Emily was silent for a second, swiping. She turned Laurie’s phone on its side, landscape mode, chewed her lip. ‘Oh. Oh.’
She handed the phone back.
‘OK. Yes. You’ve convinced me. Do it.’
Laurie was momentarily stunned. ‘Are you joking?’
‘No. No offence, but I didn’t think what passed for fit at Salters & Rowson would mean someone that fit. He’s got that sulky mouth, stubble, square jaw thing I love. Brrrr.’
‘He’s clean shaven at work. He’s also got glasses that appear and disappear, now I think about it. He’s a Talented Mr Ripley schmuck, isn’t he. He was probably known by another name, with a long story about being an orphan, at his last firm.’
‘I dunno about that but he looks like a GQ cover. He should be on a speedboat in Rimini. And good God, he knows it. But then, would it be possible to not know it? We shouldn’t place unreasonable expectations on him.’
‘I won’t ask what we should place on him.’
Emily pulled a one eye shut, tongue loll gurn face. Laurie started gurgling with laughter, drawing looks from a family nearby trying to cram panels of wooden trellises into the rear of a SEAT Ibiza.
‘Dan will be in a tatty heap,’ Emily said – God, Laurie realised, the 180-degree swing was genuine, the Jamie Carter Effect was real – ‘I couldn’t pass that up. I can’t in all conscience tell you to pass it up. Have fun. Don’t fall for ideas of fixing any lost boy fuck boys, though. Don’t start to believe the love of the right woman could cure him. It’s bound to cross your mind at some point.’
Laurie blanched, but was very pleased to have Emily back on board.
After they got into the car and belted up, Emily said: ‘You know when you’re sick, if you get up, shower, dress, put your make-up on and act human, you can feel much better?’
‘Yes?’
‘It has an impact on how you feel. If you play act being loved up with this man, you may well get happier. But sooner or later you’re going to get mixed up in it. You’re going to start wondering if you’ve started to mean it, or whether he has. I don’t want it to make you anxious, for you to get hurt.’
‘I’m not some suggestible fifteen-year-old! Seriously! You think we’ll hold hands for two minutes and I’ll start humming Taylor Swift songs and browsing ELLE Wedding? Looolll.’
‘You may laugh at me, Watkinson, you often do. Doesn’t make me wrong.’
‘Also this man is a take no prisoners nihilist. It’s not a case of his heart needing to be in it. I don’t think he has one.’
‘How will it work, the relationship?’
Laurie went over the M.O. again and Emily said: ‘You should be done up to the nines for the first date.’
‘Oh thanks, instead of old Mrs Miggins here shambling up.’
‘No, you’re beautiful as you are but if this is Operation Mindfuck for Dan, no stops should be left unpulled out. You don’t show off, and this calls for showing off. I’ll get you a hair appointment at the salon I’ve started going to in town.’
‘Does it cater for hair like mine?’
‘Yes, I’m going to send you to my hairdresser, she’s done laids of courses in Afro hair and would love to get her hands on you.’
‘You’re sure?’ Laurie said, feeling apprehensive about being gotten. ‘White people salons don’t often know what they’re doing. And even if she’s keen, I don’t really want to be her guinea pig.’
‘Honestly, it’s her passion. She’s shown me loads of photos of lots of her clients with hair like you. Trust.’
Laurie didn’t trust, if she was honest, but she also wouldn’t have known where to start glamazoning without Emily’s help – she still used a hairdresser in Hebden who came to her mum’s house, whenever she was back.
Laurie forced herself to relax into listening Emily’s excited burblings about what she should wear with cheerful indifference. If only there was a way of the Issa concession at Selfridges similarly transforming her ripped-up insides.
Plants deposited, front room looking pleasingly jungly, Laurie waved Emily off outside. After she started the engine, she gestured to Laurie she wanted to say something, lowering the window.
‘Loz, if you do do this showmance. One thing. Consequences. The law of unintended consequences.’
Laurie frowned. ‘Uh?’
‘This screams “consequences”, all over it. You won’t know what they are now but I promise you, they’ll arise. Be prepared for that.’
‘Oh. Yes. You’re probably right. But I can’t think what they’d be?’
‘No. They’ll happen though.’
‘How do I prepare for the unknown?’
‘You can’t. That’s my point.’
This seemed excessive caution to Laurie, and she was the queen of caution.
On paper, the crime was perfect.
16
Outwardly, Laurie went to work, she was in reasonable spirits, she was as efficient as ever. In her private life, she looked busy enough to be respectable. Not falling apart.
Laurie was coping, only in ways that made other people feel comfortable. It was a performance, going through the motions. She was as empty and as fragile as an Easter egg. The truth lay in moments like the Thursday evening where she found the box of photo albums under the bed in the spare room. She leafed through a packet of Snappy Snaps from 2005 and ended up crouching, sobbing, feeling as if she’d been stabbed.
She’d never grieved for anyone close to her, but she guessed this must be similar: times when the tide went out and she felt almost normal, and times when it came rushing in and she felt like she was drowning.
It dawned on Laurie – other than the pictures he had on his phone, Dan had taken nothing of sentimental value with him. Only a few short months ago, she’d have thought that spelled intention to return. Ha. Nope. The hard copy visual record of their near-two decades together, casually discarded.
She knew if she challenged Dan he’d weakly insist he had every intention of sorting through and asking for duplicates, but it wasn’t the time/didn’t want to upset her/couldn’t complicate the painful business of his going, by divvying up their mementoes. HAH. As if starting a family with another woman wasn’t the motherlode, no pun, of painful complications. What if wanting to take photos might’ve given Laurie some comfort that he still cared, and that might’ve mattered, and he should’ve taken them for that reason alone.
Don’t look don’t look don’t look, she instructed herself, as she took the lid off. She’d glance and look away, she told herself. She opened the envelope packet on top. An Ark of the Covenant for her emotions. Laurie was probably going to do the skin-melting screaming CGI skeleton thing, as unleashing the evil spirits of the past overcame her.
The first pack was pretty much the most poignant she could’ve encountered. Thanks, random chance, you bitch.
Their impromptu staycation at The Midland.
They’d been getting their kitchen done, and it had taken forever thanks to inadvertently hiring the greatest cowboys in the North West to fit it. Their story ended in the small claims court, because don’t fuck with two lawyers at once. Laurie had almost lost her mind after nineteen days with a room that resembled an ISIS stronghold, with bags of crisps for dinner and being fed a daily diet of lies.