by Jo Watson
I glance at our mutual friend, who’s nursing her orange juice and watching us out of the corner of her eye. “I need to tell Scarlett that I did.”
He turns back towards the bar. “You can tell her whatever you want. I’ll back you up.”
“You mean I can tell her you’re an arrogant, confusing idiot?”
“If that’s what you think.”
“Okay.” I pause. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around.”
I linger for a few seconds longer than I need to before going back to the table where Scarlett is waiting.
“I did it,” I tell her.
She glances over her shoulder at him. “He doesn’t look like he just got a date.”
“Well, it didn’t go exactly to plan,” I explain.
Scarlett frowns. “You mean you didn’t ask him?”
“No, I did,” I my fuzzy braining remembering his promise to back me up.
“And that’s what he’ll say if I ask him?”
I nod.
She stands up and goes to talk to him. She’s only gone for a few minutes, but I manage to finish my drink. I’m considering getting another one when a woman from marketing, whose name I can’t remember, sits beside me.
“Hi,” she says. “You’re friends with Scarlett, aren’t you?”
“We both work in HR,” I explain, assuming this woman has no idea that I even work for the same company as her.
She nods once and tucks a thick strand of her reddish bob behind her ear. “You’re close, then? Close enough to know why the only drop of liquid that’s passed her lips tonight has been orange juice?”
My head snaps up to meet her deadpan expression. And in that moment, I know that she knows.
How the hell does this woman know Scarlett’s intimate secret?
“A woman has her intuitions,” she says by way of explanation. “I’m Rebecca, by the way. I work in marketing.”
“How do you know?” I watch Scarlett talking to Liam. “It can’t possibly just be intuition.”
“Not entirely.” She pushes her square-framed glasses back up her nose. “Perhaps I should introduce myself again. I’m Rebecca Cording. Charlie Cording’s wife.”
Charlie Cording…Charlie Cording.
I try to place her husband’s name. It does sound familiar.
Then I see him looking over at us as he waits to get served round the other side of the bar.
Of course! Charlie. Charlie from accounts with the handlebar moustache and the knitted pullovers.
I look back at his wife, still not making the connection. Why is it significant who she’s married to? That doesn’t explain how she knows anything about Scarlett.
“What’s Charlie got to do with anything?”
“Oh.” Her blue eyes widen. “She hasn’t told you.”
I frown. “Told me what?”
“I felt sure that she would have confided in somebody,” Rebecca continues. “Maybe I should have asked the blonde you work with.”
“Helen?” I ask in confusion. “She knows even less than me. But how do you know?”
“I told you I’m Charlie’s wife because he’s the father of that baby she’s carrying.”
“What?” I stare at her like she’s started speaking in fluent Japanese. “No. Scarlett would have told me if… No. It can’t be him.”
I’ll be honest—I didn’t know Charlie was married. But even if Scarlett was equally clueless about this, she wouldn’t have slept with him.
He must be at least twenty years older than her. And he wears brown shoes.
He comes over then and hands a drink to Rebecca. Without saying anything else, she takes the glass and they go back to wherever they were sitting before.
I stare into my empty cocktail glass.
What Rebecca said can’t be true. How could she know about the baby, anyway? Scarlett said she hadn’t told the father.
“Looks like you passed.” Scarlett slips into the seat that had just been occupied by Rebecca.
“What?”
“Asking Liam out,” she clarifies. “I guess I owe you my end of the deal now.”
“Don’t.” I shake my head. “I already know.”
She chews on her bottom lip, removing any trace of her pink lipstick. “What do you mean you know? You can’t.”
“Didn’t you see her talking to me? His wife.”
“Oh.”
“How does she know, Scarlett?”
Scarlett stares down at the worn wooden table. “Because I told her. I told her about the affair.”
“The affair? I thought you said it was a one-night stand.”
Scarlett sighs. “It was. It…look, it’s really complicated.”
“So complicated that you can’t even try to explain it to me?” I shake my head at her, looking across at where Charlie is sitting with his wife, both of them pretending to ignore us.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, her head bowed.
“Did you know that he was married?” I ask suddenly.
Her silence is answer enough.
“I can’t believe you, Scar.” I pull my coat on.
“Come on, Megan,” she pleads as I stand up to go.
Part of me wants to stay here and listen, to try to get my head around what she did. But I think I’ve had one too many cocktails to make sense of this situation right now.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say without looking at her.
And I keep my head down as I head out of the pub and make my way home.
Chapter Eighteen
“Megan?” Zara taps on my bedroom door. “Aren’t you going to work today?”
“No,” I mumble into my pillow.
I can’t face work. Not with this cocktail headache. And what if I bump into Liam?
That wouldn’t be so bad. But then I remember meeting Rebecca. And arguing with Scarlett. I’m not sure where we stand anymore.
I can’t go to work.
I want to stay here snuggled under the duvet where nothing can get me.
“Megan?” Zara knocks louder.
I groan and roll over.
