Since You've Been Gone - Anouska Knight

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the landing and into my room at the back of the house. This was the only room in the house with carpet, thanks to my sister, and I was glad for it as I padded across the floor to the heavy four-poster. The phone stopped buzzing before I reached it, of course. I dumped myself on the soft give of the simple ivory quilt Martha had said was to die for, and looked at the screen. The same unfamiliar mobile number sat at the top of the list of missed calls. Martha and Jesse’s names took all remaining spots.

      I started towelling the ends of my dripping hair and pondered who had pulled me from the tub before I’d had a chance to wash it through. Maybe it was Annie, Big Frank’s wife. She’d tried her best to get me to go and spend some time with them; it was probably her off the back of our catch-up today.

      Still no voicemail though. I wasn’t calling her back now, I’d do it tomorrow some time, right after I finally called Mum. Crap. I was going to get an earful.

      I was thinking of my mother’s impending annoyance, mobile phone still nestled in the palm of my hand, when it buzzed back to life. Annie’s attempts at being friendly had always been persistent, and I hated myself for holding it against her. I just didn’t want the therapy she thought she could offer me. My thumb hovered over the reject button but it seemed a little harsh, ungrateful too, probably. And I had enjoyed seeing Frank today. Maybe I was starting to mellow. Just answer it.

      ‘Hello?’ I said, waiting for Annie’s buoyant voice.

      ‘Hello?’ came his answer.

      ‘Frank?’

      ‘No. Not Frank. Is this the correct number for Miss Jefferson?’

      I didn’t know why I’d thought Frank. Only it definitely wasn’t Jess or Rob, which left me searching through a very limited list of male names.

      ‘Who is this?’ I asked, checking the time on the dresser clock. It was a bit late for mobile phone companies, or offers of PPI reclamation. There was something familiar though—

      ‘It’s Ciaran. Argyll.’

      The faintest involuntary gasp of breath kicked off a sudden thumping in the side of my neck and the wash of a tingling sensation over my cheeks. My body was already starting to react to some sort of stressful situation my brain didn’t understand yet.

      ‘Or … occasionally I go by Bond. James Bond.’

      I knew it, as soon as the name started to trip off his wistfully Scottish tongue, I knew what was coming. For some reason, I felt like I’d been caught out by him again.

       Think of something to say …

      ‘And on occasion, Handsome S—’

      ‘Ah, Mr Argyll … what can I do for you?’ I asked, searching for what the hell the answer could be. Thump, thump, continued the percussion in my neck. I tried to breathe quietly and evenly, to not allow the unsteadiness to give me away.

      ‘I’m sorry to call you out of hours, Miss Jefferson—’ I could hear the smile still there in his voice ‘—but I’m afraid I have a few queries about my order.’

      In the dresser mirror I could see the look of absolute confusion all over my daft pink face, but at least at the mention of work some part of my brain found a foothold and started to climb its way up to the light.

      ‘How did you get this number?’ I asked, allowing myself the first stirs of what could be annoyance, hoping that they might chase off whatever else was stirring back there.

      ‘Nothing’s sacred these days, Miss Jefferson. I find a little research saves time. I hope you don’t mind?’ It was one of those statements that had few answers which wouldn’t leave you open to one implication or another. I wasn’t sure exactly what a little research involved, or whether I liked being the subject of it, but whatever he wanted it must be important to call out of shop hours, and to research me enough to do so.

      ‘Is there a problem, Mr Argyll?’ I asked, the annoyance warming up nicely. ‘Because if there is, Jesse will be able to deal with that for you first thing on Monday.’

      ‘Jesse?’ he asked. ‘And will Jesse be taking care of my order throughout?’

      ‘That’s right. So if you have anything to discuss regarding your cake, he’ll be able to help you out with that. On Monday. During shop hours.’

      The other end of the line went quiet for a few seconds.

      ‘I was just wondering, and I’m sorry to keep you, but you are the boss and so I think I should really run this past you.’ His voice was relaxed, and carried with enough softness that his referring to my snippiness in the shop didn’t bug me. ‘There are going to be a lot of people at the event we’ve hired you for. We don’t really want them all wandering over and helping themselves to your masterpiece, it could get messy.’ Jess’s masterpiece. ‘I was just wondering to what extent your business’s services could be utilised?’

      ‘I’m sorry, Mr Argyll, I’m not sure I understand the question.’

      ‘I was just thinking that it might be an idea to employ you to oversee the cutting and serving of the cake. After seeing the detail of your work, I don’t think the staff are going to know what to do with it.’

      ‘I’m sorry, are you asking if we can babysit the cake for you?’

      He laughed then, an effortless press of breath against the phone. ‘I suppose I am. Of course, you’d also get to spend the evening at the Gold Rooms. I think you’d enjoy it.’

      Across in the mirror, the redness had definitely started to leave my cheeks, but I looked even more confused now. Why would I want to stay there? Why would he think I would?

      ‘Ah, we don’t offer that kind of service, Mr Argyll.’

      ‘Call me Ciaran.’

      The faintest prickle rode over my neck. I reached up to rub it away.

      It was hard to decide if that gentle edge to his voice had come from a childhood left behind, or his father’s intonation influencing his own through the years.

      ‘We don’t cake-sit, Ciaran. The venue’s banqueting team will be able to accommodate you.’

      ‘You’re right. They should do for what they charge. Have you ever been there?’ Were we chit-chatting?

      ‘No,’ I answered, more than bemused. ‘But Jesse’s told me all about it,’ I said in a voice that must have shown my disinterest.

      I felt a large droplet of cold water fall from my hair onto my thigh.

      ‘Then he’s told you how exclusive the venue is?’ What was he getting at?

      ‘He mentioned it.’

      ‘That it’s notoriously difficult to get into?’ This was getting weirder. The place was seriously swanky, I got it.

      I was about to disappoint him. ‘As Jess explained it to me, it’s not difficult to get in there. You just have to pay your way in.’

      ‘At an eye-watering price,’ he added.

      ‘I heard that too.’

      ‘And you wouldn’t take the chance to enjoy an evening there? Without having to pay your way in?’

      ‘The cost of entry isn’t what puts me off, Mr Argyll. Well, it would, but places like that just …’ I remembered to choose my words carefully. I might be sat on my bed, for some bizarre reason talking about frivolous haunts, but I was still talking to a customer.

      ‘Not your thing?’ he offered. Exactly.

      ‘Nope. Not really,’ I said, wondering how to round this chat off before I did offend him.

      ‘And is it Jesse’s thing?’

      I gave a small laugh myself then,

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