The Bucket List to Mend a Broken Heart (13 page)

‘More to my taste?’ I say, my nostrils flaring.

Giles clocks my look and widens his eyes in panic. ‘No, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just, I know
your playlist at work.’

‘What’s wrong with my playlist?’

‘Nothing. If you like Taylor Swift and Beyoncé.’

‘Hey, I’ve got some Imagine Dragons on there and maybe a Foo Fighters track,’ I say, trying to raise my music cred. But in truth, he’s right – my playlist is cheesier than a French fromagerie. Damn the fact that everyone at work can access each other’s iTunes.

I know I’m overreacting.
Giles has only insinuated that I’m more of a
Now That’s What I Call Music
girl than an
NME
one, but it’s as if he’s siding with Joseph. It’s like saying that I’m deluded in thinking I could be cool enough to go to Glastonbury.

‘OK, well, why not try a different festival then? A less commercial one. There are loads of really cool ones that are smaller and less overrated. What about the Big Chill
or Bestival?’

I scrunch up my face as I try to imagine what Joseph would do. Would he be impressed with any festival or would it have to be Glastonbury? I think of him trotting around a muddy field, and I mentally picture him in his Hunter wellies and wax jacket, like the Monarch of the Glen. I try and put him into cool festival clothes but fail miserably. In fact, I can’t see Joseph there at
all. He’s no more a camper than I am. When I saw him packing for work trips away he used to interleave tissue paper between his clothes to stop them from creasing.

Maybe it wouldn’t matter what festival I went to. Maybe I’m getting too bogged down in the details.

‘At least Bestival is close,’ I say, thinking of another trip to the Isle of Wight.

‘There you go. And Laura and I would be up for
going if you wanted to get a group of people together. We went about five years ago and it was a right laugh. Everyone dresses in fancy dress for this big competition.’

He had me until fancy dress.

‘I’ll look into it,’ I say despondently.

‘
Digame sobre tu español clase
.’

‘Excuse me?’ I say, a sweat breaking out on my forehead as I remember how I felt last night in my Spanish class. Within
thirty seconds after we finished saying
hola
, the only Spanish word I know, I was lost.

‘I said, tell me about your Spanish lesson.’

‘Right. It was a fricking disaster. It’s supposed to be a beginner’s class but there were people there that seemed to be practically fluent. And they were all doing this perfect
Three Amigos
type accent. I felt like a right plonker. I couldn’t even get “my name
is Abi” right.’

‘What were you saying? That your name was Fred?’

I shoot Giles a death stare. Today is not the day to have a joke at my expense. I am suffering from major sense of humour failure.

‘Give it a go.’

I’m really not in the mood.

‘Come on,’ he says, with bounding enthusiasm.

‘
Me la-mo
Abi.’

‘
Me llamo
– it’s pronounced ya-mo,’ says Giles.

‘See,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘I’ve had
it written down and I’ve been practising it all day at work and I still get it wrong.’

‘It’s just a pronunciation thing. Don’t be so hard on yourself. At least you added the reflexive bit – that’s impressive.’

‘The what bit? Oh, God, don’t confuse me any more than I already am.’

The mere mention of anything that sounds like grammar is sending shivers down my spine and making me think back to
French at school – the GCSE that blemishes my CV with a D.

All I wanted to be able to do was order meatballs, not reawaken my teenage fears.

‘Sorry. Look, if you need a hand I did Spanish at school.
Podríamos practicar hablar español en el trabajo
.’

Now I’m really starting to hate him.

He holds up his hands to fight off the inevitable death stare that he knows is coming his way.

‘I just said
we could practise at work, but you know, once you’ve had a few more lessons and you’re ready for it.’

‘I’m never going to be ready for it. But thanks.’

God, today has been a disaster. I should have taken it as an omen and gone straight home rather than going to the trainer shop. My pockets are now ninety pounds lighter and the woman gave me a copy of an introductory training plan. Who knew there’d
be so much training to do for a 10k? I might as well be doing the half marathon.

The windsurfing course this weekend is creeping ever closer and any enthusiasm I had for it is waning rapidly. With everything else going wrong at the moment I dread to think what’s going to happen when I’m out at sea.

‘At least your bike-riding plans are going well,’ he says waving his hand at my bike. ‘Ben says
you’re making progress.’

