Page 79 of The Plot Twist

‘A box. Goodness, he’s been given the cardboard box treatment!’

Jake was indeed clutching a small brown box to his chest, trying to shelter it against him and out of the rain, but with little success. Even from this distance they could sense the anger in his body language. He stepped closer to the curb, transferring the weight of the box (which seemed quite slight, if it really did contain all his personal office possessions) to one hand and raised the other one into the air, attempting to hail a cab. But it was London and it was raining, so for once, the odds were stacked against him. Two cabs went by, their lights out, not taking any fares. Martin and Allie stood and watched, both wondering how long it might be before Jake gave up the hope of hailing one and headed for the Tube. But just then, a black cab with its light on came down the road towards Jake. He stuck his hand up once again and for a moment it looked like the cab was slowing down, before it sped up again and raced past him, splashing him with water and screeching to a halt further down the road to pick up someone else. In his rage, Jake misstepped, one foot went off the pavement, his cardboard box tilted and then upended and the contents spilled out across the wet pavement.

Allie couldn’t help but cry out in astonishment at how the luck of Jake had turned. He couldn’t have heard her above the sound of the traffic, but something made him look up at that moment to see her and Martin standing across the road, watching his demise. His face was a picture of surprise for a moment, before his eyes narrowed and he scowled at them as he scrabbled to pick up his now soggy belongings and stuff them back into the box. He gave them one last foul look over his shoulder before he stalked off in the direction of the Tube.

‘Wow,’ Allie said eventually. ‘That was quite cinematic, wasn’t it?’

Martin gave a low whistle in agreement. ‘Reckon you can put that in your book?’ he asked.

Allie considered this for a moment before shaking her head. ‘My book doesn’t really have a villain, unless you count yourself before your redemption,’ she joked.

Martin grinned at her broadly. ‘You mean beforeyourintervention.’

Allie gave a little curtsey, in acknowledgement.

‘So,’ he continued, ‘if you’re not going to use it, can I?’

Allie nodded. ‘Be my guest. I think I owe you. I should have told you and Will as soon as I knew about the two of you.’

Martin put his hand out from under the umbrella and held it there for a moment. ‘It’s stopped raining,’ he said, before turning to look at her. ‘Yes, you probably should have. But I know why you didn’t. And I understand. I’m sure I would have done the same.’

Allie gave a small, tight smile in response. ‘Thanks, Martin, I appreciate that. But I don’t think Will sees it that way. And look, I know he’s your son and you probably don’t want to know any of this. But I really liked him. I mean,’ she corrected herself, ‘I really like him. He makes me feel…’ She paused, wanting to make sure she got this right. ‘He makes me believe in happy-ever-afters again.’

Martin took her hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘I don’t know if this will help, but before this all happened, Angie and I hadn’t seen Will that happy in years. I wish I’d known you were the reason.’

Allie bit back the tears at Martin’s bittersweet revelation. ‘Phew,’ she breathed out heavily. ‘Getting a bit deep here, Martin!’ She gave his hand a squeeze and then dropped it firmly, wanting to grasp back some dignity and control in this awkward situation. She felt her phone vibrate in her pocket and, grateful for the distraction, pulled it out to look at it. ‘It’s a message from Verity,’ she said. ‘She says it’s done – well, we knew that! – and that she’s on her way into Brinkman’s for her meeting. She’s arranging drinks on Friday at a pub, for her authors, to celebrate.’ Allie looked up from her phone. ‘You should come,’ she said to Martin. ‘It’s not like you have another editor at Brinkman’s now.’

‘Don’t remind me,’ groaned Martin. ‘Anyway, I can’t. Angie and I are going to the cinema on Friday.’

‘So sweet, popcorn and back-row seats?’ Allie couldn’t resist the tease.

Martin ignored her. ‘You should keep writing,’ he said, ‘yourbook.’ Allie couldn’t help but notice the emphasis he placed in that sentence and was grateful for it. ‘Angie and I are really touched that you would think us worthy of writing about. You should finish it.’

Allie nodded and they said their goodbyes, both of them relieved to have had this conversation and to have had it against the backdrop of Jake’s unceremonious firing. It started raining again as Allie made her way to the Tube station and she hoped there hadn’t been any delays and that she wouldn’t bump into Jake on the platform, which would be beyond awkward. But the Tube was running a good service and the platform was empty, leaving Allie alone with her thoughts. Martin was right, she should keep writing, and she would keep writing. But she wasn’t going to do what he thought she ought to do with the finished result.

ChapterTwenty-Four

It was a knock at the door that pulled Allie from her four-hour writing spree. She groaned, less at the interruption and more at the manner in which her legs protested at this sudden movement.

‘Coming,’ she shouted, more in hope than expectation; the walls of her Victorian conversion were too thick for her shouting to have any real effect, which was great for drowning out the neighbours, not so great for making the Evri delivery person wait. Because that’s who she was expecting it to be, or perhaps some Jehovah’s witnesses. It wasn’t like normal people just called round to friends’ houses without prearranging via text, and double checking several times beforehand that you really weren’t inconveniencing them, before sending a final confirmation as you walked the last 500 yards towards their home.

Allie jerked open the front door, only expecting to have to apologise for keeping the person waiting and then realising very quickly that the homeless chic look she had been sporting was not what she would have chosen for an unplanned encounter with an ex boyfriend. Her wavy hair was piled on her head, her glasses shoved up there too, her leggings had definitely had stretch in them at some point but probably not in the last decade, and her sweatshirt bore the distinct marks of the tea she had poured down it three days ago as her writing had temporarily (she hoped) caused her to lose the ability to transport a cup of tea safely from her desk to her mouth.

‘I’m on a deadline,’ she spluttered, ‘hence the…’ She gesticulated at her get-up.

‘I’m sorry, should I go?’ Asked Dominic.

Allie sighed, she wanted to say yes. She wanted to go back to her writing and not have to explain her clothing and the state of her flat. She wanted to point out that when boyfriends left in red sports cars, kissing the driver on the lips before they pulled away, then really they couldn’t expect to be invited back in. She stared hard at the intruder before sighing again and allowing the front door to swing open.

‘Oh, come on then,’ she said, adding, ‘but take your shoes off,’ knowing how much it irked Dominic to be asked to remove his shoes before entering someone’s house. She grinned to herself as she walked back inside, pleased to have regained the upper hand.

‘So, what do you want, Dominic? Why are you here?’

Dominic shuffled in his socked feet. She knew she wasn’t making this easy on him, offering him neither the chance to sit down nor a drink but she felt she owed him nothing really, and had been rather enjoying forgetting he had even existed.

‘I brought your things,’ he held up the box he was carrying, ‘and I read about Brinkman’s.’

Allie looked at him in surprise. ‘You did?’ She wondered what kind of messed-up intersection had brought her world into his.

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