Back at home, Anna gathered together all of the gifts, spreading them out across the living-room floor. She knew what she’d told Tish was right. The scarf that had made people notice her – it wasn’t the beautiful design or liquidlike fall of the fabric that caressed her skin; it had been the way she’d felt about herself when she was wearing it. She hadn’t been respected more because of the owl brooch, but because she’d dared to believe herself wise. When she’d danced with Ben in the midnight-blue shoes or travelled back in time in Notting Hill with Jonah, it had been her choice, her journey. On their own, each gift was a kind gesture; collectively they were tools she had used without knowing it.
It was never about the parcels. It was always about me.
The gifts, the mystery and the questions – all were irrelevant in the light of the person she was allowing herself to become. Knowing this didn’t solve the mystery, but it gave her a way forward. She might never know the sender’s identity; what mattered now was what she did with what she’d learned.
Life is too exciting to sit still for long . . . the latest note stated. Surrounded by the parcel gifts, Anna realised she hadn’t sat still for the entire journey. Now she understood that she was the person steering, she wasn’t scared of what the future might hold. Little Anna Browne – the quiet girl with the quiet life – was no more. Anna had left her far behind without knowing it, never to retrace her steps.
On Monday she would return to work, facing whatever awaited her. But instead of going back already anticipating defeat, she would walk into the Daily Messenger as the Anna Browne she was choosing to become.
Smiling, she imagined her grandmother standing beside her. Morwenna might have made mistakes, but she was a woman who owned every inch of her life. Anna had assumed she could never be like her. Now she was determined to follow her example.
Whatever happens next, she decided, is up to me.
Forty-Eight
‘You going to last more than a couple of days between paid leave this time?’ Ted smirked, his fatherly nudge conveying his welcome back to Anna.
‘I thought I’d give it a go.’
‘I was beginning to think that psycho parcel-sender might have done away with you. Any more deliveries I should know about?’
‘Only a dead rat and severed finger.’ Straight-faced, Anna enjoyed Ted Blaskiewicz’s look of pure horror.
He turned to Sheniece. ‘Did you know about this?’
‘Oh yes,’ the junior receptionist played along. ‘And you thought Anna was just taking a couple of days off. Scotland Yard got involved and everything.’
‘It’ll be on Crimewatch next month.’
‘And Scott & Bailey soon after . . .’
Anna and Sheniece could maintain the joke no longer, descending into giggles. Ted’s face reddened. ‘Oh, I see. Like that, is it?’
‘Oh, Ted, your face!’ Breathless with laughter, Sheniece patted his shoulder.
‘Jokes of that nature with a member of the security services could be dangerous,’ he huffed.
‘I had a book,’ Anna said, taking pity on the security chief. ‘I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith. It was a lovely gift.’
‘I don’t know why you didn’t just say that in the first place, girl. You could’ve given me a coronary. So, it wasn’t McAra then?’
‘I don’t know who sent it.’
‘Only I heard he’s been offered a job with Sky News. Thinking of taking it, too, if word in the newsroom is right. Reckon he wants to get away from here as soon as possible.’
The news stole the wind from Anna’s sails. If Ben had sent the parcels, was the book quote a clue to his identity? Had he sat still at the Messenger for too long – and was this his way of saying goodbye?
‘I heard that, too.’ Sheniece shook her head. ‘He’s not been the same since the parcel story. A change of scene is probably what’s best for him now.’
Ashraf dashed from the lift across the atrium. ‘Have you seen the memo?’
‘What memo?’ Unsure what to make of the latest Messenger bombshell, Anna turned her attention to her younger colleague, who appeared to be about to expire from the excitement of conspiratorial gossip.
‘Check the monitor,’ he managed.
Sheniece surveyed him with disdain. ‘You should go back to the gym, Ash. You’re out of condition.’
‘I ran all the way back. Everyone upstairs is buzzing about it.’
‘Here it is.’ Anna opened the email file. ‘Juliet Evans has called a whole-company meeting in the newsroom at two o’clock today.’
