Text b: Romance

“Excuse me!” My voice shrills out as I sprint across to her. “You are looking out for my ring, aren’t you?”

“No sign of it so far, love.” The woman sweeps another load of detritus off the table into the big bag without giving it a second glance.

“Careful!” I grab for the napkins and pull them out again, feeling each one carefully for a hard lump, not caring that I’m getting buttercream icing all over my hands.

“Dear, I’m trying to clear clear up.” The cleaner grabs the napkins out of my hands. “Look at the mess you’re making!”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” I scrabble for the cupcake cases I dropped on the floor. “But you don’t understand. If I don’t find this ring, I’m dead.”

I want to grab the big bag and do a forensic check of the contents with tweezers. I want to put plastic tape round the whole room and declare it a crime scene. It has to be here, it has to be.

Unless someone’s still got it. That’s he only other possibility that I’m clinging to. One of my friends is still wearing it and somehow hasn’t noticed. Perhaps it’s slipped into a handbag… maybe it’s fallen into a pocket… it’s stuck on the threads of a jumper… the possibilities in my head are getting more and more far-fetched, but I can’t give up on them.

“Have you tried the cloakroom?” the woman swerves to get past me.

Of course I’ve tried the cloakroom. I checked every single cubicle on my hands and knees. And then all the basins. Twice. And then I tried to persuade the concierge to clode it and have all the sink pipes investigated, but he refused.

Kinsella, Sophie. 2012. I’ve Got Your Number. London: Bantam Press.

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