‘Right, I’ll call you when I touch down. Goodnight, Snow.’
‘Goodnight, Lenny.’
I kill the call and lay the phone down on the table. Tomorrow night looms on the horizon. What on earth am I going to do? Oh God! I cover my face with my hands. What a mess.
My phone rings again making me jump. I pick it up and look at the screen.
Number withheld.
My heart starts beating fast in my chest. I accept the call.
‘Hello,’ I say cautiously.
‘Will you have dinner with me tomorrow night?’
My heart soars with joy. He called. He called. It isn’t over. Then reality hits. My heart sinks like a heavy stone inside my body. ‘I can’t go. I’ve already agreed to meet Lenny for dinner.’
‘Yeah? Well, poor old Lenny won’t be able to make it for dinner with you tomorrow. He will be otherwise tied up.’
I feel a wild rush of joy flash through every cell and nerve in my body. It comes out as a mad giggle even as I wonder what exactly he means by tied up. More prostitutes? More business deals that Lenny simply can’t say no to?
‘Snow,’ he calls softly.
‘Yes,’ I whisper, gripping the phone hard.
For a few seconds he is quiet. ‘Wear something pretty tomorrow.’
‘I will,’ I say, and I am smiling from ear to ear.
‘Goodnight, Snow.’
‘Goodnight, Shane.’
Oh my God. We’re having dinner tomorrow.
I place the phone on the table and, jumping up to my feet, do a totally mad dance around the coffee table.
‘Yes. Yes. Yes.’
It seemed as if he couldn’t wait for me to get out of his car so I thought he didn’t want me anymore. But he does want me.
I stop suddenly. And what of the next day? What will I tell Lenny when he wants to have dinner with me on Tuesday? Or Wednesday? How long can Shane keep him busy? How will I escape from Lenny?
Monday passes with interminable slowness. Lenny gets into Heathrow at nearly midday and calls me from the back of his car. He sounds upbeat, but ends the phone call by saying that something has come up and he won’t be able to make dinner today.
‘That’s OK,’ I say quickly. ‘I need an early night anyway.’
‘Why?’ he asks immediately, his voice suddenly different.
But I am a better liar than I could ever have imagined. ‘I didn’t sleep very well last night.’
‘Nightmares?’ he asks quietly.
And instantly I feel like a bitch. What I am doing is so wrong. I am cheating on someone who has only ever been good to me. I have to do something about my situation, and fast. I close my eyes and, taking a deep breath, I lie. ‘No, not nightmares. I think I ate something that didn’t agree with me. I kept going to the toilet.’
‘Ah well, in that case it’s for the best that we are not doing dinner today. Rain check for tomorrow?’
‘Tomorrow,’ I repeat softly, guiltily.