Juliet, her eyes sparkling, said, ‘Just don’t forget to come back.’
One of the best things about seven-year-olds, Maddy had discovered, was that when something was irretrievably lost, you could offer them fifty pence each to spend on sweets if they found it and they wouldn’t give up until they did. On Sunday morning Tiff and Sophie had gone through the bathroom with all the attention to detail of a pair of forensic pathologists, finally locating the missing gas-permeable lens stuck to the side of a pack of make-up remover pads.
Solemnly presenting it to Maddy, Sophie had said, ‘I think probably that might be worth a pound each.’
Delving back into her purse, Maddy shook her head sorrowfully. ‘You are your father’s daughter.’
Sophie looked at her as if she was mad. ‘Of course I’m my father’s daughter. Otherwise he wouldn’t be my dad.’
Anyway, two pounds had been a complete bargain, her lenses were back where they belonged, in her eyes, and the dreaded glasses had been relegated once more to her bedside drawer. Poor old glasses, they weren’t really that bad, they certainly didn’t deserve to be regarded with such loathing and contempt. For a moment, as she headed into Bath, Maddy almost felt sorry for them. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. She had a deep psychological aversion to her glasses, hated them with a passion. When you’d spent your entire time at school being taunted and called Speccy Four-eyes –
unoriginal but cruelly effective – it was hard not to. Just the thought of that first pair of hideous pink plastic NHS specs was enough to bring all those old feelings of inadequacy flooding back. She was nine again, not only short-sighted but distressingly plain, the archetypal ugly duckling with her badly cut hair, wonky teeth, pale eyelashes and matchstick legs. Basically, not a pretty sight. No wonder everyone had spent the best part of twelve years making fun of her.
Oh well, at least it had been character-forming. And, thank goodness, she had blossomed since then.
The traffic in Bath had slowed to its habitual morning standstill. While the engine was idling, Maddy checked her face in the rear-view mirror, making sure she didn’t have cornflake bits stuck to her teeth (teeth that were no longer crooked, thanks to three years of intensive brace-wearing – oh yes, her other nickname had been Metal Mickey. She’d been an absolute stunner at school).
Ruffling her hair – it was blonde, layered and responded well to a quick ruffle – Maddy smiled experimentally at her reflection, as she would soon be smiling at ... um, thingy.
Superman. Like an idiot she’d chucked her ruined white trousers in the bin on Sunday morning, forgetting that the business card he’d given her was still in the back pocket. Oh well, didn’t matter. She’d find out soon enough.
Another quick practice smile reassured Maddy that she was looking OK (God bless eyelash dye), her lip gloss was still intact and her nose hadn’t gone shiny in the heat. She was wearing a turquoise top, above-the-knee pink skirt and green and pink striped sandals – smarter than her usual T-shirt and jeans, but the staff at Callaghan and Fox wouldn’t know she was only doing it to impress their handsome boss –
well, hopefully handsome – ooh, traffic’s moving again. Nearly there now.
The offices were on the top floor of Claremont House. Having parked in the visitor’s car park, Maddy delivered the regular order to the accountants on the first floor before venturing on up the stairs. Through a glass door she saw a plump girl typing away behind a sleek yellow and white reception desk. As Maddy’s cool-box clunked against the door frame, the girl looked up. Maddy manoeuvred herself through the door and said, ‘Hi, I’m from the Peach Tree Deli, I was asked to—’
‘Oh brilliant, you’re here!’ The girl stopped typing and jumped to her feet. ‘We were told to expect you – I can’t tell you how excited we all are. Everyone’s so fed up with being messed around by Blunkett’s, but you just kind of get used to rubbish sandwiches after a while, don’t you? If they bring something you actually like, it’s a bonus ... oh, wow,’ she went on happily as Maddy began lifting out the contents of the cool-box, lining up the blue and white plates and deftly removing their cellophane wrappings. Within seconds they’d been joined by half a dozen other members of staff, all exclaiming greedily over the prospect of free food. But there was no sign of Superman.
‘Is ... um, your boss here?’
‘In his office, on the phone to a client. He’ll be out in a minute – ooh, is that smoked salmon?’ The receptionist looked as if she might start drooling. ‘And what’s in that one – some kind of chickeny stuff ?’
‘Chicken in tarragon mayonnaise. Here’s a list of some of the other things we do, and these are our prices.’ Maddy felt her heart break into a gallop as somewhere, out of view, an office door opened and shut. All of a sudden realising how much she was looking forward to seeing her rescuer again, she prayed she wouldn’t blush.
‘About time too,’ exclaimed the plump receptionist as footsteps grew louder down the corridor.
Glancing over her shoulder she sang out chirpily, ‘Food’s here! Any longer and we’d have started without you.’
Maddy looked up and saw him smiling at her. Her mouth went dry and her ears began to buzz.
No, it couldn’t be, it just couldn’t.
‘Hello there,’ said Kerr McKinnon, coming over to join them. He clearly hadn’t a clue who she was, other than the girl he had lifted over a high wall on Saturday night. Well, that was hardly surprising when you considered the evidence. His hair may have been a lot longer then, and he’d filled out generally, but otherwise he was more or less the same. She’d changed, far more than he had.
Oh God, this was horrible, horrible ..
‘ Kerr, you’ll have to break it to Blunkett’s.’ One of the other girls was greedily cramming a chilli tuna sandwich into her mouth. ‘We don’t want them any more, they’re sacked. Josh, you big pig, don’t eat both the prawn ones!’
‘Looks like you’ve got yourself some new clients,’ Kerr McKinnon told Maddy with a wink.
Turning to the receptionist he said, ‘See? Don’t say I never do anything for you.’
Kerr McKinnon.
‘ Excuse me.’ Maddy took an abrupt step backwards, her mind in such a whirl she almost couldn’t speak. Clumsily, she turned away from the receptionist’s desk.
‘Are you OK?’ Looking concerned, Kerr McKinnon reached out to put a hand on her arm.
Maddy pulled away, nodding and wondering if she might actually faint, which would be ridiculous .. .
Needing to get out, she left the offices and stumbled down the stairs. The sun had turned the inside of the car into a furnace. Maddy sat sideways in the driver’s seat with her feet outside the car and her head in her hands. The greatest shock wasn’t seeing Kerr McKinnon again; if she had passed him in a crowded street in Bath, say, her knee-jerk reaction would have been far more straightforward: initial recognition swiftly followed by a rush of disdain. Or hatred. Maybe anger, followed by contempt. And then within a few seconds it would have been over. She wouldn’t, for instance, have raced over and started attacking him. If he’d caught her eye she would simply have shot him a look of loathing, before walking on.
But this was completely different, and the greatest shock of all was realising how much, after meeting and talking to Kerr McKinnon on Saturday night, she had been looking forward to seeing him again.