‘No notes? You want me to rely on my memory?’
‘You’re not going to repeat anything we say.’
What did she mean? ‘Nick said you’d agreed to an interview.’
‘I’ve done no such thing.’
My heart sank. I was going to bloodykillhim. ‘So, why did you agree to see me?’
‘This is a pre-interview interview. We’re simply going to chat and if I decide I like you, I will allow you to interview me.’
Okay, maybe this wasn’t so bad. ‘So I can get you on the record afterwards?’
She took a slug of wine. ‘Well, I’ll need some time to decide.’
My neck muscles tensed. ‘How much time?’
‘A few days, a couple of weeks. We’ll see.’
Shit. I didn’t have a couple of weeks. And Nick had expressly told me I would be interviewing her. He was going to have some serious explaining to do.
‘We’ve met before, haven’t we?’
I nodded. Was that going to count for me or against me? ‘At the piano shop, I played a tune for you.’ This wasn’t the time to mention we’d seen each other at the cemetery, too.
She didn’t respond. Instead, she drained her glass, and then reached for the bottle. There was only enough left to fill half her glass. She turned the bottle upside down, tapped the bottom and eked out a few more drops.
Oh boy.
‘I’ll go and get another bottle. Give me two seconds.’ And with that, she floated out of the room.
I let out a long breath. I really needed a drink. And she reallydidn’tneed a drink. I massaged my temples, trying to think straight. What the hell was I supposed to do? I grabbed my phone and was halfway through dialling Nick, when I heard footsteps. I hung up and swivelled round. But of course, it wasn’t Marcie. She’d been barefoot. This was a bloke I’d never seen before – most likely the person whom I’d spoken to on the intercom. He was wearing white cotton yoga pants and clogs.
He nodded at me then set about opening a tin of dog food. ‘I’m Ronan, by the way,’ he said over his shoulder as the meaty smell of Pedigree Chum wafted towards me. ‘I’m the chef.’ He was dividing the dog food into two bowls. Saffie must have had a little doggy brother or sister. ‘I hope you’re hungry.’
Was he talking to the dogs or me?
‘I ate before I came,’ I deadpanned.
Ronan slumped his shoulders. ‘Oh, shame.’ He turned back to his task.
Something brushed by my leg, making me jump. A white poodle was looking up at me expectantly, but at the sound of cutlery tapping a bowl, mooched over to Ronan.
‘There you are, Noodle. I knew you’d appear when you smelt food.’ He turned to me. ‘He sleeps all day, this one.’
Saffie was stretching in her basket, her nose twitching the air. ‘Come on then, beautiful,’ said Ronan. ‘Let’s have dinner outside. Marcie’s got a guest today.’ He headed out through a patio door and both dogs trotted after him.
I checked my watch.Shit. It was gone half-past and I was officially only allowed an hour. Where was Marcie?
For all I knew she’d fallen asleep somewhere. It was obvious that she was well and truly pissed. She wasn’t just nervous or a bit tipsy, she was hammered. However much I didn’t like it, I needed to pass her pre-interview interview and she needed to be sober to remember it. A shiny red Nespresso machine caught my eye. If I could make her a coffee or something, and help her sober up, I might be able to salvage things.
I got up and made a show of stretching. I couldn’t see Ronan in the garden, which hopefully meant he couldn’t see me. Maybe if I just went through the door Marcie had left by, and called her, she’d remember I was still waiting for her.
The doorway led to a living room. The carpet felt plush underfoot. It was thick-piled wool, not the crappy nylon stuff that covered my floors. In the centre of the room were two cream leather sofas facing each other and not theTV– the way they’re arranged in glossy magazines. And a chest below a sash window looked like it belonged in Hampton Court Palace – the wood was almost black with age. Everything was natural and traditional; no designer perspex chairs or ultra-modern cabinets.
It was a grown-up’s room and however much of a bust this interview was turning out to be, it was still nice to know that Marcie had taste.
And just as I was admiring how classy everything was, Marcie appeared in the doorway and belched. She’d added a tartan ski hat and Arsenal scarf to her ensemble and was cogent enough to notice me staring.
‘Got a bit cold in the cellar.’ She held up two dusty bottles of wine like trophies. ‘Go and get a corkscrew, Bonnie, love. There’s one in the kitchen somewhere.’
‘I was thinking maybe let’s leave the drinking for now.’
‘Oh, don’t be such a prude. Wine’s barely alcohol.’ She thrust the bottles at me. ‘Get a move on. I’m thirsty and we haven’t got all day.’
