Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

A lady must never be over-confident or brash when meeting a gentleman for the first time. Ideally, she will be introduced formally, but if not, chatting about the weather is an agreeable way into pleasant conversation.

Matilda Beam’s Guide to Love and Romance, 1955

On the Tube, I spot a group of super-cool-looking twenty-somethings kitted out in elaborate fancy dress. A hunky blonde guy dressed as a Ghostbuster waves me over as if maybe I’m headed for the same costume party as him. I wish. He pretends to zap me with his proton pack and gives me a sexy wink. Hmm. Could I just sack off the Leo Frost thing tonight, make friends with this crowd and jolly off to whatever shindig they’re headed for? That would be so much more fun and surely not quite as mental a way to spend my night …

No.

I can’t.

I agreed to do this. And we really do need that money. Not just for my escape fund but also for Matilda − on my way out of the house tonight I spotted a small stack of final reminder bills in the unopened post pile. She caught me noticing them and her lips wobbled.

I give the fancy-dress crowd a reluctant goodbye smile and get off the Tube to change at Piccadilly. When I arrive at Regent’s Park, the sky is still light but the sun is low and raspberry-pink. A gentle breeze carries the deliciously sweet scent of candyfloss beneath my nose.

I wander onto the crisp, scorched grass and into the eye of the fair amongst a soundtrack of pulsing dance music, giddy laughter and jangling arcade games. I spot Leo Frost almost immediately. His rangy form pops up out of the crowd, glossy copper quiff shining like a beacon. He’s wearing a pale grey suit with a dapper burgundy handkerchief in the jacket pocket. His suit pants are pretty tight. Pre-tty darn tight.

Leo Frost. Artist. Thinker. Man. Tightpants.

He’s surrounded by besuited people − obviously big guns from the event company there to show him round the fair.

Seeing his uppity face lit by the colourful flashing lights of the fair only serves to flame my original dislike of the guy. Even the way he’s standing − long nose in the air, chest puffed out − gets on my nerves. He thinks such a lot of himself. If it wasn’t for him being a massive dick at the Davis Arthur Montblanc launch party, then Summer might not have sacked me or kicked me out, nothing would have changed and I wouldn’t even have to be in this bloody absurd situation right now. It’s going to take everything in my power not to betray how much his very existence annoys me, let alone pretend that I’m actually into him.

Right. Focus, Jess. Grandma said that all I have to do tonight is get Frost to ask for my phone number. I simply need to catch his attention in a sweet and ladylike manner. And the instructions for how exactly to do that are in the first chapter of Matilda Beam’s Guide to Love and Romance.

Which I didn’t properly read.

In fact, the only thing I can remember from the book is something about dropping a glove to get a dude’s attention. That seemed to be very important…

I covertly follow Leo Frost as he walks around the fair with the event organizers, being careful to hang back at least a few metres so as not to come across as suspicious. Patting down my stiffly lacquered waves, I slip off the soft cotton gloves, enjoying the feel of the breeze on my now sweaty hands.

The group stops beside the coconut shy and the event organizers laugh super heartily at something Frost says. Chuh. As if anything he says could be that funny.

Right, Jess. Time to get tonight’s task over and done with.

I take a deep breath, lift my chin and wiggle across the grass towards the coconut shy. Passing by Leo, I casually let one of the gloves flutter to the ground and continue on walking as if I’m oblivious to my lost property.

Less than five seconds after I drop the glove, I feel a light tap on my shoulder.

Yasssss! It worked! Amazing. Grandma is an actual genius.

I spin round, ready to bewitch Leo Frost with a delicate yet alluring smile.

Oh.

Somebody has picked up the glove, but it’s not Leo Frost. It’s a chunky, middle-aged fella with a bushy black beard. He’s holding a piece of rope, attached to which is a small fairground donkey. The pair of them smell, quite strongly, of manure.

‘Oi, petal, you dropped your glove.’ The man grins, handing over the glove. ‘Here y’go.’

Well, that’s it, then. The tips work. Grandma, meet my new beau: the Donkey Man .

Smiling politely back, I thank him and take the glove, noticing, as I do so, that there’s a little brown mark on it. I try to tell myself that it’s not donkey shit, but in my heart, I know it is.

I turn back and notice that Leo Frost and his cronies have abandoned the coconut shy in favour of a little shooting range behind the waltzers, where Leo is handed a toy gun and instructed to shoot the targets. He gets three bullseyes in a row. Of course he bloody does.

Bit by bit, I edge through the crowds, closer to the gun range, waiting patiently for a lull in their conversation. Then I slink by him once more, dropping the glove.

Where it lands on the wheel of a donut cart.

Noooo!

As inconspicuously as I can − which isn’t very, considering my outfit − I dive over and swipe up the scrap of material, which now has a grass stain and some wheel oil on it too! As I’m examining it, I hear Leo Frost speaking from above me.

