Sushi for Beginners - Marian Keyes [78]
As Jasper made great inroads into the second bottle of wine, Lisa dazzled him with talk of synergy. Without actually promising it, she implied that a column in Colleen could easily lead to his own programme on Channel 9, Randolph Media’s television station.
‘I’ll do it!’ Jasper decided. ‘Bike me over a contract in the morning.’
‘I actually have one here,’ Lisa said smoothly, striking while the iron was hot.
Jasper scribbled his signature, and only just in time, because there was a tricky moment when the waiter came to take her plate away. As usual, Lisa had moved her food around, but had eaten almost nothing.
‘Was there anything wrong with your dinner?’ the waiter asked.
‘No. It was delicious but –’ Lisa became aware of Jasper glaring across the table at her and quickly amended her verdict to a more neutral, ‘It was fine.’
‘If it was anything like as insultingly bad as mine I’m not surprised she couldn’t force it down,’ Jasper challenged. ‘Black-pudding blinis? That’s beyond a cliché. That’s a joke!’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, sir.’ The waiter flat-eyed Jasper and his cleared plate. He used to work for him, the mad bastard. ‘Would you care to order dessert?’
‘No, we would not care!’ Jasper said hotly – to Lisa’s chagrin, because this week she was on a pudding diet. The lighter end of the scale, of course: fresh fruit, sorbets, fruit mousses. It had been well over a decade since the dizzying punch of Death by Chocolate had passed her lips.
Oh well, no matter. She paid the bill, and they both got up to leave, one of them less steadily than the other. By the door they shook hands, then Jasper attempted a drunken lunge at Lisa, which she tactfully deflected. Just as well she’d already got the contract signed.
Jasper tottered balefully up the street and the moment Lisa was by herself, the bleakness rushed in again. Why? Why was everything so much harder here? She’d been OK in London. Even after Oliver had walked out, she’d kept going. Pressing on, fulfilling her vision, making things happen, always certain there would be a prize of sorts for her. But the prize went to someone else and she was in Ireland and her coping mechanisms didn’t seem to work so well here.
She hadn’t rung her mum yesterday, even though it was Sunday. She’d been too depressed. She had only got dressed to go to the foul corner-shop for a tub of ice-cream and five newspapers, and as soon as she returned to the house, she got back into her wrap and spent the day moping in a fug of cigarette smoke. Her only contact with humanity had been the local eight-year-olds kicking their football repeatedly up against her front door.
Before she flagged a taxi she popped into a newsagent’s to buy cigarettes and her heart lifted when she saw that the new Irish Tatler was out. Irish Tatler was one of Colleen’s competitors and deconstructing it would give her something to do for the rest of the evening. All at once home didn’t seem so repellent.
‘Hiya Leeesa.’ A gaggle of little girls playing on the road yelled at her when she got out of her cab. ‘Your dress is sexy.’
‘Thank you.’
‘What size are your shoes?’
‘Six.’
A huddled conference followed that. How big was a six? Too big for them, they reluctantly decided.
Letting herself in, she flung her bag on the floor, flicked on the kettle and checked her answering machine. No messages, which wasn’t really surprising because almost no one knew her number. It didn’t stop her feeling like a failure, though.
She kicked off her lovely shoes, flung her dress on a chair and was changing into drawstring pants and a shortie T-shirt when the doorbell rang. Probably one of the little girls to ask if they could have her handbag when she didn’t want it any more.
With a sigh she flung open the door, and there, standing on her step, bending his tall bulk to fit the doorway, was Jack.
‘Oh,’ she said, stupid with surprise.
It was the first time she’d seen him out of his suit. His long, collarless shirt was open to mid-chest.