'I'm not on my sodding period,' I snarl. 'Not yet. So just shut up about it.'
'I'm not leaving you alone while … you know … '
'While what? I'm on my period?'
'No. While … while he's around.'
Referring to Ian Boyd just once in twenty-four hours is more than enough. And now she's gone and done it again.
'He's gone.'
'I wouldn't be so sure of that.' She narrows her eyes. At least I think she does. She's been at it again with the 'smoky-eyed' look and it's nigh on impossible to make out what's going on. 'I'm not leaving you unless I can contact you.'
'I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself.'
'Lucy,' Clive interjects, tapping his watch. 'We need to get to the Tate.'
'The Tate?'
'The Tate,' he confirms. 'I'm taking you to a party. It's a big deal. Lots of movers and shakers in the art world. It's your chance to do a bit of networking, but we need to be there for seven. A friend's meeting us at the door. He's got the tickets.'
'Oh, Clivey.' She clasps her hands to her chest. 'Have you done this for me?'
'Of course.'
While Clive touches Lucy's cheek, and she gives him a sickly sweet smile, I wrestle with the compulsion to tell the pair of them to pack it in and show more respect for a woman who's recently been dumped on by Cupid. In the end, I simply slump across the table.
'Just bring it over later,' I groan.
'No,' Lucy insists. 'You need your mobile. If that Scottish psychopath's back on the scene, I want to stay in touch.'
'He's not back on the scene.' I think back to Friday night, to Ian Boyd's unexpected reappearance in my life and his fight with Dan, and I shudder. After that little set-to, there's no way he's ever going to come near me again. 'Just go the bloody party, Lucy, and pick up my handbag on the way home.'
'No,' she states emphatically.
'We've got a front door. I can lock it, you know.'
She shakes her head.
'So give me your phone,' I press on. 'I can call Clive if I need rescuing.'
'No. You can't work my ruddy phone. And besides, I might need it.'
'Oh, for fuck's sake,' Clive growls, suddenly irritated. 'I wangle tickets for the most prestigious art event of the year, and you're pissing about? Lucy, come on.'
'I'm not going.'
'Okay, maybe Maya can come with us?'
Now this is getting out of hand. I'd like to launch myself at Lucy and man-handle her out of the front door. Instead, I stare at the cold fish finger sandwiches and moan: 'Don't be ridiculous.'
'I'm not being ridiculous,' Clive insists. 'I'm pretty sure we can get you in, and we can swing by Dan's on the way.'
My heart skips a whole gaggle of beats and I sit up straight, holding out a hand. 'No. That's not happening.' Strangely, I'm just not in a party mood, even if it the most prestigious art event of the year. And besides, somewhere at the back of my over-tired and fuddled head, I've got more than just a sneaking suspicion that this is all part of some evil plot. 'I'm not going anywhere near Dan.'
Because if I do, that'll be the end of me.
'You don't have to,' Clive explains. 'When I left, he was just off to the house for a couple of days. I've got a spare key. I can nip in and fetch the handbag. It won't take me five minutes.'
'I don't know.' Taking in a few deep gulps of air, I will my pulse to behave.
'It's the only way.' Lucy folds her arms and taps her foot. 'Otherwise, I'm staying here.'
'No, don't do that,' I snap, dreading a night of Lucy's fussing. I'm being ground into submission, and I know it. The trouble is I just haven't got the energy to deal with it. I'm through with thinking and arguing and fighting my corner. My brain's on the verge of throwing in the towel.
I switch my attention to Clive. 'He's definitely gone down to Surrey?'
'Yes.'
So maybe I should just get on with it, go with them, collect my handbag and beat the hastiest retreat ever. I'm reaching out for the wine, determined to finish it off when it's snatched away from me.
'You're coming with us,' Lucy snarls into my face. 'And that's that.'
I'm grabbed by the arm, yanked upwards and dragged out of the kitchen into Lucy's bedroom. Clearly, I'm getting no choice in the matter, but it's hardly a problem. I've already made my decision. I'm going nowhere near The Tate. After Clive's rescued my bag from the apartment of doom, I'll simply get a taxi home. Letting Lucy kit me out in a flowery dress, I beat off an attack with the make-up bag and pull a brush through my hair. At the last minute, remembering the necklace, I manage to escape Lucy's clutches for just long enough to rescue the tiny black box from my room. I'm ready to go through the motions, and nothing more.
