‘Definitely not. Besides, it’s not as if we’re to become pen-pals.’
‘Hmm.’
‘I’m not letting him have the last word on my football team.’ I shrugged my shoulders.
Vince raised his eyes heavenwards. ‘You’re a girl, is that normal? You know – the football stuff.’
‘You’re a boy. You wear yellow. Putrid mustard yellow. That’s not normal unless you’re a Buddhist monk.’
With another quick check of my watch, I edged him out of the way, pausing only fractionally as I remembered the thing about e-safety his royal ITness had said. But this was different. This bloke had taken the trouble to email me, it was only polite to email him back and thank him. If he was up to no good, he wouldn’t be trying to help, would he? Then I stopped, what if he thought I was some sad loser type sending random emails out to try and make friends.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Loo Rolls
I’m so sorry. That email was supposed to be to my fiancé.
There. Not single or desperate.
I think I might have got a virus.
No shit, Sherlock.
I opened an attachment I shouldn’t have. Thanks for being nice about it.
And for God’s sake please don’t mention it to anyone.
I’ve finished the book now. Don’t want to read the sequel straight away but want something as good. I always feel a bit bereft when I finish a book I’ve enjoyed.
With kind regards
Deciding to keep things formal I put Matilde rather than Tilly which felt like it kept a bit of distance.
I hate my name. Matilde, written down, looks German and butch rather than French. The ‘d’ is silent but very few people get that, so I prefer Tilly. My mother is Parisian – hence the name. Although these days, even she managed to call me Tilly – on the odd occasions we spoke.
‘How about that?’ I re-read the words on the screen one last time. Mostly harmless.
Vince pulled a mournful face, disappointment filling his big blue eyes.
‘It’s not that bad, is it?’
He sighed and tossed his head. ‘Well, it’s hardly Gone with the Wind. I mean…’
‘It’s not supposed to be.’ I read the words again. It was OK. Not like people you heard of, who gave in to the heady temptation of on-line and text flirting, and ended up creating daring alter-egos that bore no resemblance to their real persona.
Although, I rolled my neck feeling the tension. God knows a flirtation would be a welcome ego boost – Felix seemed to find me about as sexy as a moth-eaten camel these days, but I was not going to fall into that trap.
Vince rubbed at his goatee and sighed in theatrical despair. ‘Lovie, why don’t you compare slippers? At least ask him what he thinks of the book. It’s seriously, seriously dull.’
‘Thanks a bunch. It’s just a response. It’s not as if I’m going to get to know him.’
‘I should think not.’ Vince bristled, folding his arms and speaking with hushed reverence. ‘Not when you’ve got Felix.’
There was only one thing to do with that comment; I ignored his half-pint sized crush on Felix. ‘Just keeping it bland makes it obvious I’m not some desperate cyber-stalker on the lookout for a man.’
‘Charming. What does that make me? Minced meat.’ Vince walked off huffily.
I literally slapped my forehead. God, he was such a drama queen. He’d be offended for the rest of the day now. I hadn’t meant anything to do with his predilection for on-line dating.
I gave it one last read through. Vince was right, it did sound slipperish. Ignoring the small matter of already being ten minutes late, I added a quick post-script.
P.S. Liverpool supporters erudite? In which parallel universe would that be?
That wasn’t flirty, was it? No. With a resolute stab that nearly pinged the enter button off the keyboard, I pressed send and shut down the email. Oops, even by my shoddy time-keeping standards, I was late.
Of course, she was already there, perched at one of the high tables in Café Paul and engrossed in her iPhone. I knew exactly what my sister would look like without having to peer through the window. Pristine and pressed to perfection. I could have made easy money betting on the fact that Christelle would be wearing a pure white cotton shirt, peaked tramlines down each sleeve, and a figure hugging black pencil skirt along with a nipped in matching jacket from either Hobbs or Jigsaw. Her glossy brown hair would be scraped mercilessly back into the dullest bun you could imagine and she’d be wearing rubbish make-up. Seriously, she didn’t have a clue. Lipstick in a dull nude colour which made her lips vanish into her face and a matt brown eyeshadow over the whole lid that made her eyes recede into her head. With her figure and gorgeous hair, she could have looked like some sixties starlet. It wasn’t fair. Stick a button on my nose and I’d look like one of those anime cute cartoon girls, except with way too much curly hair. I would have loved to get hold of her and give her a serious make-over but we weren’t that sort of sisters. Oh Lord, no.
‘Late again.’ Why the hell did she have to look at her watch? I wasn’t going to deny it. I was nearly always late to meet her. Maybe it was psychological. It minimised the amount of time we had to spend together.
I shrugged cheerfully. ‘Problem with a virus at work.’ It sounded almost professional and competent, something she might appreciate.
For once, Christelle appeared vaguely interested. ‘Serious? That can be terribly damaging. I heard of one solicitor’s company who had to buy a new server because they’d got some malware that corrupted everything. It almost put them out of business. And they’re a very smart outfit. They have some very high profile, blue chip clients.’
‘Our IT department is very good,’ I said smoothly as if it were the sort of thing that I regularly trotted out.
‘That’s so important,’ said Christelle nodding. She stuck her head out, trying to catch the attention of the waiter who acknowledged us with a quick nod before disappearing with an armful of dirty crockery.
We lapsed into silence.
‘So,’ I said, ‘how’s work?’
‘Good.’ She stopped there. I had about as much of an idea about her job as she did about mine. She was a barrister, except she didn’t do the exciting criminal stuff, no she did employment law which from the little I understood sounded deadly.
I’ve no idea why she insisted on these monthly meetings, they were always excruciating. But no, regular as clockwork, she phoned at the beginning of the month to suggest we meet up.
‘So, are you busy this weekend?’ I asked, praying the waiter would get a move on.
‘Yes, it’s Alexa’s thirtieth birthday and we’ve hired a gorgeous house. It sleeps twenty-eight, which is perfect.’ She whipped out her phone and showed me a couple of pictures of a fantastic view and a rather lovely looking Edwardian mansion perched on the side of a wooded hillside.
You see, that I couldn’t fathom. Whatever I thought about my sister, her social life was always busy.
‘What about you?’
I smiled. ‘I’ll be working late on Friday and Saturday.’
‘I don’t know how you manage to have a relationship. I find it hard enough to get dates with my hours let alone working most nights. Doesn’t Felix mind? Do you ever get to spend a weekend together?’