Talk to Me by Jules Wake

stairs on our way out. Amazingly, despite mine still being screwed up in my coat pocket, I received an email from Ned on Sunday evening. All my foreboding about Barney’s business ethics was borne out. Either that or he’d recruited a psychic speed-dater.
    Apparently Ned had got his hands on a second-hand invisibility cloak and wondered if I fancied testing it with a shoe-lifting expedition to liberate a pair of Jimmy Chews. (His spelling.) I was intrigued and after Friday night’s kitchen tête-à-tête, drastic measures were needed to show Daniel I wasn’t pining after him.
    Emily was sprawled the length of the sofa half-heartedly watching
Antiques Roadshow
and flicking through
Heat
magazine.
    ‘What are you smiling about?’ she asked lazily, stretching and yawning, already in her pyjamas.
    Sunday nights were sacrosanct in the flat – ironing, followed by hair washing in readiness for the onslaught of a week at work. All of which was always rounded off with rubbish Sunday telly and a nice bottle of cold Pinot Grigio or whatever was cheapest in Tesco that week.
    ‘Barney and his underhand tactics. Have you heard from anyone?’
    ‘What underhand tactics?’
    ‘I … didn’t actually hand my scorecard in.’ I pulled a rueful face. ‘Chickened out. At the last minute. Didn’t put it in the slot.’
    ‘Olivia. You are hopeless!’ Emily tutted.
    ‘Didn’t make much difference. Barney’s still passed my details on. I’ve got an email. Have you had any?’
    ‘What?’ Her left eyelid flickered before she said quickly, ‘No, of course not. What do you think it’s worth?’ She pointed to the screen and a very ugly painting. ‘They’re getting all excited. Bet it’s less than two hundred pounds. Wonder how they know? Do you think they make it up sometimes?’
    The minx. Her sudden absorption in
Antiques Roadshow
didn’t fool me.
    I hadn’t seen or spoken properly to Kate since the speed-date and when she phoned on Monday morning with her glib claim that she was in London that afternoon and could meet me after work for a drink, she didn’t fool me. She wanted gory details, I knew her too well. She and Barney were close so he was bound to have filled her in. In fact, she may have even put him up to giving Ned my email address.
    I was still wondering, as I walked to the hip bar she’d chosen, whether I should go out with Ned. His email had made me laugh. I’d have to come up with an equally witty reply. I tried out various lines in my head. They were all way too corny.
    As soon as I got to Asia de Cuba I spotted Kate perched on a high bar stool around one of those impossibly trendy stainless steel pillars that double as a table or a leaning post. She already had a bottle of wine at the ready with two glasses.
    The cross-examination began before I’d even taken my first sip.
    ‘How did Emily get on?’ asked Kate. ‘Has she had any emails?’
    Since when the interest in my flatmate? What about me?
    ‘No … well, not that she’s admitting.’
    ‘I bet she has.’ My sister smirked, pausing dramatically and taking a large glug of wine before announcing, ‘She ticked three boxes.’
    ‘Three?’ I echoed. I stared at her open-mouthed for a second, my glass halting before my lips. ‘And how do you know that?’
    She grinned and preened a little.
    I shook my head and tutted. ‘Typical Barney. No concept of client confidentiality.’ I paused before asking idly, swirling the wine in my hand. ‘So do you know whose boxes she ticked?’
    ‘Not so worried about client confidentiality now?’ crowed Kate.
    I pulled a face at her, wrinkling my nose and wriggling uncomfortably. The bar stools were designed for someone with more flesh on their backside than me. ‘Just spit it out, you old harpy.’
    ‘Some chap called Anthony. One of Barney’s mates, Charlie, and I can’t remember the name of the other one.’
    Three!
    ‘Blimey. Poor Daniel,’ I said in disgust.
    ‘Olivia, what planet have you been