by Liz Eeles
‘You’d better have this.’ He takes a step back as my sneezing reaches a crescendo. ‘I see you’ve met our magnificent Madeleine.’
Madeleine gives me a smug smile while I dab at my streaming eyes with the hanky. I’m leaving black mascara trails all over it and it’s probably made of the finest linen.
‘Come with me and I’ll show you where you’ll be working,’ says Toby, backing off when my sneezing stops and I try to give the hanky back. I don’t blame him. Crumpling it into a sodden ball, I shove it into my bag for washing later.
Toby takes me along a brightly lit corridor which has glass doors leading into offices larger than my flat. In the most enormous one of all is a bald man with the physique of a beach ball who calls out good morning to Toby when we pass by. Toby returns the greeting and, once we’re out of earshot, murmurs, ‘That’s Rafe Johnston-Fulbright. He’s a partner here, though who knows for how long. He’s clinically obese so there might be opportunities for advancement in the future, if you get my drift.’ He clutches at his chest and grins broadly.
At the end of the corridor, he flings open a featureless wooden door and stands back so I can go in first. ‘Here’s your office for the next six months.’
Toby says office, I say cupboard. The tiny space has no windows, a cheap-looking desk and chair, a phone and a noisy fan which is recirculating stale air. Someone has tacked a couple of fine art posters to the wall in a vain attempt to beautify the space. No wonder poor Abigail needed to ‘find herself’ – find herself a new job, if she’s got any sense.
Toby moves a pile of tattered papers from the chair onto the floor and beckons for me to sit down. ‘The job is very straightforward and involves answering the phones when Madeleine is already on a call, typing up letters from our audio tapes and filing. Money for old rope, really.’ He points at a tower of manila folders that’s about to topple over. ‘The filing cabinets are in the basement. You’ll soon get used to it and Madeleine will be happy to help if you get stuck.’
Hhmm, I’m not so sure about that.
‘So, tell me.’ Toby perches on the edge of the desk. ‘How does it feel to have escaped Salt Bay?’
‘OK.’
‘Just OK?’ Toby looks puzzled. ‘Surely it’s wonderful to be back in London, the greatest city on Earth.’
‘Of course, it’s lovely to be back here and I’m very grateful for this job. Thank you again for arranging it. I guess I just got used to being in Cornwall.’
‘Then you got out just in time,’ asserts Toby, standing up and stretching his legs. ‘I knew you were getting too involved when you said you were resurrecting the choral society. Why on earth would you want to be involved with a bunch of local yokels who think they can sing? Still, you’re back in London now so no harm done.’ He glances around my new work empire. ‘Why don’t you get used to your office and then you can get started on the typing and filing. Rafe will expect you to be up to speed pretty quickly.’
He’s almost at the door when I ask, ‘Why didn’t you tell me about Sheila?’
‘Who?’ Toby swings round, looking puzzled.
‘Sheila, my grandmother who’s in the dementia home.’
‘Oh her! To be totally honest, I forgot about the old girl. I haven’t seen Sheila for years, not since she went ga-ga, and I tend to forget she’s still alive. Did you go to see her?’
‘I didn’t know she existed until I found out by accident on Friday.’
‘Really?’ Toby’s eyes narrow and he crosses his arms. ‘That’s strange, and rather distressing for you that Alice kept it a secret. You must be very upset with her.’
‘Not really, I was fine about it,’ I lie, not wanting to criticise Alice in front of him. ‘Just surprised, that’s all.’
‘I did warn you that the Trebarwiths are a strange lot, excluding you and me of course. Talking of Alice, how was she doing when you left?’
‘Fairly well I think, and Emily will be moving in soon which will help to ensure she can stay at Tregavara House.’
‘Great, really great,’ says Toby, distractedly, straightening one of the posters on the wall. ‘And what about Josh Pasco? Have you seen him recently?’
Seen him. Kissed him. Discovered he’s a love rat.
‘Our paths haven’t crossed.’
‘Just as well. Anyway, I’d better get on.’
He’s half-way down the corridor when I call after him, ‘Why did Josh punch you?’
‘What?’
‘You told me that he punched you and I wondered why.’
Toby walks back to me and lowers his voice. ‘I don’t like to speak ill of people but he behaved appallingly with a woman I know.’
