by Carrie Elks
The prospect of a hangover doesn’t even phase me. I couldn’t care less if I walk into the meeting tomorrow with vomit spewing from my lips and mascara dripping from my red eyes, because he’s not going to be there. Is there really any point in bothering at all?
It would be easier to hide in my bed and pretend I haven’t messed everything up. My job, my degree, and most definitely my relationship. In a few short months I’ve gone from a woman who wanted to make something of herself, to someone proving that you can take the girl out of the East End, but you can't take the East End out of the girl.
I’m a walking cliché. I thought I was better than this, I believed Callum was better than this, but all that’s happened is I’ve slept with my boss and been burned.
Stupid, stupid, Amy.
“I won’t be able to sleep, anyway,” I mutter. Nevertheless, I pick up our glasses and carry them out to the kitchen. Lara throws the empty wine bottle into the recycling bin, and goes to grab her coat. After another long hug, she and Ellie take a cab home, leaving me alone in the house that seems more of a prison than anything else.
Being me is a life sentence.
Like a glutton for punishment, I send him another text message before walking up the stairs. It’s short, but surely he can’t ignore the plaintive tone.
Call me. Please.
I don’t expect a reply and I don’t get one. Instead I ready myself for bed, brushing my teeth and scrubbing off my makeup while refusing to look in the mirror that hangs over the basin for fear of hating the person I see staring back. By the time I crawl into bed my skin feels red-raw from a combination of astringent cleanser and salty tears, and I’m completely wide-awake.
At some point in the night the tears disappear, leaving my eyes painfully dry. I stare into the darkness, seeing the shapes of the furniture form in the shadow of the gloom. The only light comes from the shafts of moonlight that fight their way through the gaps in the curtain.
The clock on my phone counts the hours until morning. When there’s only two left to go, fatigue wins out, pushing me into a series of half-lucid dreams that all end up in the same way—I am alone. Callum leaves, Callum dies, I see him sailing away while I wail with my arms flung open. He’s always out of reach.
I wake at seven with a start. There’s a blissful moment of half-awareness before all the facts come crashing back into my consciousness.
By the time I make it into the office, I’m running on autopilot. I don’t remember showering, or getting dressed, or whether I’ve put on any makeup. When I sit at the table in the directors’ conference room, staring at a glass of water that has been placed in front of me, I don’t care whether I have a job or not.
The door opens and Jonathan walks in. He takes one look at me and his expression softens. Breathing in deeply, he grabs the chair next to mine and sits down.
“How are you?” he whispers. When I shrug, he carries on. “I’m here to support you. If you want to stop at any time, or to ask any questions, just give me a nod. I’m not going to let them walk all over you.”
I couldn’t care less what they do, and my lack of response is probably all the answer he needs. He reaches out and squeezes my hand.
A minute later Diana Joseph walks in, followed by two men who I’ve seen before but never spoken to. They’re senior partners with offices on the top floor; the ones with views across the river that turn the rest of us green with envy.
“Amy, this is Sam Haken and Dominic Shaw,” Diana says, taking a chair on the opposite side of the table. “Sam, Dominic, this is Amethyst Cartwright, one of our interns.”
For two men who are usually wining and dining, they look surprisingly chipper. Sam reaches across the table and shakes my hand, while Dominic flashes me a toothy smile. “Amy, it’s good to meet you.”
Still mute, all I can do is nod back.
Dominic continues, “We wanted to come and talk to you today to see how you are doing. Once we’ve had a chat, we’d like you to meet with Lucy Minor, the head of our legal department.”
“What about?” Jonathan asks.
“Maybe we should start from the beginning,” Sam says. “First of all, we’d like to offer you a sincere apology.”
I do a double take, my eyes wide. “An apology?”
There’s another squeeze from Jonathan, as though he’s telling me to be cool.
