by John Eider
Yet Finn was no stranger to feeling certain dreads at certain points during the day. These were dreads as strong as anything he felt, and which amazed him both that he daily overcame them, and survived them with no obvious physical effects.
The first of these was less a dread than an extended internal groan, and occurred at the point of getting out of bed of a workday morning. This was always between five and eight minutes later than the target he set himself for rising; for although some deep part of him wished to stay there forever, a deeper part knew that any later and he’d miss the bus. It might be cold, it might be warm, he might be bursting for a slash, or for a cup of tea, or to brush away the taste of whatever he’d been eating or drinking the night before. It made no difference, that first act of emerging felt no less a ‘little death’ than the Pharaohs would have considered the sleep he’d just woken from.
The second feeling was less common and felt far from every day. Yet just recently it had become as routine as the ‘waking groan’, and it was the feeling of nausea that arose as his bus neared his place of work. The human mind was an odd thing, Finn considered: why not dread from the moment he embarked? The bus was never going to go a different way to every other day. Yet somehow he could deny his destination until he had the evidence of his own eyes through the bus’s upstairs windows.
This day wasn’t strictly speaking a work morning, and Finn wasn’t needed till close to ten. Yet the ‘waking groan’ and the ‘work groan’ seemed both present right away. This was what it was then to live in his world at that moment, Finn thought to himself, his mind already fully-firing. A world where his emotional life was unrequired, was not acknowledged to exist, was not reflected in what he did for eight hours a day; and where, when his feelings did appear, they were judged a hindrance.
What time was breakfast? He couldn’t quite remember. But it was a special day, so he gave himself a full half-hour’s grace.
Meanwhile, in a room along the corridor…
The hotel seemed so bright: its windows were bright, its walls bright, the air she moved though as she sat up in bed all so bright.
Sylvie’s first thought upon waking had been, I hadn’t closed the curtains. Followed by, Are they my curtains? Followed by the relief of looking around her and seeing that she was in her own bed, and furthermore alone.
Had he been there last night? No, the room they’d been in had been a different size and shape. She’d left him there; she’d wanted to get back. She’d been conscious of her colleagues knocking for her in the morning. The memory returned of her creeping off along the corridor to her own suite, of doing all she could to stop him gigglingly following her, she shushing him, her shoes in hand.
‘People are sleeping,’ she’d whispered.
‘Not in our rooms, they’re not.’
Sylvie looked to the bedside table, and found she hadn’t left her morning-self a glass of water. Straight away her throat felt dry. It was then, as she sat up in bed, that the brightness hit her. The time wasn’t too bad, at least not on a day where they weren’t travelling till ten o’clock. Yet already the day was producing that flat grey light that filled every space, diffused every shadow, and made each surface as bright as every other surface and the air they existed in.
It would stay like that till sundown she knew, during which it could be any time of the day or season of the year. She rolled back the duvet and herself out of bed, to find her phone and then the bathroom.
As for the previous night, what she felt was not remorse, nor even regret. But certainly a feeling that the layaround life was better suited to men, with their natural vitality and ability to forget. Not to women, with their weight of emotions to deal with. Odd, she thought, how such feelings crept up on you with age.
Ablutions to take care of, there was only the shower now to wash away the settled dust of nighttime. Sylvie raised her arm to turn the dial and saw a number on her forearm. It started 017, was his mobile, had been written laughingly in eyeliner pencil and then forgotten.
Where had he come from? She forgot the details, only that it had been a long way away. Furthermore, from certain words he’d used, she now judged he almost certainly had a girlfriend there. She looked again at the number. She turned the dial, and let the water fall and wash it away.
Composed and ready to face the world, Sylvie moved down the stairs to enter the restaurant. It being a little later in the morning, she thought the others might already be there to greet her. Would they know what she’d been up to the night before? They’d been absorbed in their pool game, hadn’t they, hardly taking any notice of her. Nor could they think any less of her in the office than they already did, she felt, self-critically. And as for Jemima, her friend was no pot to call the kettle black.
