Alice followed, a careful twenty meters behind.
It was easy. She’d been worried about appearing suspicious or attracting his attention, but Carl remained entirely oblivious all the way to Kilburn, earbuds plugged in, and his attention entirely commanded by the thick, dog-eared novel he pulled from the pocket of his windbreaker. Clutching a newspaper as her own disguise, Alice was able to close the distance between them to a mere fifteen feet as he swiped through the barriers and headed up the road, stopping first, she was gratified to see, at the café on the corner. Option number three it was, then.
Alice pushed through the doors and took a place behind him in the busy morning queue, close enough to touch. Her heart was skipping at the prospect of perhaps being so close to the truth about Ella, but she forced herself to stay calm. Calm and casual, and faintly awkward—that was the way to reach him, she’d decided. And so, as he reached for a sandwich, she did too, grazing his hand with hers in what appeared to be a completely accidental move.
They both jumped back.
“Oh, I’m sorry, you take it!” Alice gave him a nervous grin.
“No, you go ahead,” Carl replied, just as awkward. She’d thought him rather ordinary from afar, with short brown hair in a nondescript cut and a glazed, weary look as he shuffled through his morning commute; up close, however, she could see a certain delicacy in him—a cautious, introverted aura. She searched for a resemblance to Ella, but there was nothing decisive. Alice made her smile a little warmer.
“No, I couldn’t. Look, it’s the last, and you were here first…”
He shook his head. “See, I’d feel bad now. You take it, really.”
“Well, thanks.” Alice gave him a shy look, reaching again for the coronation chicken on whole grain she had absolutely no intention of eating. “That’s very sweet.”
Carl looked away, seemingly embarrassed, and there was a long pause while the woman in front loudly ordered a startling combination of tropical tea with espresso and vanilla. Alice couldn’t help but screw up her face at the thought. Noticing Carl was stifling a grin too, Alice caught his eye.
“Where do they come up with these flavors?” she murmured conspiratorially. “Maybe I’m a purist, but if you can’t even taste the coffee…”
“Right,” Carl agreed, louder than might otherwise be expected—if Alice hadn’t read his blog treatise on the proliferation of pointless flavors just the other night. “Next thing, it’ll be orange mocha Frappuccinos!”
Alice paused. “Wait, that’s from Zoolander, right? I love that film.”
Carl lit up. “It’s a classic. They’ve, uh, been talking about a sequel,” he added, almost awkward. “But I don’t think they should risk it.”
Alice nodded. “Right. They’ll probably just ruin everything, they always do, with those franchises.” She gave another shy smile as they edged forward, Carl now taking his turn at the register to order. He reached for his wallet, but Alice cleared her throat. “Let me. I mean, you let me have my lunch…” She held up the sandwich as evidence.
Carl began to flush. “Oh, I don’t—”
“Really,” Alice insisted, already passing coins over to the barista. “You can pay me back another time. I just started work around here,” she added, looking down briefly in a show of nerves before meeting his eyes again. “So, I’m sure I’ll see you again.”
Carl swallowed. “Uh, cool.” He nodded. “I…I’m Carl.” He held out his hand abruptly; Alice juggled her bag and package to her other hand and shook it.
“Ella,” she said, trying to look flustered. “Um, nice to meet you, Carl. I have to…” She gestured toward the door. “So, um, bye!”
“Bye.” Carl was still gazing after her with a faintly shell-shocked expression when Alice turned and left the café.
It wasn’t much, she knew—just a passing flash of dialogue, but there would be more. You didn’t just spill about your missing sister to a complete stranger—no, those sorts of confidences needed time and familiarity. Alice had no doubt they would get there, eventually. Carl and Ella were set to become very good friends.
***
Her new clue about Ella aside, life went on as normal for Alice—at least normal as far as her new routine was concerned. When she took a moment to reflect on her hectic schedule, she realized happily that it couldn’t be more different from the life she’d had before. Instead of spending her days up in the attic, poring over fine-print legalese, Alice was meeting with casting agents and scouts, and booking her now-growing client roster a promising array of roles. Lunch was crammed with more appointments, or dance classes at the studio, meeting Flora for an occasional snatched sandwich in the park nearby. What with her developing relationship with Nathan too, she barely had time for breath—yet still, despite the hectic pace of her schedule, Alice refused to lose sight of her real prize.
Setting her alarm to wake her extra early three times a week, she continued to go meet Carl in the Kilburn Starbucks, extending their conversations to cover books, television, and the boredom of his job in research—and hers as an executive assistant—over coffee and, soon enough, muffins too, before they had to dash to work. Carl now seemed genuinely happy to see her each time, even working up the courage to falteringly ask for her number.
Alice felt guilty over her deception, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop—not when the answers about Ella were so close. All she needed was more information about Kate Jackson; Carl was the only one who could help with that. Just a few more weeks, she told herself, then she could find the answers she craved.
***
“Tell me again why I don’t just quit.” Nadia reached forlornly for her glass of wine one night at the end of a busy week. Alice met her for drinks at a bar near the gym, skipping the virtues of a hip-hop class for the more immediate pleasures of alcohol and molten chocolate cake.
Slumping back against the dark-red leather banquette, Nadia sighed. “He did it again today: just talked right over me all the way through our client meeting. Every time I spoke up, it looked like I was being needy and, I don’t know, an attention whore.”
“Dickhead,” Alice said sympathetically. An art director at one of the smaller advertising firms, Nadia was struggling with her assigned copywriter, an arrogant ass**le who reminded Alice of her own pleasant exchanges with Tyrell. “You could slip laxatives in his coffee next time?”