Dominic clears his throat loudly, pushing up the sleeves of his jacket to reveal tanned arms. “We pride ourselves on our intern program, Amy. Not only do we believe that providing training to young people is important, but it also allows us to build our reputation in the City. We want to be the go-to company for graduate applications.”
“That’s why we were so concerned when we heard what happened to you,” Sam says, a lock of his grey hair flopping over his forehead. “I was aghast to hear that any employee of Richards and Morgan could be subject to such treatment.”
“What treatment…” My words are cut off by Jonathan. This time he grabs my thigh. It isn’t a sexual move, nowhere near it, just the act of a man who clearly wants me to shut up.
Sam continues as if I haven’t said anything at all. “We take harassment very seriously, Amy, especially sexual harassment.”
I frown, turning to look at Jonathan. His expression is as bland as he can possibly make it, and when our eyes meet he gives absolutely nothing away. Deliberately, I lift his hand from my thigh and drop it away.
“I haven’t harassed anybody,” I say, my voice much stronger than I feel. “I don’t understand.”
“Of course you haven’t,” Dominic says, laughing lightly. “Mr Ferguson came to see us and admitted everything. He told us he’s been harassing you for months.”
My jaw drops, and it’s as though everybody in the room disappears. Confusion turns my brain into cotton wool, my thoughts failing to penetrate the fuzziness.
I push my chair back and stand up. “What?”
Jonathan stands next to me, positioning himself slightly in front, as if to shield me. “Maybe we should stop it here, Miss Cartwright is clearly too upset to discuss this.”
His voice is calm, reasonable, and his lack of shock makes me realise he knows more than he’s letting on. Jonathan knew what Callum had told them, and he yet didn’t even bother to warn me.
“I understand that this must be very stressful,” Diana says. “But we want to try to make things right. Obviously we’ll be dealing with Mr Ferguson separately, but in the meantime we’d like to offer you a financial settlement to compensate for the distress that he’s caused.”
My previous lethargy disappears, overcome by the adrenaline that starts racing through my veins. I push Jonathan to one side before placing my hands on the table, leaning forward.
“You want to pay me off?”
Diana laughs awkwardly. “It’s not like that. We just want to show some goodwill. We know how upsetting this situation must have been. There’s only three months until the end of your placement, and we’d like you to put this behind you and concentrate on that.”
It’s getting harder to breathe; the muscles in my chest lock. “I don’t want your money,” I whisper. “I want to know what you’re going to do to Callum.”
“He’s being dealt with,” Dominic says, “Don’t you worry about that. As I said, we take this type of thing very seriously.”
The injustice hits me like a sharp slap on the face. Callum’s being ‘dealt with’—disciplined I assume—while they’re offering me money. Don’t they know we both walked into this with our eyes open?
“No.” I look down, unable to meet their gaze. “You can’t do that.”
“Amy,” Jonathan grabs my hand again. “You need to be quiet now.”
“Why?” I turn to him, my face creasing into a frown. I want to shout, to tell them how stupid they’re being.
He didn’t harass me. He loved me. Maybe he still does.
“Because Callum’s told them what happened.” Jonathan’s voice is low. “And h
e’s willing to accept the consequences.”
Jonathan’s stare doesn’t waiver. He’s trying to send me another message. Telling me to back the hell off, that Callum knows what he’s doing, and I just have a part to play.
But I don’t want to act the role. I want to see my boyfriend. I want to run into his arms, I want to hear him whisper my name as he holds me. The last thing I want is their blood money.
“It’s not right.” Finally, I turn to look at Dominic and Sam. When they glance at each other I can see genuine concern. Sexual harassment is serious; it could ruin their reputation.
“I’ll sign your settlement agreement,” I tell them, the words escaping almost as soon as the decision is made. “But I don’t want your cash.”
I grab my jacket and stalk out of the room, barely able to stop the tears from rolling down my face.