Although the hotel was an old building, the facilities had been recently updated, so that the only old parts left were those bringing character. Anything out of date, in the way, or downright cranky had been expunged, smoothed out, replaced by painted plasterboard and fitted carpet and spot lighting. The effect was dazzling in the restaurant – always an important room in such a public establishment – where fine art hung on flawless walls, and where great stone frames held electrically assisted plate-glass doors.
As the latter opened for her, Sylvie saw the others. Oh no, there was an atmosphere, she instantly recognised it. Yet not to do with her, for the looks her way were looking to her for agreement, or understanding, not accusation – something else had happened that night, and it hadn’t included her.
Sylvie had barely entered the room. Still, the first words directed to her were a question. Mitch caught her before she’d even made it to the self-service cereal and juice counter – hot dishes could be ordered at the table.
‘Where were you last night?’
‘Bit personal,’ she stuttered, as if being asked by her Dad.
‘We were knocking on your door. And don’t tell me you’re a heavy sleeper?’
But before she could voice her protest, Mitch explained,
‘Jem had a bad night. We tried to find you.’
The table was placed at a corner, and leaning to look to see its hidden portion, Sylvie saw that no, Jemima was not there. Jasper was though, and looking as sheepish as anything.
‘What did you do?’ she asked Jay across the floor.
‘Nothing!’
‘Well, you were with her last night. You must have done something.’
Mitch answered, ‘Well, that’s exactly what we’re trying to find out.’
Still no explanation. Nor did Finn’s face give her any sign.
‘No point asking Friend Finn,’ bit Mitch. ‘He slept through it too. Although it was going on right outside his door.’
‘I was off as soon as my head hit the pillow,’ he offered apologetically.
‘What happened?’ Sylvie asked the boss.
‘It’s okay, Jem’s fine.’
‘Where is she?’
‘She’s had hers in her room.’
Sylvie’s breakfast would have to wait.
Chapter 48 – Jemima’s Room
Back up the stairs, Sylvie knocked her friend’s door, receiving a glum, ‘Come in.’ Yet as Sylvie entered, Jemima threw her food tray down on the bed and rushed to hug her.
It was a minute before they were sat on the bed and they could talk. Jemima had resumed her eating, and Sylvie still had no notion of what had occurred. Yet she had to bite down on her fears, for the telling would come at Jemima’s speed. Still, it came to something when you were checking your friend in the morning for bruises.
‘Hey, you okay?’ started Sylvie.
‘We knocked for you last night,’ answered Jem between mouthfuls of egg on toast.
‘I know, I’m sorry. If I’d known.’
‘Known what?’
Sylvie still didn’t know what.
‘I suppose you were asleep,’ said Jem.
‘Yeah, I must have been,’ answered Sylvie. However, looking at the bags beneath Jem’s eyes, Sylvie
didn’t think she’d gotten much more sleep than her friend had.
‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ began Jemima, before Sylvie had had a chance to ask.
‘Okay.’ Sylvie’s body language was as open as she knew to make it.
‘I didn’t want to go down for breakfast.’
‘You don’t have to.’
‘Will you stay?’
‘Of course.’
Sylvie hoped her friend couldn’t hear her stomach rumbling.
After a spell of quiet eating, Jemima said,
‘I was with Jasper.’
‘Yes.’
‘In here.’ She looked up and around the room.
‘Okay.’
Jemima looked down then, and to one side. ‘He had a phone-call from his wife. A picture flashed up of her holding a baby.’
‘Oh.’
‘After that, I didn’t want to…’
‘Did he get upset with you?’
But Jemima said no more.
‘He didn’t hurt you?’
‘No, no, no.’
But that was all she’d say for now, looking back down at her cornflakes.
It would play out like this over the coming days, guessed Sylvie: a series of partial revelations, each feeling to Jemima like one step too far, each bringing the process to a stop. At some point there’d be tears, and Sylvie would be there.
