‘Fair enough.’ Daniel crossed his arms, leaning on the table. ‘I work in app development too, but we’re very much in the beginning stages. A photo-sharing app. I can’t give too much away. You know how it is.’
He tapped his nose. I was unimpressed. ‘I’m going to need more than that.’
Daniel laughed. ‘Imagine my surprise. We’re hoping to rival Instagram.’
I blew out a breath. ‘Big ambitions.’ It was one thing to hope to rise up in the dating-app sphere, another to aim for one of the biggest players in the world.
‘It’s my dad’s company,’ he continued before I could make any rash judgements. ‘And no, I didn’t just get the job because I’m his son. He’d never hire a weak candidate, regardless of who they were. I actually applied under a pseudonym.’
I hated to admit it, but I was impressed. ‘Surely when you got to the interview stage –’
Daniel coughed. ‘Again, I have a feeling it might have worked against me, not in my favour. He wasn’t on the panel, and no one wants to hire a daddy’s boy.’
‘They clearly got over that. What is it you actually do?’
‘I’m a programme designer.’
Part of me was jealous that my date – somewhere along the way, that’s what this had become – was still in the trenches of app development. The fun stuff.
‘A CEO and a programme designer walk into a bar …’
He laughed, looking relieved to no longer be under the line of fire. ‘And what might have happened in that bar, Penny? If the CEO’s business partner hadn’t interrupted them?’
‘I couldn’t possibly say …’
Because while it may have been out of character, I knew right then that I’d have slept with him that night, had Rory not appeared. It was what the universe would have wanted. And there was still time.
22
Rory: Were you in the office today? I didn’t see you. In and out of meetings.
I winced. I’d rushed out of the office on the dot, and he knew it. I also had a text waiting for me from Ella asking if I was okay; I was a chronic overstayer, even nailing down my perfect office dinner (a nutritious combination of McDonald’s chicken nuggets and the egg fried rice from the Chinese takeaway down the street). Rory and I had spent many an evening in the office long after everyone else had gone home, debriefing about the day and trying to come to unanimous decisions. But the tables had turned since last week; I was no longer bothered if Rory was avoiding me, because I was definitely avoiding him. It was all part of my mission to avoid three eventualities. The first, that Rory would bite the bullet and tell me about his new relationship with my other best friend. I didn’t think I was emotionally ready for that conversation. The second, that he wouldn’t tell me, and I’d be left feeling an even bigger sense of betrayal. And third, that he’d devote the whole day to ripping into Daniel, who had ended up not being a bad date. Or a bad kisser. And I wasn’t ready to justify that to Rory. All three eventualities were bleak, so I’d done the sensible thing and chosen complete avoidance instead. Healthy. Maeve would have been proud. I typed out a response to him because I couldn’t drop completely off the radar.
Me: Must have just missed you. Busy levels have hit the roof.
I nibbled the cuticle of my index finger. He was going to see right through this. He replied instantly, the three dots appearing as soon as my message had sent.
Rory: No problem. See you tomorrow.
Or not. He had bigger fish to fry – or get home to – than me avoiding him for twenty-four hours. It wasn’t unusual for me to go off-grid if I was immersed in something. I closed the chat, scared of going home to him and Maeve and instead fleeing to Mum’s.
‘Mum?’
I turned my key in her door, listening for the tell-tale signs. If she was in her kitchen baking, then I’d be able to hear her humming softly to herself or the whirr of her KitchenAid. If she was in her living room, I’d be able to hear Classic FM, her background music of choice as she read one of the many courtroom thrillers on her shelves. I’d already noted her car in the driveway, so she was here somewhere. I couldn’t hear either of the giveaways, so I ventured further in, dropping my bag on the kitchen table and grabbing a chocolate chip cookie from the plate in the centre. Still warm. The plot thickened.
‘Mum?’ I tried again, breaking the cookie in half and stuffing it in my mouth as I headed up the stairs. She’d been known to take naps at odd hours when she had a lot of orders. Apparently, it was easier to decorate cakes at midnight than it was during the normal nine to five, and she did have a highly important cake on her mind at the moment. We had reached the point where wedding preparation was all anyone could talk about. Between making bouquets for other brides at work and then getting on with her own wedding preparation, I was pretty sure even Isla was tiring of it. God knows how anyone managed to talk about a wedding for the length of a normal engagement. Last week it had been the politics of the seating chart. Did it make sense to stick Aunt Zoe on the table next to Uncle Steve, when they’d had a row last Christmas over who made the best stuffing? It was doing my nut in.
I ventured across the landing, a bit spooked by the silence and fully prepared to just wait downstairs with my laptop until she emerged. ‘Hi Pen!’ Her voice came from behind her bedroom door and I jumped out of my skin before narrowing my eyes. She was sniffling, I was sure of it. Even more sure because I’d inherited my ability to hide my tears from her. I pushed open the door slowly.
‘Mum, you okay?’
She was sitting on her bed, a blanket draped around her shoulders and a cookie in hand. That should have been the dead giveaway; whenever we’d been sad as children, she’d immediately jumped into action and baked a batch of chocolate chip. And she didn’t use the classic chips either, instead chopping up generous servings of Dairy Milk and making sure every bite contained a huge piece of chocolate. I blamed her for my sweet tooth. Her cookies had always sold instantly at our primary school charity bake sales.
‘Hi Penny.’ Mum shook the blanket off, trying to pretend that I hadn’t just walked in on her crying. ‘How was your day?’
I knelt on her fluffy cream duvet, kicking off my loafers so I could get further on without getting told off (old habits die hard). ‘You’re not getting out of this that easily.’
‘Right.’ She finished off her cookie.
As a child, she had known exactly when to push me, and when to leave me alone. I pushed now, and she didn’t need another nudge before letting it spill.
‘This is going to sound crazy,’ Mum said, swivelling slightly to face me, ‘but I downloaded your app.’
I tried not to let the surprise show on my face, but seriously, what the fuck? Both of my parents had clearly been on crack. There was no other explanation.
‘Any particular reason?’
She laughed. ‘Too much time on my own with fondant carrots? Does that count?’
I leaned my head on her shoulder. ‘Partially. Dead fondant bunnies would get anyone in their own head.’ I waited for her to elaborate, knowing that she would.
She leaned her head back against the headboard, her curls that were so similar to mine softening the blow. ‘I wanted to be able to understand your work, so that I could brag about it at the wedding.’
‘And?’ I knew there was more to it – a quick Google would have put her mind at rest about that.
‘And part of me wondered if it might match me with your dad.’ She blushed. ‘That’s ridiculous, isn’t it?’
It was a bit ridiculous, but I knew better than to say that. Ever since their divorce, it had been Mum who had stood firm, never wavering. Never once looking back.
