Chapter Six
On Tuesday morning, I wake up feeling giddy. I can't go to work today. No, that would kill my mood.
I call Alicia to let her know that I won't make it to work today, and instead I head around the city, walking aimlessly as I mull over this whole thing between me and Sacha.
I really do believe I can be a good boyfriend if I put an effort into it. Just what to do…
Somehow I find myself in the lobby of a City job office. William Green. I glance at the clock on the wall and notice that it's eleven o clock sharp. What am I doing here?
I turn and see a familiar girl running towards the glass doors.
"Rebecca," I call out to her.
She stops and turns around, her face red. "Haållø," she says, gulping. "Haåll… Oh. Hell… Hello."
I smile amusedly at her. "This isn't the sort of place I would have expected to find you," I say in a friendly tone. "You're not after a City job, are you?"
"Actually," she says haughtily, "I'm thinking of a change of career. Maybe into foreign banking. Or futures broking."
"Really?" I say. I think of her ideas and smile again when I remember coloured cheques. "That's a shame."
She meets my eyes. "Well…" she clears her throat. "What are you doing here, anyway?"
That is a good question. I think quickly to the first excuse I can find. "Oh, I recruit from here quite often," I say easily. "They're very efficient. Soulless, but efficient." Every word is true. I shrug nonchalantly and glance down at her briefcase. "Have they fixed you up with anything yet?"
"I've…" she says, hesitating. "I've got a number of options open to me. I'm just considering my next move."
"I see," I say. I pause. "Did you take the day off to come here?" I most certainly did.
"Yes," she says indignantly. "Of course I did."
"So— what are you up to now?" I ask.
"Well, I've got bits and pieces to do," she says airily. "Calls to make, people to see. That kind of thing."
"Ah," I say wisely, nodding. "Yes. Well. Don't let me keep you." I look around. "And I hope it all works out for you, job-wise."
"Thanks," she says with a businesslike smile.
I head out the glass doors and down the street where I wait to hail a taxi. Finally, one arrives and I get in.
"Where to?" grunts the taximan.
I pause. Where should I go? Then I remember my promise to Sacha about buying her luggage. I open my mouth to say "Harrods", but then I spot Rebecca walking down the street dejectedly. I roll down the window.
"I know you're a very busy woman, with a lot to do," I say instead out the window. Rebecca looks up and sees me, shocked. "But if you had the off half-hour to spare—you wouldn't be interested in doing a little shopping, would you?"
She looks speechless for a moment or two. "I don't mind," she manages to say and gets into the taxi next to me. She shoots me a nervous look and sets her briefcase on the ground, which makes a hollow sound that makes me suspect she has nothing in the briefcase.
"Harrods, please," I say to the taxi driver.
There is a bit of silence as we drive along.
"You know what?" Rebecca says, breaking the silence. "Banks should run January sales. Everyone else does."
I look at Rebecca, amused. "Banks?"
"Why not?" she says defensively. "They could reduce their charges for a month or something. And so could building societies. Big posters in the windows, 'Prices Slashed'…" She pauses to think. "Or maybe they should have April sales, after the end of the tax year. Investment houses could do it, too. 'Fifty percent off a selected range of funds'."
"A unit trust sale," I say slowly, processing this. "Reductions on all upfront charges."
"Exactly," she says. "Everyone's a sucker for a sale. Even rich people."
God, she's a genius. I'm on a taxi with a genius. I pull out a small black notebook and scribble the ideas down. Maybe I should bring them up to Alicia. Brandon C could have a sale, for all I know.
I look up and see Rebecca watching me write. "Rebecca, are you serious about leaving journalism?" I ask.
"Oh," she says. "I don't know. Maybe."
"And you really think banking would suit you better?"
"Who knows?" she says, sounding a bit irritated. "Elly Granger is leaving Investor's Weekly News," she adds. "She's joining Wetherby's as a fund manager."
"I heard," I say. "Doesn't surprise me. But you're nothing like Elly Granger. You have imagination. She doesn't."