Sylvie hoped it wouldn’t turn out to have been any more than a row. There was certainly no evidence of worse. And then she remembered Jem hyperventilating in the hotel corridor. Sylvie tried to imagine a second scene, one taking place at nighttime: the phone call interrupting them mid-clinch. Jemima panicking, wanting away. Jasper not knowing what was going on at first, not able to change course quickly enough, turned instantly from fumbling; to calming; to even fearing being thought an attacker.
One of them must have gone to find Mitch, had knocked up Finn who wasn’t answering. Sylvie thought of the nighttime panic this could generate in the hotel, and the whole hysterical horror of it all.
How had Sylvie missed it? Finn had missed it, and his room was only a couple of doors along. The walls in their wing must have been a foot thick, thought Sylvie. And the room she’d been in had been half the hotel away.
Jemima may not have wanted to talk. Yet as a friend, Sylvie had to counsel,
‘He’s going to be in the minibus all the way home.’
‘I’m getting a train.’
‘He’s going to be on your team every day at work, Jem. We can’t leave it like this.’
‘We can. Mitch told me this morning. He spoke to Digby again; they’ve changed the desk plan.’
Sylvie wondered just how much she had missed.
‘When’s your train? I’ll go with you?’
‘There’s an off-peak one at eleven – Mitch has already bought us tickets.’
Things had evidently started early.
‘Okay. Of course I’d go with you.’
‘He knew you would.’
This would mean they got home later, but it spared them the brooding masculine atmosphere of the minibus.
‘And I am sorry I wasn’t there last night.’
‘You were only doing what I was.’
‘You should have called me.’
‘I didn’t want to… interrupt.’
Fun though it had been, Sylvie wasn’t sure that she’d even have noticed that very much was being interrupted.
Jem had finished eating. She said,
‘I have to shower.’
After numerous assurances that she was fine, Sylvie left her to pack,
‘I’ll see you at half-ten then?’
‘Okay.’
Sylvie closed the door softly behind her.
Chapter 49 – At the Breakfast Table
Not able to take the atmosphere any longer, Jasper had left the breakfast party to hide out in the hotel lounge. He grabbed a complimentary paper on the way, which he proceeded to look at without taking in a word.
This left Mitch holding court to a Round Table of one.
‘He’s not daft, Finn,’ he was saying.
‘Eh?’
‘Digby. He’s not daft.’
‘No.’
Mitch thought aloud,
‘I wonder how much longer this hotel bill will have to get before his secretary thinks he needs to see it.’
‘Jem’s room service?’
‘And he’ll be watching you guys like a hawk. And after last night…’
Finn imagined the scene outside Jem’s room. His boss had been in attendance, and the calamity had evidently shaken him.
The Team Leader was still pondering,
‘Well. Maybe it’s the squeaky wheel that gets the grease?’
‘Sorry, Boss?’
‘You! You four, you’re the squeaky wheel. You’ve lucked-out, as the Yanks say. Only don’t go on pushing it, Finn.’
‘What d’you mean?’ His boss’s change of tone had startled him.
‘I mean, that it’s all very well being emotional, and having all these feelings. But carry on like it, and you’re in danger of being thought pathetic.
‘Not with me,’ Mitch clarified to ease the shock he saw in Finn. ‘I know it’s just the way you are, and you’ve always worked well for me. I know this has been a stressful few days.’
‘Few weeks.’
‘And you’re not alone in that. Just… don’t carry on like this when we get back to the office, right?’ Mitch went on, ‘What happens in Sommerhill stays in Sommerhill. Digby wouldn’t brook the kind of conversations we’ve been having for very long. You don’t get to where he is by agonising over decisions. He’d call it “hand-wringing”, but you didn’t hear that from me.
