‘I ordered you a drink,’ she says as I slide into my seat.
‘Thanks.’
‘I almost had to cancel. I’m dealing with the bitchiest bridezilla. She has zero respect for my office hours and just calls me in the middle of the night with stupid questions about imported silk. I’ve seriously considered slipping Xanax into her tea. She wanted me to drop everything and drive down to Newquay tonight to look at some candlesticks.’
‘I bet her fiancé’s happy he put a ring on it.’
Margot laughs. Even though she complains, she loves her job; she’s always wanted to be a wedding planner. Her mother told me when Margot was little, she used to sit and watch her parents’ wedding video over and over. Just like a Disney film. ‘How was your meeting? I’m dying to know!’
I absolutely do not want to talk about the car crash meeting I just came from. ‘We’ll get to that in a minute.’ I give her a huge grin so she doesn’t zero in on my misery like a scab and pick at it. ‘First, I have to tell you about my stalker.’
The distraction goes down as smoothly as melted chocolate, as all thoughts of my book immediately disappear as Margot tries to grapple with what I’ve said. ‘What?’
‘It’s this guy who lurks outside the library late at night or sits in the park watching me run laps in the morning.’
Her expression is a mixture of horror and delight. ‘Seriously?’
‘He comes into the coffee shop at least four times a week. He’s so still it’s eerie and he has these black, round-rimmed glasses that make me think of serial killers.’ I lean forward; I am spinning with the thrill of telling a story; it’s the same rush I get when I sit down at my laptop to write, and though this tale is true, it feels like it happened to someone else. ‘He always wears dark clothes and combat boots and when he’s near, I feel him, you know? He has this stare, like he wants something from me.’
‘Elodie …’
‘The other night, he followed me home.’
She pales. ‘He knows where you live? He’s been to your house?’
My delight at having derailed the previous conversation starts seeping away at the concern that thickens her voice.
‘Elodie, have you called the police?’
And just like that, the thrill is whipped from beneath my feet. I expected her to laugh it off, tell me this guy was odd, but it was nothing to dwell on; instead, she’s reacting with the same worry as Jack.
‘I mean, calling the police seems dramatic. He hasn’t actually hurt me, has he? He hasn’t even tried to talk to me.’
‘You still need to call them.’
I roll my eyes like it’s no big deal. ‘He probably just has a crush.’
‘Crushes slip love letters in your bag or buy you a coffee – they don’t follow you home. That isn’t normal.’
‘Love letters in your bag?’ I try to lighten the mood. ‘I didn’t realise we’d fallen through a crack in time and landed in the 1930s.’
‘I’m worried.’
‘I’m not,’ I quickly lie because Margot’s reaction has brought all my fears rushing up to the surface, like dirt dredged up from the bottom of a pond.
‘You live alone.’
‘Thanks?’
She sighs impatiently. ‘I mean, you’re vulnerable because you live by yourself. What if he breaks in?’
I sip my drink, playing for time. This is a thought that keeps me up at night, wide-eyed and jumping at every little noise in the house; pipes creak overhead and it’s him scuttling around the attic; the window rattles in its frame and it’s him trying to shake it open; the fridge drones and it’s him humming as he climbs the stairs. ‘That’s ridiculous. Besides, I’m not alone. Jack comes over most nights.’
‘Does he know about the stalker?’
I nod. ‘He basically let me move in for a while after I was followed home. He wanted me to stay longer but I really don’t think I’m in danger.’
This seems to ease her worry. ‘Jack will take care of you.’
‘He always does.’
‘Jack,’ she says, rolling his name around on her tongue like a sugared cherry. ‘And how is Jack?’
I smile, relieved we’ve moved on. ‘Fine.’
‘I still can’t believe you two have never done it.’
‘I’ve told you before, he’s like a brother and even if he wasn’t, he doesn’t do relationships. I don’t want to be another notch on his bedpost.’ Not wanting to encourage her, I’ve never admitted that as a teenager I was completely in love with him, but after one kiss which ended horribly, I was forced to adopt a different kind of love. ‘I don’t want sex to ruin our friendship.’