Page 5 of The Do-Over

I’m pleased to see her mouth turn up at the corners. ‘Then you either rescue it yourself or it waits. Cats are resilient creatures. A day in a tree won’t kill it, and it’ll have the opportunity to learn a valuable life lesson. Do you live alone?’

‘I do.’

‘I’d like a key to your house, please.’

‘Why?’

‘You’re in New York and you suddenly wonder whether you’ve left the oven on.’

I laugh. ‘Unlikely. I’m not sure I’ve ever used the oven in my house, actually. On the rare occasions I’m there, I tend to order in.’

‘Fine. Your central heating explodes. I organise the plumber and let them in.’

‘That makes sense. I haven’t got a spare with me, though.’

‘Not a problem. Give me the one you have; I’ll get it copied and have the original back to you before you leave for the airport. You’re booked on the 10.45 BA flight out of Heathrow so I’ve ordered a car to collect you at 8.45. Plenty of time to get a key copied.’

‘Eight forty-five seems pretty tight,’ I observe as I detach my front door key from the keyring and hand it to her. ‘I wouldn’t want to get stuck in traffic and miss the flight.’

‘You won’t. In fact, I’ve allowed extra time as I don’t know you yet. Your boarding pass is printed and I assume you don’t have any hold baggage to check in, so you should be through fast-track security over an hour before the flight goes. Even if you did have hold baggage, I’ve factored in enough time for the business class check-in. You might even have time for a quickcup of coffee in the lounge if you’re lucky. Now, I need you to fill these in.’ She hands over a couple of sheets of paper which I scan quickly.

‘Janice. Why do you need to know what bra size I am and where I buy my underwear?’

‘Disaster recovery,’ she says simply. ‘You’re mid-negotiation in Singapore and your hotel burns down. By the time you finish your day, I have you a new hotel room and I’ve replaced all your clothes.’

‘Surely just knowing the right size is enough?’ I query again as I start to fill it in.

‘Nope. As I’m sure you know, a size ten in one store is not the same as a size ten in another. You are a size ten, I’m guessing?’

‘Is there anything you don’t know?’

‘By the time you’ve filled that lot in, I would sincerely hope not. Do you buy your suits off the shelf or do you have a tailor?’

‘Off the shelf.’

‘I thought so. I’ll get you an appointment with my tailor. You’ll thank me.’

‘That’s a lovely thought, Janice, but I hardly think I’m going to have time?—’

‘She comes to the office. I’ll book her in for you. Don’t worry about the cost; she’s surprisingly reasonable and your clothing allowance will pretty much cover it.’

Having completed the forms, which were forensic down to which type of tampon I preferred, I slide them back to her. She glances over them and pronounces herself satisfied.

‘Final thing,’ she says, pushing a card across the table to me. ‘That’s your keycard to access the underground car park. We don’t have allocated bays, so just park wherever’s free.’

‘I won’t need that,’ I tell her, pushing it back. ‘I don’t have a car.’

‘You have a driving licence, don’t you?’

‘Yes, but I’ve never felt the need for a car, living in London.’

‘Rookie error.’ She tuts. ‘Always have a backup. The representatives of the petrochemical company who have flown in from Doha to meet with you are unlikely to be impressed if you’re late because the trains are on strike.’

This is a step too far. ‘Janice,’ I begin. ‘I don’t have time or mental capacity to put into buying a car. Even if I had one, I have no idea how to go about getting a parking permit or any of the other things it would need, and I doubt your friends from the petrochemical company will be happy if I’m late because I was looking for insurance or whatever.’

‘Of course not!’ she exclaims as if I’m a particularly dim toddler. ‘That’s what I’m for. I assume you’re happy for me to source something suitable? What colour do you like – black, dark blue or silver?’

‘Are those the only choices?’

---