21
By Friday evening, Rachel was utterly drained.
She’d spent almost her whole working week smothering the grief that threatened to seize her each time bereaved brothers and sisters were mentioned. The effort was exhausting.
Olivia Mason had sent over a folder full of research findings, plus her preferred list of articles for the new Lighthouse website – guides to the thoughts and feelings that cancer patients’ families might have, plus advice on how to handle their emotions.
In spite of Isaac’s warnings, Rachel had dug through the data and added several subjects to the roll – important things she felt Olivia had missed, but which she knew might matter to the people who applied for the charity’s help.
Outside the office, it was taking every ounce of Rachel’s remaining energy to appear happy and excited for Anna and Will. Shewas, of course, but she was also anxious and sad. Anna and Will were planning to get married over the August bank holiday weekend on his grandfather’s estate in Gloucestershire. For all their urging that she didn’t need to rush, Rachel intended to be out of the flat by then – she just had no idea where she’d go.
At 6.15 p.m. Rachel trudged to the ladies to change her top, apply a little perfume and touch up her make-up. Tonight was the night of Zack Lanson’s gig, and she was meeting Tom at Highgate Tube at seven.
‘Nice top,’ Jack said when she reappeared. He pointed at the forest-green wrap Rachel had put on with her indigo skinnies.
Itwasa nice top – a Marilyn Monroe-style shirt made of soft matte silk that crossed in a deep V over her chest and then tied at the side, pulling her in at the waist. She’d chosen it deliberately; she always felt good in it, and it was foxy without being too obvious.
‘Thanks.’ Rachel nodded. ‘It’s one of my favourites.’ She checked her emails one last time and then shut the lid of her laptop, leaning down to place it in the lockable cupboard beneath her desk so she didn’t have to lug it with her to the gig.
‘You off somewhere nice this evening? Out with your man, I suppose?’ Jack asked as she turned the key in the door. Rachel deliberately waited a few seconds before standing up to reply.
‘Just to a music thing,’ she said. ‘I’ve no idea whether the guy playing will be any good, though – the tickets were freebies through work.’
‘Hiswork, presumably?’
Rachel noted Jack’s refusal to ask her (pretend) boyfriend’s name.
‘Yeah.’
‘And what does he do?’
Rachel paused. This was starting to feel a little treacherous. It was one thing to delight in Jack’s misunderstanding of her relationship status, but quite another to start embroidering his mistake with half-truths and contorted facts. Her Valentine’s Day flowers had been from Laurence, and tonight she was out with Tom – two different men that, with no plan or forethought, she was now melding into a single fake partner.
‘He’s a graphic designer with a sideline in photography,’ Rachel said, deciding without difficulty that this sounded far cooler than ‘pensions actuary’.
Jack nodded, his eyes narrowing in annoyance. He sat up straighter, as though he were about to ask another question.
No, no, no, Rachel thought. She’d never been a good liar, and the more detailed her fantasy love life became the more likely she was to trip herself up, tangled in the web of her own fibs.
She looked at her watch. ‘I’d better get going. I’m meeting him at seven.’
‘Right. Have fun, then,’ Jack said.
He looked back at his computer screen, but Rachel observed with some satisfaction that he kept half an eye on her as she walked towards the door. She pretended not to notice, letting it swing shut with a bang.
When Rachel reached ground level at Highgate she was hot and bothered, her coat stuffed under her arm and her cheeks rosy from the stifling warmth of the Underground. Tom was standing by the exit, looking as cool and calm as always. He was wearing jeans and a navy down jacket, unzipped to reveal the soft cable knit underneath.
‘Hey!’ he said, smiling wide when he saw her.
‘Hey yourself.’ She smiled back. ‘You’ve not been here too long, have you?’
‘Nah.’ Tom shook his head. ‘We’d better get going, though, if we want to make it to the bar before Zack comes out. I have a feeling drinks might prove a necessity this evening, assuming you haven’t brought earplugs.’
Rachel slapped his arm as they fell into step and began walking up the street. ‘O ye of little faith,’ she said, and he laughed.
Within a few minutes they’d reached the venue for the gig: an arts centre in a vast Victorian villa. There was a crowd of young people outside, mostly girls in skimpy outfits but also the odd boy in spray-on jeans and designer trainers. Several were waving banners sporting slogans such asMARRY ME ZACK!,I want ur babiesandluv u + ur plain white tee.
‘Wow,’ Rachel said as she and Tom headed up the steps to the entrance. ‘We’ve found the right place, then.’