‘I told you stuff was happening.’ Ted said, his thunder well and truly stolen. ‘I’ve said it for weeks.’
Ashraf groaned. ‘It’s bad news, I know it. I’ve only just arrived here: guess who’ll be first to go, if there’s redundancies? My mum will kill me. I didn’t go to college because this job came up.’
The wording of the memo was short and to the point, giving nothing away. ‘It might not be bad news,’ Anna suggested.
‘Calling everyone together for an announcement is always bad news.’
‘You don’t know that, Ted. What about the management buyout? I thought that had saved the paper?’
‘It wasn’t set in stone. And even if it’s gone through, there’ll be redundancies. There always are.’
Ted wasn’t the only one to be concerned. Every person who passed reception that morning seemed subdued, as if the expensive lights in the Messenger building’s lobby had been dimmed. In the space of a few hours an innocuous three-line memo had become a portent of certain doom. When Babs Braithwaite and her cleaning team were asked to stay later than usual to go to the meeting, she arrived back at reception in floods of tears.
‘It’s the end, I tell you! I can kiss my retirement villa in Benidorm goodbye.’
‘On your salary?’ Ted remarked unhelpfully, being sent packing by a disgusted Sheniece.
‘A few more years might have done it,’ she sniffed, as Anna did her best to comfort her. ‘Or the Clean Team syndicate might have won the lottery. A girl can dream, can’t she?’
‘You dream all you like, Babs,’ Sheniece replied, snatching the apologetic cup of tea that Ted had made for the cleaner. ‘Dreams might be all we’re left with, after today . . .’
In the middle of it all, Anna wondered what this meant for her. She loved her job – always had – but since her trip to Cornwall with Jonah she’d thought more about what else she could do for a living. As her colleagues continued to depress themselves with dire possibilities of what the meeting might hold, Anna thought about the initial research she had done the night before: of business courses that would refresh what she had learned at university, possible posts in organisations that supported small businesses. She’d drawn up a tentative list, beginning with local Chambers of Commerce. She was nervous about the news the meeting might bring, but at least she had started to put contingencies into place.
The mood at the Daily Messenger darkened as the afternoon approached. Not wanting to continue the prospective post-mortem with her colleagues over lunch, Anna left them behind to visit Freya & Georgie’s. She waited in the lunch queue, glad to be out of the pressure-cooker environment at work. Megan Milliken spotted her and waved, while fulfilling four customer orders at once.
‘Hey! I haven’t seen you for ages. Are you well?’
‘Yes, thanks. You?’
Megan seemed to illuminate the space around her. ‘Great, actually. I’m moving in with Gabe next week.’
‘That was fast!’
‘I know, that’s what everyone says. But we’re in love, so why wait?’
Anna smiled. ‘Congratulations, then.’
‘Thanks.’ She peered over the counter. ‘Your chap not with you today?’
‘Afraid not. And he isn’t my chap.’
‘Oh. Sorry. Only the two of you looked so . . . My mistake. Haven’t seen him much in here lately, come to think of it.’
To be in Freya & Georgie’s with
out Ben was a strange, empty experience. Anna wondered what he was doing today and whether she would see him at the company meeting in less than an hour’s time. Perhaps the rumours about his new job were true and he’d tendered his resignation already? There would certainly be little to keep him at the Messenger if a career-defining appointment was on the cards. Anna had wanted to believe he was motivated by a genuine desire to spend time with her; even at their last meeting, when her anger had obliterated his words, a part of her still longed for a different outcome. Jonah’s unwanted advances had magnified how wanted Ben’s were – even though they weren’t real. For better or worse, she felt the loss of his attention.
Not wanting to dwell on it, she collected her lunch and left the coffee house.
In the Messenger building she entered a brooding atmosphere. Employees milled around the atrium, killing time, their expressions grave and voices low as they grouped together, heads bowed. Resignation met worry, rumours and counter-rumours circulating like vipers about to strike.
