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‘Nope, no problem,’ I replied, my heart beginning to hammer against my chest. ‘I must have put it in the bedroom for safekeeping.’
Though I absolutely couldn’t remember doing that, but it had to be somewhere in the flat. I could remember signing for it and then … nothing. I strode down the hall, determined to find it. This was awful; I hated letting people down. What would my new neighbour think of me? I liked to make a good first impression and this was basically the opposite of that. I could even picture the package, an A4-sized manila envelope with some documents inside, so why couldn’t I also picture what the fuck I’d done with it?
‘Won’t be a sec!’ I called, flinging open my wardrobe and rooting through it at speed, pushing all my hangers to one end and then the other, feeling like I wanted to scream. There was no sign of it in here. I slammed the wardrobe doors shut again and then grabbed a tissue from the box on my bedside table to dab my no doubt now-very-shiny face.
‘Did you find it?’ Jack called, clearly a bit impatient now.
I couldn’t imagine what was so important that it couldn’t wait until tomorrow. Surely he could see I was in the middle of something?
Trying to compose myself, I walked back out into the hall and stopped dead. Much to my horror, Tyler, dressed in signature head-to-toe Armani, was standing on the doorstep behind a decidedly agitated Jack.
‘Rebecca! There you are!’
For some reason, Tyler’s booming American voice sounded too big and brash for the stairwell of our very modest block of flats. Perhaps it was just because my nerves were jangled.
‘Hello,’ I said, feeling my cheeks burning red, just to add to the attractiveness.
Meanwhile, Jack was looking at me expectantly.
‘Have you got it, then?’ he asked.
I shook my head. ‘I’m really sorry, but—’
‘Oh for god’s sake,’ he said under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck.
‘Well, if it’s that important, you should have made sure you were in to sign for it, shouldn’t you?’ I snapped at him.
Thanks to his terrible timing and his inability to take responsibility for his own stuff, I was now on the back foot before the evening had even begun.
‘Oh, I’m sorry. Was it too much to expect a neighbour to take in a package for me and then to actually be able to find it again?’ he replied sarcastically.
‘Whoa,’ said Tyler. ‘What’s your problem, man?’
Jack swung around to stare at him and then turned back to me with a face like thunder.
‘Listen, if you do by some miracle manage to locate it tonight, no matter what time, please drop it in to me, OK?’ said Jack, looking as though he was about to spontaneously combust.
‘I’m sure I can manage that,’ I replied, prickling with self-righteousness but also feeling a tiny bit guilty. I was usually very on top of things like this and it did sound as though it was something quite important.
With an overly dramatic sigh, Jack removed himself from my doorway and sloped the few steps across the landing to his own front door, where he proceeded to fumble around trying to open it, first struggling with the top lock and then the bottom. Meanwhile, Tyler was still on the doorstep, all calm and composed, looking like Richard Gere at the end of Pretty Woman. This was so far from the vibe I’d wanted to give off that it was almost comical. I’d wanted to waft to the door in a state of complete serenity, smelling of Jo Malone and with the London Grammar track playingly hauntingly in the background. Now it must be glaringly obvious to him that I wasn’t the supremely organised, together person I pretended to be.
‘You’d better come in,’ I said, ushering Tyler over the threshold, my heart rate slowly returning to something resembling normality.
I could do this; I could get things back on track. I would forget about Jack’s unexpected interruption and enjoy my evening. A drink would help, I thought, eyeing up the expensive-looking bottle of red Tyler was holding. When he handed it to me, I stared intensely at the label, as though I was some sort of wine connoisseur.
‘This looks nice,’ I said approvingly.
As I stood aside to let Tyler pass, I caught Jack’s eye and quickly looked away. I’d had enough of him for one night. Perhaps it was karma that he was apparently still unable to open his own front door. I tutted as he started throwing himself against it with his shoulder, making a deafening racket that the whole block would probably be able to hear. The doors could be temperamental, but this was absolutely ridiculous.
‘Nice neighbours you’ve got there,’ said Tyler, chuckling to himself.
I closed my door and watched him shrug off his black wool three-quarter-length coat and then uncoil his mustard cashmere scarf. He kept his suit jacket on, which made me feel a bit like I was about to be interviewed for a job.
‘He’s new,’ I said, slightly distracted by the banging and crashing outside.
Seriously, what was wrong with that guy?
‘I love this photograph, by the way,’ said Tyler, peering closely at the framed black and white shot of Catherine Deneuve I’d hung on the wall when we (as in me and my ex) had first moved in. Dan – the ex – had hated it, but it had been the one décor-related thing I hadn’t caved in on. Everything else was pretty much to his taste, which I regretted now, of course, because here I was, living on my own, stuck with his characterless (he’d say minimalist) white walls and boring IKEA furniture. I ran my finger along the bottom of the frame, remembering how excited I’d been when I’d picked it out; how it had felt like an adventure to be decorating our new home together.
