When We Are Old (If We Were... Book 2)

by Anna Bloom

  “Boss lady.” Fred sauntered out of my office and rested up against the doorframe, his gaze guarded.

  “What are you doing in there?” I said and pointed at my office door.

  “I figured it was easier to use your office, that’s all.” He shrugged.

  “Oh.” I sounded like a petulant child. “Did you enjoy the big boss chair?”

  “It fit my arse like a dream.” Fred’s shoulders dropped and he shot me a smile. His hair seemed neater, shorter maybe. His jeans were still skinny, but his T-shirt had been replaced by a smart grey shirt, tucked in, and a thin belt. Geek Chic smart, I guessed.

  I glanced down at my own navy suit. I still looked like a lost librarian. Not exactly the rocking artistic type with a cutting-edge branding company.

  “Shall we catch up?” I pointed at my office. Was I asking permission to enter my own room?

  “Sure.” He pressed away from the doorway. “How was your break?”

  “Um, interesting.” I pushed a hand though my hair. “Kind of very interesting.”

  Fred, with the shrewd gaze of a killer eagle, glanced at my left hand. “I’m thinking that’s a poetic sentiment.”

  “Ooooh, uuuh, yeah.” I pushed past him into the office and switched on the desk fan, leaning down into the cool jets.

  “You okay, Ronnie?”

  “Yep? You?”

  Jesus. My talking problems weren’t totally fixed.

  On a count backwards from five I pushed away from the desk. “Right then, tell me all.”

  Fred shifted a little and cleared his throat. “Can we talk about what happened the other week first?”

  Oh God, no. Please let’s not talk about that—ever.

  “I’m sorry.” He had the grace to blush, but it had no heat compared the flare of fire on my cheeks. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  “So you don’t love me then?” My heart beat fast. Please for fuck's sake say no and don’t make this weirder than it is.

  “No. I think I was hungover and if I’m going to be honest, a little jealous.”

  “Jealous?”

  “You’ve kind of always been ours.” He shrugged and pushed a hand through his hair.

  I peered through the glass wall of the office to the reception area where Natalie was watching us while pretending to reapply make-up. “I’m not a company mascot, Fred. I’m the boss.”

  “I know.” He stubbed the toe of his trainer against the floor. “My bad. Boss Lady.” His lips curved into a smirk.

  ‘Oh, for fuck's sake, can we just move on? This is as awkward as hell.”

  He flashed me his wide smile and I breathed out a small smile of relief. “Let’s move on.”

  “And never ever mention it again.”

  He motioned zipping his lips.

  “Right, McDougall. Don’t freak out, but I’ve got some ideas.”

  He nodded and slipped into the chair at the round meeting table, while I breathed out a massive sigh of relief. Please, please, could I try to get my life back onto a normal path?

  Automatically, I rested my hand on my stomach.

  Wasn’t there a very real chance normal was gone for good?

  I needed to talk to Matthew.

  “Natalie.” I waved at her through the glass. “Get some coffees from downstairs. It’s time for a staff meeting.”

  Her skin paled and I shook my head. “Don’t worry, you’ve still got a job.”

  I looked at Fred and knew I was making the right decision.

  “There are going to be some changes to management.

  Please don’t let me regret this.

  My phone vibrated in my back pocket and I eased up onto sore knees to fish it out before it rang off, narrowly missing hitting my head on a beam in the attic.

  I didn’t know why I was the one in the attic. Ma said it was because I owned most of the stuff up there, but really, I’d found an awful lot of crap up here I didn’t think had ever been used. Some stuff still in boxes like it had been bought from a shopping channel and never seen the light of day. The electric fly killer looked particularly lethal and not just for flies.

  Slowly, I was putting all of Paul's stuff—well our stuff from our life before—into a pile I could go through with Hannah.

  When Paul had died, I’d not wanted to throw anything away. Hannah had been so young, it wouldn’t have been fair, but I’d been lumbered with bags of shirts and ties, and suits that I doubted she gave a shit about.

