What She Left

by Rosie Fiore

  It was clear from the moment she walked into their meeting room that they had already decided to hire her. She’d spent ages preparing a detailed presentation, but they were less interested in that than in her notice period. They wanted to get her in as soon as possible, she realized. When Jaego asked her about salary expectations, she added £5,000 to the figure they’d initially suggested, and they agreed without turning a hair. When she left, they told her she could expect an email with a formal offer letter to arrive before she got home, so she could get on with writing her resignation letter.

  She left QVA and headed for the Tube. There was a message on her phone from Simon, asking her about some media figures on the kinetic tape campaign. She rang him back as she walked to the station and briefed him. She had all the information in her head, so that wasn’t difficult.

  ‘Where are you?’ he asked. ‘It’s noisy.’

  ‘Just popped down to the shopping centre to get something to eat,’ she lied. ‘I’m going to try and get the report off my desk tonight.’

  ‘Jeez, Helen, there’s loads to do. You’ll be there half the night.’

  ‘That’s okay. I want to get you a draft tomorrow.’

  ‘You’re such a star,’ he said gratefully. He might not feel that way tomorrow, she thought.

  She finished her conversation with Simon as she got to Green Park. It was a lot to take in. Her plans had accelerated and she needed some time to regroup. She took out some headphones and chose some music – jazz, instrumental, soothing – and sat enjoying the music and feeling her own stillness and breathing as she travelled to Stratford. She loved the Tube and the sense that in this noisy, crowded space you could be utterly alone and unobserved.

  She got back to the office just as Tony and Sophie were leaving for the evening. She worked, focused and uninterrupted, for three solid hours, until she had finished the report to her satisfaction. She did it not only because she felt loyalty and gratitude to Simon, but also because it was a comprehensive record of her work on her biggest project to date and she wanted it for her own portfolio. Her last task before she left for the evening was to type and print her letter of resignation and leave it on Simon’s desk.

  The next day unfolded as she had imagined it would. Simon called her into his office, looking pale and tense. She sat down and calmly explained that she had been headhunted by Jaego and Bruce, leaving out the fact that she had approached them. She told him what they had offered in terms of salary and prospects, and she saw him wince. She knew perfectly well he couldn’t match their offer. She thanked him for all the opportunities he’d given her, and assured him that she would do her best to find ways for the two companies to work together in the future. She could see him struggling with himself; he clearly felt betrayed, but he also knew that this was the way things happened in the fast-moving world of business. It wasn’t personal. Then his hard-nosed professional side kicked in, and he said, as pleasantly as he could, that she’d have to begin gardening leave immediately. She understood perfectly. She knew that as soon as she resigned and admitted who she was going to work for, he’d want her out of the office. She couldn’t expect to keep working for SSA with access to their client files and records when she was going to work for the competition.

  Sophie was gutted when she heard the news, and Tony was furious. He took her leaving personally. That was the problem with working for a small company, Helen thought. People thought they were your friends. She stayed for the whole day, making sure all her files were in order and easily accessible on the company hard drive, and filing and reorganizing all her emails so that Sophie could access them for any information she needed. She spent several hours that afternoon briefing Simon on all her current work, so that no loose ends would be left dangling.

  She had little in the way of personal effects in the office – a few notebooks, a container of artificial sweeteners and a spare jumper. She packed these into her backpack at the end of the day and headed for the station. Simon said vaguely that they would all get together in a few days for farewell drinks, but she thought this was unlikely. Tony was too angry and Sophie looked like she’d been crying. And so with minimal fanfare, she walked away from SSA, likely never to return.

  It was, as these things so often were, anti-climactic. She remembered on the train that she had finished the milk that morning and that she didn’t have any vegetables for her dinner, so she stopped off at the Sainsbury’s on her way home. She’d got to her door and was reaching into her backpack for her keys when she heard her name. ‘Helen.’

  Sam.

