bad.
“I’ll be gone in two more months,” he adds curtly. “It hardly matters whether I get to know London or not-”
“So, what, you’re just treading water, just existing, waiting until you feel better? Well, you never will! Not unless you do something about it!” All my frustration with him pours out in a stream. “Look at you, doing memos for other people, and emails for your mum, and solving everyone else’s problems because you don’t want to think about your own! Sorry, I overheard you in Pret A Manger,” I add sheepishly as Ed’s head jerks up. “If you’re going to live in a place, doesn’t matter how long, you need to engage with it. Otherwise you’re not really living. You’re just functioning. I bet you haven’t even unpacked properly, have you?”
“As it happens…” He pauses for a few steps. “My housekeeper unpacked for me.”
“There you go.” I shrug, and we walk on a little more in silence, our footsteps almost in time. “People break up,” I say at last. “It’s just the way things are. And you can’t dwell on what might have been. You have to look at what is.”
As I’m saying the words, I have a weird flash of déjà vu. I think Dad said something to me like this once about Josh. In fact, he might even have used those exact words.
But that was different. I mean, obviously it’s an entirely different scenario. Josh and I weren’t planning a trip, were we? Or to move cities. And now we’re back together again. Totally different.
“Life is like an escalator,” I add wisely.
When Dad says that to me, I get all annoyed because he just doesn’t understand. But somehow it’s different when I’m giving advice.
“An escalator,” echoes Ed. “Thought it was a box of chocolates.”
“No, definitely an escalator. You see, it carries you on regardless.” I mime an escalator. “And you might as well enjoy the view and seize every opportunity while you’re passing. Otherwise it’ll be too late. That’s what my dad told me when I broke up with this… this guy.”
Ed walks on a few paces. “And did you take his advice?”
“Er… well…” I brush my hair back, avoiding his eye. “Kind of.”
Ed stops and looks at me gravely. “Did you ‘move on’? Did you find it easy? Because I sure as hell haven’t.”
I clear my throat, playing for time. What I did isn’t really the point here, surely?
“You know, there are lots of definitions of ‘move on.’” I try to maintain my wise tone. “Many different variations. Everyone has to move on in their own way.”
I’m not sure I want to get into this conversation, actually. Maybe now is the moment to find a cab.
“Taxi!” I wave my hand at a passing cab, but it sails past, even though its light is on. I hate when they do that.
“Let me.” Ed approaches the curb, and I take out my mobile phone. There’s a pretty good minicab company that I use. Maybe they could come and pick us up. I retreat into a doorway, dial the number, and wait on hold, before I eventually discover that all the cabs are out tonight and it’ll be a half-hour wait.
“No good.” I come out of the doorway to see Ed standing stock still on the pavement. He’s not even trying to hail a cab. “No luck?” I say in surprise.
“Lara.” He turns to me. His face is confused and his eyes are a little glassy. Has he been taking drugs or something? “I think we should go dancing.”
“What?” I peer at him, perplexed.
“I think we should go dancing.” He nods. “It would be a perfect way to round off the evening. It just came to me out of the blue.”
I don’t believe it. Sadie.
I whirl around on the pavement, searching the darkness, and suddenly spot her, floating by a lamppost.
“You!” I exclaim furiously, but Ed doesn’t even seem to notice.
“There’s a nightclub near here,” he’s saying. “Come on. Let’s have a quick dance. It’s a great idea. I should have thought of it before.”
“How do you know there’s a nightclub here?” I retort. “You don’t know London!”
“Yeah, right.” He nods, looking a bit flummoxed himself. “But I’m pretty sure there’s a nightclub down that street.” He gestures. “Down there, third left. We should go check it out.”
“I’d love to,” I say sweetly. “But I must just make a call. There’s a conversation I need to have.” I direct the words meaningfully at Sadie. “If I don’t have this conversation, I won’t be able to dance.”
Sulkily, Sadie descends to the pavement, and I pretend to punch a number into my phone. I’m so angry with her, I almost don’t know where to start.
“How could you just leave me like that?” I spit in an undertone. “I was completely lost!”
