by Laura Tait
‘Oh, but you have a cat, don’t you?’ Melissa intervenes. ‘I have a horrible allergy to animal hair and I haven’t taken any antihistamine – sorry, Holly.’
‘Guess it’s all back to Alex’s then.’ Kev stands up and drains his pint messily. ‘Come on, team.’
I’m about to argue some more but suddenly I realize I’m doing it out of force of habit rather that genuine conscientiousness, and that I’m not actually particularly worried about the consequences of a hangover in the morning.
‘All right then.’ I salute Kev. ‘I’m in.’
Chapter Twenty-six
ALEX
‘Will I get to meet this sexist twat housemate of yours?’ growls Kev, swaggering out of the pub with his hands in his pockets, an island of spilt lager soaked into his top.
‘He’ll probably have an orgy on the go,’ I bait.
Kev sniffs and flicks his shoulders. He goes to make a joke – most probably about how any girls engaged in an orgy would take one look at him and threaten to quit unless he partook – but something causes him to hold back. Maybe having a girlfriend is having an effect. I’m pretty certain three months is a personal best for him. By about two months.
‘Actually, he’s in Barcelona with one of his girlfriends,’ I say, but only Kev hears me. Melissa waited for Holly as she searched for something in her handbag, and we’re walking slightly ahead now.
‘You know what?’ The last pint seems to have finished Kev off, because he is starting to slur his words. ‘Maybe he was on to something.’ He turns to look at the girls for a second. ‘Maybe women are like bacteria.’
He looks at me and I humour him with a nod, and for a moment it’s like we’re back in Mothston – me listening to his gibberish as we stumble home from a night at The Lion. How can it be that so much has changed, and yet here we are, and everything feels just like it always has done?
‘I still find it weird socializing with Holly outside of work.’ Melissa strips to her expensive lace underwear. ‘I think she could of made a bit more of an effort with me tonight.’ Could have, I think but don’t say. ‘She was just a bit . . . off.’
Holly has just left. Kev is out for the count, spreadeagled on the sofa. It’s almost 2 a.m.
‘I always get the feeling in work that she doesn’t like me.’
‘Nonsense,’ I lie. ‘Holly thinks a lot of you. I know she does.’
This seems to pacify Melissa, who slips into bed beside me, places a cold hand on my belly and nestles her cheek into my shoulder.
I’m fully aware of what Holly thinks of Melissa. She thinks she’s false and patronizing, but maybe Holly feeling patronized has more to do with how she feels about being a PA. And maybe if she’d had a bit of Melissa’s drive she wouldn’t even be a PA; she’d have done some of the things she always talked about.
‘It’s like she sees me as a rival.’ Melissa’s words are marinated in too much alcohol. ‘But it’s not my fault I’m great at my job, is it?’
And anyway, Holly should be thankful. This thing with Melissa has been good for my friendship with her. I was becoming a burden, calling and texting her all the time when she’s got her own life down here, with Richard and Harold. I came along expecting things to be exactly how they used to be and I ended up getting confused about what could happen. I needed to lay off a bit, to put just a little bit of distance between us, so that’s what I’ve done. It’s easier for everyone.
‘Richard says the place would fall apart if it wasn’t for me. You know he’s been bigging me up to all the senior management?’
Finally I give Melissa my full attention. ‘Say that again?’
‘He’s been bigging me up – says the place would fall apart if I wasn’t there.’
I knew her words sounded familiar, and now I remember why: Holly mentioned how Richard said almost exactly the same thing to her. Is he spouting the same lines to every girl in the frigging office?
‘Don’t worry,’ says Melissa, misinterpreting my look of disbelief. ‘There’s nothing between me and Richard.’
She’s staring right into my eyes but, frustrated that I can’t share my thoughts with my own girlfriend, I focus on the small crack of moonlight between the curtains. I’ve found it quite easy these past few months keeping what I know about Holly and Richard from Melissa – but right now I feel like blurting it out.
