Down London Road

Ellie choked on her laughter. ‘I think it’s time we checked out.’ She took hold of a reluctant Joss and tugged on her arm.
    ‘Fine,’ Joss muttered, her calculating gaze shifting between me and Cam. ‘Jo, tell Cam about Cole’s comic books.’
    I groaned inwardly. ‘Goodnight, Joss. ’Night, Els.’
    Ellie waved and ushered Joss out of the bar.
    Even though the conversation around us was a wordless babble of noise above the music, silence reigned within the bubble containing me and Cam behind the bar. No noise could penetrate the thick tension between us.
    Finally Cam took a step towards me. For the first time since I’d met him (and it was weird to realize that I’d met him only twice, since it seemed like we’d known each other a lot longer), Cam looked uncomfortable. ‘So … Cole’s your wee brother, then?’
    Screw you.
I stared at him blankly, trying to decide what I should say. Finally, I came to the conclusion that it would be better if Cam and I remained at a distance. No matter how much Joss wanted him to see me in a different light, I didn’t want him to. He’d jumped to his conclusions like everyone else, and frankly I didn’t want to be on friendly terms with someone who had taken to tearing me down, and that was before he had got to know me. I sighed and strode past him. ‘I’m going on my break.’
    Cam didn’t answer me.
    And for the rest of the night he endured my cold-shoulder treatment in tight-lipped silence.



6
    As I had been on every Wednesday that had come before it, I was shattered the next day. My Tuesday shift at Club 39 followed by my Wednesday day shift at Meikle & Young was the worst part of my week. I shared the job as personal assistant to Mr Meikle with another girl called Lucy. I had never met Lucy, but we left little messages all the time to let each other know what had been done and what still needed to be done, so I felt like I knew her. She always put smiley faces at the end of any request so it didn’t come off as a demand. I thought that was nice and often wondered if Mr Meikle was pleasant to the girl with the smiley faces. I hoped so.
    He certainly wasn’t pleasant to me.
    That morning I’d almost managed to get everything right. With three hours to go in the workday, I had been sitting franking mail that was to go out that night, trying to get Cam’s stupid, arrogant voice out of my head, when Mr Meikle came out of his office and obnoxiously waved a letter in my face.
    As I gazed up at him from my seat I wondered for a second if his problem with me had something to do with my height. I was a good three inches taller than he was, and he always looked rather nonplussed when we were standing together, and smug whenever I was sitting and he was standing over me. ‘Sir?’ I asked, my eyes crossingas I tried to make out what the bloody hell he was dangling before me.
    ‘I was about to sign the letter you were sending out to this client, Joanne, when I discovered two errors.’ His face was red with frustration as he pulled the paper back to shove two fingers in my face. ‘Two.’
    I blanched. Damn my lack of sleep. ‘Sorry, Mr Meikle, I’ll fix that right away.’
    He harrumphed and slapped the letter on my desk. ‘It had better be perfect. Lucy can always manage it, for goodness’ sake.’ He strode back to his office and then snapped around, his eyes narrowed behind his glasses. ‘I thought I had two appointments this afternoon, Joanne?’
    I had worked for Mr Meikle for almost two years now, so it was long past the appropriate time to correct him on my name. He’d called me Joanne instead of Johanna since the beginning, despite the fact that he was the one who handed me my wage slip every month. The wage slip that clearly said ‘Miss Johanna Walker’ on it. Numpty.
    ‘Yes, sir.’ In fact one of his appointments was with Malcolm. ‘You have Mr Hendry in fifteen minutes and a four o’clock appointment with Mrs Drummond.’
    Without another word he slammed back inside his office. I stared at his door and then at the letter he’d slapped on my desk. Turning it over, I noted he’d circled the two errors in red pen. I’d missed the apostrophe in ‘Meikle & Young’s’ and had missed the colon after ‘telephone number’. ‘Pedantic twit,’ I muttered, pushing my chair back to the desk. It took me only seconds to find the file on the computer, fix the errors and print the corrected version off. I left it with him without a word and