I suppose I will have to tell them about Tom while I’m there – I mean, they’re going to notice that he isn’t there with me – but I think it will be better in person. I can show them that I am fine and that I’m getting on with life. But just in case they don’t take it well, I wanted to get them a really cool present, but being so up against it for time, I had to put my faith in an employee at John Lewis who was patiently advising me on what to get them.
‘Do you want to get them something each or something to share?’ he asked me.
‘I wouldn’t be against getting them a joint present if it was something awesome,’ I told him.
He disappeared for a couple of minutes, returning proudly with a box that he said would be the perfect gift for my parents.
‘It’s a Simple Simon,’ he told me.
I had no idea what it was, but it turns out it’s basically the same thing as an Amazon Echo or a Google Home, except this one is designed with the older generation in mind, and the voice inside the device belongs to an AI bot called Simon. Basically it’s an Alexa, but one with more patience for older people. My parents, Arnold and Mary, own holiday homes all around Marram Bay, but these days they employ people to run the business for them, so they’re basically retired. Neither of them is tech savvy enough to keep up with the times, so I think this Simple Simon will be a great way to sneak a bit of hardware into their lives without baffling them. It must be so hard for their generation, not growing up with all the technology that I did, but they learned how to use Facebook easy enough – although my dad does still accidentally post the most hilariously inappropriate GIFs in the comments on people statuses.
So I’m pretty pleased with my purchase, I think they’re going to love it. My post-shopping high doesn’t last long though because I am back to work now, ready to train up my replacement.
I’m no sooner sat back down at my desk when a tall, fair-haired man walks in. He’s an Alexander Skarsgård type, but with the kind eyes of Ryan Gosling.
‘Hello,’ I blurt a little awkwardly. It’s not every day someone so handsome walks into this office. That or, for the first time, I’m actually looking at men again. Maybe I really am moving on from Tom.
He’s wearing an absolutely pristine navy suit with a matching overcoat and he doesn’t have a hair out of place. He doesn’t look like he’s just got off the Tube in a sweaty hurry, like I usually do when I arrive here, even in the freezing winter, that’s for sure.
‘Hey,’ he says. ‘I’m here to see Tom Jones.’
Yes, my ex really is called Tom Jones. His parents didn’t even call him Thomas, so he can’t even use that to make it a bit less funny, his actual name is Tom. Tom Jones.
‘OK, I’ll see if he’s free,’ I reply.
‘Tom Jones,’ the man says out loud. ‘Is it dorky, that I find that so funny? Do people usually laugh?’
‘It’s not unusual,’ I reply, deadpan, and no, I never get tired of making that joke.
The man laughs.
‘Can I take your name please?’ I ask him.
‘Yes, it’s Barry Manilow’ he replies.
I stare at him.
‘Just kidding,’ he says with a laugh. ‘I’m Russell Redford, I’m Mr Jones’ new PA.’
Oh, wow, this is who is replacing me? This gorgeous, stylish man who oozes charm? I mean, I'm not even sure I can be mad, he seems like a dream… but something about being replaced by a man rubs me up the wrong way. Then again, he replaced me as his girlfriend with a younger woman, so at least this is different.
I buzz Tom who comes rushing in to give Russell a big old manly handshake. Russell gives as good as he gets. I’m tempted to ask if I should pass them a ruler – what is it with men, thinking they need to have the strongest handshake to show how powerful and important they are?
‘So, Alexis is going to show you the ropes,’ Tom tells him. ‘I’ll leave you in her very capable hands. Great to have you on the team.’
‘Alexis,’ Russell repeats my name back to me when we’re finally alone.
‘Call me Lexi,’ I insist.
‘Only if you call me Russ,’ he replies.
‘OK, sure,’ I say. ‘I suppose I should show you the ropes. I’ll start by showing you around the office.’
I lead Russ into the kitchen, where Amelia, the temp who is currently filling in for Donna, the secretary who is currently on maternity leave, is making her lunch in the microwave.
‘Oh, hello,’ she says brightly. ‘Who is this?’
‘This is Russ,’ I tell her. ‘He’s going to be Mr Jones’ new PA.’