‘I know there’s nothing between you and Richard,’ I say, biting my tongue. ‘That’s the last thing I’m worried about.’
Melissa detaches herself from me, insulted. ‘I could have had him if I wanted him,’ she says matter-of-factly.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘It’s not supposed to mean anything. I just didn’t like the way you said what you just said, as if Richard could never be interested in me.’
‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘We kissed, as it happens. A couple of times, just over a year ago.’
I glare at her, unable to dispatch any words.
‘Once when he had a girlfriend and then once two days after they’d split up. The next day he acted as if nothing had happened so I confronted him and he said he wasn’t looking for anything heavy. Fine by me, I thought. I wasn’t going to wait around for him.’
I do the maths. Holly told me she and Richard got together a week after his break-up. Which means there wasn’t any crossover, but still, I can imagine her reaction to this.
‘Sorry,’ says Melissa. ‘You’re mad with me, aren’t you?’
I need to think for a minute, but Melissa isn’t having it. Her now warm hand is back on my belly – but this time it doesn’t lie dormant.
I collapse onto Melissa, our clammy chests gluing together, all the words that could have marred the night now lost in elation.
Everything seems to have fallen into place since that day in The Lion when Dad announced he was buying a boat. School, my friendship with Holly, Melissa. It was after our third date that she came back to the flat. We fucked and we fucked again and somewhere along the line she appropriated her own drawer in my bedroom. I guess Kev was right after all.
Melissa sees what she wants and she gets it. A five-year plan to take her from an apartment in Chiswick to a townhouse in Kensington. And it’s one of the traits I like most about her. It’s refreshing.
I shift my position so that we’re both lying on our backs.
‘Are you happy, Alex?’
I swivel my head to look at her. She does the same. Our eyes now accustomed to the dark, she sees my smile and reflects it. ‘What kind of question is that?’
‘It’s a question I want to know the answer to.’
She let me take her to the British Museum on our fourth date and was interested in the same exhibits as me, though she did attempt to ambush me for a piggyback as we passed a tomb from Lycian Xanthos.
‘Do you know what the time is, Mel? You’ve got to be up for work in the morning.’
‘I know I’ve got to be up for work in the morning but before that I want you to answer the question: are you happy?’
‘Yep, of course I am.’
It’s funny how things turn out. If you’d asked me when I was fifteen to imagine my thirtieth birthday, I’d have envisaged coming home from work to an unlit house in Derbyshire, somewhere off Snake Pass. When I walked through the door, my wife and friends and family would leap out from behind the sofa and shout ‘SURPRISE!’ And if I’m being totally frank, in this vision, Holly would more than likely have been my wife. I catch myself smiling at the thought.
‘How happy?’ resumes Melissa.
‘Really happy,’ I say, shrugging off the things I’d been imagining.
I look down the bed at our four feet standing to attention underneath the duvet. I shut my eyes and start to drift towards sleep. But Melissa hasn’t finished yet.
‘Alex?’ she says, in a new, more serious tone. A sober tone.
In a couple of hours the sun will rise but for now we’re stuck in the purgat
ory between night and morning.
‘What is it?’ I murmur sleepily.
Melissa turns her head and from her expression I sense what is coming a few seconds before it actually arrives.
Chapter Twenty-seven
HOLLY
By Monday I’m starting to feel human again. Friday was a wash-out. I fell asleep on the sofa when I got back from Alex’s and woke up at half five, peeled my tongue off the roof of my mouth and got into bed, only to sleep through my alarm. I momentarily contemplated calling in sick, but then remembered I’d been out with Melissa the night before. She’d definitely know it was a hangover.
To make things a million times worse, when I rocked up half an hour late looking and feeling like death, the first person I saw was an immaculately turned-out and perfectly functioning Melissa. How can we have had the same amount to drink?
‘Nice of you to join us, Holly,’ she drawled sarcastically without meeting my eye, before marching into the meeting room by herself and letting the door slam shut behind her.
Not entirely unaffected by a late night, then.