‘Ben’s being kind,’ I say, thinking back to my snail-paced riding session.

‘Well, with him helping you with that one, at least you’ll have one thing ticked off your list.’

I bloody hope so, but I’m still sulky. Two out of ten tasks completed is hardly going to get Joseph running back to me with open arms.

We’re about to cross a main road when I spot a familiar car.

I put my arm out in front of Giles to stop him from walking and I back up a few steps.

‘Look.’

I stop as I watch our boss Rick’s BMW park across the road a little further down from us. I wonder what he’s doing here. But it’s not where we are that’s so shocking: it’s who’s in his passenger seat that has stopped me in my tracks. I’d recognise that swinging ponytail anywhere.

The door opens, and
out climbs Linz.

I watch in disbelief as she bounds round to Rick’s door and the two of them walk into a nearby pub together.

‘Did you see that?’ I say, gasping.

My whole body prickles with goosebumps. This can’t mean good things.

‘Yeah, so they’re grabbing a drink after work. We do it all the time. Well, not all the time, but it’s not unheard of.’

‘Um, yeah we do, but we’re allowed to. We’re
underlings that have to get together to bitch about work, and besides we don’t often go alone – it’s usually an open invitation to the office. I mean, have you ever gone to a pub with Rick alone?’

‘Only when we were out visiting a client around lunchtime.’

‘Exactly,’ I say, as if building my case.

‘Maybe they’re meeting some other people in there?’

‘I don’t think so. If there were others from
work going we would have heard, wouldn’t we? And why would they come all the way up here if it wasn’t to be discreet. Oh, God, what if they’re dating?’

What’s worse than merely working with Linz? Working with Linz when she’s the boss’s girlfriend, that’s what.

‘Chill out, so what if they are? It wouldn’t change anything,’ says Giles as we cross the road, Rick and Linz now safely out of sight.

I roll my eyes. ‘It would change everything.’

Boys really are clueless. Despite the fact that the age gap is creepy enough in itself, it would be an absolute disaster work wise.

‘Take this morning when we went to the printer. She was flirting with Jim the print guy so much that he gave her a key ring. A key ring! I’ve been going there for years and never even got so much as a pen, let alone
a key ring.’

Giles raises an eyebrow at me. OK, so I know I’m overreacting, but I feel at the moment like wherever I turn at work Linz is there, and she’s doing a better job than me. Whether it’s smooth-talking clients or having stellar design ideas. It’s like she’s the new improved me, and now with her potentially dating Rick, she’s not just getting her feet under the table, she’s been given
the keys to the whole bloody dining room.

‘Let’s go see what they’re up to,’ I say, pacing off towards the pub.

Giles grabs me by my coat hood.

I pull another cross face to add to my ever-growing library of disdain. This guy is really pissing me off.

‘Easy there, tiger. If we’re going to spy, we at least need to be inconspicuous.’

My frown turns upside down and I watch as Giles chains up
his bike to a nearby lamp post and I follow suit.

‘Right, then,’ he says, after securing the bikes. ‘Let’s go, Bond.’

We approach the pub and do what any good spy would do – a couple of walk-bys with casual glances. This gets us nowhere, though, as the windows are opaque and covered with old-fashioned beer adverts. Instead, we have to peak through the tiny gap at the edge of the windows.

‘There
they are,’ I whisper, for reasons unknown. It’s not like they’d hear us from here. ‘At the bar.’

I watch as they take their drinks to a corner table.

‘See, it’s a date. She’s drinking wine. If it were work-related she’d be drinking a Coke or a J2O. And they’re sitting in the corner. Oh, God.’

I’ve practically married them off in my mind.

‘Calm down, Abi. If it was a date I’m sure they’d be
going somewhere a little bit more fancy than the Thistle at five thirty in the evening. And look, Linz has got a pen and paper out. Maybe it is work after all.’

I stare at them and wish I was better at lip reading.

‘Do you think we should go in? Say that we saw them when we were passing,’ I ask, desperate to be a fly on the wall.

‘Oh, yes, we saw them all the way in the corner through the windows
that are almost impossible to see through.’

‘Well, we could pretend that we were coming here for a drink anyway and just casually bumped into them. We could have been thirsty on the way back from the running shop.’

