by Emma Curtis
‘I get that. So, this is what you’re going with? The Coca-Cola moment. Perfect harmony.’
‘Oh no,’ I say. ‘Let me explain my thinking. Your problem with the product is, how do we get people to choose GZ when there are thousands of alcoholic drinks? We need to go back a step, not try and reel them in with the label, colour or even the taste, but to find a human truth. What do we fear, deep down?’ I look at Rebecca and her lips twitch into a small smile. ‘We fear missing out; we fear loneliness; we fear not being respected, not being part of the zeitgeist, of falling behind. We are all scrabbling to keep up, when there’s only one thing that is important, and that is communication. You are not alone if you talk to each other. We’ve grown away from the ideals of the 1970s and we know that there will never be perfect harmony. If we can accept that and accept each other, we can be stronger together. It rests on the idea that we’ve matured, and that we rise above the things that cause friction between different cultures, even within our own societies, and hold on to each other because we’re human beings. The message is simple and powerful: Give people a chance. But we don’t sermonize, we make them laugh.’
‘Bravo,’ Rebecca says too brightly. ‘Well done, you two. So, Paige? Charlie? What do you think?’
There’s a silence.
First meetings are more about getting an idea of what is in the client’s head than having the perfect words and drawings to show them, but even so it feels like we have disappointed. Sometimes, during a meeting, magic happens. It’s like a successful dinner party: there’s chemistry between the guests, there’s a kind of delight in each other; conversation sparkles between suits and creatives and no one is silent. Sometimes that doesn’t happen, the match strikes again and again, but doesn’t light. At times like that there’s an unnerving solidity about the proceedings and it can feel like a double chemistry lesson.
‘Laugh?’ Paige says. ‘I’m not sure I understand.’
‘I don’t mean split your sides hilarious,’ I say. ‘I just mean inject some dry humour. It’s very British.’
‘Let me think about that and get back to you.’
David has his hands steepled in front of his mouth. He is quieter than normal, allowing Rebecca to lead.
Paige and Charlie tilt their heads, like birds contemplating a worm. ‘Yeah,’ Paige says. ‘Needs fleshing out, but I think we have a germ here. Let’s talk next week.’
‘What do you think?’ I hear Rebecca say, after Paige and Charlie have left.
David twitches his brows. ‘What do I think? I think the American trollop’s bought it.’
Rebecca laughs. ‘Don’t let her hear you call her that. Do you want to go and get some lunch?’
‘Laura?’ David says, spotting me lurking. ‘What were you on?’
I flush. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘You appear to have cut off your pizzazz with your hair.’
I stand there stupidly, just looking at him.
‘Off you go.’
When I come out, some of my more curious colleagues turn their heads. I give them an embarrassed smile but inside I freeze. It’s as though I’m on a stage in front of a thousand people and have forgotten what I’m going to say.
Which one are you? Which one? Which one?
I need to get out of here.
‘Budge yourself, Laura. You’re causing a bottleneck,’ Eddie says.
I walk straight to our room and grab my bag and coat. I don’t even shut down my computer. Eddie comes after me as I hurry through the stairwell doors and clatter down the stairs.
‘Where’re you going?’ He takes my arm, but I shake him off.
‘Out.’
‘Hey, come on. Is this to do with what I said earlier? I’m sorry if you thought I was getting at you. Don’t go off in a huff.’
I can feel the heat in my face and the sheen of tears across my eyes. Eddie studies me, concerned and bewildered. I rush out of the building into the driving rain. He comes after me, but I turn and shriek at him.
‘Eddie, leave me alone!’
He holds his hands up and backs off. ‘OK. Calm down. Go for a walk, Laura. Get your head straight and come back.’
I look up at the building. A shadow moves behind David’s Gunner’s blinds.
‘I’ll call you,’ I say. ‘Go in, Eddie. You’re getting soaked to the skin.’