‘So sorry I’m late.’ I took sanctuary in Richard’s office. ‘Last night turned into a bit of a late one.’
‘Bit of a habit these days, isn’t it?’ Richard mumbled, without lifting his head from the report he was reading.
Not as habitual as my early starts and unpaid overtime, but I hadn’t the energy to debate it so I settled on an eye-roll and let it go.
And that day went from bad to worse. Richard’s attempts to steer Martin towards confirming his promotion failed so he spent the whole day being impatient, tetchy and, if I’m not mistaken, a bit pissed off at me. He made a couple of passing comments about me drinking until all hours while he was working on a presentation. I didn’t know whether the digs were coming from my boyfriend or my boss.
Still, it’s a brand-new week now and I’m channelling my energy – restored from an uneventful weekend – to make it a good one.
‘Anything interesting to report?’ I ask Jemma, as she strolls out of a mid-morning one-on-one with Martin.
‘Work-wise or in real life?’
‘Both.’
‘Well, work-wise, Martin is gathering everyone after lunch for an announcement re the new Director of International Ventures.’
HALLE-BLOODY-LUJAH. Richard’s promotion. I knew today was going to be a good day.
‘“Re” is Martin’s abbreviation, by the way – not mine. He’s way too busy and important to say all three syllables of re-gard-ing. And how wanky is that job title?’
This is it. This is where the ball starts rolling. This is where Richard and I start moving forward. I can actually feel a metaphorical cloud lifting and all the negative ‘where-is-my-life-going?’ thoughts I had on Thursday suddenly seem distant and overdramatic.
‘He called this morning to accept the offer,’ Jemma continues. ‘Alas, he’s not that handsome, unfortunately – I collected him at reception and directed him to the boardroom for his interview.’
Hang on . . . Who?
‘I wouldn’t sleep with him, and, as you know, I’m not that fussy. Poor Richard, though, eh? I think he thought he was well in there. Martin’s taking him out for lunch today to break it to him. So, anyway, that’s it on the work front. In other news, I don’t think Robbie wants to see me again. I’ve texted him twice and he hasn’t replied.’
As the implications of her words sink in I go cold. Richard didn’t get the job. I didn’t even realize that was a possibility. I don’t think Richard did either. He’ll be gutted.
‘Oh my God, I can’t believe this – it’s awful.’ I bury my face in my hands.
‘I know, right? I thought it was just me being melodramatic but you’re thinking the same. There definitely must be something wrong with me. Maybe I should see a therapist?’
‘No, I mean about Richard not getting the job. I better go and see him.’
‘Oh.’ Jemma pulls a wounded face but then something else occurs to her and her expression becomes horror-stricken. ‘You can’t say anything. It’s strictly confidential info until Martin announces it this afternoon.’
‘But I have to prepare him,’ I think out loud. ‘He’ll be humiliated if he waits to hear it from Martin.’
‘No, seriously, Hols. Martin would fire me. He stressed that I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone. His last words before I left his office were “I’m trusting you not to walk back to your desk and blab to Holly.”’
‘Well, I can’t just do nothing!’
‘Why can’t you?’
But, of course, I can’t tell her why. And, of course, I can’t tell Richard. She’s right, I get the impression from Richard that she’s on thin ice with Martin anyway, and leaking confidential information might give him grounds to get rid of her. I wish I could believe that if I explained this to Richard, he would go through the motions at lunch and pretend to know nothing when Martin broke the news but, the truth is, I think he’d be straight into his office to have it out with him.
I have to do something, though. Perhaps stop him getting his hopes up, without letting on that I know anything.
After Jemma makes me swear on Harold’s life that I won’t tell him, I go into Richard’s office and close the door, at which point he practically rugby tackles me (in a sexy way) onto his desk for a passionate snog.
For a moment I let myself forget that I’m here on a damage-control mission and get lost in his kiss, lapping up the intimacy. It’s been ages since we’ve done this. There was a time when I’d always get a steamy welcome from him but they’ve been dwindling of late, replaced by merger chats and coffee requests.
