‘Brutal in there today,’ she says, spreading a large white napkin across her lap and producing the smallest box of sushi I’ve ever seen from a company logo-printed canvas bag. ‘Haven’t seen him this bad since Insiders. That was when he had his health scare and Miri put her foot down.’
‘Miri?’
Daphne blesses me with a pitying look. ‘His second wife? The one who’s had him dashing up the stairs every morning?’
‘Oh, I haven’t met her.’
‘Nor are you likely to. She won’t come near this place.’ She expertly picks up a hosomaki roll and delivers it to her mouth. ‘So, Joe tells me the two of you are writing well.’
‘I think we are.’
‘It’s so good that he’s taking time to invest in you.’
What is she saying? ‘It’s good that we’re investing in each other.’
‘But only in the writing sense, yes?’
Not this again. ‘As friends, too.’
‘Just friends. I’m glad. I’ll admit, I was concerned. Especially given how close Joe and I are becoming…’ She leaves just enough of a pause for this to sink in, then rises elegantly from her chair. ‘We’ll be seeing so much more of each other soon, Otty. I hope you’re okay with that.’
It’s only when she walks away that I realise I don’t know whether she meant seeing more of me, or seeing more of Joe.
It’s almost 9 p.m. when we leave Ensign. My eyes ache so much I have to sit in Monty in the car park for a while until they adjust to the night view. When I blink, the ghost-image of my laptop screen reappears for a second, imprinted on my retina. Joe said he’d meet me at home – he’s volunteered to get a takeaway tonight as neither of us has the energy to cook. At least writing the remaining scenes at Ensign this week means a night free from work. Not that I reckon Joe or I will be awake for long after we’ve eaten.
As I lean back into my seat, two figures emerge from the glass doors and walk slowly across the car park. I follow them absent-mindedly, blinking again to coax the life back into my vision. The couple skirts the edge of the parked cars, their bodies passing through alternating shafts of streetlight and dark pools of shadow. Then, under the nearest light to me, they stop and face each other. Slowly, they embrace. And it’s only when they lean in to one another that the orange glow bathes their features.
I can’t believe it.
Joe said he wasn’t seeing anyone. Despite his two dates with Molly, I haven’t heard him mention seeing her again. I thought it was just him losing interest – but is this why?
And how could he be seeing her after all the jokes he’s made?
Has this been going on all along? And when was he going to tell me?
I feel sick, but I can’t stop watching.
Daphne rests her chin on Joe’s shoulder, his hands against her back. And if I didn’t know my car was hidden in the shadows between two others so nobody can see, I would swear that Daphne looks straight at me – and smiles.
Chapter Twenty-Four
JOE
I don’t know what got into Otty last night, but something was off.
I thought I’d done the right thing driving several miles out of my way so I could get her a takeaway from that Diamond Balti place she loves. I think she was pleased. She looked surprised. She just wasn’t really in the room after that.
She’s probably tired. We all are. And if Russ doesn’t calm down, he’ll send us all jumping over the edge with him like a pack of sleep-deprived, caffeine-crazed lemmings.
I tried talking with him again yesterday, but Daphne appeared and hijacked the conversation. She’s been acting strange lately, too, but that’s nothing new. She’s also become more than a little tactile. Not sure how I feel about that. I mean, there are huggy people and arm’s-length people and Daphne Davies was always firmly in the latter camp. She’s the last person I expected to become one of life’s huggers.
Irony is, a few months ago I would have been all over that like a rash. What is it people say about being careful of wishes? She insisted on walking to the car with me last night and the hug she gave me was… unexpected. She said it was a gesture of support from one writer to another, but I’m not sure. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was making a play for me.
Women are strange creatures.
I check my watch as I run along the path towards the park at the end of our road. 6.25 a.m. – enough time for a lap before heading back for a shower. Russell wants us in at eight thirty this morning and I have to be ready for whatever he throws at us. By rights I should still be in bed making the most of my rest before another voluntary incarceration in the writers’ room, but I needed fresh air and the chance to blow off some steam.
The park is empty save for a gaggle of miffed-looking Canada geese and a couple of early-morning dog-walkers. The grass is damp and a thin layer of mist hangs low across the park. Every part of my body aches, but the run seems to stretch out knots in my shoulders, back and legs. I push on, following the path around the lake, over the bridge from the feeder stream and out across the wide green space.
Ten minutes later, I arrive back at the house to find Otty’s yellow Fiat gone and a black Transit van in its spot, its bumper almost touching the dark blue paintwork of my Volkswagen Golf in the next space. I hope it isn’t still here when she gets back: Ottilie Perry is highly territorial when it comes to parking spaces, I have discovered. Doing my stretches by our gate, I look at the name on the van, painted in silver-edged red letters:
ROADTRAIL
For all your two-wheeled needs
The name feels familiar, but I don’t know why. Have I seen this van before? I can’t remember, not that I’m going to try too hard. It’s far too early to attempt any kind of brain-wracking, so I leave it and open the gate.
When I’m putting my key in the front door lock, a cough behind summons my attention.
‘Morning. Are you Joe?’
I survey the balding, short man, who I guess to be in his mid- to late sixties. He’s wearing a black polo shirt, black trousers and boots, an identical logo to the one on the van emblazoned across his chest.
‘I am.’ I step back onto the path to meet him. ‘Mr?’
‘Perry. Michael Perry.’ He offers his hand. ‘Ottilie’s dad.’
‘Oh… Hello,’ I manage, remembering to shake his hand just as he is frowning pointedly at it.
What is he doing here? And, more importantly, is it possible he could disintegrate me with his stare?
‘Would you like to come in?’
Please say no, please say no… I might be feeling refreshed from my morning run but my brain is not ready to deal with this level of adulting this early.
‘I will for a bit. I’m on my way into work, so I can’t stop long.’
Ugh. ‘Okay, this way.’
I usher Mr Perry into the hall and show him the living room, hoping he might take the hint and sit in there while I figure out what the heck I’m supposed to do in this situation. I’ve never met him before – I’ve always been out when he’s visited Otty here. Judging by the way he is grimly inspecting every detail of the house and me, I don’t think he’s going to love either of us, or think us worthy for his daughter to choose to live with. Possibly the bright pink T-shirt and tight electric-blue shorts I chose for my morning run aren’t helping matters, either.