‘But—’
But I’ve gone, half running to the corner, desperate for space to breathe, my legs so wobbly that I clutch hold of a railing. The main road is a blur of traffic and people, rain and sound. A bell rings and I jerk back, realizing I’ve stepped into the road without looking. A cyclist skids, stops a yard or so further on, glares at me over his shoulder and calls me something disgusting before speeding off.
It doesn’t last long. I have only to catch sight of the dishevelled creature in the window of a solicitor’s office to wonder what on earth I’m doing, allowing this situation to literally drive me crazy. I retrace my steps, working out in my head what I’m going to say to Eddie. Outside the door, I glance across the road at David’s car parked in its little wedge and something occurs to me. I remember that it was there when we left the office to walk to the club that night. I scan the walls of the buildings to either side of it. There is a camera trained on the space. I chew my lip, thinking, then I push open the doors and go up to the desk.
Chris, one of two security guys employed at the agency, looks up from his newspaper. He wears his long, greying hair tied back in a ponytail at the nape of his neck. The other, Jason, is a lot rounder.
‘The security camera pointed at David’s car? Is it working?’
‘Yup. Why? Is he worried about it?’
‘No. He’s fine. I was wondering how long you keep the recordings for.’
‘They get wiped every couple of months.’
It’s the tenth of January. Getting on for three weeks since that night. Chances are the footage is still there. If I can find out whether David’s car stayed in the car park, then I’ll have some confirmation, if not proof. If the car park was empty, then it wasn’t him. I thank Chris and run upstairs. Now I need to think up a convincing excuse to review the recordings.
‘Sorry,’ I say, as Eddie pushes his chair back and stands up.
Mollified, he puts his arms around me and I stand, stiff as a board, my nose pressed into his shoulder.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’
I pull away. ‘No, it’s OK. I’m fine now.’
I’m not, but at least I have a sense of purpose. I don’t know if it was Finn or David, but I do know it was one of them. I’m going to smoke him out, and I know how I’m going to do it.
17
Rebecca
‘I KNOW YOU think you have paige wrapped around your little finger,’ Rebecca says when the waiter has left their food; her seared tuna on a bed of celeriac mash; David’s rare steak and hand-cut, twice-cooked chips. She likes the air of hushed intimacy here, the darkness produced by a paint colour that blurs the distinction between blue and black. The art posters tacked to the walls are funky and current. ‘But she’s a businesswoman. She didn’t look particularly fired up.’
‘It’ll be fine.’ He dismisses her concerns with an impatient flick of his hand, which she reads as defensive.
‘In what way will it be fine? You should have been backing Eddie and Laura up, throwing a little David Gunner stardust their way, but you sat there with a face like a wet weekend. If we lose out because you couldn’t be bothered to pitch in … And what the hell was all that about with Bettina?’ She feels buoyed by righteous anger. On this issue at least, she is in the right.
‘She fucked up.’
‘She did, but you went way over the top, in front of everyone. What were you thinking?’
‘I apologized. It’s over.’
He leans forward and looks straight into her eyes. ‘You don’t have to be jealous of Paige, you know.’
‘I’m not! That is not what this is abou
t.’
He ignores her. ‘I was only trying to keep her sweet. I know what women like her want.’
Rebecca groans. ‘That is a ridiculous thing to say. Do you even know what I want?’
‘I think I do. At least, I haven’t had any complaints.’
‘I don’t mean that, David. I mean the years are going by and here we are, in the same place. You have everything, and I have nothing.’
His face closes. He carves into his steak and pops a bloody morsel into his mouth.
‘You have me,’ he says eventually. ‘And you have half of Gunner Munro. I wouldn’t call that nothing.’
‘Lucky me. Perhaps I should find someone to marry. If I get on with it, my first baby will be able to play with Daisy.’ She laughs dryly and drinks some water, wishing it was wine, suffering for the sake of a probably non-existent foetus. This is a ridiculous argument, manufactured by her, that they shouldn’t be having. She’s got to calm down.