Nora knows about last night’s office drinks. She probably won’t see it as a coincidence if I’m poorly the following day.
My phone rings from somewhere on my bedside table. I fumble around and answer it without checking the caller ID.
“Megan?” Scarlett’s voice comes over the phone. “Is that you?”
“Scarlett.”
“Are you coming to work? I need to speak to you.”
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, the action intensifying my headache. “Yes. I’m coming in.”
“I think I need to explain a few things to you,” she continues.
“You don’t have to explain anything,” I assure her. What could she possibly say to justify an affair with a married man?
“No. I need to explain what happened after you left last night.”
I grip the phone more tightly. “I’m on my way.”
The bus journey to work seems to take longer than usual, partially because I’m running late. And partially because I fill it thinking of things that could have happened while I wait for the painkillers to reduce my hangover.
Did I miss some sort of showdown between Scarlett and Rebecca? Or is it something totally unrelated to that? Is it Liam?
I keep my head down as I push the doors open and hurry through Window Shine’s reception area and up the stairs.
I’m praying I won’t see Liam. At least until after I find out that whatever Scarlett has to tell me—and that it isn’t about him.
Scarlett’s sitting at her desk, staring blankly at her computer screen.
“What’s going on?” I scan the empty office. “Where’s Helen?”
“Helping Nora with some recruitment stuff,” Scarlett answers.
I shed my coat and put my bag away before I sit down and turn to look at her.
“I told Charlie about the baby,” she announces.
I nod. “Oka
y. Okay, what did he say?”
“He’s not interested.” She reaches for a tissue from the box on her desk. “He’s got Rebecca, hasn’t he?”
I chew on my bottom lip, feeling the sense of empathy for Scarlett that I should have employed last night. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.” She sniffs and looks away. “I can’t do it on my own, Meg.”
I wish I knew what to say. I’ve been so caught up in finding my own confidence, I didn’t realise how much Scarlett needed to find some, too.
“Have you seen Liam?” She quickly changes the subject.
“No.” I stare down at my desk. “Have you?”
She shakes her head. “Not today. You should probably go talk to him, though.”
“Why?”
“Don’t you remember what you said to him? I think he was a bit upset.”
“He was upset?” I snort. “All I did was tell the truth.”
“And that was the best way to ask him out, was it?”
“Look, Scar, I never said I wanted to go out with him. You invented that bit all by yourself.”
Scarlett frowns. “Well, you might not have said it. But I thought it was obvious. I only wanted to help.”
I slump down in my seat.
I know she wanted to help. That’s why she invited everybody to office drinks in the first place. That’s why she forced those purple cocktails on me.
And that’s how I ended up here.
“You can’t hide from him forever, you know,” Scarlett points out, and I glare at her.
Of course I can. In fact, that’s exactly what I intend to do. At least until the end of today when the awkwardness will be minimised and my hangover gone.
Then, once I have normal brain functionality, I can draft a script of stock phrases to use for any corridor encounters with Liam.
At least then I’ll probably have makeup on. And my hair will be clean. And I’ll be dressed with a little more care than my current thrown-on ensemble of a plaid shirt with leggings.
“I’ll go make the tea,” I offer, thinking it will give Scarlett time to think of a new subject.
I should have stayed at my desk.
Because there he is. Right in front of me.
He’s standing in the tiny shared kitchen, staring out the window as he waits for the kettle to boil.
“I was hoping I’d see you today.” He turns to see me leaning against the doorway. “A strong coffee for the hangover?”
“I haven’t got a hangover.” I step into the middle of the small room and quickly smooth down my hair.
He raises a single eyebrow but doesn’t say anything.
“Did you have a good night, anyway?” I ask. That’s the sort of small talk people make in these social situations, isn’t it?
“You mean after you told me what you think of me?”
I rub the toe of my shoe against a coffee stain on the orange lino and pretend I haven’t heard him.
“You were right, by the way.”
I chance a brief look in his direction. “I was right about what?”
“Me.” He runs a hand over the back of his head. “I did act like an arrogant, confusing idiot..”
Oh, God. Did I really say that to him last night?
“Well, I’ve heard honesty is the first step to recovery.” I attempt a joking smile.
The kettle boils, and we both stare at it.
Liam turns away and pours boiling water into a white mug. “It bothered you, then? That I was acting like that.”
I can’t see his face, so I don’t know what he’s thinking or what he means by that.
“It’s not exactly a nice way to be treated. But it’s all sorted now, isn’t it?” I smile at him even though he still hasn’t turned around to face me.
“Is it?”
I grit my teeth, the smile making my jaw ache. “Yes,” I say. “It is.”
He picks up his mug and walks past me with his head down.
And I’m alone in the kitchen.
It’s funny. As he walks away, I feel like I’ve tackled something I’m scared of by standing up for myself.
But I don’t feel good about it.
When I return to the office, I don’t say a word to Scarlett about what’s happened. I place a mug of tea in front of her and gulp down my own black coffee.
We manage to get through the day without talking about Liam. Or Charlie. Or men in general.