‘Isn’t that your job?’ she says. ‘Are you leaving?’
Russ looks at me.
‘Erm, no, I'm going to be office administrator moving forwards.’
Amelia pulls a face.
‘Eek,’ she says. ‘Well, so lovely to have you with us, Russ. It’s nice to get some new blood in the office, and I know good people, and you look like you’re good people.’
Ergh, how subtle. A handsome man walks into the office and she’s all over him.
‘Aren’t you two a sight for sore eyes,’ Mr Marsh, one of the partners at Marsh & Cavendish, interrupts us as he walks past, picking at his teeth as he looks us both up and down. Then he notices Russ. ‘Who is this?’
‘This is Russ, Mr Jones’ new PA.’
‘Isn’t that what you do?’ he asks me.
I sigh, before repeating myself.
‘Amelia, I love that dress,’ Mr Marsh says. ‘We should think about making it the office uniform. You’re much thinner than Donna though…’
‘Well, Donna is pregnant,’ I remind him.
Mr Marsh pulls a thoughtful face before wandering off towards his office.
‘Wow,’ Russ says. ‘He seems old school.’
‘You don’t know the half it,’ I tell him, leading him out of the kitchen, back to my desk – well, his desk now. ‘Mr Marsh is our resident sleaze bag. It’s a miracle no one has taken legal action against him.’
‘What’s the other partner like?’
‘Mr Cavendish? He’s not so bad. Not a raging pervert like Mr Marsh, in fact, he’s quite boring. He has a lot of war stories – he’ll tell them to anyone who will listen, even clients that are paying him by the hour. Tom used to do this thing where he’d say “shoot” and make a gun shape with his hands. He soon cut that out after a few hours’ worth of Mr Cavendish’s material, and a lecture on how firing a gun wasn’t a causal reference to be made. I wouldn’t mind, but I don’t think he ever left Liverpool or wherever it was where he was based when he was in the army.’
Russ laughs.
It does occur to me that I shouldn’t be telling him this stuff, but I want to make him laugh, I want him to like me. I don’t know why, there’s just something about him. I can tell just by looking at him, just by hearing him talk, that he’s the ultimate cool guy, and who doesn’t want to be liked by the cool guys?
‘It sounds like this place has some stories,’ he says.
‘Oh, you wouldn’t believe half of them if I told you,’ I reply with a cheeky grin.
‘Want to go for a drink after work and tell me all about it?’ he asks.
I am taken aback. Do I want to go for a drink with him? I mean, yes, of course I do, but I just can’t believe he’s asking! Normally the only person who asks me to have a drink with him is the drunk who sits outside the off licence that I live above. I usually just tell him I’m washing my hair but with Russ, I can’t wait to say yes.
‘Yeah, sure,’ I reply, as casually as I can.
‘Great,’ he says. ‘I get that it’s hard to talk in here, but I want to learn all about everyone. Who is who, what they’re like, who is single…’
I pinch myself.
‘Yeah, sure,’ I reply. ‘I’ll tell you everything.’
‘Looking forward to it,’ he replies with a grin.
As I show Russ the ropes, I can’t quite wipe the smile from my face. I am going for an actual
drink with a handsome man and he asked me.
Chapter Three
6 Days Until Christmas
I stumble through the doors of the 24-hour off licence that I live above.
‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough?’ a man buying a four-pack of lager asks me, but I think it’s intended as more of a statement than a question.
‘I live here,’ I tell him, but that probably doesn’t make much sense to him. Then again, maybe it does, because I’ve had a fair bit to drink tonight.
You know when you drink so much you embarrass yourself? Yeah, well, I’ve done things the other way around tonight. It was the Marsh & Cavendish Christmas party and I turned up with a real spring in my step. I squeezed myself into a sparkly black dress (after squeezing myself into a pair of tight black stomach-holding-in knickers) and I spent ages carefully curling my mid-length, blonde hair. Originally I had been dreading it – well, who wants to party with their ex-cum-boss? – but Russ changed all that. We went for a drink after work a few days ago, then again last night. I’ve told him all the office gossip, we spend a lot of our workday hanging out together, having a laugh – it’s driving Tom Jones mad. Like, I was expecting him to go full Delilah any moment, but then my bubble was burst. Burst by a little prick… Russ.
