by Maria Realf
Looking into her eyes, he gently undid three buttons on her shirt and traced the outline of her lacy bra with his finger. She did not want to leave: not now, not ever.
‘Yes,’ she murmured, pressing her lips hard against his, her hands finding the taut abs beneath his jumper. He did not say another word as he lifted her off the floor and swept her into the bedroom.
This time, he did close the door.
7
10 weeks to go …
As the DJ on the radio teed up yet another 80s power ballad, Lizzie glanced at the plastic clock on the office wall. It seemed to have been stuck at 5.05pm for the past ten minutes. How is that even possible? She hid a yawn behind her coffee cup. Josh had kept her up half the night fidgeting, convinced his recent sniffles were spiralling into full-blown flu. He’d called in sick today and stayed at home, curled up on the couch with the remote control for company, while she’d had to trek into town amid freak summer storms, cursing commuters who nearly decapitated her with their umbrellas.
She hadn’t been sleeping well for weeks, really, which was partly due to wedding stress but mainly Alex’s fault. The questions she was afraid to ask out loud ran through her mind at night: Why is he here? What does he want with me? She wished that he had never come back, so she could be kept awake by guest lists and seating charts like normal brides.
Her eyelids felt heavy, and she allowed herself to rest them for one peaceful moment.
‘Elizabeth? Elizabeth! Are you with us?’ The shrill voice of her boss, an imposing woman by the name of Ella Derville, jolted her back to attention. Tall and wiry, Ella always wore her hair in an immaculate topknot, which was slicked back so tightly it made her skin look eerily stretched. She had the eyes of a hawk and the stealth of a ninja. ‘I do hope we’re not overworking you?’
‘No! I mean, er … sorry. Thought I had an eyelash in there. Did you need me?’ Deep down, Lizzie had a quiet respect for the publishing director (though she knew that Naomi secretly called her Cruella de Vil), but right now she could tell that the woman was in no mood for pleasantries.
‘Yes, I want to review your campaign strategy before next week’s meeting,’ she said, peering down her nose. She paused expectantly just as the chorus of Don’t Stop Believin’ rang out in the background. Ella swivelled her long neck in Naomi’s direction. ‘Will someone turn that radio off? I am trying to have a conversation here.’
Naomi begrudgingly did as she was told, plunging the office into an ominous silence. The rest of the team tried to pretend that they were busy, shuffling papers or playing with their staplers, but Lizzie knew they were hanging on to Ella’s every word. Perky Phoebe wheeled her chair a fraction closer to the action.
‘Where was I?’ said Ella brusquely. ‘Oh yes. I need that plan.’
What plan? The semi-permanent knot in Lizzie’s stomach tightened another notch. ‘Er, I’m actually working on quite a few things at the moment,’ she said in what she hoped was her most polite, super-efficient voice. ‘Could you remind me which project you were referring to?’
‘The new yoga book.’
Aaaargh. It would have to be the one I’ve not started. ‘I’m just finishing that off,’ she said, not quite making eye contact. ‘I’ll move it to the top of my in-tray and have it with you by noon tomorrow.’
‘It was supposed to be on my desk yesterday!’
Lizzie didn’t know what to say, but it didn’t make much difference; the woman was on a roll now, her disapproval rushing forth like an unstoppable tidal wave. Naomi got up and walked behind her to the water cooler, rolling her eyes as she went.
‘And then there was that press release for the travel guide, which was so full of typos I had to re-do it myself. It’s not up to your usual standard at all. Is something the matter?’ She placed one hand on the desk and leaned in. ‘Because if there’s a problem, you know, perhaps you should talk to me.’
Lizzie couldn’t imagine anything more excruciating than telling the boss about her complicated private life. ‘I’m really sorry,’ she whispered, her mouth drying up. ‘I’ve just been under quite a lot of pressure lately. I’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again, I promise.’
‘Please do.’ Ella stood up sharply, pulling herself to her full height. ‘We’ve got a busy month ahead.’ And with that she slinked off, no doubt preparing to pounce on some other poor unsuspecting underling.