‘What did he do?’ It’s like picking at a scab – you know it will sting, but you just can’t help yourself.
Toby pushes me into my cupboard and closes the door. ‘He got a young woman pregnant and then wanted nothing more to do with her.’
Ooh, that is bad. ‘Did she have the baby?’ Pick, pick, pick…
‘Yes, she did.’
‘Does he ever see his son or daughter?’
‘No,’ says Toby, an angry flush creeping up his neck.
He sniffs loudly while I remember how fondly Josh spoke about Freya. For all his faults, he doesn’t seem the sort of man who’d walk away from his own child.
‘Are you quite sure about all of this or is it just a rumour?’
‘A rumour?’ huffs Toby. ‘I don’t deal in rumours. Believe me, it’s completely true. But I’ve said too much and it was a long time ago.’
‘Alice didn’t tell me about any of this.’
‘Like she didn’t tell you about Sheila.’
It’s a good point. Cornwall is full of secrets and lies. But I get the feeling that Toby is possibly the biggest liar of all. I know we’re related and he got me this job, but the man is starting to creep me out. And I get the feeling he’ll one day expect something in return for fixing me up with employment.
Toby leans towards me, almost whispering now. ‘Hardly anyone knows the truth about all this. So it’s probably best if you don’t mention what I’ve just told you to anyone in Salt Bay. It’s best forgotten.’
‘Of course, and I don’t plan on going back to Salt Bay any time soon.’
‘Just as well.’ Toby opens my door and waves at Rafe who’s come out of his office and is gesturing for Toby to join him. ‘I’ll catch up with you later. Ask Madeleine if you need anything.’
* * *
The first few days in my new job whizz by as I get to grips with the antiquated filing system. Fulbright and Linsom has yet to fully enter the digital age and the company is far from green. There are at least two forests-worth of paper in the filing cabinets lined up in the gloomy basement and more papers are being added to the stack every day.
I sneak a look into some of the folders while I’m going about the filing and marvel at the jaw-dropping financial info. It’s amazing how much people will pay for old stuff. Twenty thousand pounds for a vase here; fifty thousand pounds for a painting there; and all the while, Fulbright and Linsom is taking a hefty commission from each sale. Toby must be earning a packet.
Madeleine, as expected, isn’t terribly helpful but the job is easy to pick up and surprisingly interesting as I learn about different artists and their work. It’s not what I want to do forever but temping here is fine while I get some proper PA work lined up.
On Wednesday evening I’ve arranged to have a meal out with Maura so I take the Tube to the restaurant in King’s Cross where we’re meeting. I’ve been sitting at a table by the window for ten minutes, nursing a glass of Pinot Grigio, when she bustles in, looking flushed.
‘Am I late?’ She checks her watch and plonks herself down opposite me. ‘Paul was late back from work, as usual, so I had to get ready in a rush. Have I got regurgitated rusk down my boobs? Harry was spitting it everywhere.’ She scours her cleavage for cereal stains. ‘Right, where’s the wine? This is my first night out in ages a
nd I intend to get totally wasted.’
When I push her glass of Pinot Grigio across the table, she gulps down half in one go and licks her lips. She’s looking great with her blonde hair in a chic chignon and her trendy red-framed glasses on. When she came into the restaurant I noticed she was wearing odd shoes – one black court shoe and one navy blue – but I don’t mention it.
‘So how’s life with the gorgeous Harry, then?’
‘Knackering. Awful. Fabulous. Here, look what he’s doing now.’ Maura pulls out her phone and shows me a video of Harry smiling and clapping his hands. I’ve only been away a few weeks but he’s doubled in size.
‘Anyway, enough baby talk.’ Maura switches her phone to silent and drops it into her handbag. ‘It’s lovely to see you and I want to hear all about your adventures in Cornwall so I can live vicariously through you. I especially want to hear more about Sheila rising from the grave – that was totally sick.’
I tell her all about Cornwall while we tuck into spaghetti carbonara and polish off a bottle of house white. Well, I have about a quarter of a bottle and Maura necks the rest. I’m starting to feel as if I’m melting into the chair, while Maura is getting increasingly loud.