  Maybe it had been me unwilling to throw things away, holding onto my guilt as I’d been.

  Ange’s photo flashed on the screen. “Hey,” I said, scrambling back down onto the dusty floor.

  “Why does it sound like you’re in a cupboard?” The familiar sound of her lighting a cigarette clicked down the phone and I realised how much I’d missed it over the past few weeks—even her inane need to smoke though every conversation we’d ever had.

  “I’m in the attic trying to clear everything out.”

  “Have you even found anywhere to live yet?” She sucked hard on her smoke.

  “No.” You couldn’t ignore my hesitation.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.”

  I might have missed her, but I didn’t know if I needed Ange-style advice yet. Not that it would stop her.

  “Problems in paradise?”

  “No,” I replied, glaring at a black sack full of Paul’s old clothes.

  “Tell Aunty Ange everything.”

  My lips twitched. She was such a bitch, always managing to turn things around. I was such a dick for always letting her. Still. I huffed out a breath, momentarily distracted by the flurry of dust motes circling in the enclosed space.

  “So, you won’t tell me. Okay,” Another drag, “how was your time away after his little show on my front step the other week? You know he wants to make sure Julie doesn’t find out he’s using her kids as props in his latest romance.”

  I knew she was goading me. I could sense it. I had enough faith in Matthew and me to know I was the only romance.

  “Not going to work.”

  “Damn. You’re getting good.”

  I chuckled and leant back against the insulation padding.

  “So, come on? I promise to be good,” she prompted.

  “I don’t know how this works.” There I said it. Out loud. Guilt waved over me, a tide to pull me under.

  “Don’t know how what works?”

  “Everything. I’ve got to look for somewhere for us to live. He’s got to be in Scotland with his boys. Hannah is still in school. She’s got two years until the big exams are over. How do we make this work for so long?”

  Tilting my chin, I looked at my stomach. I still hadn’t done the test, although I now knew I was officially living in dreamland if I thought it wasn't happening. I didn’t need a test. I’d only ever been three weeks late once in my life.

  “I did warn you.”

  “No, you didn’t.” I rolled my eyes even though she couldn’t see me. “You told me he would break my heart, which he won’t. I trust him.”

  “Even when it comes down to his family? Come on, Ronnie. They are as tight as a pack of wolves. He’s not going to leave them.”

  Damn, her words just slide in under my skin, hitting their mark.

  “Stop twisting everything.”

  “You stop living in a dream world. You’re basically saying that for the next two years you're going to carry on as you are. Weekend family time, and long-distance journeys.”

  I had nothing to say to that.

  “Have you even spoken to him about it?”

  “Sort of.”

  “And… you’re killing me here.”

  “He asked me to marry him.”

  A dead silence met my words.

  “Ange?”

  “Oh, right. Well, that’s good news. How did the kids all get on?”

  “Fine. Is that all you’ve got to say?”

  “What do you want me to say
? Shall I hang out the bunting because Ronnie is getting married again?”

  “I didn’t say yes,” I whispered.

  “Why the hell not? Isn’t that your lifelong dream to finally belong to Matthew Carling?” Her words cut me with tiny slashes of dismay. Because, yes. So much bloody yes. As pathetic as it sounded, it was true.

  I sighed and shut my eyes. “Because I already let Paul down by being in love with someone else. How can I let Matthew, the man of my dreams down, by saying my daughter will always come first? I can’t marry him and move there. It wouldn’t be fair on Hannah.”

  “Have you even asked Hannah?”

  “No.” I sat up a little straighter. “I don’t want her to have that on her shoulders. She’s been through enough.”

  Ange’s silence hung in the air. “Then I guess you have your answer already.”

  We said our goodbyes and I hung up, looking around at the mess I sat in the midst of. Sounded a bit like my life really. A chaotic mess.