***
Outside, it's a miserable evening. Summer seems to have washed its hands of London. Instead of pure blue skies, a mess of filthy grey clouds lurk above our heads and a constant drizzle fills the air.
'Don't worry.' Lucy guides me towards Clive's BMW. 'No storms. Just pissy showers.'
I'm vaguely aware of a door being opened, of sliding onto the back seat of the car. It's only when the door slams shut that I start to panic. What the hell am I doing, letting this pair drag me half way across London on a quest for handbag? And why the hell am I going anywhere near Dan's apartment? This is a gigantic mistake. In fact, it's the mother of all mistakes. I don't know whether it's the sleep deprivation, or the lack of food, or the two glasses of cheap plonk I've downed: but I don't seem to be able to make any decisions today. By the time I finally make one, to get back out of the car, Lucy and Clive are fully installed in the front and the engine's sparked into life. Hearing the whir of the central locking mechanism, I fiddle with the handle.
'You've locked me in,' I gasp.
Lucy looks back at me. 'Are you thinking of getting out?'
'Yes.'
'It's not going to happen. Drive Clive!'
Perhaps I should scream, or lie across the back seat and kick at the door. Or maybe both. Yes, I really should make a scene, but I'm exhausted and seeing as Lucy's determined to reunite me with my mobile, I'm pretty sure none of it would make a blind bit of difference. Besides, the car's already moving. As we pull out onto the High Street, I scowl at the back of Lucy's head, deciding that there's just no way out of this. The further we push into Central London, the slower we move, snagged up in one traffic jam after another, halted by just about every set of lights along the way. And the further we crawl, the more colour I seem to register: the flash of a cyclist's yellow jacket, the red, amber and green of the traffic lights, a rainbow flashing to life in an oil slick.
I close my eyes against the onslaught, opening them again as we finally reach Whitehall. Before long, we're picking up speed, moving past the Houses of Parliament, swinging out onto Lambeth Bridge and crossing the broad, choppy waters of the Thames. By this point, my stomach has begun to churn, just like the river below. I have a distinctly strange feeling about all of this. Taking a right at the south end of the bridge, Clive swerves by the roundabout and turns in to the left. I'm at Lambeth House again. And suddenly, I'm hearing Dan's words in my head. 'Make a mental note. You'll be coming here a lot.'
Well not any more, Mr Foster. This is my very last visit.
When we come to a halt, I stay exactly where I am, listening to the rain as it patters against the roof of the car, waiting for Clive to make a move. But he doesn't budge. Instead, he simply grunts, takes his mobile out of his jacket pocket, opens up a text and stares at it.
'Oh shit.' He waves the phone at Lucy. 'It's my mum. I just need to call her. Something's going on with my brother.' Entering a number, he opens the car door and steps out into the damp air. 'Mum, what's up?' The door slams shut behind him.
I'm about to tap Lucy on the shoulder and ask her to give Clive the necklace when she unfastens her seatbelt and gets out, leaving me alone in the car. Feeling like an idiot, I turn the little black box in my hands. Someone's got to take it up to the penthouse and dump it there, and it's certainly not going to be me. Unfastening my own seatbelt, I open the door and stand on the forecourt. While Clive wanders off towards the road, listening to the call, and Lucy folds her arms impatiently, I just can't help myself. Tipping my head back, I look up at the top floor, taking in the penthouse windows and the wall that surrounds his rooftop patio: the place where he watches the sun come up every day in the summer.
'Right,' Clive sighs, pulling a key fob out of his pocket, the mobile still clamped to his ear. 'You're going to have to do this, Lucy.'
'Me?' she squeaks.
'Yes, you. It's the top floor. You can't miss it.'
'Clive.'
'Just do it, Luce.' He holds out the fob. 'It's the gold one. I need to ring my brother and I need to do it now. He's about to do something very stupid.'
'But … '
'Seriously, Lucy. This is urgent.'
Taking the keys, Lucy turns to me, her face splattered with panic. 'I'm not going up there on my own.'
I glance across at Clive. He's already back on his mobile, head down, staring at a puddle.