‘I’d have more fun at a funeral,’ Sheniece whispered, as Ted walked with practised ceremony to lock the entrance doors, every eye in the atrium following him. ‘The sooner we know what the Dragon wants, the better.’
Ted returned, pausing by each group to speak and nodding solemnly as they dispersed towards stairs and lift.
‘At least Ted’s having fun,’ Anna observed. ‘Oscar-worthy performance, I reckon.’
Sheniece rolled her eyes. ‘Looks like we’re being summoned, too.’
They joined their colleagues in slow procession to the third floor, their muted conversations deadened as if being broadcast through cotton wool in the stairwell. The packed newsroom was ominously quiet, its computer screens dark and desks abandoned. Some commandeered chairs while others stood. The signs of anxiety were everywhere – shuffling feet, fingers twitching, necks rubbed and strands of hair chewed. It reminded Anna of the queues of nervous teens at her school waiting to be admitted to the exam rooms.
Muttered conversations began to fade and the crowd parted as Juliet Evans made her way to the front. She carried authority in her stride, her expression giving nothing away. When the newsroom was silent, she spoke.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your attendance. I appreciate you taking time out of your day and I promise you won’t be kept long . . .’
‘See?’ Ted hissed, silenced from further comment by his colleagues’ withering stares.
‘As many of you know, we recently proposed a management buyout of the Daily Messenger’s assets from DayBreak Corp, masterminded by Damien Kendal and several of my esteemed colleagues on the Board of Directors. I won’t lie to you: this was a hard decision and one that none of us were convinced would come to fruition.’
‘Here it comes . . .’
‘Ted!’
‘But it appears our hard work has been rewarded.’ Juliet glanced at Damien Kendal, who was standing far enough away so as not to steal her thunder, but visible enough to confirm his authority. ‘As of midnight last night, we are now an autonomous entity.’
Applause broke out across the newsroom, four hundred employees breathing a collective sigh of relief. Even Ted Blaskiewicz appeared stunned by the news. Anna felt tension lifting like a curtain, letting light flood into the Messenger news floor. Juliet allowed the celebration to continue, the merest hint of a smile appearing. Then she held up her hand.
‘Needless to say, while uncertainty over our future was still in place, our rivals on Fleet Street took pleasure in our supposed demise. I, for one, am tired of their jokes at our expense, their snide little comments printed week in, week out. News of our renaissance will not be received well. So, I feel a little celebration is in order. Show certain publications that the Daily Messenger is far from dead and buried, and rub salt into the wounds that our survival will inflict. On Saturday night we will throw the grandest, most lavish party London has seen. I intend it to be the talk of the town, to leave our detractors in no doubt whatsoever that we have a future and will succeed. Let them see that we are more than back in business.’
Ripples of approval passed through the newsroom. Anna scanned the smiling faces for one that had so far eluded her. While her colleagues applauded their leader and each other, her own relief was tempered by her search. Eventually she saw him, standing a little way from his fellow journalists, watching from the sidelines. Ben seemed to be out of place, as if he had already left the Messenger in all but body. Anna wanted to ask him, once and for all, if he was the parcel-sender, but she remained frozen in the midst of the celebrations. Just as she was about to leave, his head turned and he saw her. Anna held her breath. His eyes held hers, his stare wide and searching. Then his head bowed and he disappeared into the cluster of bodies as the crowd began to disperse.
Pushing against the flow of people heading out of the newsroom, Anna made for the place she had seen Ben, determined to speak to him. If she could just say thank you, tell him that his gift meant more to her than he was ever likely to know, maybe the barrier between them would break. She had been a passive participant in the parcel scheme until now. That had to change. It was her choice to confront Ben – if she could find him . . .
But when she reached the place she had last seen him, he had gone. The corridor to the other offices was fast clearing, the main newsroom was returning to normal life, but his chair was unoccupied, his desk too empty of its usual detritus. A cold chill settled on her shoulders. With nothing else to be done, she reluctantly returned to reception.