‘ … yeah, she was easier than a two-piece puzzle, curves like you’ve never seen. Frankly, what choice did I have but to give her a quick ride before Martin took her back home.’

The men in the group all laugh, and one even slaps his back.

Ew. Who talks about women that way? What a disgusting, sexist turd. I cannot believe that Valentina went out with this bonehead.

I shake away my strong desire to forget this whole project and just kick Frost really hard in the shins. Instead, I focus on a final attempt to ‘drop the glove’.

Closing one eye, I take careful aim – it has got to land in his field of vision if he’s going to actually spot it − but right before I can drop the bloody thing, two bulky teenage lads dart past me, shoving into my arm. I lose my grasp on the glove and it goes flying through the air, landing perfectly on the shoulder of Leo Frost’s slick grey suit.

It’s all going wrooooong!

Before anyone can realize that I am the dirty glove flinger, I swiftly duck behind the candyfloss cart, out of sight and away from the scene of the crime.

Leo Frost and the event runners are mega horrified. Looking around in befuddlement, Leo picks the glove off between finger and thumb, smiles stiffly at the events people, and drops it into a nearby litter bin. He takes his burgundy handkerchief from his jacket pocket and dabs at his shoulder.

Brill. Well, Operation Drop the Glove has well and truly failed. Abort. Abort. Grandma said her mother − my great-grandmother − gave her those gloves, and now one of them is in the bin! Shit. I have to rescue it, but I can’t until later; Leo Frost is hardly going to be charmed and bewitched by me if he finds me rooting around in a manky bin.

What the fuck am I supposed to do now? The only other thing I remember from the book is something about soothing voices. Speak to a good chap in a soft, low tone? Was that it? It sounds ridiculous to me. Either way, how can I even attempt to make contact if he’s constantly surrounded by all these funfair event organizers?

Aha!

As if divine intervention has answered, I notice Leo strutting over to the big dodgems rink at the centre of the fairground. He hands a ticket over to a steward and excitedly folds his tall frame into a lime-green bumper car. Realizing that this could be my only chance to talk to him one on one, I jog over − which is super tough in the girdle and is more of a speedy waddle, actually – and before one of the other events people can join him, I nudge through, stealth it past the steward and dive at the car, throwing myself into the driver’s seat right next to Leo.

He jumps in shock and blinks at me as if I’m a mirage.

I gaze up at him from beneath my lashes. Please don’t let him recognize me from the book launch. He shouldn’t – I’m not wearing glasses or a onesie and my hair and make-up is completely different. I look nothing at all like the normal me. But still … pleeeease don’t let him recognize me.

I hold my breath.

No appalled shouting. No call for security.

Phew.

I exhale in relief and hold out my hand, eyeing Leo Frost in what I think is an enigmatic way. He doesn’t get chance to shake my hand, though, because the rink lights start flashing on and off – our signal to drive. Music suddenly blares out from the massive speakers round the rink. ‘Driving in My Car’ by Madness.

Nice choice! OK, I can do this.

I gently press my foot down on the pedal and we slowly move forward round the track.

‘Hiii,’ I say to Leo in a nice, low, soothing-type voice. ‘I’m—’

Crap! Who am I? I can’t reveal my real name. He’s only met me once, I know, but he might have an extra-good memory – I did chuck champagne all over him, after all. Cockwaffle, why didn’t we think of this? I have to think of a brand new fake name and fast. I rapidly flick my eyes about the place for inspiration. Ferris wheel, fortune teller, bouncy castle, portaloo… loo…

‘Loo, er, I mean … Lucille,’ I finish in my low voice. ‘I’m Lucille.’ I spot a little wooden food cart declaring itself: Darling’s Roasted Chestnuts! ‘Darling! Lucille Darling. I’m very pleased to meet you.’

‘Yeah, hi, Lucille,’ Leo Frost says absent-mindedly. I meet his eyes to see if I’m charming and bewitching him. They are focused entirely on my breasts, which are so pointy they’re almost touching the steering wheel of the car. Pointy boobs for the win.

Right. Time to make some gentle opening conversation. I clear my throat. ‘It’s a lovely fair, isn’t it? I do so love the—’

CRASH!

From behind, another bumper car smacks into us. Leo and I are thrown forward in our seats.

‘Shiii—’ I instinctively yell, but thankfully stop myself just in time. Instead I say ‘Shimmy!’ and give a little wriggle of my shoulders. Leo’s eyes widen at my chest-wiggle. I whip my head round to give my withering glance to whoever bumped our car so hard. It’s those bloody teenage boys from before − the ones who shoved into me when I was trying to drop the glove. One of them – a skinny doofus wearing a sleeveless vest that shows off a shit barbed-wire tattoo − does a ‘wanker’ motion at me with his hand. Absolute chumps. They laugh at my angry expression. I long to flip them the bird, but I’m pretty sure that’s not in Grandma’s guides.

