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I stare down at my phone and don’t know if to feel flattered or incensed that he used my CV to contact me. If he ever kept my CV that is, and hasn’t had my number ready all this time.
I’m even wondering if he knows my address and has been stalking my street.
I get halfway to the shops when something comes over me and I decide to call him back.
“Oh, Mirabelle? Is that you?” he answers, sounding excited.
“Yes, it’s me. I got your voicemail. I hadn’t recognised the number.”
“Oh… of course…”
A lorry comes blasting past on the street and it’s so loud, I don’t hear what else he’s saying.
“Sorry, I’m out and about and there are some crazy HGV drivers around.”
“I was saying, actually,” he laughs, “what are you doing right now?”
“Well, I’m shopping in Clerkenwell, where I live.”
“Oh, and no other plans today?”
“Nope.” The moment it’s out, I do wonder whether I ought to be more careful about what I tell weirdos who call me off the cuff like this.
“What about a drive somewhere? I could come and pick you up? To the coast or something? I feel like I haven’t been out of this fucking city in yonks and could do with some fresh air.”
“Um, that’s an interesting proposition.”
“I can prove I’m vaccinated and not a psycho killer, if you like? No criminal record. No points on my licence, even. Well, no points right now. Ihadpoints,” he laughs. “But then I decided to not speed anymore.”
The insinuation he likes—and no doubt owns—fast cars is almost enough for me to say yes.
“Well, I hadn’t planned on doing much today, so I suppose…”
“I’ll buy you fish and chips and drop you back home right to the door. No funny business whatsoever, I promise you.”
He’s used to getting what he wants, I can tell. He’s sharp as a tack and I already called him back, so he really believes this is mostly a done deal.
However, I would like to be driven somewhere today, be fed without having to cook and have another person to talk to. Freelancing means working from home and it has been pretty lonely. I’d resorted to working in cafés at one point, but sometimes the crying children and noisy coffee machines can be a little too distracting.
“Okay then, you got yourself a drive out,” I tell him.
“Great! Send me your address and I’ll be there in an hour.”
“Okay.”
He hangs up and I take a deep breath. I could turn back and go straight home again, but I’m nearly in town now and I could fancy a new item of clothing.
An hour later, a flash car does indeed come roaring down the street. A black Maserati that has a wicked sounding engine, a bit like how you’d imagine a dragon might speak. All the parking down this street is taken so he idles perilously in the middle of the road. Once he’s pipped his horn, I take that as my cue.
I’m wearing the black woollen dress, sleeveless and with a polo neck that I bought to wear for work at Chrissy’s and that seemed to drive Miles crazy. I just bought a pair of knee-high tan leather boots that I saw this morning and couldn’t resist—and I’ve paired those with a matching-in-colour leather jacket that I already had in my wardrobe.
Leaping down the stairs in my outfit, feeling great, I can’t help but swing my black leather crossover bag as I skip towards the waiting beast of a car.
He rolls down his window when he sees me. “Sorry, sorry, I’ve actually got a Reliant Robin parked nearby. I hope you weren’t expecting me to drive you about in this. It’s nicked and I need to dump it somewhere…”
I cackle and shake my head, rounding the vehicle anyway. When the door flips up, I’m pretty sure I must’ve taken hallucinogenic drugs this morning by accident because this is a highly lucid dream.
Climbing in, I notice the air is dominated by the smell of leather and that smoky cologne he likes to wear. Aidan’s wearing a pair of dark chinos that hug his muscular legs and a lightweight sweater that has a short zip to the collar. The zip is currently closed but I’d like to see him open it.