Lizzie was mortified. A rush of heat surged up her neck and spread contagiously across her face. She had been working for the company for more than four years and had always considered herself an exemplary employee. Now she was suddenly being cast as the office slacker. I’ve really got to get my act together – before I get my P45. She looked around at her colleagues in stunned disbelief, but most of them refused to meet her eyes. Naomi gave an embarrassed shrug and trudged back to her seat.
Seconds later, an email alert pinged up in Lizzie’s inbox.
Hey, Sleeping Beauty! Cheer up. If you can stay awake for another 15 minutes, let’s get out of here and have one for the road. I’m buying.
N x
Lizzie glanced out of the window, where the sky looked grey and miserable. Another storm cloud rumbled overhead.
Sure, why not? she replied. Assuming I’m not fired first …
Naomi jostled her way through the after-work crowd, plonking a tray down on the wonky table. ‘Fuck me, this place is getting pricey,’ she said, offloading two glasses of house white and a small bowl of dry roasted peanuts. ‘Since when did nuts cost nearly a fiver? It used to be alright in here.’
Lizzie glanced around the dingy pub, which looked about 100 years old, and tried to envisage a time when it was ever alright in there. ‘That’s London for you,’ she said. ‘You sure you don’t want some cash?’
‘Oh, don’t worry about it,’ said Naomi. ‘I’ll get this lot. You get the next one.’
‘OK, thanks. It might have to be next week, though. Josh isn’t well today so I thought I’d go back and make him a decent dinner.’
‘Well, aren’t you a regular Nigella?’ teased Naomi. ‘I wish there was someone at home to cook for me. I’m sick to death of ready meals.’
‘So, how are things at home these days?’ Lizzie asked tactfully. She took a large swig of wine and immediately wished she hadn’t. It tasted like vinegar and needed another hour in the fridge.
‘Not great.’ Naomi ran a hand through her platinum blonde hair and shuffled uneasily on the rickety stool. ‘I think evil Mel might be seeing other people.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘She keeps posting selfies with all these other girls.’
‘Maybe they’re friends?’ said Lizzie helpfully.
‘Yeah, right.’
‘Did it occur to you that maybe she’s posting them to make you jealous?’
‘No,’ she said glumly. ‘Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’m not sure I want to date someone who knows that many hot women. It’s not good for my ego.’
‘Now you’re being ridiculous. You hardly fell out of the ugly tree.’ It was the truth. Naomi looked like an urban rock chick, with her short, choppy bob and edgy dress sense. Even Megan thought that she had style, and she never said that about anybody.
‘Anyway, let’s not talk about that psycho,’ said Naomi. ‘How’s the wedding stuff coming along?’
‘Fine, I guess.’ She took a smaller mouthful of the warm wine and tried not to pull a face.
‘Well, don’t sound too enthusiastic …’
Lizzie debated whether to tell her about the whole Alex saga, but decided against it. She didn’t really have time right now, plus she knew from experience that Naomi could be a bit indiscreet when she had a few drinks in her – and she didn’t want her getting smashed at the wedding and recounting the tale to other guests.
‘No, it’s all good. I’ve just had a lot on my plate this month.’
Naomi nodded. ‘I noticed. What was all that about earlier?’ She leaned in curiously, and Lizzie
wondered if this was the real reason she’d offered to take her out and buy the drinks. Either she’s feeling sorry for me or she’s fishing for gossip. She didn’t know which was worse.
‘It’s nothing. I’ve been juggling several projects and I forgot to submit something on time. Then Ella went a bit … you know. Like she does.’
‘Batshit?’ Naomi popped a handful of peanuts into her mouth and washed them down with wine.
‘More like … disappointed. But I get where she’s coming from. It was my fault.’
‘Oh, don’t do that,’ she groaned.
‘Do what?’
‘Act all reasonable about it. How many times have you handed in something late since you started here?’
‘Hardly ever. Why?’
‘Well, she needs to give you a break. Everyone knows you’ve got the wedding coming up. You’re bound to be a little preoccupied.’
‘It’s not just that,’ said Lizzie quietly. ‘I’m not really sure my heart’s in it any more.’
‘In what? The wedding?’ Naomi looked shocked.
