that there was none.
At last, we emerged from the roasting heat of the Tube at Charing Cross in the heart of London. Outside, it wasn’t much cooler – on this midsummer day, the sun was beating down on us like a blowtorch caramelising crème brûlée, and I could feel the heat of the pavement coming up through the thin soles of my sandals. Dani flapped her hands frantically in front of her face, and I assured her that her foundation hadn’t melted, her mascara hadn’t smudged and she didn’t have lipstick on her teeth.
‘Okay then,’ she said, and in spite of it being so hot, I was convinced I could hear her teeth chattering, ‘let’s go. It’s just off Trafalgar Square – we don’t have too far to walk.’
And she strode off, confident and agile in her high heels, while I teetered behind her on mine.
‘It’s just here, isn’t it?’ I asked hopefully.
‘Round the corner, I think, and down a side street.’
But we couldn’t find the side street, so we walked around some more, Dani’s eyes fixed to her phone as she got more and more stressed. Finally she muttered, ‘Shit! It’s supposed to be right here!’ before stopping outside an anonymous black-painted door with ‘AR’ on it in tiny orange letters, which we’d walked past about four times.
‘Do you think this is it?’
‘Must be. There’s literally nowhere else it could be, unless we’ve entered some kind of wrinkle in the fabric of the Matrix.’
I pushed open the door. Beyond it, we could hear the buzz of conversation, the hum of some kind of trance music and the clink of glasses. The air smelled of paint, the way new buildings do. At a little mirrored table by the door was sitting a beautiful blonde woman in a black dress, who looked us up and down with something close to contempt.
‘Can I help you?’ she asked, her tone so dismissive she might as well have said, ‘Can I be arsed to help such sorry specimens as you?’
‘We’re on the guest list for the launch,’ Dani said. ‘Danielle Fletcher and Zoë Meredith.’
‘Right.’ The woman picked up an iPad from the table and flicked its screen a few times. Her nails were long coffin shapes, painted lime green.
Then she looked at us and shook her head.
‘We’re definitely invited,’ Dani said, attempting an ingratiating smile. ‘Fabian said so. Fabian Flatley?’
Again, the woman shook her head. ‘No Fletcher, no Meredith.’
‘How about just our first names?’ I suggested. ‘Zoë and Danielle?’
‘Not on the list. Excuse me.’
The door behind us had opened again and two girls in floaty white broderie frocks gave their names and were waved through.
‘Why don’t you call Fabian?’ I said.
Dani nodded, looking almost green under her make-up. With the blonde woman watching us expressionlessly, Dani pressed buttons on her phone, held it to her ear and waited. And waited.
‘He’s not answering.’
The blonde woman looked pointedly at the door.
‘Come on,’ I said, bundling Dani outside. ‘We can’t just stand there with her watching us. Too mortifying.’
‘But he said.’ Dani sounded like she might be about to cry. ‘He promised me our names would be on the list.’
‘But they’re not,’ I said gently.
‘We could come back later, when it’s open to the public.’
Privately, I thought this was a terrible idea, but agreeing to it at least gave me an hour or so to persuade Dani of that.
‘Okay. Let’s go somewhere else and get a drink, and you can try calling Fabian again. I’m sure there’s just been some kind of fuck-up, but he might be busy and not answering his phone.’
She nodded, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. ‘Where shall we go?’
‘I used to work round here – there are loads of places. There’s a decent pub just the other side of Trafalgar Square. Let’s head over there.’
The Griffin only just warranted the description ‘decent’, but it was close and it would be quiet, so I could sit down and assess the damage my shoes had done to my feet. There was a bit of my ankle that felt ominously cold when a breeze brushed it, and I suspected I’d already lost a chunk of skin.
‘I just don’t understand,’ Dani said. ‘He said to come. He even asked for both our surnames so he could add us to the list. You don’t think he did it on purpose, do you?’
‘I’m sure he didn’t. I’m sure you’ll be able to get hold of him on the phone and he’ll explain and we can go back and