‘I probably shouldn’t. I’ve got to get back. Laura and I do salsa on a Thursday night.’

He’s kept that quiet. I can’t quite imagine him and his lanky frame doing salsa.

‘I’m sure
whatever is going on it’s all completely innocent. You’ve never pulled out a pen and paper on a date with someone, have you?’

‘No,’ I say, racking my brains. I’ve done some pretty strange things on dates – pretended I was someone else, been sick on my date’s shoes, had an egg thrown at me, but never taken notes.

‘Well, there you go. Why don’t you just ask Linz tomorrow what she did last night.’

‘Oh, like that won’t be suspicious. I barely speak to her – surely she’d smell a rat.’

‘Listen, Abi, I know you don’t like her, but it looks innocent to me.’

I squint through the window and watch as Linz pulls her ponytail over her shoulder and runs her hands through it. I recognise those moves. She’s flirting. OK, so they’re not my flirting moves – mine are more clumsy and involve some drooling
– but they’re girlie-girl moves.

Giles doesn’t get it.

I turn back to him and bat my eyelashes, trying to summon a bit of what Linz has in order to convince him that we need to go in.

He sighs loudly. ‘One drink. Then I’m leaving,’ he says, pulling the door open before I know what’s happening.

I try and act as cool as I can, but Giles has forged ahead to the bar and I barely have time to collect
my thoughts. He balances an arm on the bar, with his back to Linz and Rick. I know he’s trying to look casual, but with his height he sticks out like a sore thumb. I go and stand next to him, facing straight ahead, not wanting to make eye contact with the love birds. If we’re going to bump into them, they’ll need to notice us, not the other way round.

We order our drinks, and I try to come up
with a plan.

‘Where are we going to sit?’ I say, my mouth barely moving and my gaze unfaltering.

‘I don’t know. What about down there,’ says Giles, pointing to the other end of the rectangular pub.

I look down at the little table near the toilets and shake my head. ‘We’ll never hear anything from over there.’

This is why Giles shouldn’t have been so hasty coming inside. We should have come
up with a plan beforehand – worked out where we were going to sit or stand, planned a cover story. Now we’re here and more clueless than Alicia Silverstone.

I try and take deep calming breaths and my eyelids flicker, matching the speed of my mind as it desperately tries to formulate a plan.

As the barman places our pints in front of us, I feel a hand pat me on the back. I turn and see Rick.

‘Hey, guys,’ says our boss.

Part of me melts with relief and the other part is trying to stop myself from weeing in fear. I guess this is ultimately what we wanted to happen, but I feel like we’ve been caught red-handed.

‘Hi, Rick,’ I say in an exaggerated squeal. ‘What are you doing here?’

I would try to look cool and sip my pint, but my hands are far too shaky.

‘I’m just here with Linz, talking
her through the history of the company. That girl’s a real keen one,’ he says, smiling.

That girl’s a real clever one, I think to myself. Rick has an ego the size of Australia – incidentally the place from where he hails – and he loves nothing more than having it massaged.

‘Come and join us,’ he says, gesturing over to his table.

‘OK, thanks,’ says Giles, without so much as a pause. He could
have at least pretended that this wasn’t part of the grand plan.

Giles turns round and for a minute I think he’s blown it as he expertly navigates his way to Rick and Linz’s table.

Linz looks up at us and gives us what I can see is a fake smile.

‘Giles, Abi, how great to see you.’

‘Linz.’

‘This is nice, isn’t it? Getting together outside the office,’ says Rick.

‘Isn’t it?’ says Giles, looking
between Linz and Rick in an incredibly unsubtle way. I’m surprised he’s not raising his eyebrow and getting out a magnifying glass to examine them more carefully.

‘It’s a good opportunity to talk about T-shirts for the abseil,’ says Linz, looking directly at me. It’s like she’s sniffed out my secret and is trying to call my bluff. ‘I thought we should all have matching ones with some sort of
slogan.’

‘I love that idea,’ says Rick, his eyes gleaming. ‘I’ll have to think up a strap line.’

‘And then I’ll design them,’ says Linz hurriedly. As if I would want that pleasure when I’m trying to do my utmost to forget about the whole thing. ‘I’m sure Jim at the print shop would give us a good deal. He seemed very keen this morning to have a closer working relationship.