‘The choir sounds brilliant, Annie. You are clever.’ Maura pours a lake of double cream over her tiramisu and runs her finger up the jug to catch the drips. ‘You could always set one up around here.’
‘There’s no point. There are loads of choirs in London already and this one was special.’ Salt Bay Choral Society should be meeting tonight and suddenly I wish I was there, welcoming Cyril, encouraging Ollie to sing in tune and giggling at Jennifer’s appalled expression during Florence’s update on Bob. I cross my fingers that Josh has agreed to keep it running. I’ve been too scared to text Kayla in case he’s refused.
‘Are you all right?’ Maura is trying to look at me closely but her eyes aren’t focusing too well.
‘I was just thinking.’
‘About your lovely, sexy new boyfriend?’ A young couple behind her turn round and grin at me.
‘No,’ I hiss, gesturing for Maura to lower her voice. ‘He’s obviously not my boyfriend, unless kissing the face off your friend is some kind of Cornish foreplay. And anyway, since I saw him with Kayla, I’ve discovered more bad stuff about him.’
Maura pauses with her spoon halfway to her mouth. ‘Ooh, what?’
‘He got a girl pregnant and then abandoned her and the baby.’
‘Says who?’
‘Says Toby.’
Maura drops the spoon into her bowl and frowns. ‘Do you think he’s telling you the truth? No offence but he sounds like a bit of a douchebag.’
I choose my words carefully because Toby might be a slimeball but he’s a Trebarwith slimeball and I can’t help feeling a tug of familial loyalty. ‘I have no idea what the real story is because Toby has his own agenda, though I’m not sure what it is.’
‘Hhmmm.’ Maura is disappointed by my inability to slag off the ‘douchebag’. ‘It’s a shame because Josh is hot.’
‘Looks aren’t everything, Maura.’
‘Maybe not, but it helps if the bloke you’re banging is fit. Talking of which, did you notice the last time you were round at our place that Paul is getting jowly? I think he’s letting himself go. That’s what happens when couples have children. It all goes to pot.’ She scoops an obscene amount of sponge onto her spoon and shovels it into her mouth.
‘Paul is lovely, and you’re just going through a difficult patch at the moment. That’s what happens when you have a baby and stop having sex and stuff. I’m sure things will get easier as Harry gets older.’
Maura nods disconsolately while she chews and swallows. ‘So tell me what you miss about Cornwall. So far you’ve only told me the bad bits – the undead granny, the cheating boyfriend, the appalling weather, the lack of phone signal’ – she shudders – ‘but there must be some good bits about Salt Bay and discovering a long-lost family.’
‘There’s an amazingly beautiful beach. It’s like something out of a Seychelles ad, and it’s empty. Just loads of clean, yellow sand, seaweed and rock pools. Harry would love it. And there’s a brilliant cave where smugglers used to hide their contraband.’
Maura takes another slug of wine. ‘Contraband? Fancy.’ She’s slurring her words slightly and drips of carbonara sauce have splattered all down the front of her dress.
‘The air was fresh too with no pollution, and the fish was straight off the boat and tasted divine, and the weather was amazing sometimes, even when it was pants. I was up on the cliffs one day and the sky was black with storm clouds and the sea was thundering against the rocks, and all of a sudden the sun broke through and lit a sparkly path across the water, as if it was leading the way to heaven.’
I pause, feeling embarrassed, but Maura gestures for me to carry on. ‘I also grew really fond of the people in the choir, especially an old boy called Cyril. And Alice, of course, because she’s lovely. I suppose it was nice to have family for a while and to feel as if I mattered to someone. But then Alice started slagging off my mum and I remembered that I’m better off on my own.’
‘Yeah, that was a bit of a downer.’ Maura reaches across the table and grabs my hands. ‘It’s true that you don’t have anyone in the whole wide world but you’ll always matter to me ’cos you’re my lovely, lonely friend. And I promise I’ll come and visit when you’re old with dementia and I’ll never pretend that you don’t exist.’
Gee, thanks Maura. She’s only trying to be nice, though, so I squeeze her hands and concentrate on my good fortune. It’s lovely to be sitting here with her, in the middle of an exciting city that never sleeps. With shops on every corner and museums and parks and fantastic buildings and 4G Internet. Everything is easy and simple and just as it should be. If only I could stop worrying about Alice, and thinking about Josh, and wondering if Salt Bay Choral Society still exists.
