boss. Fake it from there.’
No response, none expected. Good girl. Ed is doing some repair work on one of Laura’s trainers that has come undone, or she says it has, because Ed’s attention means everything to her.
‘We bumped into each other in a pal of mine’s office,’ I go on. ‘You were sitting at your computer, I walked in. Otherwise we don’t know each other fromAdam.’ And very softly, as an afterthought: ‘Have you had anything on Rosebud while I was in Northwood?’
To all of which I get not a flicker of a response.
We have a threesome knock-up, bypassing Laura at the net. Florence is one of God’s athletes: effortless timing and reactions, agile as a gazelle and too graceful for her own good. Ed does his usual leaping and lunging but keeps his eyes harddown between rallies. I suspect that his studied lack of interest in Florence is for Laura’s benefit: he doesn’t want his little sister to get upset.
Another rally between the three of us until Laura wails that she is being left out and it’s no fun any more. We pause everything while Ed drops to his knees to console her. This is the ideal moment for Florence and me to stand casually face to facewith our hands on our hips and wrap up our cover story.
‘My friend your employer is a commodity trader and you’re a high-class temporary.’
But instead of acknowledging my story, she decides to become aware of Laura’s distress and Ed’s attempts to cheer her up. With a cry of ‘Hey, you two, break that up at once!’ she bounds to the net and decrees that we will change partners forthwith and itwill be the men versus the women in mortal combat, the best of three games and she will serve first. She is on her way to the opposite court when I touch her bare arm.
‘You’re all right with that? You heard me. Yes?’
She swings round and stares at me.
‘I don’t feel like fucking lying any more,’ she snaps full voiced, eyes blazing. ‘Not to him or anybody else. Got that?’
I got it, but did Ed?Mercifully he shows no sign of having done so. Striding to the other side of the net, she prises Laura’shand from Ed’s and commands him to join me. We play our epic match, the world’s men versus the world’s women. Florence savages every shuttle that comes her way. With a lot of help from us men, the women achieve their supremacy over us and, racquets held high, process in triumph to their changingroom and Ed and I process to ours.
Is it her love life? I am asking myself. Those lonely tears I saw but didn’t remark on? Or are we dealing with a case of what the Office shrinks are pleased to call camel’s-back syndrome, when the things you’re not allowed to talk about suddenly outweigh the things that you are, and you go down temporarily under the strain?
Extracting my Office mobile phonefrom my locker I step into the corridor, press for Florence and get an electronic voice telling me this line is disconnected. I try a couple of times more, still no joy. I go back to the changing room. Ed has showered and is sitting on the slatted bench with a towel round his neck.
‘I was wondering,’ he muses grudgingly, unaware that I had left the room and have now returned. ‘Well, you know.Only if you’re up for it, sort of thing. Maybe we could do a meal somewhere. Not at the bar. Laura doesn’t like it. Out somewhere. The four of us. On me.’
‘You mean
now
?’
‘Yeah. If you’re up for it. Why not?’
‘With Florence?’
‘I said. Us four.’
‘How do you know she’s free?’
‘She is. I asked her. She said yes.’
Quick think, then, yes, I’m up for it. And the moment I get a chance – preferablybefore the meal rather than after – I’ll find out what the devil’s got into her head.
‘There’s the Golden Moon up the road,’ I suggest. ‘Chinese. They stay open late. You could give them a try.’
I have barely finished saying this when my encrypted Office mobile phone lets out its hee-haw. Florence after all, I
No response, none expected. Good girl. Ed is doing some repair work on one of Laura’s trainers that has come undone, or she says it has, because Ed’s attention means everything to her.
‘We bumped into each other in a pal of mine’s office,’ I go on. ‘You were sitting at your computer, I walked in. Otherwise we don’t know each other fromAdam.’ And very softly, as an afterthought: ‘Have you had anything on Rosebud while I was in Northwood?’
To all of which I get not a flicker of a response.
We have a threesome knock-up, bypassing Laura at the net. Florence is one of God’s athletes: effortless timing and reactions, agile as a gazelle and too graceful for her own good. Ed does his usual leaping and lunging but keeps his eyes harddown between rallies. I suspect that his studied lack of interest in Florence is for Laura’s benefit: he doesn’t want his little sister to get upset.
Another rally between the three of us until Laura wails that she is being left out and it’s no fun any more. We pause everything while Ed drops to his knees to console her. This is the ideal moment for Florence and me to stand casually face to facewith our hands on our hips and wrap up our cover story.
‘My friend your employer is a commodity trader and you’re a high-class temporary.’
But instead of acknowledging my story, she decides to become aware of Laura’s distress and Ed’s attempts to cheer her up. With a cry of ‘Hey, you two, break that up at once!’ she bounds to the net and decrees that we will change partners forthwith and itwill be the men versus the women in mortal combat, the best of three games and she will serve first. She is on her way to the opposite court when I touch her bare arm.
‘You’re all right with that? You heard me. Yes?’
She swings round and stares at me.
‘I don’t feel like fucking lying any more,’ she snaps full voiced, eyes blazing. ‘Not to him or anybody else. Got that?’
I got it, but did Ed?Mercifully he shows no sign of having done so. Striding to the other side of the net, she prises Laura’shand from Ed’s and commands him to join me. We play our epic match, the world’s men versus the world’s women. Florence savages every shuttle that comes her way. With a lot of help from us men, the women achieve their supremacy over us and, racquets held high, process in triumph to their changingroom and Ed and I process to ours.
Is it her love life? I am asking myself. Those lonely tears I saw but didn’t remark on? Or are we dealing with a case of what the Office shrinks are pleased to call camel’s-back syndrome, when the things you’re not allowed to talk about suddenly outweigh the things that you are, and you go down temporarily under the strain?
Extracting my Office mobile phonefrom my locker I step into the corridor, press for Florence and get an electronic voice telling me this line is disconnected. I try a couple of times more, still no joy. I go back to the changing room. Ed has showered and is sitting on the slatted bench with a towel round his neck.
‘I was wondering,’ he muses grudgingly, unaware that I had left the room and have now returned. ‘Well, you know.Only if you’re up for it, sort of thing. Maybe we could do a meal somewhere. Not at the bar. Laura doesn’t like it. Out somewhere. The four of us. On me.’
‘You mean
now
?’
‘Yeah. If you’re up for it. Why not?’
‘With Florence?’
‘I said. Us four.’
‘How do you know she’s free?’
‘She is. I asked her. She said yes.’
Quick think, then, yes, I’m up for it. And the moment I get a chance – preferablybefore the meal rather than after – I’ll find out what the devil’s got into her head.
‘There’s the Golden Moon up the road,’ I suggest. ‘Chinese. They stay open late. You could give them a try.’
I have barely finished saying this when my encrypted Office mobile phone lets out its hee-haw. Florence after all, I
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