‘Wow, what was that for?’ I ask, trying to get my breath back as we half sit/half lean on the edge of the desk.
‘To say sorry for being such a dick recently. I didn’t mean to be grumpy with you, I’ve just been working such long hours and not sleeping well, and missing you.’ He kisses me on the cheek when he says that bit. ‘But I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. Sorry, babe.’
I study his eyes, screwed up slightly with sincerity, and his lips, which have formed into a small, guilty pout.
‘That’s OK.’ I mean it – and somehow I know everything WILL be OK. I’ve been starting to worry that getting this new job is the be all and end all in his life, but clearly I’m important to him too. So, he didn’t get it. Big deal. We’ll have to suck up the fact that people might have opinions about us. I’m pretty sure shagging your boss isn’t actually illegal. It’s just a bit frowned upon. That will pass when everyone realizes we’re serious about each other.
‘And anyway, all that’s about to change,’ Richard continues. ‘Martin’s taking me for lunch today for a chat. He’s going to confirm my promotion, I’m sure of it.’
Arghhhh.
‘Well, whatever happens,’ I say, taking his hand, ‘good news or bad news, you’ve always got me.’
‘Thank you, babe, though I can’t see there being any bad news. It might mean me shooting across to the States once a month, but I’m cool with that. Maybe you could come and join me in New York for a weekend? Plus I’ll have a bigger office here – they’re dedicating the entire third floor to the new international department.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with this office, though. I mean, if you do have to stay here it’s not the end of the world. And I like having you a mere twelve seconds from my desk.’
He responds to the kiss I lean in for then tells me jovially to stop being so bloody pessimistic and get him a coffee.
Well. That went well.
Jemma’s booked them a table at some trendy new celebrity-owned steak house in the West End. Martin seems to think the disappointment will sting less if Richard is tucking into a perfectly prepared slab of expensive beef when he hears it, but the choice of venue just confirmed to Richard what he thinks he already knows: they’ve got something to celebrate.
It seems like they’re gone for ever. I spend my lunch hour traipsing round
the shops. The office doesn’t seem to hold any distraction from this feeling of impending doom. Five minutes before I’m due back I realize I’ve bought nothing so I buy a pair of black, leather, knee-length boots just for the hell of it and head back to the office.
‘These are gorgeous,’ gushes Jemma, stroking the leather like it’s a naked man’s torso.
‘A-mazing boots,’ Melissa drones as she passes my desk. ‘I’ve got a pair that are practically identical – they go with everything.’
Jemma waits for Melissa to be out of earshot. ‘You kept the receipt, right?’ she says, dropping them back into their box.
‘Yup.’
‘Good-o.’
It’s at this point that both of our bosses walk solemnly back in, wordlessly making their way towards their respective offices and shutting their doors behind them.
Richard is sitting in his chair, elbows on desk and head in hands. The ticking from the clock behind his desk seems unnaturally slow and ridiculously loud.
‘How’d it go?’ I ask softly, to maintain the pretence that I don’t already know that it went very, very badly.
‘They’re bringing in someone new,’ he says, his eyes staying fixed on the coffee mug on his desk. ‘Someone with more experience in international marketing or some bullshit. Zero experience in Hexagon, of course, so he won’t know his arse from his bloody elbow when he joins, but hey ho.’
‘I’m sorry.’
He shrugs and screws up the top page of his notepad – notes he’d been here late last night making – and hurls the paper ball across the office, missing his bin by a mile.
‘There will be other opportunities, Rich.’
‘Oh, there will, will there?’ His voice drips with sarcasm. ‘Then do tell me about them, because this is the first shot at promotion I’ve had since I joined here four years ago, and they’re not creating any other new departments as far as I’m aware. And Martin doesn’t look set to throw in the towel any time soon. More’s the pity. But do enlighten me about these other opportunities.’
I try not to take offence at his tone – it’s not me he’s angry with. It’s normal to take things out on the person closest to you when you’re upset.