Chapter 27
I’ve survived a whole fortnight at Fulbright and Linsom when an email from Kayla pings into my inbox. Checking my Hotmail during work hours is against one of Rafe’s many rules so I scoot over on my wheely chair and kick the door shut. It feels even more like a coffin in here now.
Kayla’s email reads:
Hey stranger, how’s life in the big, bad city? I’m in London overnight on Friday so let’s hook up. It’ll have to be short and sweet – how about 6 p.m.? Anywhere near Victoria station will be fine. Love K x
I reread it a few times, biting my lip. It’s the first time we’ve been in touch since exchanging brief emails just after I left Salt Bay. I didn’t mention seeing her with Josh; Kayla sounded put out I’d left Cornwall without telling her and, just like that, our relationship subtly shifted. Before my hasty departure it was fun and easy, but now there are secrets and resentments between us.
I could say I’m busy on Friday evening and put Salt Bay behind me but I’m keen to know how Alice is doing. Although I’ve called her to check she’s all right, our conversation was stilted and left me feeling more worried and guilty than ever. Kayla can also fill me in on what’s happening with my choir, though I guess it’s not ‘my choir’ any more. Even so, I can’t stop thinking about it and almost accosted a man in Starbucks yesterday because he looked like Tom from the back. It was the purple pants peeping above the top of his low-slung jeans that did it.
Quickly, before I can change my mind, I send a reply saying that I’d love to meet up and suggest a bar I know round the corner from Victoria station.
After the email has gone, I sit back and look around my office. I’m getting used to the cramped space, lack of natural light and the smell from the office next door that belongs to finance director Malcolm. I’m sure Malcolm showers every day and has a very fragrant body odour – I’ve never got close enough to sniff him – but his lunchtime diet appears to consist entirely of pongy egg sandwiches, and the smell wafts.
Even Madeleine doesn’t seem so bad these days and we’ve settled on an
uneasy truce, mainly because she has a sweet tooth and I’m not above bribing people with chocolate cake to like me.
Toby has been out of the office for much of the last fortnight because a couple of big auctions are coming up. Everyone is rushing round getting things ready and I’ve been roped in to help out, which is far more fun than typing, filing and picking up Madeleine’s overspill calls.
Friday is particularly hectic which means I’m late leaving work and end up rushing to the Tube station in my tight-fitting dress. Thanks to Rafe, I’ve had to raise my game when it comes to work clothes, even though I work in a cupboard and never see clients. The man might look affable and roly-poly but he’s a stickler for the rules which include no jeans, no cords, no sweatshirts – and absolutely no tattoos. I don’t have any but Madeleine never reveals her arms, which is suspicious. Hitching my dress higher up my thighs so I can take longer strides, I weave my way through the pavement throng towards the Tube and hope I’ll make it to the bar before Kayla.
It’s the height of rush hour at Angel station and the place is heaving with people squashed onto the escalator taking us deep into the bowels of the earth. I’m surprised by how disorientating it is being swept along with the crowd, and how annoyed I get these days when people stand too close to me.
I got soft in Salt Bay and forgot there’s no such thing as personal space when travelling in London. With well over eight million people living here, things are bound to get up close and personal. And that’s OK. It’s the price we pay for living in the greatest city in the world. So I push down my annoyance, close my eyes as I’m being crammed into a stranger’s damp armpit, and imagine I’m on the beach at Salt Bay with seagulls wheeling above me and waves crashing onto golden sand. Imagining the smell of seaweed and ozone almost blots out the acrid whiff of commuter sweat.
At last I reach the bar and grab a window seat to watch people scuttling past. Telling the difference between tourists and Londoners is easy. Tourists tend to loiter along with their cameras before stopping abruptly, while Londoners rush past mouthing obscenities when tourists get in their way. Which they do. All the blessed time. There’s that bubble of annoyance again which has been a constant companion since my return from Cornwall. It’s like having perpetual PMT. Salt Bay has taken the sheen off my home city. Where once I saw mainly glitz and glamour, now I notice the noise, the crush and the dirt. Everywhere is so grubby. Taking a deep breath, I settle back in my chair and try to relax.
