Lost and Found. Jane Sigaloff

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СКАЧАТЬ come on—spit it out. I didn’t bring you along to be polite.’

      ‘It’s all lovely.’

      ‘Fence-sitter. Now, let’s start again. Trousers?’

      Ben refocused. ‘Aren’t they the same as the ones you tried in the last place?’

      Ali’s subsequent sigh was tinged with exasperation. ‘No, the waistband is totally different and there are no back pockets on these.’

      ‘Of course.’ Amateur error. How could he have missed the waistband/pocket detail?

      ‘Well?’

      ‘They’re very nice. Great. Get them. How much?’

      ‘Flattering?’ Ali ignored the last question. How could you put a price on the perfect pair of black trousers?

      ‘Yup. Very.’ Ben tried not to stare at his sister’s bottom. ‘Seriously, I like the cut. Simple lines and, um, great fabric—classic.’ Ali’s eyes lit up. Ben knew he’d hit the jackpot. ‘Yup, definitely classic.’ Silently he thanked his anonymous tipster. When it came to women’s fashion, she was good.

      ‘Great. Thanks. Right, just a few more things to try and then we’ll stop for a coffee.’

      ‘What else do you need?’

      ‘A couple of sweaters, maybe a spring coat, a bag, a belt…’

      Ali paused. Ben was getting the idea.

      ‘It’s not like I’ve got a list…’

      Of course. The hunter-gatherer try-it-all-before-deciding approach to a new wardrobe.

      ‘…but I’ll know them when I see them.’

      ‘Whatever.’

      ‘Thanks for being so patient.’

      ‘No problem. Look, we’re here now—take your time, try anything you like…’

      Ali cocked her head and studied her brother for a moment before strutting back to her cubicle. What about the ‘they do have shops in London’ line he usually came out with? She’d get to the bottom of it just as soon as she’d found the perfect pair of jeans, and maybe a couple of sweaters…

      Suddenly, clearing her social plate for her first night home was seeming less sensible. EJ was out, Sophie was with a prospective client, and Gemma was as likely to be home on a Friday night as Cherie Blair was to have a number one single. Yet Sam was lingering in the office, afraid to face up to both her conscience and her empty fridge.

      For the twenty-first consecutive minute Sam stared out of her window, mesmerised by the moon rising over London. Perfectly round and almost whitely luminescent against an increasingly deep blue sky, it was the sort of scene you expected Elliot to cycle across with ET in his basket. And a timely reminder of the fact that the world was still doing its spinning thing while she remained powerless.

      Sam swivelled back to face her desk and reached for another file-shaped dose of reality. Give her a complicated deal any day over the emotional stuff.

      The writing was much messier now. And in a different pen.

      Richard Blakely is a wanker.

      Richard Blakely is an arrogant wanker.

      Richard Blakely is an arrogant, misogynist wanker.

      Richard Blakely is an arrogant, misogynist wanker who wields his (not exactly enormous) sexuality like some sort of power tool.

      Richard Blakely is a tool, an egomaniac, and my boss. Fucking marvellous.

      A smudge. Her hand? A tear? Neat vodka?

      How can this be happening? Tired of being an adult. Want someone else to take responsibility for me. To help. Am so tired.

      ‘You’re making me feel guilty, just sitting there. Why don’t I meet you in that enormous shop you love and I hate?’ Ali’s voice came sailing out of the changing area.

      ‘What?’ Grumpy at the interruption, Ben tuned back in to his life just as Ali appeared with an armful of rejects and further requests for the assistant.

      ‘The Virgin Megastore.’

      ‘The last thing I need now is a virgin.’

      ‘Benjamin…’ The warning tone. ‘Just go.’

      Carefully he closed the magazine. ‘What you still fail to understand is that you can never have too much music. Fashions come and go. The soundtrack of your life is ever-expanding.’

      ‘Whatever.’

      ‘It’s true. Certain tracks are like milestones.’

      ‘Yeah, yeah.’

      ‘Which song did you have your first French kiss to?’

      ‘Um, George Michael—“Careless Whisper”.’

      ‘1984.’

      ‘You’re a freak, do you know that?’

      ‘And what were you wearing?’

      ‘God knows.’

      ‘See.’

      ‘Please, be a music anorak with my blessing…just leave me out of it. But really you might as well go on ahead. You must be bored out of your mind.’

      ‘Bored?’

      ‘I know what I’m like when I’m on a mission. I’ve still got a few more things I want to try here, and then I need to go to Barnes & Noble and Sephora.’

      ‘Here you go, miss.’ The assistant had returned with Phase 6 of the try-ons and another pseudo-genuine smile from her collection.

      ‘Thanks…could you find me a belt too?’

      ‘Sure.’

      Ben rolled his eyes at the girl and she did her best not to reciprocate. Hey, the customer was always right. One belt selection coming right up.

      ‘Okay, I admit it. There’s no such thing as a selfless good deed.’ Ali headed back behind the curtain. ‘But you know how much I hate it when you insist on walking up and down every aisle, including the Country, World and Extreme Reggae departments. Maybe if we were married I’d find it endearing. Then again…’

      ‘I’ll go later…or tomorrow.’ Ben tried to focus.

      Why is he even here tonight? Why can’t he understand I am not now, nor ever will be, interested in him? Can’t believe he actually suggested we have a fling. Correction, an affair. Jesus. Much worse. OK, I admit have been ignoring some signs, a few glances, a couple of compliments, but I never СКАЧАТЬ