Twenties Girl (Page 39)

Sadie ignores me and walks right up to Dad. “You’re fools,” she says emphatically. “She’s still smitten with Josh. She’s about to spy on him. And she’s making me do her dirty work.”

“Shut up, you sneak!” I exclaim before I can stop myself.

“Sorry?” Dad stares at me.

“Nothing.” I clear my throat. “Nothing! I’m fine.”

“You’re a lunatic.” Sadie swivels around pityingly.

“At least I’m not haunting people!” I can’t help retorting.

“Haunting?” Dad is trying to follow me. “Lara… what on earth…”

“Sorry.” I smile at him. “Just thinking aloud. In fact… I was actually thinking about poor Great-Aunt Sadie.” I sigh, shaking my head pityingly. “She had such sad little twiggy arms.”

“They’re not twiggy!” Sadie glares back.

“She probably thought they were really attractive. Talk about deluded!” I laugh gaily. “Who wants pipe cleaners for arms?”

“Who wants pillows for arms?” Sadie shoots back, and I gasp in outrage.

“They’re not pillows!”

“Lara…” says Dad faintly. “What’s not pillows?”

Mum looks like she wants to cry. She’s still clutching on to her potted plant and a book entitled Stress-Free Living: You CAN Achieve It .

“Anyway, I have to get to work.” I give Mum a huge hug. “It’s been brilliant to see you. And I’ll read your book and take some vitamins. And I’ll see you soon, Dad.” I hug him too. “Don’t worry!”

I blow them both kisses and hurry off along the pavement. When I reach the corner, I turn to wave-and they’re both still standing there like waxworks.

I do feel sorry for my parents, I really do. Maybe I’ll buy them a box of chocolates.

Twenty minutes later I’m standing outside Josh’s building, feeling bubbly with exhilaration. Everything’s going according to plan. I’ve located his window and explained the layout of the flat. Now it’s up to Sadie.

“Go on!” I say excitedly. “Walk through the wall! This is so cool!”

“I don’t need to walk through the wall.” She shoots me a disparaging look. “I’ll simply imagine myself inside his flat.”

“OK. Well… good luck. Try to find out as much as you can. And be careful!”

Sadie disappears, and I crane my neck to survey Josh’s window, but I can’t see anything. I feel almost sick with anticipation. This is the nearest I’ve been to Josh in weeks. He’s in there right now. And Sadie’s watching him. And any minute she’ll come out and-

“He’s not there.” Sadie appears in front of me.

“Not there?” I stare at her, affronted. “Well, where is he? He doesn’t usually leave for work ’til nine.”

“I’ve no idea.” She doesn’t sound remotely interested.

“What did the place look like?” I can’t help probing for details. “Is it a real mess? Like, with old abandoned pizza boxes and beer bottles everywhere? Like he’s been letting himself go? Like he doesn’t really care about life anymore?”

“No, it’s very tidy. Lots of fruit in the kitchen,” Sadie adds. “I noticed that.”

“Oh. Well, he’s obviously taking care of himself, then.” I hunch my shoulders, a bit discouraged. It’s not that I want Josh to be an emotional wreck on the brink of meltdown, exactly, but…

Well. You know. It would be quite flattering.

“Let’s go.” Sadie yawns. “I’ve had enough of this.”

“I’m not just leaving! Go in again! Look around for clues! Like… are there any photographs of me or anything?”

“No,” says Sadie at once. “None. Not a single one.”

“You haven’t even looked.” I glare at her resentfully. “Search on his desk. Maybe he’s in the middle of writing a letter to me or something. Go on!” Without thinking, I try to push her toward the building, but my hands sink straight through her body.

“Urgh!” I recoil, feeling squeamish.

“Don’t do that!” she exclaims.

“Did it… hurt?” I can’t help glancing at my hands, as though they really have just plunged through her innards.

“Not exactly,” she says grudgingly. “But it’s not pleasant to have someone’s hands poking through my stomach.”

She whisks off again. I try to damp down my agitation and wait patiently. But this is totally unbearable, being stuck outside. If it were me searching, I’d find something, I know I would. Like a diary full of Josh’s thoughts. Or a half-written email, unsent. Or… or poetry . Imagine that.