‘Me. Just now. Take your clothes off.’
I tsk. ‘Nice try. Hurry up and change!’
He doesn’t move. ‘Nora, it’s Wednesday. We go home on Friday morning. Spend the afternoon in bed with me. We can sleep, eat, and you can do that thing with your tongue again because I’ve been thinking about that a lot and—’
‘Brad told me that when Kenneth and Patricia didn’t turn up, they came looking for them.’
‘So? We won’t answer. They’ll think we’re dead. I’m OK with that.’
I sit down to tie my trainers. ‘And you don’t want your boss, or that Harriet woman who’s married to your wife’s boss, to know that you hooked up with some woman you barely know.’
‘Can you stop making very sensible points please, it’s annoying.’ He admits defeat and stands again.
‘We could come back here after the soiree?’ I suggest. ‘My tongue will still be available then.’
‘FINE,’ he replies. ‘But you have to get naked the instant that door closes.’
‘OK.’
‘Well, unless you want to slip on those pink shorts again, I mean that would be acceptab—’
‘I’ll meet you at yoga, Will.’
He leaves as quickly as he arrived and I saunter up to the main house, eating my roast beef sandwich. ‘Stupid Girl’ by Garbage begins playing on my phone and I immediately skip to the next track. I don’t need that kind of sass from the universe right now.
* * *
‘Jillian, this isn’t a dress, this is a masterpiece.’
I hold the red fabric against me while she pulls other items from the bag. ‘I know, and as much as I love Ralph Lauren, that shade of ruby with my skin tone is just a no-no. Don’t get too excited though, it’s like so 2015.’
Excited? I’m practically mounting it.
‘Also, it can be quite unforgiving around the stomach, so I’ve chucked in some shaper shorts and tights. Oh, and a little shawl for your arms; better than that black cardigan you’ve been wearing.’
I’m offended. That cardigan happens to be my favourite out of the twelve cardigans I currently own.
She throws these on the table and smiles as I continue admiring the dress. Is that a thigh split?
‘Are you sure about this?’ I ask. I’m starting to feel like a charity case.
‘Of course,’ she replies, ‘Someone should wear it, why not you? You have shoes?’
‘Shoes?’
‘You know, shoes. Those things that go on your feet?’
‘Just those black kitten—’
‘Nope, they won’t work. Size?’
‘Um, five and a half – can get away with a six.’
‘Leave it with me.’
It takes Jillian forty-five minutes to return with a pair of size-six silver strappy sandals, courtesy of Meg. It’s like having a personal shopper. I thank her again and take everything to my room, praying it fits because otherwise I’m going to be the office party/wake girl again and that’s just depressing.
By six thirty, I’m showered, my contacts are in, my makeup done and I’m curling the ends of my hair with my straighteners. I’m excited for this evening, it feels like a befittingly glitzy end to a very unglamorous week. I can only dress down for so long before I feel like I should be living under a bridge.
