Page 5 of Who’s That Girl?

Though to tell you the truth, it’s not as much fun as I thought it would be, since you can’t drive faster than twenty miles an hour in London, I reflect as I pull out of my parking space and immediately hit rush-hour traffic.

In fact you’re probably quicker on the Tube.

My phone suddenly springs to life and starts ringing shrilly. I glance at the clock on the dashboard: it’s not even 8 a.m.

‘Hello, Merryweather PR … Ah, yes, wonderful to hear from you. Now, about that contract …’ Putting in my earpiece, so I can be hands-free when I’m driving, I quickly switch into work mode and start fielding calls.

Twenty minutes later and I’m running late. The traffic is terrible, worse than usual. It’s all to do with the Olympics. There’s a huge urban development programme going on in London at the moment and they’ve started demolishing all these old buildings in preparation for 2012. I read in the paper something about how it’s one of the biggest and most complex visions ever in sheer size and scope: ‘Dig, Demolition, Design’, they’ve named it. But it’s not just limited to the East End of London. Apparently, the whole city’s being regenerated. There’s even plans to build this amazing, state-of-the-art design centre not that far from my office and they’re digging up all these thousands of tons of earth for the foundations. ‘A feat of engineering,’ the newspapers called it.

A great stonking big hole in the ground that’s making me late is what I call it, I fume, still edging along at a snail’s pace. Frustrated, I drum my fingers on the steering wheel, feeling the ever-present knot in my stomach tighten as I glance at the time. Shit. I start running through my diary in my head. I’ve got a big week ahead of me and masses to do this morning. I don’t want to be late.

Then I see a sign that makes my heart sink:

ROADWORKS AHEAD:

FOLLOW DIVERSION.

This is all I need. Now I really am going to be late.

Exasperated, I follow the cars as they merge into one lane and begin crawling through the bright orange traffic cones. I mean, seriously, can we go any slower? I glance at the speedometer. I’m going less than five miles an hour! At this rate I’ll get to the office by … I try doing the calculations in my head. Oh God, I don’t know, but it’s going to take forever. And I still won’t have got there.

Painstakingly slowly we take a left and start weaving down various side streets until finally I see what looks like a main road ahead. Hopefully we’re nearing the end of the diversion. I spot a set of lights. And they’re green. Come on, come on, come on. Cars in front of me are filtering through.

I edge forwards, bumper to bumper. And now the lights are turning to amber. I try to squeeze through.

They change to red. Argh.

Thwarted, I stop dead. Feeling the pressure building, I sit hunched over the steering wheel. OK, come on now, Charlotte, just relax, I instruct myself sternly. Getting all stressed out isn’t going to make you go any faster, is it? Let’s just do some relaxing breathing. Like we do in yoga. Closing my eyes, I flare my nostrils and take a deep breath. In and out. In and out. In and—

Oh, sod it. I snap open my eyes. I’m going to have to ring Bea and see if she can rearrange my diary. I’m supposed to be on a conference call in fifteen minutes. I call the office. But just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse.

It does.

I’ve got no reception.

Great. Just great. What am I going to do now?

Hanging up the call in exasperation, I glance back at the lights: they’re still red. These must be the longest lights in history. Distractedly, I let my eyes drift along the road, taking in my surroundings. There’s a newsagent’s on the corner, people waiting at the bus stop, a tatty tanning salon that looks like it’s been there for years. Actually, now I think of it, it has been there for years.

I haven’t been paying attention, but now I realise where I am. I used to drive down this road to work every morning when I first moved to London. Only back then I used to drive in the opposite direction. I wonder how long it is since I last came down here. My memory flicks back. It was my first job and I was only twenty-one. God, it seems like another lifetime. Like another person.

Thinking back, my gaze floats across the intersection. Opposite, a line of cars are waiting and my eyes fall on the one at the front. It’s an old Beetle, just like I used to drive back then. Gosh, how funny. It’s almost identical. Same funny tangerine colour with the boxy little grille and rust around the headlights. It’s even got a WWF sticker like I used to have, peeling off on the windscreen. I glance at the driver.

Oh my God, she looks just like me!

Me when I was twenty-one.

She’s singing along to the radio, scrunching her dark, curly hair in the rear-view mirror just like I used to. She’s even wearing a red-and-white T-shirt a bit like the one I always used to wear …

I stare in amazement as the lights change and the Beetle drives towards me.

Beeeeeeeeeeeeep.

The honking of a horn snaps me out of my daze and I slam my foot on the accelerator. The engine promptly stalls. Bollocks. Flustered, I quickly turn the ignition. Only I’m all fingers and thumbs and I can’t get it to start and now several cars are honking their horns and – Suddenly the engine fires into life.

With an embarrassing screech of tyres I speed away from the lights, my mind whirring. I can’t believe how much that girl looked like me when I was younger. The resemblance was uncanny. If it wasn’t impossible, I’d almost think it was me. Goosebumps prickle on my arms and I give a little shiver. God, that was the weirdest thing …

Ahead, I see a sign looming – END OF DIVERSION – and feel a rush of relief. Thank God. My phone. Hallelujah! I’ve got a signal. Plus five missed calls. OK, back to the real world. And slamming my foot on the accelerator, I speed-dial the office.