So it turns out Russ hasn’t been flirting with me at all. Or maybe he has been a bit, but only to get the lowdown on the office from me. Oh, and when he took me out and asked me who was single, he didn’t care if I was single, he was trying to work out if Amelia was single. And she is. Well, she might not be now, depending on how fast she moves. I bailed on the Christmas party early, (but not without drinking my alcohol quota) around the time they started grinding on each other on the dance floor. I feel like such a mug. Like moving on from having your heart broken is as simple as some handsome, charming man turning up at your work and nabbing your job. It was more of a car crash than a meet cute and while I don’t care about not getting together with some bloke I only met this week, I am hardcore embarrassed that I let my mind run away with me like that. That’s why I’ve come home. Oh, and because apparently there’s a snowstorm coming tomorrow and the last thing I want is for the snow to stop me getting home to Hope Island, because if that happened I’d be spending Christmas alone and no one wants to do that, do they?
I might be home early, but it’s still quite late. With only a week until Christmas Day, it’s probably best I head home tomorrow, now that I’ve finished work for the year… it’s probably too late to ring my mum and tell her about my big surprise visit, so I’ll just give her a call before I set off in the morning. I couldn’t do it now if I wanted to anyway, because my stupid phone battery lasted just long enough for me to call an Uber before it died.
I’m sure my mum will want to change my bed sheets and make my favourite thing for dinner, like she always does when I visit, so I need to give her a few hours’ notice, at least. I probably haven’t visited as much as I should have. It’s just been so hard with moving around, living far away, working loads… None of that matters, what matters is that I’m going home for Christmas, and I’m going home tomorrow. Forget Tom, forget Russ, forget that I hate my job and I don’t know what I’m doing with my life. I’ll have a good Christmas, put this year – this decade, in fact – to bed and I’ll start afresh next year.
Yuck. The aftertaste of a bunch of different cocktails is nowhere near as nice as the cocktails tasted individually. My teeth feel all fuzzy, like I’ve had too much sugar. I suppose I have. Too much sugar and too much booze.
I fill a glass of water for future Lexi to drink in the morning – or the middle of the night, depending on how deeply I sleep tonight. I don’t drink often but when I do, drunk Lexi is constantly thinking about future Lexi. That’s why I left the party, rather than sticking around and making a fool of myself.
I brush my teeth and head into my bedroom. I plug my charger into my phone and treat myself to an antacid while I wait for it to boot up again. No one told me that my thirties were going to be so stressful that my stomach was going to try and dissolve itself. What fun!
I can feel my eyes getting heavy. Come on, iPhone, just load up. It always takes about five minutes to come back on after my battery hits zero.
I shuffle back down into my bed and just rest my eyes for a second. I don’t suppose there’s anything I need to do with it before I go to sleep anyway, what am I going to do, drunk dial someone at the office party? No, no. I’ll just sleep this off, get up, drink a bunch of coffee, make sure I am completely sobered up, and then get on my way. I really, really can’t wait to go home now.
Single All The Way is available on Amazon now…
Coming next from Portia MacIntosh…
Faking It
The perfect house, the perfect husband and the perfect life... or is she just faking it?
Life has been a bit of a rollercoaster for Ella. Growing up as the 'less successful' identical twin to her 'perfectly successful' sister, Emma, has left her feeling isolated, inadequate and let's face it... a little bitter.
When Emma unexpectedly reaches out to Ella in a time of need, Ella suddenly finds herself with the opportunity to fill in for her sister and experience how the other half live.
But as Ella navigates the world of gossiping mothers, rebellious teens and trying to play the model housewife (not to mention avoiding the temptation of attractive men at the school gates...) will she discover that all is not always as it seems on the other side?
Discover the brilliantly funny new romantic comedy from top 10 bestseller Portia MacIntosh. Perfect for fans of Sophie Ranald and Lindsey Kelk.
Out 21/01/2021
Two Night Stand: A fun, festive read - perfect for the holidays! Page 9