‘No! I meant PR.’ She had never confessed that to anyone before, and if she’d thought it through properly, Naomi wouldn’t have been her first pick to keep a secret. But it felt good to finally admit it.
‘Oh, right.’ She leaned in closer, beckoning Lizzie to do the same. ‘If I tell you something, can you keep your mouth shut?’
‘Of course,’ she replied. Better than you, I’d imagine …
‘OK.’ She tapped her hands on top of the table to mimic a drum roll. ‘I’ve decided to quit!’
‘Smoking?’
‘No! Don’t start that again. Work.’
‘What? Are you serious?’ Lizzie almost fell off her seat. ‘When?’
‘I’m going to wait three more months, just to make sure I’ve saved up enough. But if everything goes to plan, I’ll hand in my notice while you’re on your honeymoon. That’s assuming I don’t explode first. Everyone’s on my case this week.’
‘Then what?’
‘Then I’m going to set up my own web business. It’ll just be me to start with, but at least I’ll be the boss!’
Lizzie toyed with the rim of her glass. ‘Won’t that be a big pay cut?’
‘Ha, now you sound like my mum. That’ll be the first thing she says.’ Naomi reached for another handful of peanuts. ‘I don’t think it’ll be so bad. I’ve been saving up for a while and my old roommate reckons she can put some work my way.’ She threw a nut in the air and caught it in her mouth. ‘Anyway, my mind’s made up.’
‘Whoa. This is huge.’ Lizzie was quiet for a second, allowing the news to sink in. She was going to miss Naomi horribly, but she admired her guts. Maybe it’s time I moved on, too. She’d only meant to take the job for a couple of years before writing a book of her own, but now her five-year work anniversary was creeping up fast, and she was becoming part of the office furniture. ‘Don’t get me wrong, though; I think it’s amazing. I’d love to do my own thing.’
‘Like what?’
She hesitated. ‘Don’t laugh, but I’d really like to write a novel.’
‘Why would I laugh? You’d be a great writer!’
‘Really?’
‘Definitely. You should totally do it.’ She grinned. ‘You only live once, right?’
Lizzie was tempted. Naomi’s got a point. If I never give it a go, I’m always going to sit there wondering, aren’t I?
‘Let me think about it for a while. I need to talk it over with Josh.’
‘You should tell him tonight!’ Lizzie had never seen her friend so excited.
‘Maybe,’ she smiled. ‘Depends what kind of mood he’s in when I get back. He’s a terrible patient.’ Josh was normally so active that he couldn’t cope when he was laid low. ‘That reminds me, I should probably head off soon and pick up some stuff for dinner. It’ll take me a while to get home.’
‘Not so fast,’ said Naomi. ‘Let’s have a toast before we go.’
‘To what?’
Naomi looked thoughtful. ‘To taking the plunge,’ she said with a cheeky grin. ‘And to your future bestseller, of course.’
‘I like the sound of that,’ said Lizzie, raising her glass. ‘Cheers.’
‘Cheers,’ said Naomi, clinking hers against it. ‘Oh, and there’s one thing you have to promise me before you go.’
Lizzie was curious. ‘Go on …’
‘When you’re a famous writer, can I run your website?’
Lizzie hurried up the front path, desperate to set down the two carrier bags that were digging painfully into her left palm. One had a large split in the side and was threatening to burst open at any second, spilling its contents everywhere. Just … one … more … minute. She opened the door with her other hand and squeezed into the hall, promptly tripping over Josh’s mud-caked trainers in the process. The bag gave way and two tins of chopped tomatoes tumbled out, almost landing on her toes.
Aaaargh.
She bundled up the food as best she could and lugged it towards the kitchen. The sound of the fridge door being slammed made her jump.
‘Josh, I’m going to make spag bol tonight. You hungry?’
A figure stepped out from the shadow of the kitchen doorway into the hall. ‘Hey, Lizzie, got any more beers?’ said Freddie. ‘I can’t find any.’ He had, however, managed to find the tortilla chips that she’d been saving for movie night with Megan. He fished one out with his stubby fingers, overloaded it with salsa and licked it. Then he double-dipped it back into the jar, before crunching it loudly between his big teeth. Gross. Lizzie tried not to gag and pointed him in the direction of the bottom cupboard.