To her surprise, he nods. ‘Actually, that’s not such a duff idea. You could get married and we could carry on as we are. There are plenty of single directors out there. You could take your pick.’
She isn’t flattered. ‘Yeah. Single for a good reason. I was joking, David.’
‘Look, I do know what you’re talking about. I understand, but there is nothing I can do, short of leaving my wife and children and losing everything I’ve worked for. Lissy would stick me in the fucking washing machine and wring me out with her bare hands.’
The analogy makes her smile. ‘Are you saying it’s about the money? Because I have money. You don’t need hers.’
He looks sympathetic and that makes her tense. ‘You know it’s not that simple. Lissy is my home. She is where I go for peace and comfort. She’s normality, boring but necessary. I don’t need any more pressure right now.’
She laughs. She can’t help herself, it’s such a ridiculous concept. ‘You thrive on pressure.’
He glares at her, and she can feel his hostility. She’s not sure what she’s done, apart from state the obvious. Then it’s gone, the suspicion that he resents her for some reason has dissolved and his brown eyes are full of love.
‘Will you relax, Becs. GZ is in the bag.’
She picks at her tuna, refusing to melt. ‘You’d better be right.’
‘Don’t be cross with me,’ he wheedles. ‘Come on, smile.’
She tries not to, but he keeps looking at her and eventually she caves, her lips pulling up at the corners.
‘That’s better. Friends?’
‘I suppose so,’ she grumbles. ‘You drive me nuts, David. You know that, don’t you?’
‘Of course I do. And you drive me wild with desire.’
‘Will you stop it.’
‘You’re laughing,’ he says, grinning at her.
‘I am not.’
‘Yes, you are.’
‘For God’s sake.’ She presses her lips together. ‘Seriously, David.’
‘Sweetheart, let’s not get serious.’
She doesn’t say anything; she eats and allows the silence to open out and flow, winding between the other tables, cooling to condensation on the windows. After a while she tells him about her sister’s latest bee in her bonnet. It’s better to stick to safe subjects.
‘I don’t know,’ David mutters.
She’s not sure if he’s speaking to her, but he sounds sad and somehow far away, as if he isn’t sitting here, but in another place. She reaches for his hand, bringing him back to the now, to her.
‘Is this about Guy?’ she asks.
He shrugs. ‘He worked for me, and he’s gone. Of course I feel crap about it. Who doesn’t? Let’s get out of here. I need a fag.’
‘Since when did you start smoking again?’
‘If you’d had the Christmas I had, you’d understand. Look, I’m sorry if I’ve seemed disengaged lately. I’m stressing about Tony and Georgie. I don’t know what’s best for them, or for me for that matter. I feel guilty because I want them to be gone even though I love them, and I couldn’t be more grateful for everything they’ve done for me. But honestly? I can’t cope with them much longer.’
He weaves his fingers through hers and squeezes. His hand is warm and dry, reassuring.
Rebecca has met Tony and Georgie many times over the years. In fact, she has a feeling she met them before Felicity did. She’s been at the christenings of all their great-grandchildren. At Spike’s, the changes were barely noticeable but by the time it got to Daisy’s it was obvious that the roles had been reversed. She feels compassion, but they’re old. They need to be guided into a safe space and looked after with understanding and kindness. They should be in a home. God knows, David can afford it. But even so, he’ll still feel responsible, like he does for his wife and kids. Out of the trio of pressures, there is only one that would be easily jettisoned, that it would be morally right for him to jettison. Her.
‘I don’t know what I would do without you,’ he says, gazing into her eyes.
‘You don’t have to do without me, ever.’
‘Rebecca,’ David says.
She feels it in his tone, he’s realized that the door has opened a crack. She needs to close it fast.
‘Let’s talk later, shall we?’ she says. ‘Come to mine tonight.’