* * *
“What the hell was that about?” I ask, as soon as Jonathan finds me in the corner of the canteen. A cold mug of coffee is in front of me. The sheen forming on the surface is a testament to my lack of appetite.
“I’m sorry, I should have warned you.” Jonathan slides into the chair opposite. “But to be honest, the element of surprise worked well.”
The fury I managed to suppress in the meeting rises to the surface. “Is this a fucking game to you? We’re talking about people's careers, about their lives. The element of surprise?”
Jonathan leans back. “It isn’t like that. Do you think I wanted to sit there and hear all that? One of my best friends has just sacrificed his bloody career and I had to nod and agree with them.”
I take a deep breath, but fail to find much equilibrium. “Why did he do it? What did he do? I need to know what’s going on.”
Jonathan’s shoulders relax. “I’ll tell you what I know. But you need to understand I made a promise to Callum that I’d do everything I could to protect you. I intend to keep that promise, even if it pisses you off.”
“Tell me,” I demand. “Tell me what he’s done.”
“The first thing I knew about this—the first time I heard you were in a relationship—was when he called me yesterday morning. I was in a teleconference and ignored the phone initially, but the fact he kept calling made me realise something was wrong.”
He shifts in his seat. “Callum was about to go into a meeting with the partners. By that time he’d been told about the accusations, and realised that you were going to lose your job. They’d made no bones about that. So he came up with a plan to protect you. It was the only way.”
My throat is so tight I can barely speak. “What plan?”
“He told them he’d been harassing you. That you’d turned him down a number of times but he couldn’t help himself. He said he knew it had been an act of gross misconduct, and he was willing to pay the consequences.”
Tears sting my eyes. “He sacrificed himself for me?”
“He said it was the only way. As his friend I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn’t listen.” His cheeks flush as he speaks. “He wouldn’t let me go until I agreed to help him.”
I pick at the napkin in front of me, fibres falling to the floor like feathers from a bird. “What did they do to him?” I ask. “Has he lost his job?”
Jonathan shakes his head. “He came close, and to be honest by that point I don’t think he cared. But in the end they came to an agreement.” He shifts again, clearing his throat. “He had to transfer to the Edinburgh office right away, and agree not to contact you again.”
“What?” I try to catch my breath, but it isn’t there. “What do you mean he can’t contact me? I can still see him, can’t I?”
“No, they made that very clear. Any contact between the two of you and he’ll be dismissed. Clearly they think that you never want to hear from him again after what’s happened, and we need to keep it that way.”
A sob escapes my lips. “But I love him. They can’t keep us apart, they can’t.” I drop the shredded napkin. “It’s just a stupid job, it doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters,” Jonathan says sharply. “Callum’s job was the only thing that kept him going after Jane died. I know he cares about you, Amy, but this isn’t some bloody romance novel, it’s real life. There’s no way he wants to be responsible for messing up your career, not to mention losing your degree. This is the only way.”
“It can’t be…” My voice trails off as I try to think of another solution. Of course I want my degree, but the need to see Callum is so much stronger than the need to succeed. For the first time I realise that I’d sacrifice it all to be with him.
Exactly when he’s surrendering everything to be without me.
“You need to listen to me.” Jonathan hunches forward, his voice urgent. “If you try to contact him, they’ll find out, and it will be obvious he lied to protect you. You’ll both end up losing your jobs and that can’t happen.”
“But I love him.” The dam bursts as tears start to stream down my face. “And he loves me, he told me. This can’t happen.”
Even as I protest, I realise the truth. It is happening.
29
“Can I come in?”
The voice emanates from the other side of my closed door. Two days later and I’m still wallowing, shut up in my room where my only companions are a glass of water and the ballads streaming out of my stereo speakers. I’m curled up in a ball on top of my bedcovers, eyes red, nose streaming.
“Go away.” My words are muffled by my pillow. The poor thing has been pummelled and cried on until it resembles a wet rag.
