For the benefit of anyone watching her, she pretended not to notice him and carried on playing with her hair like a demented poodle-owner. Unfortunately, Amelia also managed to bang the elbow belonging to Ms Stellar-Roast next to her, nearly knocking the maxi soya latte clean out of her hand. As Orlando Blum’s Twin looked in their direction, Amelia mumbled her apologies and pulled out a copy of the latest HotCeleb rag. She hunched over to read it and hid her reddening face. Ms Stellar-Roast wrinkled her nose in disgust at HotCeleb’s coverage of Jardin Moist’s new boingy tits and then in a totally authoritative manner, flicked the fold creases out of her peachy Finanical Lies with pseudo importance.
The Tube slipped from track to track, volleying its precious cargo sideways. The whole carriage of passengers seemed to sigh in unison, heads lolling in harmony as their mode of transport squished through the busy Victorian tunnel and stopped with an unceremonious heave. The vibration of the impatient engine shook the commuters out of their discomfort zones and into undisputed frustration, but calmly, Orlando Blum’s Twin gazed on at his own reflected perfection, totally unfazed.
Amelia glanced at her watch – 08:41. Dylan The PR was going to be waiting for Nathan, but as Nathan’s head had only hit the pillow two hours ago with an alcohol induced whack, she was in no doubt as to who would be left to do the small talk for an hour or so. It was just what she needed – an entire conversation about every inch of his latest conquests at C-A-M-P-I-N-K over the weekend. He only turned up once a month but like PMT, she fucking hated Dylan Mondays.
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