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“I’m sorry?”
“No. Sorry. I didn’t mean to be so blunt. I just meant, well—who are you in relation to Bee? Exactly?”
“Well. Yes. I see. I could probably make it, yes.”
Ana scrunched up her face in confusion. What on earth was he talking about? “I know it sounds weird, but we really need to know who you are. I mean—obviously you might just be her plumber, or something. Are you?”
“What?”
“Nothing. Sorry. I just need to… who are you?” she asked again in desperation, thinking what an awkward tool of communication the phone could be sometimes.
“Yes,” said the deadpan man, “tomorrow would be fine. How about midday?”
“What?”
“At my office. Yes. Do you have my office address?”
“Er—no.”
“52 Poland Street. Uh-huh. The bell says Tewkesbury. Ed Tewkesbury Productions.”
“PEN!” Ana mouthed urgently at Lol, who threw her one. “52 Poland Street?” she repeated back to him.
“That’s right.”
“Ed Tewkesbury Productions?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Midday tomorrow?”
“Yup.”
“So you want to meet me, tomorrow, at midday, at your office?”
“Yes, please. That would be great.”
“And your name is?”
“Ed Tewkesbury Productions. Yes. That’s right.”
“So you’re Ed?”
“That’s correct, yes.”
“And how exactly did you know my sister?”
“Great. That’s great, then. I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye.”
“No—hold on—wait a minute!” But he’d gone. Hung up.
“Jesus,” said Ana, switching off the phone and flopping backward into the sofa. “That was officially the weirdest person I’ve ever had a conversation with.”
“What’d he say? What’d he say?” squealed Lol.
Ana shrugged. “Absolutely nothing. Just to meet him at his office tomorrow. At midday.”
“And he didn’t say who he was?”