Rebecca puts on a smile, but then sheds it a bit and I realize my mistake. You have imagination sounds exactly like those stupid things people say to patronize those who are… less talented than the rest. That was not what I was going for, at all.
I glance at Rebecca and she's looking out the window so I follow her gaze to a lady n a pink velour jogging suit who is trying to cross the road. She's holding several bags of shopping and a pug dog, and she keeps losing grasp of one or another of them and having to put something down. Then suddenly, she loses one of her bags and it drops on the ground, falls open, and three huge tubs of ice cream come out of it and start rolling down the road.
I have to clamp my lips not to laugh.
The woman starts chasing her ice cream down the road with her pug dog in tow. I start laughing helplessly until I have to wipe tears from my eyes. Rebecca looks over at me surprised as she bursts into fits of giggles as well.
"Oh God," she manages to say at last. "I know you shouldn't laugh at people. But I mean…"
"That dog!" I say, laughing again just thinking about it. "That bloody dog!"
"That outfit!" she says, shuddering a bit. "I'm sorry, but pink velour jogging suits should be banned from this planet."
"I couldn't agree more," I say, nodding seriously. "Pink velour jogging suits are hereby banned. Along with cravats." I reflect on the topic of the office fight a few days ago. What was it with ties?
"And men's briefs," she says, blushing. "And toffee-flavoured popcorn."
"Right," I say. "So we're banning pink velour jogging suits, cravats, men's briefs, toffee-flavoured popcorn…"
"And punters with no change," says the taxi driver form the front.
"Fair enough," I say with a little shrug. "Punters with no change."
"And punters who vomit. They're the worst."
"Okay…"
"And punters who don't know where the fuck they're going."
I exchange glances with Rebecca and she starts giggling again.
"And punters who don't speak the bloody language," adds the taxi driver, not finished. "Drive you crazy."
"Right," I say. "So… most punters, in fact."
"Don't get me wrong," says the taxi driver. "I've got nothing against foreigners." He pulls up outside of Harrods. "Here we are. Going shopping, are you?"
"That's right," I say, getting out my wallet to pay the man.
"So—what're you after?"
Rebecca looks at me expectantly.
"Luggage," I say. I hand a ten pound note to the driver. "Keep the change."
—
As we walk around for a bit, we split off, looking at all the luggage. I come up to Rebecca who is sitting on a carpeted pedestal next to a red leather vanity case. Hmm, that looked a bit like the larger version of her purse I saw her with the first time I saw her…
"So— what do you think?" I ask. "Anything worth buying?"
"Well…" she says slowly. "It depends. They all look great."
"They do, don't they?" I repeat. I follow her gaze around the department. "But which one would you choose? If you had to buy one of these suitcases, which one would it be?" Honestly, I am so glad to have her opinion here. It's good to take advice from a girl when you're shopping for something for a girl, I decide.
"To be honest, this isn't really my field," Rebecca says regretfully.
"What isn't?" I ask incredulously. "Shopping?"
"Luggage," she explains. "It's not an area I've put a lot of time into. I should have done, I know, but…"
I smile a bit. "Well… never mind. As a nonexpert, which would you choose?"
She begins to smile a bit and gets on her feet. "Hmm. Well, let's have a closer look."
—
We spend hours picking and testing luggage bags. We rank each bag on size, style, weight, and practicality. The process is a lot of fun and we're laughing and enjoying ourselves as we narrow the bags down to two: a practical dark green leather case, or a pale beige calfskin case. Both rank beautifully, but the green one is a bit lighter, and therefore more practical. I survey both bags and make my remarks.
I mention how the green one would be more practical, how it's lighter, the wheels are better, and how the other bag would probably scuff in minutes. Throughout my remarks, Rebecca gives noncommittal grunts that gave away her thoughts immediately. I grin inwardly and ask an assistant to get me a pale beige suitcase.
Delight spreads across Rebecca's face and immediately I feel as if I have done a great deed to humanity, which is ridiculous. All I've done is picked up on little cues and acted upon them. After all, if I ask for someone's advice, I should bother to listen to it, shouldn't I?
