Chapters (55)
- Cover
- ANNA WHARTON
- Dedication page
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
- Praise
- THE IMPOSTER
‘Phil,’ Chloe says quickly, and strangely – for her – the first thing she can think to do to stop him talking is to wrap him in a hug. He seems surprised. He takes a step back awkwardly, then straightens his suit.
Patrick leans across from the passenger seat and looks up at the building. ‘Impressive, ennit? Which floor do you work on, Chloe?’
Phil looks confused. He points to the building behind them. ‘Oh, you’re working—’
‘Anyway, thanks, Patrick, thanks so much for the lift.’ She slams the door before she hears his answer, and taps the top of the car. Patrick pulls away.
‘Who’s that then?’ Phil asks, his forehead creased into a question.
‘Oh, no one,’ Chloe says. ‘Just a neighbour who was heading the same way this morning . . . Anyway, I haven’t seen you in ages. How are you?’
She doesn’t care. Phil rattles on about a cough he’s had that won’t go away. He tells her they’re getting quotes for a conservatory, about the holiday to Lanzarote. Chloe nods and smiles in all the right places, but she’s also got one eye on the tail lights of Patrick’s car; she sees him brake at the end of the car park, the orange indicator flickering left. Finally, he’s gone.
‘So you’re working here now?’ Phil asks.
‘Well, not quite – an interview,’ she says. It’s all she can think of.
‘Oh right, which department?’
‘Oh, er . . .’ She’s rummaging through her bag then, pretending to search for a piece of paper. ‘It’s an agency that’s sent me so . . .’
Phil starts shuffling on his feet, looking at the clock on the outside of the building that reads a few minutes past nine. He’s carrying a briefcase that Chloe is sure will have nothing more in it than his sandwiches. When she notices him glance towards the doors, she starts searching deeper inside her bag.
‘How’s Hollie?’ she starts.
But Phil’s discomfort is obvious as he checks his watch.
‘Listen, good luck with your interview – wherever it is. I’d better go. Duty calls and all that.’ He smiles awkwardly, in that geeky, dull way of his.
‘Yes, of course,’ Chloe says. ‘Send my love to Hollie, tell her I’ll call.’
Phil nods, but he’s already heading into the building through the revolving glass doors. Chloe pretends to be rifling through her bag for something – anything – until she sees him get into the lift in the lobby. Then she puts her bag back on her shoulder and walks towards the nearest bus stop.
FORTY
Chloe misses several calls on her phone that day. Two from Park House, and three from Hollie. Hollie sends a text too: Phil said you had an interview at his place today, how did it go? I miss you. Call me back. I’m sorry about before. xxx