  Making a mental 'to do' list, I put things in order. Sort Paul’s stuff. Speak to Matthew about the pregnancy test. Find a new home.

  There, it seemed quite easy.

  I pulled another box of belongings towards me. The dust on this one settled thick like a layer of snow. A white rectangular label in my handwriting announced the contents were ‘Paul’s Filing Cabinet’.

  What the hell had I been holding onto this stuff for? Lifting the lid, I peered inside. Everything jumbled together. I’d clearly taken scoops of stuff from his filing cabinet and launched it with little ceremony into the box.

  With a deep bone echoing sigh, I reached for a black plastic bag and started shredding old credit card bills and letters from a bank to a person who no longer needed them.

  Only when my hand hit something hard, my fingers curling around a small figurine did I stop. The keyring lay in my hand, staring back up at me. Really staring, skull and crossbones with the head round and heavy, a pearly almost iridescent finish.

  I frowned at it, weighing it in my palm. I didn’t recognise it, but at the same time it jangled a memory in the back of my mind. Attached to the skull hung a simple brass Yale key.

  Putting it to one side, I thought I’d take it downstairs and offer it to Hannah. She liked pretty things with cheap price tags, maybe she’d like this of her father's.

  I dove back down bringing up a bundle of printed off emails. I barely glanced at them, thrusting them into the black bag when a word caught my attention. Florence.

  Who the hell was Florence I wondered, pulling them back out again.

  I skimmed the first one. Then the other. Emails between Paul and a Florence. Emails about weekends away, dinners.

  My fingers shook with an unrelenting tremble as my long-seated fears came true before my eyes.

  Paul had been having an affair.

  Funny the knowledge brought me no comfort.

  Plain facts were, I knew why. I’d pushed him away. My deep and impossible to ignore first love for Matthew had never been vanquished.

  My marriage had been a lie.

  I sat until the loft was practically dark, the solo light barely illuminating the dusty corners.

  So much of my life I’d allowed to pass me by.

  I rubbed at the cotton wrapped about my wedding finger.

  How much more was I going to let go before I finally found the strength to do things that made me happy?

  Springing up, I slid down the hatch and ladder onto the upstairs landing. Hannah lay on her bed, legs swinging to a tune, headphones plugged in.

  I grabbed my phone and wiped the screen for Matthew’s number, waiting for him to answer.

  Meddling

  Matthew

  “How do you feel?” I asked and crooked the phone under my chin as I stirred the risotto on the AGA.

  “I don’t know.” Ronnie seemed distant, her voice small like she called from outer space and not London.

  “You already guessed though?”

  What did it mean if she was upset discovering the truth about her husband’s betrayal?

  “I did. I guess I betrayed him first with my memories of you.”

  I tried very hard not to scoff but failed miserably. “Ronnie. You didn’t cheat on him with me. You need to stop beating yourself up about the past. We hadn’t even spoken for fifteen years. That’s not cheating.”

  She didn’t answer, silence stretching. “Anyway,” I said, preferring to change the subject than listen to her silence. “Did you and Hannah go and look at rentals?”

  “No.” Her voice tightened.

  “Is Hannah okay?”

  “Yeah. I was late from work. We had lots of meetings. I offered Fred a senior management role.”

  I stared blankly at the tiles above the cooker. “Oh.”

  “Why do you say it like that?”

  “I just thought you might have mentioned it, what with me being your boyfriend.”

  She laughed and the tensions eased just a sliver. “Don’t be jealous, Matthew. I didn’t mention it because it was kind of spontaneous, and,” she hesitated, “well, I really need to talk to you about something, but I want to do it face to face.”

  Well that’s one way to get fucking alarm bells ringing.

  “How are the boys?” She changed the subject quicker than I could slow my heart rate.

  “Fine. They don’t have a clue what’s going on?”

  “And what’s going on?”

  “I'm currently trying to gather evidence that proves Julie is an unreliable parent.”

  “Ouch. That shouldn’t be too hard though, should it?”