‘He’s never been the sort to listen to feelings. Instincts maybe, but that’s a very different thing; and in that there’s no one better than Digby – he knew something was up here before I’d even told him, clearer than I knew it myself. But instinct’s different isn’t it; gut not heart, or something. Oh, who knows? Tell it to the birds, Finn, for all the good it’s doing any of us here! I won’t be sad to see the back of this place.’
All Finn could do was wait, before his senior continued,
‘And he knows he messed up with the Foreclosure Team. I’ve only told Jem the details so far, but there won’t be a Team F come next week. Everyone will share the work, and you’re all being moved.’
‘So it’s certain?’
Mitch nodded.
Finn looked at him, incredulous,
‘I know you mentioned something like it last night…’
‘You’ll probably end up on Sales. You’ve done it before?’
Finn nodded. He had done, once for a spell years ago.
‘Good, ‘cos we’re running out of slack, Finn. We can’t have any more dramas. We need quiet competence from the four of you for the foreseeable future – with the emphasis on quiet – if you don’t want to be remembered as a troublemaker. And Digby’s like an elephant, he never forgets.’
‘Okay.’
‘Jasper’s lucked-out especially: he’s landed Acquisitions.’
‘What, even after last..?’
‘Jemima doesn’t want it going further, whatever it was. I’ve given her a woman’s name in Personnel, if she wanted someone to speak to. There’s nothing more I can do.’
‘But Jasper, getting the top job after this..?’
‘From what I’ve heard of that mob, he’ll fit in fine.’
‘And the girls? Are they Sales too?’
‘Jem will be; Sylvie gets Resolutions.’
Finn’s eyes widened.
‘Yes, it’s a good one, she’ll learn a lot there. And she’s bloody earned it too; she’s been reliable these past few weeks. It isn’t a promotion, but you might see it as such. I’m sure you don’t begrudge her.’
‘No.’
‘And Finn, everything I’ve said here, it’s because I trust you. You get that?’
‘Yes. Word
of what happened yesterday won’t go any further once we get back.’
‘No, I don’t mean it like that; though thanks. But only… what I said just then, about you seeming weak. Well, it isn’t my opinion. It’s me looking out for you, warding you against future criticism. You get that?’
‘Yes, Boss.’
‘Good. Then put it all out of your mind. Have a last look around or whatever. Have a drink if you like, the bar’s open. The minibus is at ten.’
Mitch got up, before concluding, ‘I’m sorry. It’s not you I should have been angry with there. It’s Jasper; and not even him. It wasn’t his fault she flipped out, nor hers. It’s just this trip, this bloody trip.’
And with a hand slapped on the shoulder, Mitch was gone.
Chapter 50 – Taking the Air
Finn needed some air. And maybe Mitch was right, maybe he should have a last look around the town. It was a place with memories for him, yet which he might not see again for who-knew-how-long. As he left the restaurant though, Jasper appeared at the door to the lounge.
‘Finn, glad to catch you.’
‘Jasper.’
‘Look, about last night…’
‘Jasper, I’ve heard it all. There’s nothing else you need to tell me.’
‘But it was nothing very terrible, old man. I don’t want you to think…’
Finn got it then,
‘Oh no,’ said the understanding colleague. ‘I really don’t think you tried to hurt her. If that’s what you mean.’
‘Thank you. I know how it ended up looking, I just… I wanted you to know, I’d never do that.’
‘I know, Jasper. I really do.’
Jasper relaxed once he had Finn’s trust back,
‘It was my phone that did it. My wife had programmed it, you see, so that when she called me her picture popped up on screen. Her with the baby.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yes. I think Jem had another panic, that was all. And you can imagine the scene, halfway to paradise, so to speak.’
‘Indeed.’
‘She just wanted me out of there, before I even knew what was happening. It must have looked a right mess.’
Finn could imagine.
‘She won’t go any further with it though, once she’s calmed down.’
‘No, I’m sure.’
‘And it’s very good of you to be so reasonable, me being married and all.’
But the fact was that Finn was not being reasonable as such, merely hadn’t the brain-space left available to consider the matter to any serious degree.