  Her instinctive reaction was to turn and run. But in the same second, she knew there was nowhere to run to, and she stood her ground. She’d expected this moment, deep down, and here it was. They stood looking at each other in silence for the longest time. He looked rough, she thought. The time she’d seen him at Canary Wharf, she’d got such a fright that she hadn’t really registered any details about his appearance. But now she had time to look at him, she could see he’d gained weight and stopped shaving every day; he was a pale, rather unhealthy-looking version of the man she’d married. He hadn’t had a haircut for a while, and his hair, which was naturally curly, stood out from his head in a bushy cloud. When they’d been together, she’d trimmed it for him every few weeks. She knew every whorl of his hair, every curve and bump of his skull. He was staring at her too, but without the same sense of discovery. She knew she looked different, and yet he didn’t seem surprised by the changes in her appearance. He was watching her warily, as if he was sure she would bolt again and he was ready to stop her this time. But she wasn’t going to run. He was here. She had to face him.

  ‘Is this your. . . place?’ he said eventually. ‘Can I come up?’

  ‘I don’t want you to come inside,’ she said. ‘But if you wait here while I put my things down, we can go for a walk in the park.’

  She thought he might argue, might even try to force his way inside, but he paused and then nodded, hesitantly. Then he stepped back to show he wasn’t going to be obstructive. She had her keys in her hand, and she opened the street door and stepped through, closing it quickly behind her.

  She ran up the stairs to her flat and opened the door, locking it behind her. It was exactly as she had left it that morning. Maybe she could stay up there, wait for him to go away? But of course he wouldn’t. And even if he did, he knew where she lived now, and he would be back. Better to face it now. She put her shopping away in the fridge, carefully folded her shopping bag and stowed it in a drawer and put her backpack in its accustomed spot on her dresser. Then she checked her reflection in the mirror. She looked pale and pinched. She shrugged off her jacket and replaced it with a soft black hoodie. Then she put her keys in her pocket and went back downstairs.

  Sam looked astonished when she emerged. He clearly hadn’t expected her to come back. She gestured with her head that they should walk, and they set off side by side, up her street. She led him through the side streets until they came to an entrance into the park. It was a cloudy evening, and there weren’t many people about.

  They still hadn’t spoken, and they began to walk up the hill towards the Observatory. Neither of them was as fit as they had been, Helen observed. She remembered coming to the park in Greenwich with Sam and the girls, about two years ago, on a family outing. She and Miranda had run up the hill, laughing, and Sam had put Marguerite on his shoulders and jogged up after them. When they’d reached the crest of the hill, they’d collapsed on the grass, laughing, but neither of them had been out of breath or tired. Now she felt her legs ache, and she had to work hard not to pant. When she glanced at Sam, she could see beads of sweat along his hairline. Clearly his exercise routine had also gone by the wayside. About halfway up, she saw a bench and indicated that they should sit down. Sam flopped down beside her gratefully. He felt no need to pretend he wasn’t knackered. He sat back, his hands on his knees, and wheezed unashamedly.

  They stared out across the park for a long time,
and eventually Sam said evenly, ‘So, how have you been?’

  ‘Okay. You?’

  ‘Not great.’

  The silence continued. Then he said, ‘You work at SSA?’

  She hesitated for an instant and then said, ‘Yes. Is that how you found me?’

  ‘Marketing press. I searched for people called Helen.’

  She raised an eyebrow, impressed, but didn’t respond. He let the silence grow and grow, so eventually she said, ‘How are. . . the girls?’

  ‘Up and down. Miranda is angry, understandably. Marguerite regressed for a while, but she’s doing better now.’

  She nodded. ‘How’s work?’

  ‘Pretty shit. Chris has been understanding, but. . .’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘He’s running out of patience with me. He gave one of my key accounts to Verity.’

  ‘Oh, is Verity still there?’

  ‘Yes, she’s flying high. She brought in a big vodka account.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Well, not big, more like a niche brand. She thinks we can grow it big though.’

  ‘With the right campaign, she might do it. She’s good with those small brands.’

