Talk to Me Read Online Free PDF

do without the little chip in his tooth my imagination had unhelpfully provided. What’s more, he was desperate for me to go with him to Fiji.
    As I was lying back in the warm water, daydreaming, listening to the gentle, pfft pfft of foam bubbles, the pilot just edged into the lead – chipped tooth and all – and was in the process of producing first-class air tickets, when Emily interrupted with a loud rap on the unpainted bathroom door.
    ‘Are you planning on the lobster look, Olivia?’ she yelled through the frosted glass.
    Bugger. Time to get a move on.
    ‘Got your questions sorted?’
    ‘Nooo!’ I wailed, scrambling out of the bath, grabbing my watch. I abandoned thoughts of Fiji. I needed questions.
    I could still only think of, ‘Do you come here often?’ Then, it occurred to me that it could be a great question if used with irony. The ideal, ‘Are you on the same wavelength as me?’ test.
    It would have to do.
    Sod’s law. The train came on time and arrived at Waterloo several minutes early. There was even a tube waiting on the platform. Hopping on, Emily grabbed the nearest seat, while I walked down the carriage to snag the last seat next to a middle-aged man with a ponytail listening to an iPod. The volume was so loud that I could hear the tinny synthesiser of some horrible ’80’s arty thing. Laurie somebody. ‘I’m not home right now… but if you wanna leave a message … O Superman.’
    I smiled to myself. Superman. That was it. I had the perfect question.
    Fifteen minutes later we arrived outside Café Lulu. Through the huge plate glass windows, the décor and furniture shouted ‘massively trendy’. My stomach was doing an impression of a washing machine on maximum spin.
    At the door we were given a covert up-and-down by an Amazonian blonde drenched in an overpowering perfume, who obviously had strict instructions to weed out any riff-raff.
    ‘You are?’ she barked in an East European accent. Even I had to crick my neck to look up at her. She looked capable of slinging out undesirables by the scruff of their necks. Perhaps she’d been a female wrestler in a former life. I’d managed to text Barney that afternoon to tell him, rather than ask him, to expect one extra.
    We must have passed the test because we were waved over to a set of brightly lit stairs leading up to the private members’ lounge. It was packed. Impressive. Maybe Barney had had to squeeze us in after all.
    He was standing at the entrance and barely gave me a glance, far too busy snapping out orders to another blonde sporting a chest of magnificent proportions. With clipboard in hand and wearing one of those headsets with a microphone, she looked as if she knew what she was doing. She smiled at us. Not a single wrinkle or dimple spoilt her foundation. It was only when she asked our names that Barney twigged it was me.
    ‘Blimey, Olivia,’ he gasped, his eyes zeroing in on my cleavage. ‘Have you had a boob job?’
    Laced in like a Victorian lady, I was rather proud of the results. Good job I hadn’t gone for the inflatable version. I wouldn’t have put it past him to stick a needle in.
    ‘Murdered any hamsters lately?’ I didn’t say it, although it was on the tip of my tongue. Another childhood incident. Instead I managed to muster up a snide ‘This all looks very professional.’ The unspoken, ‘For an amateur,’ was implied by my surly tone.
    Emily gave me an irritated look. ‘Children, children,’ she interceded with a flirtatious smile. She would. Barney was just her type.
    ‘You’re on table seven, Olivia, and you,’ Barney gave Emily an approving smile, ‘are table twelve. Would you like me to show you to your tables?’
    ‘No, it’s fine. Just point the way to the bar,’ I said, anxious to put as much distance as possible between us. ‘You’re obviously rushed off your feet.’
    Botox Barbie’s smile slipped for a second, her face sour as she muttered under her breath, ‘Hardly.’
    My