The congratulatory voices of Ted, Babs, Sheniece and Ashraf rose excitedly around her as she assumed her place in a daze, feeling that she’d missed an important opportunity. Her job was safe – for the time being at least – and things could return to normal. Of this she was undeniably glad. But the victory had a hollow edge somehow.
‘Anna?’ Sheniece was staring at her.
‘Sorry?’
‘I said, I heard the party’s going to be at Kensington Palace Orangery! Can you believe it? I wonder if Prince Harry will be around . . . What do you think?’
Anna smiled back, but the question mirrored the one she was asking herself: What do I think? I think I have to put some things right.
Forty-Nine
Jonah Rawdon was a broken man. He had spent the days following their return from Cornwall feeling like the biggest idiot on the planet. How could he ever have mistaken Anna’s kindness towards him for attraction? With no work to distract him, he was a wreck – too much time to consider his stupidity had taken its toll on his appetite and his ability to sleep. In recent days he had taken to avoiding his reflection, the sight of his unshaven face and unkempt hair doing little to help his mood. Bennett, his dog, had retreated to the safety of his basket, his mournful eyes following Jonah’s directionless wanderings as his lead remained on its hook by the door.
Why had he kissed her? The moment their lips met, he could feel Anna pulling away and knew he’d made a mistake of epic proportions. The euphoria he’d experienced at sharing his favourite place with her, and seeing Anna reunited with the county she’d abandoned, must have messed with his head. It was the only explanation. But knowing what he’d done wrong and making it better were two different things. He wasn’t ready to face her again – and the way he felt right now, he might never be.
Which is why he couldn’t hide his shock when he found Anna Browne on his doorstep.
‘Anna . . .’
Even as she’d knocked on Jonah’s front door, Anna hadn’t been sure if he would slam it straight back in her face again. After all, she’d rejected him and then hidden away. She couldn’t help how she felt, but neither could he.
‘Can we talk?’
Jonah didn’t speak for a moment. He had every right to refuse, of course, given the awkwardness of the situation, but Anna hoped he would listen to her. He was a good friend – too good to lose for the sake of an embarrassing misunderstanding.
‘Sure. Come in.’
; Anna could see a pile of empty pizza boxes just visible on the edge of his kitchen counter and clothes strewn across the floor behind him. ‘Not here. Let’s go out.’
‘I look like a tramp,’ he protested. ‘Can you give me five minutes to have a shave? You can wait here, or I’ll knock on your door when I’m ready.’
‘How about I wait for you downstairs?’ Her nerves had been building since she’d made the decision to visit Jonah after work and she needed to feel in control to see it through.
‘Fine. Won’t be long.’
In the early-evening sunshine Anna waited outside Walton Tower’s entrance. She had rehearsed what she wanted to say on her commute home, a speech she hoped would navigate the emotional minefield between them. And she hoped Jonah would listen. Whether their friendship could return to what it had been before hung in the balance. He might decide to back away. That was his choice. But her choice was to try.
He joined her on the street ten minutes later, clean-shaven and wearing clothes that didn’t look as if they had been slept in. Bennett fussed about his feet, a black-and-white blur of pure canine joy at the prospect of a walk at last.
‘Hey. Where are we going?’
‘It’s a nice evening. I thought we could head to the park?’
Anna was glad of the good weather: talking to Jonah in the confines of a room would have magnified the awkwardness. The autumnal palette of Loveage Gardens was soothing, the sounds of the park far better than the silence of either of their homes. They reached a green cast-iron bench and sat down. Jonah kept his eyes trained on the wide verdant expanse. Anna’s nerves flipped up a gear. Bennett raced off after a tennis ball, but was soon meeting up with other dogs in the centre of the park.
‘Busy this evening,’ he said suddenly.
‘Yes – I suppose . . .’
‘Bennett’s happy as Larry. I think he thought he’d never get another walk.’
Steeling herself, Anna bit the bullet. ‘Jonah, I want to say—’
A Parcel for Anna Browne Page 33