As I take the bag to the checkout counter, I feel my face breaking from smiling. I had a lot of fun with Rebecca, and to be honest, I didn't want it to end right then. A guilty weight settles in my stomach - what am I doing, considering spending the day with someone who isn't my girlfriend, and who isn't even a work relation? But she was so helpful… I'd feel bad leaving her here. As I pay for the bag I make a decision: I'll buy Rebecca lunch. It's the least I could do for her help.
I return to Rebecca with bag in hand. "All sorted out. Rebecca, I'm incredibly grateful to you for your help," I begin.
"Great!" she says loudly. "Well, I must be on my—"
"So I was wondering," I interrupt, before I lose my nerve, "would you like some lunch?"
—
At Harvey Nichols, I order a bottle of chilled wine in the manner of celebration. I pour it for the both of us and make a toast to luggage. I can have fun, too.
Rebecca looks positively glowing. She looks so much happier and in her comfort zone than I usually saw her. I reach into my pocket out of habit to check for work messages. Old habits die hard.
There was only a message from Sacha. Don't like your workers. Indignant, a thought immediately flashes through my head. They're not my workers. They're my friends, family even, who happen to work with and under me.
"Thanks for your card, by the way," Rebecca says suddenly.
"What?" I say, looking up from my phone. I come back to reality. "Oh." I smile. "You're welcome. It was nice to bump into you that night."
"It's a great place," Rebecca says. Is her face red, or is it the lighting? "Great for table-hopping."
The incident of Rebecca's random meeting with my parents from last week comes back to me and I smile. "Indeed." I glance at the open menu lying on the table. "Do you know what you want?"
"Ahm…" Rebecca scans the menu pensively. 'I think I'll just have… erm… fish cakes. And rocket salad."
"Good choice," I commend. "And thanks for coming along today. It's always good to have a second opinion."
"No problem," Rebecca says cheerfully, taking a sip of her wine. "Hope you enjoy the case."
I pause. Right. I had forgotten to explain who it was for. "It's not for me. It's for Sacha," I say reluctantly. Mentally, I remind myself of my goal to be a better boyfriend.
"Oh, right," Rebecca nods knowingly. "Who's Sacha? Your sister?"
"My girlfriend," I say. I beckon a waiter and point out the orders. Myself, I wanted the squid. The squid at Harvey Nichols was divine. The waiter nods and I turn back to Rebecca. "All right?"
"No. No, it's not. You didn't tell me that case was for your girlfriend." Her voice sounds strangled. "You didn't even tell me you had a girlfriend."
I paused, examining the situation. I had assumed that… well, Sacha and I had been together for such a long time, I never bothered to explain things to people anymore. Besides, my life was so much more than Sacha. "I see." I pick up a piece of bread and begin to break it apart, contemplating how to make this obvious shock gentler on Rebecca. "Sacha and I have been together for a while now. I'm sorry if I gave… any other impression."
"That's not the point. It's just… it's all wrong."
"Wrong?" What point was Rebecca Bloomwood getting at?
"You should have told me we were choosing a case for your girlfriend. It would have made things… different."
I stare at Rebecca. Suitcases are suitcases, right? It doesn't matter who for; that doesn't change how good a suitcase was. "Rebecca," I say patiently. "You're getting this all out of proportion. I wanted your opinion on suitcases. End of story."
"Are you going to tell your girlfriend you asked for my advice?" she accuses.
"Of course I am," I say lightly, laughing a little. "I expect she'll be rather amused." I can just imagine it. Aw, my little Lukie… you had to get someone's advice to buy something for your girlfriend? It's alright, at least you tried. Love you.
"I'm sorry," Rebecca says in trembling voice, interrupting my thoughts. "I haven't got time for lunch after all."
"Rebecca, don't be silly," I say, snapping out of it. "Look, I'm sorry you didn't know about my girlfriend. But we can still be friends, can't we?"
"No," she says, on the verge of tears. "No, we can't. Friends treat each other with respect. But you don't respect me, do you, Luke? You think I'm a joke. A nothing. Well… well, I'm not."
And before I can say anything, she turns and walks out of the restaurant.