She needs to know what’s going on with him. Did Christmas in the bosom of his family remind him of what he stands to lose? Is he still feeling the residual warmth of his sister-in-law’s fireside, of basking in their approval? It’ll wear off eventually, she supposes. In the meantime, she’s expected to keep her mouth shut, to be uncomplaining and patient.
David gestures at the waitress for the bill and slaps his company credit card on to the tray.
‘Thank you, that was delicious,’ he tells her. ‘I love this place.’
‘Fucking daylight robbery,’ he says, when she’s out of earshot. ‘Just because they’ve stuck a load of twatty art posters on the walls and whipped the floorboards with chains. Pretentious wankers.’
Rebecca winces, knowing the bearded, tweed-jacketed maître d’ with the skinny jeans and pointed boots has heard. When she looks at the floor though, she concedes he’s right. No way have these boards come by their dents and dark patina naturally. She grins at him and as she picks up her bag, scratches her fingernail down his black jeans.
They shrug into their coats and David winds the moss-green cashmere scarf that Felicity gave him for Christmas around his neck. Rebecca does up her buttons and turns up her faux fur collar and together they step out into the bitter cold. David buys a packet of cigarettes from the newsagent and lights up. She takes the cigarette from him and takes a long drag, then realizes what she’s doing and blows the smoke out without inhaling.
18
Laura
LATER ON THAT day I type the words, I know it was you on two halves of a sheet of A4, print it out and cut it in two. I fold one of them into four and put the other in an envelope. I close the document without saving it. Little in my world is cut and dried, little of it black and white. When faces merge, so do all lines of separation. There is what I want and what I know and what I believe, and somewhere in those three are other people’s truths and the truth of what happened that night. I don’t know whether it was Finn Broadbent or David Gunner who got into the taxi with me, and I can’t ask them. And to accuse the wrong person would be to destroy my working relationship with him and possibly my career.
My solution is to hide in an emptying building and leave my messages, like the Easter bunny hiding chocolate eggs, hoping to cause no more than confusion in one man, and something else, something I can taste, in another.
Finn leaves with a group of men that includes Eddie at around six forty-five, the rest drift away over the next half hour, Rebecca at half seven, to catch an exhibition of photographic works by a hot commercial director. She pokes her head around my door and tells me not to stay too late. David is still here and, just when I’m getting jittery, he’s joined b
y Paul Digby and they leave together. While the cleaners bang round the desks and chairs, dragging their red Henry Hoovers behind them, I discreetly put the door to the terrace on the latch, wedging it with a folded Christmas card that I found in the recycle bin, so that it won’t fly open.
‘You off?’ Chris says, when I finally emerge and come downstairs.
‘Yup. It’s been a long day. How’s Carl doing?’
His eldest son started at Edinburgh University last October and as the first in the family to go to uni, let alone do A levels, Chris is bursting with pride.
‘He’s loving it. Got himself a posh girlfriend too.’
I open my bag and pretend to be looking for something, working up the courage to say what I need to. ‘Chris. Would it be possible to take a look at the security tapes for the twenty-second of December? It’s just that I thought I saw something weird when I came back to get my bike. A man loitering. It’s been preying on my mind. If it’s a pain, don’t worry. It doesn’t matter.’ Chris wouldn’t know or care that I didn’t come back for my bike.
He considers my question, then puts down the paper. ‘What time?’
‘Oh, let me think. I didn’t look at the time. Start at midnight, through to two a.m. That should cover it.’
‘Jason would have been on then.’ He taps, and frowns. Taps again and his frown deepens. ‘Sorry. It’s gone. Maybe it was something to do with it being the end of the year, but there’s nothing here.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Do you want me to take another look?’
The disappointment is crushing. ‘Do they get wiped automatically?’
‘No. I do it every few months. I don’t remember doing this one though, but I wouldn’t put it past me. Start of a brand-new year and all that. I expect I was being over-efficient.’
Or someone else was.
‘Sorry about that,’ Chris says.
When I leave, David’s car is still parked opposite. Maybe he and Paul have gone for a drink.
