Cross Her Heart: A Novel

by Sarah Pinborough

  “God, I could use a tequila shot,” Marilyn says, and I laugh although I’m a bit surprised. Marilyn drinks more than me—but everyone does. I know what too much alcohol can do to people and none of it is good. I can’t stay alert when I’m drunk and I have Ava to protect. Still, Marilyn’s not a drinker drinker. I can’t remember the last time she did shots. Her eyes shine a little too brightly. How many wines has she had?

  “You okay?” I ask. She doesn’t answer.

  “Well, well, well,” she says, as she looks at something over my shoulder. “Look who’s showed up. Mr. Millionaire himself.”

  I glance back. Simon Manning is standing in the doorway, dressed down in dark jeans and a V-neck T-shirt. My wineglass is suddenly too big and slippery in my hand and it feels like the party pauses for a moment. It’s rare for major clients to come to these things. Penny always invites them but it’s mainly staff who turn up—now two branches’ worth—and some of our longest-serving temps. Penny does a separate private dinner for the top-level clients.

  The room is quite dark and he probably doesn’t realize he’s making an entrance as he stands there, backlit, and peers around trying to recognize anyone. Finally he moves. My breath catches.

  “What a surprise,” Marilyn drawls. “He’s coming this way.”

  I look behind me, expecting to see Penny nearby, but she’s over by the side tables, where Julia is talking to James from the new office.

  “Lisa.”

  I have no choice but to look at him. He’s standing close, barely a foot away, and my nerves jangle and I feel awkward as his aftershave and body heat fill the gap between us. I’m no aftershave connoisseur, but he smells good. Fresh and citrusy, but not overpowering. I hate myself for noticing.

  “Hello, Simon.” Marilyn reaches forward and shakes his hand, as ever saving the day for me as I flounder. I take the moment to try and gather myself. I need to stop behaving like a stupid teenager. “Welcome aboard, I hear.”

  I wish I found it as easy to talk to people. Marilyn is so confident. Friendly without being flirtatious. An open book. I can’t be like that. I don’t think I’ve ever been like that.

  “Well, Lisa sold the company so well I couldn’t say no,” he says. They’re both looking at me, expectant. I can’t stay silent forever. Where is Penny?

  “I’ll be sending some more figures over to you on Monday.” It’s all I can think of and sounds so bland even I’m cringing.

  “It’s Saturday night.” He takes the glass of wine Marilyn has somehow spirited out of thin air. “Let’s forget about work. Can you salsa? I’m terrible but willing to give it a go if you are.”

  My feet are suddenly glued to the floor. There are a few people taking advantage of the expert on hand on the dance floor, but not many. Not enough to stop us being the center of attention if we joined them. My mouth opens and closes silently as I panic, a drowning fish, trying to find a way to say no that won’t sound rude, although a part of me thinks it would be fun to let myself go to the music if I was a different person. If I was Marilyn maybe, or Stacey, or Julia. But I’m not. I’m me, and I don’t want him to want to dance with me. And yet, even as I think it, I know it’s a lie. I hate the snake in my belly that wants all of life’s excitements.

  “Simon!” Here she is, Penny, breezing through us. I could cry with relief as I take a step backward, giving her space. “How wonderful of you to come!”

  Marilyn smiles and gives Simon a shrug, pupils as the teacher arrives, but I’m already walking away on shaking legs.

  “Told you he likes you,” Marilyn says as she catches me up.

  “Leave it alone.” My words come out with more bite than intended and she doesn’t follow me when I go to the table at the rear of the room where we left our things, but instead goes to join Eleanor, who used to sit opposite us before she went to the new branch.

  I should apologize. I don’t though. I want to text Ava. To check she’s okay. I want to stay here, hiding at the back in the dark. I want the earth to open up and swallow me whole. To bury me in the cold and damp. To be with Daniel and Peter Rabbit in the ground.

  I sit down before my legs give way, and I take deep breaths. I can’t keep texting Ava. I’ve already sent three. I have to let her be free and be young. I have to. But it’s so hard. Exhausted as I am by my fear, it refuses to leave me.