My voice is obviously too stifled, because the handle on the door turns, and the person I least expect to see pops his head around, eyes searching the room until he finds me.
“Amethyst?”
“It’s Amy.” I sit up and grab the last tissue from the cardboard box next to my bed. “And I want to be alone.”
Digger walks in anyway, wringing his clasped hands as if he were drying washing. “I know, I just wanted to…” He swallows nervously, his eyes still darting around. “God, this room takes me back.”
Since I left the meeting at Richards and Morgan—and Diana suggested I take the rest of the week off—a succession of friends and family have paraded through my bedroom as they attempt to find a way to cheer me up.
I get the feeling this is their last try. If I don’t react to Digger then nothing will work.
“Can I sit down?” He gestures at the brown easy chair in the corner of my room. The same one my mum used to nurse all three of her children in, it has enough sentimental value for her to never throw it away. Right now it’s covered in a pile of clothes, and I watch as Digger lifts them off. I can’t even muster the energy to be embarrassed.
Seated, he looks as uneasy as he did when standing. Leaning his elbows on his long legs, he rests his chin on his hands, and stares at me with familiar blue eyes.
“Your mum says you’ve had a bit of trouble at work.”
Hearing the mention of my job is enough to send a shiver down my spine.
“I’m fine.” The monotone in my voice tells a different story, but I’m hoping that it might send Digger running out of the door. I don’t want to talk to anybody.
That’s a lie. There’s one person I want to see.
Digger coughs, and it’s loud enough to make me look at him. He doubles over with the paroxysms, his tattooed hand covering his mouth, and my brow furrows with concern.
Why on earth am I worried about him?
“Are you alright?” I ask. It’s the first time I’ve voluntarily said something in two days.
He takes out a handkerchief and wipes his face. “English colds. Something I didn’t miss while I was away.”
“That’s what killed off the aliens in War of the Worlds,” I tell him, in an attempt to fill the silence. “A simple cold.”
He smiles. “Your mum’s right. You’re a clever kid.”
I open my mouth to tell him I’m not a kid, and then close it again, b
ecause right now that’s exactly what I am. Curled up in a ball, wailing at the inequities of the world, I’m nothing but a child.
“I know you’re hurting,” he says, running a hand across his stubbled chin. “And believe me, I know what that feels like. But bottling everything up and refusing to talk is the worst thing you can do. I know that from experience, too.” He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “After I came back from the war, I was in a state. I’d seen things nobody should have to see, done things nobody should have to do. I thought I could forget about them or put them to the back of my mind. I really believed that if I threw myself into looking after you and your mum then I’d feel better.”
His eyes are watery when they catch mine, the reflection of the sun making them glint. I don’t know if he’s tired, or if he’s upset, but either way I stay silent.
What he says next shocks me.
“I’m so sorry I hurt you. Every day I think about what I did, how I broke your wrist. I hate myself when I look in the mirror.”
This time, it’s me who starts to cry. Fat, hot tears that trail down my cheeks, dripping onto my nightshirt and staining the pale fabric. “You didn’t know what you were doing.”
“What kind of man hurts his own kid?” he asks. “A baby at that. I wasn’t a man, I was a fucking devil.”
A lump forms in my throat. “It was a long time ago…”
His head snaps up. “Don’t make excuses for me. I was the worst kind of father. I still am, I haven’t been here, haven’t made things up to you, and I’m so bloody regretful about it all.”
“I thought you were dead, I didn’t know any better.”
Digger squeezes his eyes shut. “I can’t tell you how many times I wished I was dead. Or how long I waited to come and find you, too scared to admit what I’d done.”
He’s crying openly. The tears stream down his face unwiped, making him look even younger.
“I’m not scarred by that,” I whisper, somehow needing to reassure him. He might have hurt me when I was a kid, and he might have disappeared from my life, but at the end of the day he’s a man who did something he regrets. “There are no lasting effects. Bones break and they heal again.”
