“Very good!” says a bearded guy in a hat, approaching us with a bucket for donations. “Are you interested in jazz?”
“Kind of,” I say as I root in my bag for some money.
“We’re interested in the 1920s,” says Ed firmly, and winks at me. “Only the twenties, right, Lara?”
“We’re holding an open-air jazz event in Jubilee Gardens next week,” says the guy eagerly. “You want tickets? Ten percent off if you buy them now.”
“Sure,” says Ed, after glancing at me. “Why not?”
He hands the guy some money, takes two tickets, and we walk on.
“So,” says Ed after a bit. “We could go to this jazz thing… together. If you wanted to.”
“Er… right. Cool. I’d like that.”
He gives me one of the tickets, and a little awkwardly I put it in my bag. For a while I walk on silently, trying to work out what just happened. Is he asking me on a date? Or is this just an extension of the sightseeing? Or… what? What are we doing?
I reckon Ed must be thinking something along the same lines, because as we join the queue for the Eye, he suddenly looks at me with a kind of quizzical expression.
“Hey, Lara. Tell me something.”
“Er… OK.” I’m instantly nervous. He’s going to ask about me being psychic again.
“Why’d you burst into that conference room?” His forehead crinkles humorously. “Why did you ask me on a date?”
A million times worse. What am I supposed to say?
“That’s… a good question. And… and I have one for you,” I parry. “Why did you come? You could have turned me down!”
“I know.” Ed looks mystified. “You want to know the truth? It’s almost a blur. I can’t decipher my own thought processes. A strange girl arrives in the office. Next moment I’m on a date with her.” He turns to me with renewed focus. “C’mon. You must have had a reason. Had you seen me around the place or something?”
There’s an edge of hope to his voice. Like he’s hoping to hear something that will make his day better. I feel a sudden, horrible pang of guilt. He has no idea he’s just being used.
“It was… a dare with a friend.” I stare over his shoulder. “I don’t know why I did it.”
“Right.” His voice is as relaxed as before. “So I was a random dare. Doesn’t sound so good to the grandkids. I’ll tell them you were sent to me by aliens. Right after I tell them about the Duke of Marmaduke’s wigs.”
I know he’s joking. I know this is all banter. But as I glance up I can see it in his face. I can see the warmth. He’s falling for me. No, scratch that, he thinks he’s falling for me. But it’s all fake. It’s all wrong. It’s another puppet show. He’s been manipulated by Sadie as much as Josh was. None of this is real, none of it means anything.
I feel suddenly, ridiculously upset. This is all Sadie’s fault. She creates trouble wherever she goes. Ed is a really, really nice guy and he’s been screwed up enough already, and she’s messed with him and it’s not fair.
“Ed.” I swallow.
“Yes?”
Oh God. What do I say? You haven’t been dating me, you’ve been dating a ghost, she’s been influencing your mind, she’s like LSD without the upside…
“You might think you like me. But… you don’t.”
“I do.” He laughs. “I really like you.”
“You don’t.” I’m struggling here. “You’re not thinking for yourself. I mean… this isn’t real.”
“Feels pretty real to me.”
“I know it does. But… you don’t understand-” I break off, feeling helpless. There’s silence for a moment-then, Ed’s face abruptly changes.
“Oh. I see.”
“You do?” I say doubtfully.
“Lara, you don’t have to soften me with an excuse.” His smile turns wry. “If you’ve had enough, just say. I can cope with an afternoon on my own. It’s been fun and I appreciate the time you’ve taken, thanks very much-”
“No!” I say in dismay. “Stop it! I’m not trying to bail out! I’m having a really good time today. And I want to go on the London Eye.”
Ed’s eyes scan my face, up and down, left and right, as though they’re lie detectors.
“Well, so do I,” he says at last.
“Well… good.”
We’re so engrossed in our conversation, we haven’t noticed the gap growing in the queue ahead of us.
“Get on with it!” A guy behind suddenly prods me. “You’re on!”
“Oh!” I wake up. “Quick, we’re on!” I grab Ed’s hand and we run forward toward the big oval pod. It’s inching its way along the platform, and people are stepping on, amid giggles and shrieks. I step on, still hand in hand with Ed, and we beam at each other, all the awkwardness gone.
“OK, Mr. Harrison.” I revert to my tour-operator voice. “Now you’re going to see London.”
It’s brilliant. I mean, it just is brilliant .
We’ve been right up to the top and seen the whole city stretching out below us, like the A-Z map come to life. We’ve peered down at the little people scurrying around like ants, getting into ant cars and ant buses. I’ve knowledgeably pointed out St. Paul’s, and Buckingham Palace, and Big Ben. Now I’ve taken charge of the Historic London guidebook. It doesn’t have a section on the London Eye, but I’m reading out facts from it anyway, which I’m making up.