  While breathing slowly, I focus on the present. Marilyn and Eleanor are laughing about something. Toby has dragged Stacey onto the dance floor. They’re both good dancers, but she’s keeping a distance between their bodies and I feel a wave of something close to maternal pride. She may not be the brightest bulb in the pack, but she knows better than to be a notch on his bedpost.

  I grow calmer, knowing I’m lost in the shadows. No one is seeking me out. I can’t see Penny and Simon from here, but I know she’ll be attached to him for the rest of the evening. I push away the memory of his body heat and aftershave, intent as it is on clinging to me.

  A glint of metal distracts me to my right. Someone crouching down by the tables along the side. Julia? Yes. Rummaging in her bag. Lines tighten across my forehead, my instinct for wrongness kicking in. That’s not her bag. It’s Penny’s. The Dolce & Gabbana gold clasp is flashing as lights from the dance floor catch it. Julia’s bag is smaller, barely big enough for a wallet, phone, keys, perhaps some lipstick. Not an expensively practical, middle-aged woman’s bag. I can’t remember how I know this, but I do. I always take in the details of a person. My brain is trained that way.

  Definitely Penny’s bag.

  I can’t see what Julia’s doing and so I work my way around the edge of the room until I’m closer. She gets up and glances around, unaware I’m watching her, before striding confidently to the bar. I follow, moving faster to catch up, and when I’m only a few feet behind I see the crumpled twenty-pound note in her hand. My heart thumps, banging a truth into me. Money stolen from Penny’s purse. It can’t be. Surely not. I want to doubt the instinct I have for both detail and trouble. I don’t want to know this rotten-apple worm of fact that will squirm inside me every day at work. But if it’s Julia’s own money, why has she taken it out of her purse already? She’s got her little bag with her—with her own wallet in it—so why is she holding a twenty-pound note?

  Penny and Simon are still talking at the bar, and although he’s smiling at her and laughing, his eyes move away from hers as I come into his sight line. I don’t so much as glance his way. I have no time for him right now. I’m absorbed in Julia’s confidence as she flashes the barman a smile and orders a bottle of pinot grigio.

  “It’s for the lady over there,” she says, pointing out Penny. “Can you tell her it’s a thank-you for the great job opportunity? From Julia? I don’t want to interrupt them.”

  I’m standing beside her and she notices me watching but doesn’t offer to buy me anything. She can’t anyway. The wine she’s chosen is exactly twenty pounds.

  “Diet Coke,” I mutter to the barman as Julia moves away, joining Marilyn and Eleanor near the dance floor, far enough away for Penny to have to seek her out and thank her, and also, perhaps more important, on the other side of the room from the Dolce & Gabbana handbag she was so recently digging around in. I watch her insert herself as if they’ve invited her to join them and I don’t know what to do. I should say something to Penny. But what? I think Julia stole your own money to buy you a drink? It’s dark. I wasn’t that close. It’s a big accusation to make.

  Penny leaves the bar and rushes over to gush a thank-you at Julia, who does a fine impression of embarrassment. She’s not fooling me though. If she didn’t want a fuss, she wouldn’t have given a thank-you gift in such a public place. I’m an expert in not wanting to be fussed over. I wouldn’t have given a gift at all. If I say something, will people think I’m somehow jealous of the new girl? Julia shines. I don’t. Maybe I didn’t see it right anyway. Maybe I’m making a wild assumption. I feel sick.

  Over to my right, Simon Manning half waves
at me, but I’m saved by Marilyn, who’s fled Eleanor now Julia’s there. “God, butter wouldn’t melt,” she says. Marilyn’s not fooled by her either.

  “Sorry I snapped. About Simon.” Ava may be my heart, but Marilyn is my rock. I should tell her what I think I saw. No, not what I think. What I saw. She wouldn’t doubt me and she’d be able to handle it much better than I can. I’ve had two glasses of wine, and I’m feeling braver than normal. But still I can’t bring myself to speak. Marilyn would act on it and then there would be confrontation and who knows where that would lead? Julia is trouble. I can sense it.

  Thankfully, Marilyn is staring down at the bright screen of her phone. “I didn’t realize the time,” she says. “Richard’s outside, if you want a lift home.”