I take a deep, calming breath and drive once more round the track. Turning to Leo again, I give him a simpering smile. And then his phone starts to ring. Checking the number, he answers it. Rude. He turns slightly away from me, talking into the phone. I hear him say ‘dodgems’ and ‘account’ and ‘good show’ but it’s not fully clear because of the excited squeals of the other drivers and the sound of tinny fairground music blasting out around me.

BAM!

I’m jerked forward again by the teenagers and this time my left boob actually hits the steering wheel.

Ow. Fuck.

Right, enough is enough!

I side-eye Leo – he’s clearly engaged in his phone conversation and paying no attention to anything else whatsoever. As delicately and subtly as I can, I turn round my car so that I am now in pursuit of the oafish teenagers.

‘She’s a fat cow. And old,’ I hear Leo saying on the phone beside me. ‘She’s clearly of no use to anyone. Get rid of her, she’s served her purpose.’

What the sweet hell? I can’t believe my ears. Is he advising that somebody should be sacked because they’re ageing and may have put on a few pounds? Ugh!

A dark flame of rage rises up throughout my chest, spurring me to step down on the pedal a little more forcefully. I block out the sound of horrible Leo Frost and chase after the horrible teenagers.

BLAM!

I bump into the side of their car with glee. The lads startle in fear.

‘Serves you right, you little fuckers!’ Is what I want to say. But a Good Woman would never say that. So I say it with my eyes. I say it so well with my eyes.

The teenagers gasp. Oh yes. The weirdly dressed woman with the nonsensically tiny waist is going to show you what happens when you mess with a Beam.

I whizz and dodge once more round the track − Leo still oblivious on his sexist phone call − and bash into the teenager’s car again. I love the bumper cars! I can’t help the giggle of joy that escapes me. I suspect it comes out as a little manic.

One of the teenagers whimpers, ‘Muuuuuum’.

OK. Maybe that’s enough. I reckon they’ve learned their lesson now. The chumps give me a very wide berth for the rest of the track and it’s only when the cars slow to a halt that Leo finally ends his conversation, putting his phone back into his inside jacket pocket. Out of the corner of my eye I spot the event organizers approaching, ready to continue Leo’s never-ending tour of the fairground. Dammit. I’ve completely missed my chance to bewitch and charm him. Fuck.

‘Lucille, is it?’

I look up in surprise to see Leo’s smug face staring at me.

‘Um, yes. Lucille. Lucille Darling,’ I reply in the breathy, soothing voice.

‘I’m Leo. I have to tell you, that was some rather excellent dodgems driving you just did.’ He grins, one eyebrow raised. ‘You certainly showed those two little shits what for. I got caught up in an important call, but on the inside I was very much cheering you on.’

I laugh out loud in spite of myself.

‘They were a tad raucous.’ I say faux shyly, patting down my perfect hair.

‘Yes, and of course one of them had a barbed-wire tattoo, which was quite reason enough for your fury.’

He holds his hand out to help me from the car. I take it, and as I step out I catch him checking out my bum, lifted considerably by the Spirella girdle. I smile at him as if I am mysterious and interesting and Good and refined and sexy and alluring and maybe a woman he could fall in love with. It’s not an easy smile to perform. Is it working or do I look a bit crazy? I think it might be working. Leo Frost half smiles back, a spark of amusement in his green eyes.

‘This is a little unorthodox, but … would you like to accompany me to the Ferris wheel?’ he says eventually, with a glance at his fancy-ass watch. ‘Perhaps get a drink? I’ve some business to attend to, but then I’m free for a little … fun.’

What the hell? It worked? I did it? It must be the boobs and waist. Or was it the soothing voice? Either way, he is well interested.

I recall Grandma’s parting advice:Keep it brief. The aim of this evening is simply to bewitch and charm Mr Frost into obtaining your telephone number. Nothing more.

‘I am so sorry, but I have a prior engagement this evening,’ I respond, as if I really am utterly fed up about this made-up prior engagement. ‘But you may have my telephone number to arrange a date at your convenience.’ I bat my eyelashes and tilt my head to the side.

Arrange a date at your convenience?Where the fuck did that come from?

He smirks. ‘Excuse me?’

I tuck a non-existent strand of hair behind my ear and bite my bottom lip. ‘Would you like my telephone number, Mr Frost?’

He blinks in a mildly startled manner, then looks at me with interest, eyes travelling slowly over my body, pausing at my boobs and finally resting on my face. Ew. I try to hide my disgusted squirm.

He hands me his phone with narrowed eyes as if he’s not quite sure why he’s doing so. ‘OK. Put it in, then, Lucille,’ he says. ‘I’ll call you sometime.’

‘Wonderful! I’ll look forward to that,’ I giggle. It’s a real drippy, tittering giggle. I hate it.

He gives me a wide grin, showing off straight white teeth with a tiny gap between the front two. I will admit that, as grins go, Leo’s is an impressive one. I can sort of see how so many less knowing and far more foolish women could maybe get a bit lusty for it.

I type in my number, gazing up at him serenely.

Leo Frost, you are going to get sooo played.