‘There’s usually a few more in there. They won’t be cold, though.’
‘Shame. Never mind.’ He shuffled back into the kitchen and shoved the half-eaten salsa in the fridge. As if we’d want it now! Then he bent down, his ill-fitting jeans giving her a view she’d rather not have seen, and retrieved two cans of lager.
‘Got any bitter?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’ What do I look like, a pub?
‘OK, then, we’ll take a couple of these …’ It didn’t seem to occur to him to ask if she might like a drink.
‘Want some pork scratchings with that?’ she asked sarcastically.
‘No thanks, I’m alright,’ said Freddie.
That’s debatable.
She changed the subject. ‘How’s Josh feeling now?’
‘You what?’ Freddie blinked gormlessly.
‘He wasn’t feeling well today. He called in sick.’
‘Oh. Dunno. He didn’t mention it.’
Probably because he couldn’t get a word in edgeways. Freddie liked the sound of his own voice way too much, though most of the time he didn’t say anything worth listening to. Whenever he and Josh met up, it was like they were sucked back to their sixth-form days, where they’d bonded over sport and beer and immature banter – which, to be honest, was pretty much still the glue that kept their friendship together. Lizzie had started to dread him showing up at their place, and would have stayed out with Naomi if she’d known he was coming over. Still, at least she could send him home afterwards. She pitied his new wife Fran, who was stuck with him for good.
She followed him through to the lounge, where Josh was looking decidedly more lively, shouting at the footballers on the TV. The only sign of his illness was the trail of used tissues scattered on the sofa beside him.
‘Hi, gorgeous. Freddie’s here,’ he said, stating the obvious.
‘Yes, we were just chatting,’ she said. ‘How are you feeling now?’ When she’d left for work that morning, Josh made out that he was practically dying, blowing his nose loudly and speaking with a rasp that could have impressed Darth Vader.
‘Much better, thanks. It seemed to shift once I got up.’
‘That’s good.’ She gave him a big smile. ‘Don’t suppose you managed to write a few invites then, by any chance?’
‘What?’ He f
orced a cough. ‘No, I mean I’m on the mend, but I’m obviously not 100 per cent yet.’
Obviously.
‘Alright. Well, I guess we could do them on Saturday.’
‘That was never a foul,’ interrupted Freddie, oblivious to the fact that another conversation was taking place. ‘Did you see that? Unbelievable.’
‘Er, no, I didn’t,’ said Josh. ‘Rewind a minute and we’ll watch it again.’
‘The ref’s a twat,’ said Freddie.
‘Takes one to know one,’ Lizzie muttered under her breath.
Josh turned his attention back to her. ‘Sorry, hon, what were you saying?’
‘I was just saying we need to sort the invites. But it can wait till the weekend.’
‘Oh. Does it have to be this weekend?’
She was starting to lose patience now. ‘Well, it has to be soon. It’s not like your Christmas cards, Josh – you can’t send them out the week before. People need a bit of notice, you know.’
‘Isn’t that what those other things were for?’
‘What? No, they were just save-the-dates. They don’t give any of the details.’ She took a deep breath and tried again. ‘Could you please help me out for a couple of hours on Saturday? It’s not exactly my idea of fun either, but it won’t take long if we do it together.’
Josh looked sheepish. ‘The thing is, we’ve managed to get a couple of tickets for the match now,’ he mumbled.
‘It’s a big game,’ chipped in Freddie.
They’re all big bloody games. ‘How about Sunday?’
‘Sunday’s the kids’ tournament, remember? I’m ref for that one.’
‘The referee’s a wanker,’ chanted Freddie, pointing at Josh.
Lizzie wanted to throw a cushion at both their heads. ‘Let’s talk about this later,’ she sighed.
‘Alright,’ said Josh. He gave her his widest don’t-be-mad-at-me eyes. ‘I’ll make it up to you. Maybe I can do a few this week after work instead?’
‘OK. Are you hungry?’
‘I’m famished,’ said Freddie. ‘What time’s dinner?’