  My instant relief is almost overwhelming. “Yes, please. I’m done. Let’s sneak out. I can’t be bothered to do the circuit of good-byes.” I’m trying not to sound too eager, but I want to get out of here, away from Simon Manning and Julia and the noise of it all.

  “Sounds good to me,” she agrees.

  I don’t fully relax until I’m strapped into the back of Richard’s Saab.

  “Good night, ladies?” he asks.

  “Yes, thank you,” I say.

  “It was all right.” Marilyn is less enthusiastic. “The music was too loud, and you know, workpeople.” She rolls her eyes and he smiles.

  “Present company excepted, I hope,” I say, and we all laugh a little in the polite way people do with a predictable joke. I stare out at the night as we drive away, zoning out Richard’s questions as the two of them chat. It’s nice to be in their company. Money. Julia. Penny. I don’t want to think about any of it.

  When I get home, my resolve breaks and I send Ava one last text.

  I’m home from my party but I’m sure your sleepover is still going strong! Give my love to the girls and I’ll see you tomorrow xx

  Even as I send it I know how passively needy it is under the chirpiness and wish I could call it back. I doubt the other mothers text nearly as much as I do. But they’re not me. They haven’t had my life. When the handset immediately pings I’m so sure it’s going to be Ava snapping at me—but at least I’ll know she’s safe—that it takes a moment to register I’m staring at an unknown number. I feel sick. The bunny rabbit. A strange number. The past tumbles toward me, and I tremble as I click to open it.

  Hey, Lisa, it’s Simon. I know this is wholly inappropriate and I can always pretend it’s about work, but I wondered if you’d like to have dinner with me next week? Anyway, no need to reply straightaway. Think about it (before you say yes;-)). Enjoy the rest of your weekend. Sx

  My emotions have raced from anxiety to calm to anxiety again and I don’t know quite how to process this. The memory of warm citrus scent fills my head.

  No. I can’t. I can’t let a man in again. I can’t.

  I delete the text and climb the stairs in the dark.

  9

  Marilyn

  We wait, as we always do, until Lisa is through the front door, give her one last wave good night, before Richard pulls away.

  “Sorry if we kept you hanging about,” I say. “I didn’t realize the time.”

  “It was that good a night?”

  “Ha, no.” I look at him, a comic bored expression on my face. “A Penny company night out. You can imagine. All work talk and pretending to be enjoying myself. I’d rather have been at home. I almost called you to come early, but I didn’t want to make Lisa feel she had to leave too.” I’m overexplaining, despite my attempt at humor. Richard has always worked for himself. He doesn’t understand the whole office politics thing, no matter how many years I’ve had this job. He thinks it’s all some social whirl all day.

  “Isn’t it Lisa’s birthday soon?” he asks, his eyes on the road. “The big four-o?”

  “A couple of months, I think.”

  “We should do something for her. Organize a party. You could ask all the people at work along. Any other friends she has.”

  I stiffen. Invite work into my home life? I can think of nothing worse. “She’s not a party person.” Outside, the night flashes by. Where would we have it? Somewhere expensive? Somewhere to show off at? Regardless of everything else that screams at me this is a bad idea, we can’t afford to host a party.

  “Maybe not, but she’s changed over the years. She’s not the little shy mouse she was when you first started working together.”

  He’s right, she isn’t. It’s still there sometimes, the unsettled edge that used to come off her like electricity, but it’s not an everyday thing. She walks with her shoulders back now and laughs easily. I became friends with her at first because I felt a bit sorry for her, not that I’d ever tell her so, but then I saw the person behind the shyness, wry, clever, and kind, and things changed. Best friends. We’re there for each other. I love her. It’s as simple as that and I love her new confidence. It’s part of why I keep my secret from her. She doesn’t need any more shit in her life. I figure she’s had enough in her past one way or another. Plus, if I tell, I have to admit it to myself. I can’t face that.

  “We’ve all changed,” I say, the words heavy, and as he glances across at me, I add, “It’s been ten years. My thighs have definitely changed.”