Not even when Helen comes back and wants to know what she missed at the pub last night.
Okay. The subject may have been broached when Helen went on to describe what she and Alistair (or Brad) got up to.
But I don’t think it counts if I’m not listening.
At the end of the day, when we’re getting our coats on, ready to leave, I take my phone out of my bag and groan at the voicemail icon at the top of the screen. I know it will be a message from my mother before I check. She has this obsession with leaving voicemails, when she doesn’t actually have anything to say.
With the phone pressed to my ear, I call goodbye to the other women and head down the stairs. I hear my mum’s voice, all thick and hesitant in a jumbled message about Bryony Hudson.
Why would I want to hear about Bryony?
But I hit the button to repeat the message.
Megan? It’s Mum l have something to tell you. Poor Wendy’s in bits. Oh, it’s awful. It’s Bryony. Wendy’s found out that she’s been seeing someone. Someone else. One of her lecturers from uni. And the wedding’s off and…erm…Call me back when you get this message? Thanks, love.
Chapter Nineteen
As I head across the car park, I’m almost expecting Mum to call me back and tell me it was all a joke.
Maybe Auntie Wendy told her to do it to see how I’d react.
Or maybe she’s somehow got it wrong.
Why would Bryony Hudson be giving up her life with Jeremy and the winter wonderland engagement party for her boring teacher?
“Megan.”
I spin in the direction of the voice. And there’s Tim, leaning against his mum’s car again.
“Tim.” I take a step backwards. “I didn’t see you there.”
Does he know? Does he know about his sister? Oh, God, it’s not up to me to tell him, is it?
But maybe he can see it on my face. Maybe I’m sporting the open-mouthed and wide-eyed I-just-received-shocking-news expression.
“You’re not just ignoring me, then?” he asks.
“Ignoring you?”
“Yeah, you know, since we went out for that curry.”
“Oh.”
“It’s just that things have been a bit weird since then.”
“Yep.”
“I suppose you’ve heard about Bryony?” He nods at the phone in my hand.
Thank God.
I stare at the mobile device. “I…erm…yes, I just heard from my mum.”
“I can’t believe it.” He shakes his head. “People shouldn’t allow themselves to become trapped in a life they’re not happy with.”
I make what I hope sounds like a noise of agreement.
Tim clears his throat. “That’s why I came here. I wanted to ask you something.”
I squirm, looking for a hedge I can dive into, in place of a hole in the ground that will swallow me up.
“Megan, we’ve known each other for a long time now,” Tim continues. “And I think I’ve come to realise how special you are to me since I came back from London.”
“Tim—”
“And we should make a go of things, you and me.”
“Tim, I don’t think—”
“It could work, couldn’t it? We could be a proper couple.” He looks at me with hope in his eyes.
“No.” I take another step backwards, wanting to cover my ears and run away screaming. “No, Tim. I don’t think it would work out between us.”
“I know I haven’t got a job or anything right now but—”
“No,” I repeat. “I d
on’t think it would ever work.”
Tim holds a hand up to his face as though I’ve physically struck him. “Right,” he says. “Well. Thanks for being honest.”
Of course, he’s not really thanking me. He probably thinks I’m a heartless cow.
Oh, God. I am, aren’t I?
I’m a terrible person.
Even if our date hadn’t been so awkwardly embarrassing, I know I have another reason for rejecting Tim.
And I know that it has something to do with Liam Wiseman.
Waiting for my bus to pull into the stand, I start to realise that things were so much easier when he was Bublé-Face.
I feel sick as the bus pulls up, and I slump on board, showing the driver my pass.
Poor Tim is probably still standing in the car park. And I’m sitting on the bus home, safe in the knowledge that he isn’t going to catch up to me and try making me feel guilty.
Make that guiltier.
Because it might have been an incredibly confident thing to do to tell him exactly how I felt, but that doesn’t mean I have any positive feelings towards what I did.
Well, not many, anyway.
I’m still clutching my mobile. I rest my head against the window and dial my mum’s number.
She picks up on the second ring. “Megan?” she says breathlessly. “Did you get my message?”
I’m so tempted to launch into a classic gossiping routine, like I would if I was talking to the girls at work, but instead I keep my response to a reserved, “I did. Is everything okay?”
“Not really, love. Auntie Wendy’s gone into some sort of meltdown. None of us can talk her out of it.”
“What happened, then?” I ask forgetting about Tim and wanting to get to the juicy stuff. “How did you find out?”
“Wendy had to hear it from Jeremy that the engagement was off. The poor bloke had no idea what he’d done. So Wendy goes to see her. And there she is with her medical sciences lecturer. Apparently they’re eloping! Can you believe that? Eloping!”
Trust my mother. She loves gossip and scandal just as much as I do.
“Is he some old guy?” I picture the bloke in the brown jacket who she practically ran to at Zizzi. At the time I thought he was a stranger but, now that I think about it, he must have been her latest fiancé.
“Late thirties or early forties I think,” Mum answers. “Why?”
