First, the couple next to me looked at their watches, drained the froth on their cappuccinos and left, the man jabbering into a mobile phone and the woman putting on her jacket as she scurried off behind him. This seemed to remind Emily’s friend of something, because she too looked at her watch. I heard her apologetic tone, although not the actual words, and then she too gathered up her things and walked out, leaving three pound coins on the table.

As soon as she was alone, Emily began to stuff the sandwich into her mouth, trailing bits of watercress and tomato. There was nobody between her and me. I hesitated. Then I leaned across.

‘Excuse me? It’s Emily, isn’t it?’

Emily smiled at me in a puzzled sort of way, raising her eyebrows. She had a big piece of cress on her front teeth. It was revolting. ‘Yes. I’m sorry…?’

You will be, I thought. You will be. I beamed falsely at her. ‘Don’t worry – I can’t remember where we met either. I’m very good at names, but not very good at places.’ How we laughed. ‘It’s bugging me now,’ I said, frowning. ‘You weren’t at Vincent Shaw’s party, were you?’ She shook her head. ‘Do you go to Cannons gym?’ Another shake, making her cheeks wobble like a baby on a bus going over a cattle-grid.

‘Mind if I join you?’ I nodded towards her friend’s vacated seat, and Emily spread her palm towards it in invitation, smiling with her green teeth. I moved my coat and coffee, and sat down opposite her.

‘You look familiar to me, too,’ she said, her mouth full of sandwich.

Of course I do, you dozy cow, I thought. You’ve probably seen my photograph in the back of Alex’s copy of my book. This led me into a small dilemma – should I tell her my real name and freak her out now, when she realizes who she’s talking to; or should I soften her up a bit first? I decided on the latter.

‘What do you do?’ I asked, my head on one side in chirpy interrogation mode. Her umbrella lolled under the table between us, so I wiped my feet on it a few times. I felt quite pleased with myself for being such a good actress, when actually all I wanted to pick up the umbrella and stab her in the throat with the spike on the end.

‘I work in publishing,’ she said. ‘Round the corner. Nothing grand – I’m an editorial assistant.’

I slapped my hand to my forehead. ‘That must be it!’ I cried. ‘I’m an author. We’ve probably met at the Book Fair or a party or something.’

Emily looked doubtful. ‘I don’t go to many publishing parties,’ she said. ‘Who’s your publisher?’

‘It was Penguin, but I’m between publishers at the moment’. I thought it would be better not to pretend I was anybody current.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Um – I write under the name Jessica Thomas,’ I said, naming my mum’s elderly next door neighbour as the first person who came into my head. ‘But I only had a two book deal which expired a couple of years ago. My agent’s about to auction my third.’

Emily’s eyes widened. ‘How fantastic. I’ve heard of you, you know, but I’m afraid I haven’t read either of your books. You got brilliant reviews for the last one, didn’t you?’

Silly, silly tart. I inclined my head bashfully. ‘Well, I suppose they were pretty good, yes.’

She gushed on. ‘Oh, I do admire writers. I’d love to be one myself but I can’t even write a shopping list! I’d like to be an editor one day, though. I like working on other people’s stuff…. My boyfriend’s a writer, too, actually.’

‘Oh?’ I said, gritting my teeth. ‘Published, is he?’

‘Not yet. But I’ve just shown his short stories to my boss. I know she’s going to love them – they’re fantastic. He’s really talented. It would be so brilliant if he got a publishing deal.’

My blood ran cold. This was a new and horrible prospect I hadn’t even contemplated before – Alex, getting a deal when I had none! It was unthinkable. It was becoming harder to disguise my anger and contempt for the pair of them, especially when I thought again of what I’d overheard Emily saying about me just minutes earlier. I drained the lukewarm dregs of coffee and stood up.

‘Well, must dash. I’ve got a meeting with my film agent – apparently Paramount are going to option my first novel. Nice to see you again, Emily. By the way, you’ve got spinach or something in your teeth. Bye!’

I walked unsteadily up to the cash register, paid for my coffee and bagel, and hurried out of the door, resisting the urge to flatten myself, panting, against the damp brick wall outside. I felt sick and upset, and at that moment I hated Alex and Emily with a vehemence that obliterated every other thought in my spinning, aching head.

Chapter 26

Alex

Thursday (cont)

Siobhan. Siobhan and Emily. Together.

I closed my eyes for a second, praying that it was an hallucination. But when I opened them, the two women were still there. Talking to each other. Terror made me go cold; I felt a black dog snapping at my heart. This could be it: the end of Emily and me; the death of everything we had together. Siobhan could shatter our world with a well-chosen word. I peered through the window, half-hidden behind the window menu, one eye closed, as if that would make me less visible, wondering what they were talking about. Emily looked a bit confused. Not upset or angry, just bewildered. Then she smiled, looked happier (and even then, feeling that stressed, that scared, I noticed how lovely Emily is with a smile on her face).

God, I wished I could hear them; I would give anything to be able to turn myself into a fly so I could go buzzing in there and spy on them. Or to make myself invisible – stand beside them and hear exactly what they were saying. Was Siobhan telling her about the clothes I bought her? The time I – and it makes me sick typing this – hid in her wardrobe? She might even show her the card I wrote her. It’s bad enough for any man when his current girlfriend meets the last object of his desires. It makes it a little bit worse when the current girlfriend doesn’t know that her boyfriend was formerly a stalker. Because that’s exactly the ‘well-chosen’ word Siobhan will use to describe me.

I had a sudden impulse to rush into the café and shout, ‘Don’t listen to her. It’s all lies.’ But then I pictured Emily turning to me, brow furrowed, saying, ‘What’s all lies?’ Because surely - common sense, arriving late as usual, told me - Siobhan doesn’t know who Emily is? How could she know? It’s not as if she’s been spying on me, is it? And then it hit me – the reason for this universe-crunching event: Emily works for a publisher; Siobhan is a writer. Emily’s company must be publishing Siobhan’s new book. It had to be a coincidence – nothing more.

But then I had another spasm of panic, another wave of paranoid thoughts making me reel: What if Siobhan finds out that Emily and I are together? Emily might mention that her boyfriend is a writer too; she might even say my name. I expect Emily talks about me at every possible opportunity. And if Siobhan discovers that this sweet, harmless girl is going out with a man she thinks of as a stalker, surely she’ll tell her about my past, try to warn her off.

I was paralysed by all those ifs, not knowing what to do. And while I was paralysed, I realised that Siobhan was standing up and heading my way.

I rushed around the corner of the café and ducked down an alleyway. This was where the Aroma Therapy dustbins were kept. Hell, I was going to need therapy after this. I heard something move beside me and jumped, clutching my chest. A rotund moggy blinked at me then returned to the remnants of the tuna baguette it had dragged out of the dustbin.

I figured Siobhan must have gone by now, so I poked my head out of the alleyway, startling an old woman. I considered going in to the café to see Emily, but I knew how I must look: wide-eyed and flustered, smelling of sweat on a frigid London afternoon. I didn’t want to arouse any suspicion in her. I really wanted to go home. I really, really wanted a cigarette. On the way back to my flat I stopped off and bought a packet of Marlboro – full strength. I smoked three of them before I got home.