“No, you weren’t! You did very well. I was watching.”
“You were there?”
“I felt rather bad,” says Sadie, looking distantly over my shoulder. “I came back to see if you were all right.”
“Well, thanks a lot,” I say sarcastically. “You really helped. And now what’s all this?” I gesture at Ed.
“I want to dance!” she says with defiance. “I had to take extreme measures.”
“What have you done to him? He looks shell-shocked!”
“I made some… threats,” she says evasively.
“Threats?”
“Don’t look at me like that!” She suddenly rounds on me. “I wouldn’t need to if you weren’t so selfish. I know your career’s important, but I want to go dancing! Proper dancing! You know I do. That’s why we’re here. It’s supposed to be my evening. But you take over and I don’t get a look in! It’s not fair!”
She sounds almost tearful. And suddenly I feel bad. It was supposed to be her evening, and I did kind of hijack it.
“OK. You’re right. Come on, let’s go dancing.”
“Wonderful! We’ll have such a good time. This way…” Her spirits restored, Sadie directs me through some tiny Mayfair streets I’ve never been down before. “Nearly there… Here!”
It’s a tiny place called the Flashlight Dance Club. I’ve never heard of it. Two bouncers are standing outside, looking half asleep, and they let us in, no question.
We descend a set of dim wooden steps and find ourselves in a large room carpeted in red, with chandeliers, a dance floor, a bar, and two guys in leather trousers sitting morosely at the bar. A DJ on a tiny stage is playing some JLo track. No one’s dancing.
Is this the best Sadie could find?
“Listen, Sadie,” I mutter as Ed goes up to the neon-lit bar. “There are better clubs than this. If you really want to dance, we should go somewhere a bit more happening-”
“Hello?” A voice interrupts me. I turn to see a slim, high-cheeked wo
man in her fifties, wearing a black top and gauze skirt over leggings. Her faded red hair is up in a knot, her eyeliner is crooked, and she looks anxious. “Are you here for the Charleston lesson?”
Charleston lesson?
“I’m so sorry,” the woman continues. “I suddenly remembered we had an arrangement.” She stifles a yawn. “Lara, is it? You’re certainly wearing the right clothes!”
“Excuse me.” I smile, haul out my phone, and turn to Sadie.
“What have you done?” I mutter. “Who’s this?”
“You need lessons,” Sadie says unrepentantly. “This is the teacher. She lives in a little room upstairs. Normally the lessons are during the day.”
I stare at Sadie incredulously. “Did you wake her up?”
“I must have forgotten to put the appointment in my diary,” the woman is saying as I turn back. “It’s not like me-thank goodness I remembered! Out of the blue, it came to me that you would be waiting here.”
“Yes!” I shoot daggers at Sadie. “Amazing, the powers of the human brain.”
“Here’s your drink.” Ed arrives by my side. “Who’s this?”
“I’m your dance instructor, Gaynor.” She holds out her hand and Ed takes it, looking bewildered. “Have you always been interested in the Charleston?”
“The Charleston?” Ed looks mystified.
I feel a bit hysterical. The truth is, Sadie always gets her way. She wants us to dance the Charleston. We’re going to dance the Charleston. I owe it to her. And it might as well be here and now.
“So!” I smile winningly at Ed. “Ready?”
The thing about the Charleston is, it’s more energetic than you realize. And it’s really complicated. And you have to be really coordinated. After an hour, my arms and legs are aching. It’s relentless. It’s worse than my Legs Bums and Tums class. It’s like running a marathon.
“And forward and back…” the dance instructor is chanting. “And swivel those feet…”
I can’t swivel my feet anymore. They’re going to fall off. I keep confusing right and left and bashing Ed in the ear by mistake.
“Charleston… Charleston…” The music is tripping along, filling the club with its peppy beat. The two leather-trousered guys at the bar have been watching in a silent stupor since we started the lesson. Apparently dance lessons are quite common here in the evenings. But everyone wants to learn salsa, according to Gaynor. She hasn’t given a Charleston lesson for about fifteen years. I think she’s quite chuffed we’re here.
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