  “So you’d think.” I scrubbed a hand through my hair. “I never wanted to get to this point. Five years ago when I asked for a divorce, I thought it would be easy, but Julie and McStandish have fought me at every turn.”

  “I know, Matthew.” The way she whispered my name, soothed over my worries. “But it will be worth it.”

  “Of course it will. You’ll be a family.”

  “We, Ronnie. We'll be a family.” Was it just me or did I need to press this point more? “Ronnie. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m just tired. I could do with a hug, if I’m being honest.”

  “Just a hug?” I let my words dangle.

  “Maybe more.”

  “Shall I come down tomorrow? Julie has the kids this weekend. I could slip away tomorrow afternoon once my meeting with the organic farm is done.”

  “How are the building works coming along?”

  “Amazing, actually.”

  Another pause. “And you’re sure this is your dream, to own your dad’s shop?” she asked, tight as a string on a violin.

  I nodded to myself despite the fact that she couldn’t see me. “Yes.”

  “Perfect. So you’ll come tomorrow?” She sighed a little breath of relief and it made me feel like Superman.

  “Try and keep me away.”

  “What are you doing tonight?”

  “Going out with Liam and Ryan.”

  “Sounds messy.”

  “No, just a few pints. I haven’t seen them properly for a while.”

  “Okay. I’m so tired, Matthew, I need to sleep.”

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes, promise. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Are you still wearing my ring?”

  “Yes.”

  Have you got an answer yet?” I held my breath, but I could hear her smile in the pause that followed.

  “See you tomorrow.”

  “Love you, Ronnie Roo.”

  “Love you, Matthew.”

  I hung up the phone, her saying of my name ringing in my ears.

  The next morning my head thudded as I unlocked the door to the shop. I frowned at the dust sheets over the floor, the stench of paint made my head spin. Ryan always had to take it two pints too far. One day I’d man up and back out of his stupid games… one day when hell had frozen over.

  I’d extended the truth to Ronni
e the night before, but I didn’t want to fail now. Or ever. Really. If I could just get this place up off the ground, get myself into something, then it would be better. I’d be my own man instead of McStandish’s son-in-law or Dad’s son.

  Taking a sip of my takeaway coffee and making a mental note to find out where the place down the road got their beans from, I dropped my bag down onto the counter. The new fittings were in, brass and walnut just like I’d envisioned. They’d left a tree size hole in my savings too, but it didn’t matter.

  Right, I just had time to paint the staff area before I went out to the supplier. I’d found an organic salad producer not too far from the city. I wanted to see what deal we could strike to bring their produce to a targeted market. Jesus. I almost sounded like I knew what I talked about.

  With a rueful laugh, I went out back and pulled on the overalls, determined to not get any of the white silk paint in my hair this time.

  Halfway out to the farm my phone rang, Julie’s name flashing on the dash of the car. Cursing, I pulled to the side of the road, knowing I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on the road and maintain battle in a conversation with her.

  “What?” I snapped.

  “Jack’s sick again.”

  I sighed and leant my head back, pinching the bridge of my nose with one hand while the other squeezed the life out of the steering wheel.

  “Julie. You’ve got to stop this.”

  “Stop what?” Her voice grated inside my brain, turning my grey matter to useless shavings of flesh. ‘I’m being serious, Matthew. His temp is scorching. I’m thinking I might take him to the hospital.”

  My blood chilled. “Anything else wrong? Sensitive to light? Trouble moving his neck?”

  “No, no, just his temp.”

  I paused, unsure what to do. “I’ve got a meeting…” hesitation ran through me. I didn’t trust her to be sensible if something was actually wrong. “I’ll be there in forty minutes.”

  “Okay, Matt. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

  I grumbled as I hung up, not bothering to say goodbye as I flicked the indicator and prepared to turn across the main road. Hitting the speed dial on the dash, I called Ronnie, but she didn’t answer so I left a voice mail.