  “Your thighs are gorgeous.” He looks back at the road. “But she’ll only be forty once and she doesn’t have anyone else to organize something for her. Ava won’t do it. She can’t arrange her own fortieth birthday and we’re her best friends.”

  The thought is sweet, sometimes he is so very sweet, and my words come out too fast, my tongue loose after one glass of wine too many. “She may have a boyfriend to celebrate with by then.”

  “Oh?” Now he’s looking at me properly, the road ahead empty of cars. “Come on. Spill.” He smiles, white teeth in the darkness.

  I fluster. I shouldn’t have said anything. This isn’t his business. This isn’t my business. Lisa would hate me talking about it. “Oh, it’s nothing really. Just someone at work.”

  “There’s a hot new man in the office? You didn’t say.”

  The seat feels warm under me. “He’s not staff. He’s a client of hers. He owns a hotel chain or something.” I sound disinterested. Maybe too disinterested. It’s hard to get the balance right. “He’s opening a new one in town.”

  “A hot new boyfriend for Lisa? Sounds great. She’s been single too long. About time she got back out there.”

  “He’s not good-looking.” Houses go by outside, lights still on in some, and I wonder at the lives inside, all the truths people hide behind those walls. Private lives. “But they like each other.”

  They do like each other, however defensive Lisa might have been tonight. That was just nerves and embarrassment because she doesn’t know how to handle it. I wish I could tell her to relax. She deserves some happiness. Some fun at least. It’s been lovely to see her in the delicate dance that comes at the beginning of something between two people. The glow she has after their meetings, the endless meetings no client needs to have so many of, the smiling she doesn’t know she’s doing. I’m full of joy for her. Simon has the potential for a happy ever after.

  “Maybe we should go out for dinner with them,” Richard says, as he pulls into the drive. “There could be some work in it for me.”

  “That would be nice,” I answer. I’ve got no intention of setting up a foursome dinner with Lisa and Simon. They haven’t had a date yet, and Richard would push for work, I know he would, and then Simon would either offer him something out of pity or have to awkwardly ignore all the hints. Either way, it would be terrible.

  “But let’s see if they actually go out together first, okay?”

  “Okay. It’s sweet how you look after her.” He kisses me on the forehead before unlocking the front door.

  I watch Richard go inside before following, taking one last breath of clean night air. So many times I’ve been tempted to tell Lisa what’s going on, and I’m glad I haven’t. She
needs hope. She’s had something bad happen in her past, that much is clear even if she closes down when I ask her about it. I can’t burden her with my problems. And maybe it will get better. Maybe it will go back to how it was at the beginning. We all need hope, me included.

  Richard says nothing more about it until we’re getting ready for bed. I’m taking my makeup off, suddenly tired, when I see him looking at my reflection in the mirror.

  “What?” I ask, a smear of cold cream across my cheeks.

  “What did you mean when you said he wasn’t good-looking?”

  And so it begins.

  10

  Ava

  I’m glad Courtney didn’t stay over. I just wanted to wash him out of me. It’s not him I think about all the time. The first thing I did after was check my phone for a Facebook message but there was nothing. I wanted to cry.

  By the time we came downstairs, everyone was drunk and Ange was snogging Darryl in the kitchen, but after ten minutes or so, Jodie told the boys it was time to go. It felt clinical. Done what you came here for, now fuck off. I didn’t argue. It suited me when they left, although after that came the interrogation as the girls wanted all the details. Did it sting? It stung me the first time. Did he get it in okay? Oh my God, how big? How was he after? I’d tried to stay excited about it but I felt hollow and sad. My first time shouldn’t have been like that. So nothingy. There wasn’t even any blood on the bed.

  This morning it all feels like something that maybe happened in a dream, but the slightly dull ache between my thighs reminds me it was real. Can I dump him now? No. I’d look like such a tramp, and he’d be upset and who knows what he’d do, what he’d say or tweet or whatever. Call me fat and ugly and all that shit. I remember all the Snapchat crap that happened with Meg in Year Ten when she’d sent Christian pictures of her tits. At least I was never that stupid with Courtney. Anyway, I do like him. I don’t want to hurt his feelings. It’s all a mess.