  ‘She is, but she wants to play with the big kids,’ said Sam, and he began to tell a story about Verity’s presentation at a big conference. He was relieved to have something neutral to talk about and he rattled on while she listened. She couldn’t quite believe that after nearly a year, this was the banal, emotionless conversation they were having. The big stuff was too big, she decided. Where did they begin? And as he had found her, it was his choice when he asked the questions. She’d just have to decide when and how to answer them.

  Sam had got the bit between his teeth, and he talked more. He told her about his mum’s accident, and that she was recovering well. He told her Marguerite had lost her first teeth and learned to swim, that they were living in a flat now. He didn’t seem angry. He was giving her information, as if she was a friend he hadn’t seen for a while and he was catching her up. She was astonished at how calm he was. How calm she was. After the time he had grabbed her hand on the Tube, she’d lived in a heightened state – she’d looked for him round every corner. Somehow, she had known he would find her again and he had. And here they were, sitting on a bench, engaged in small talk. Eventually, he said, ‘And how have you. . . been?’

  ‘Okay,’ she said carefully. ‘Working mainly. Just working.’

  ‘What kind of thing have you been working on?’

  She found herself talking about the energy gel campaign and what she’d done for the running-shoe company. He knew the marketing business, so he asked intelligent questions. When she shared some of her results, he raised an eyebrow.

  ‘You were always good, but those are impressive results. Very impressive. Have you entered the campaign for any awards?’

  ‘I think Simon has,’ she said. She was about to add, ‘But I won’t be there to accept them if we win,’ but she stopped herself. She wasn’t going to tell him that she’d left her job. Not yet, anyway.

  There was a long silence then. Evening was falling and the shadows had lengthened across the park. Although it had been a warm spring day, now that the sun had gone in, it was decidedly chilly. She drew her hoodie tighter around her and shivered a little.

  ‘You’re cold,’ Sam said. In days gone by, he’d have put an arm around her to warm her, but he made no move to touch her.

  ‘A little.’

  ‘I need to get back for the girls.’

  ‘Yes.’

  They stood and walked back down the hill, side by side, in silence. When they left the gates of the park, he turned towards the station and then stopped, as if to say goodbye. He wasn’t going to walk her to her door – he was clearly intending to head straight home. She didn’t know what to say.

  ‘Can I come and see you again?’ he said.

  Before she had time to think about it, she found herself saying, ‘Yes.’ And then, ‘I’m off work for the next couple of weeks. If you’re free in the day. . .’

  ‘I’m free,’ he said quickly. ‘How about Friday?’

  She nodded. And before she could say anything more, he raised a hand in farewell and walked briskly away in the direction of the station, leaving her behind.

  Sam

  I fell asleep on the Tube – something I almost never do, unless I’ve been drinking. I think it was a kind of instinctive survival reaction. I wasn’t ready to process what had happened, so my brain shut down. I woke up abruptly, just before my stop, and stumbled blearily off the train. The world had changed, but the station looked as it always did. I mounted the stairs and walked on auto-pilot towards the flat. There was my car, and Mum and Dad’s Vauxhall parked directly behind it. There was the tree, the front door, here were my keys in my pocket. The world kept turning and everything was exactly as it had been, except. . . Except I’d found Helen.

  How many times had I imagined that encounter? In my mind’s eye, I ran over the scenarios I had envisaged. I’d thought that I would grab her and hold her, shake her, hit her, kill her even. I’d thought I would cry and yell and accuse, hurl abuse at her. Instead, we’d walked in the park and chatted about work like two distant acquaintances. She was a stranger.

  I climbed the stairs to our flat rather than taking the lift, giving myself a few extra minutes to compose myself. When I let myself in, I could hear the girls laughing and chatting excitedly in the bathroom, and Mum’s soothing tones as she got them ready for bed. Dad was in the kitchen, washing up, Radio 4 playing softly as he worked. I walked in behind him and touched his shoulder by way of greeting. He looked up and nodded at me.

