I’ve never hated myself more.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
‘Is Key West different to Kanye West?’ My assistant Katie pauses, her young face contorted with confusion. ‘Or is it one of his old names? Like, he’s Ye some of the time and Kanye others, but he used to be Key West?’
We have American clients arriving this week for a big event at the Norris Museum and it turns out the UK education system has failed my young protégée.
‘Er, different things,’ I hedge, not wanting to embarrass her too much – but then unable to resist. ‘Key West is a city in Florida, babe.’
She flushes and ducks her head as I smile affectionately at the top of her scalp.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ I tell her magnanimously. ‘Geography was never my strong suit either. For ages I thought they spoke Hollandaise in Holland.’
She perks up. ‘Didn’t you used to be a chef?’ she grins. ‘I bet that was a fun conversation when someone asked you for Hollandaise sauce on their Eggs Benedict.’
I laugh loudly and people walking by glance over.
It’s been another long day at work, planning for this event. The Florida couple are celebrating their thirtieth wedding anniversary and wanted to have it at the Norris because it’s where they had their first date. Which is both incredibly romantic and also very WTF – what kind of tedious monster has a first date at a museum? Either way, Katie’s popping back to mine to grab some paperwork she wants to get done tonight. I feel vaguely guilty over the prospect of making her work this evening, but I’m also enjoying the power trip. Plus, it really does urgently need doing and I’ve been so distracted lately.
Lucky Katie’s so brill.
I study her for a moment as she fiddles on her phone. Katie’s one of those cool people who can casually wear eyeliner every day without it a) looking like she’s due at a rave any minute and b) turning her face into some kind of asymmetrical Picasso mockery. She is fabulous and I feel fortunate to have her on my team. She’s only about twenty-three but has so much conviction and certainty over who she is. She – and all of her generation – seem to be so much braver than I was at her age. It gives me hope for the future of feminism. There’s an extra injection of who-the-fuck-cares about her – something I’m sorely lacking. As we approach my house, I close my eyes for a microsecond, trying to let her confidence wash over me. I want her feminism to seep into my pores, somehow, so I can be stronger and braver…
And that is when we’re catcalled.
‘HEYYYYYYYYYYY,’ comes a voice from inside a car, suddenly dawdling along threateningly beside us.
I glance at Katie, wondering if I can get away with minimal outrage. This is my chance to prove my credentials but I find that I increasingly don’t have the energy for confrontation. Her brow furrows as she stops and bends down, glaring into the car.
‘ESTHERRRRRRRRR!’ the creep in the car says now, and I realize that I recognize the battered, silver Alfa Romeo and its non-creep occupant.
‘Nick Wilde!’ I say with some surprise – and relief. ‘Katie, this is a guy I knew from school,’ I tell her, watching her hackles come down. I pause before adding lamely, ‘His mum was our drama teacher.’
‘Oh right,’ Katie says a little uncertainly. ‘I, er, had a drama teacher.’ Nick and I regard her blankly and she clears her throat. ‘Nice to, um, meet you!’ The stone-cool feminist is gone. ‘I just need to, er, text my flatmate about something…’ She backs away from us, looking panicked, and I wonder briefly if she is this awkward with our clients.
‘Sorry to shout at you from the road,’ Nick apologizes as I turn back to him. ‘It was clearly a hangover from my playground days. I thought I’d left that shouting-at-girls career behind me long ago.’ Beside him on the seat, Jackie the dog looks delighted to see me, clambering across his lap so she can enthusiastically lick my hand.
‘You’re lucky I didn’t have an Apple Tango to hand to throw in your face,’ I tell him serenely, stroking Jackie’slovely head. A thought occurs to me. ‘What are you doing driving around here?’
He laughs, leaning casually on the window. ‘I live around the corner!’ He points vaguely down the road and I shake my head.
‘How did I not know that?’
‘You didn’t ask.’
I clear my throat, feeling guilty. We had that whole car journey to Milton Keynes together, and I was too busy glancing in the side mirror at Alistair in the back seat.
‘Sorry,’ I mutter and he waves an unconcerned hand. The car stutters and stalls, as he curses and restarts the engine.
‘I better get this stupid thing home.’ He glances up and I notice his glasses are smudged. It makes his eyes look all misty, like he’s a character from an old-timey movie. ‘See you around?’ he smiles and I give a tiny wave as he drives off, Jackie leaping up on her seat to watch me well into the distance.
Katie returns to my side, breathing heavily. ‘Oh my god, I’m so sorry I was so embarrassing! Fit men make me so awkward, I forget all words. Did I actually say I had a drama teacher?’ She cringes. ‘Esther, I nearly asked him his thoughts on Kanye West!’ She turns to me. ‘What’s his deal anyway? Is he single?’
Another question I haven’t asked him. But if he lives around here and hasn’t popped up on my Tinder, he’s surely taken.
Why is Nick Wilde suddenly back in my life? The reuniondrinks, the Milton Keynes road trip, and now he happens to be driving by? As if I don’t have enough ghosts from my past haunting me right now.
‘No idea,’ I tell Katie dismissively, and turn the conversation back to something safe: helium balloons for the party – how many is too many?