  ‘There’s a bowl of spag bol in the fridge. Just gone in. You could pop it in the microwave.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad,’ I said. ‘I’m not hungry right now. Maybe later.’

  ‘Good course?’ he asked.

  I looked at him uncomprehendingly for a long moment then remembered my cover story. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Although at the moment I’m getting more questions than answers.’

  ‘Well, time will tell,’ Dad said sagely, drying his hands on a dish towel.

  ‘I’m going to go through and see the girls,’ I said.

  Both girls were tucked up in bed, and Mum was sitting on the end of Marguerite’s, reading a chapter from Mary Poppins. My mum has a beautiful reading voice, deep and warm, and she gave subtle accents and different vocal tones to each character. I stood in the doorway and listened too. Miranda, of course, was far too old to be read to, but she was lying on her side, watching Mum, rapt and quiet. Marguerite waved to me vaguely, but I could see her eyelids were drooping and she was almost asleep. Mum noticed too. ‘That’s enough for tonight,’ she said, closing the book.

  ‘Noooo,’ protested Marguerite weakly.

  ‘Say night to your dad, girls. Tomorrow is another day,’ said Mum, patting them each on the head. She squeezed my arm as she went out of the room.

  I bent over the girls’ beds and kissed them, inhaling the clean, bedtime smell of them. Miranda threw a long, skinny arm around my neck, surprising me. ‘You smell nice,’ she said.

  ‘Do I? What do I smell of?’

  ‘Outside. And not of beer. Night.’ And she turned her back, drew the duvet up to her chin and closed her eyes.

  I turned off the lamp and stood for a time, watching them in the dim light that spilled in from the hallway.

  When I went through to the living room, Mum and Dad had their jackets on and were preparing to go.

  ‘Don’t you want to stay for a cup of tea?’ I said. I wasn’t sure I was ready to be alone quite yet.

  ‘Thanks, my darling, but no,’ said Mum. ‘Your dad’s tired.’

  Dad actually seemed all right, but when I looked at her, she seemed strained. There were shadows under her eyes and she was leaning slightly to one side. Her recently mended leg must still be giving her pain. She’s getting on a bit to be running after two boisterous girls for three o
r four hours at a time. I felt a lurch of guilt, and moved in to put my arms around her.

  ‘Thanks for looking after the girls,’ I said, hugging her. ‘I appreciate it so much. What I’m doing this week will make such a difference to us all, and you’ve made it possible.’

  She looked at me in that piercing, loving way she has. ‘As long as you’re sure you’re doing the right thing,’ she said, ‘we’ll support you all the way. You know that.’

  I couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew more than she possibly could. She’s like that, my mum. Even if she doesn’t know the facts of a situation, I always feel she can look into my soul and see things I wish she couldn’t.

  Once they’d gone, I looked around the flat. They’d left it tidy and ordered, so I couldn’t distract myself with housework. I still wasn’t hungry. I thought about getting a beer, but Miranda’s comment stayed with me. I found myself sitting on the sofa, staring out of the window at the trees, now covered in the fresh green leaves of early summer, thinking about everything and nothing. I was nowhere near sorting out my feelings about Helen or our encounter, and I felt I had learned nothing about her reason for going or her current state of mind. She didn’t seem to hate me, but then she didn’t seem to like me either. The most important thing was that she hadn’t run away, and she’d agreed to see me again.

  A sensible man would go to bed, I thought, before the desire for booze got too strong and another night was lost to pointless agonizing, drinking and self-pity. Unfortunately, I’m not a sensible man. One beer, that was all. Just one. I’d watch the first hour of a loud, mindless shoot-’em-up movie on my iPad, and then I’d go to bed.

  Three beers later, I was staring at a series of spectacular explosions on the screen when my phone buzzed. Helen, I thought, and my heart lurched. But it was Lara.

  ‘I’m downstairs,’ her text read. ‘Can I come up?’