by Jo Lovett
‘She started hitting me around the head, so I moved her outside and barricaded the door. Security had to escort her out.’
‘That’s a bad evening.’
‘Yeah. I’d had a shitty day, too. I had to make over two hundred people redundant.’ On paper, James had just been doing his job, but, in practice, it was never comfortable witnessing the devastation of people who might not be able to meet their mortgages or pay their school fees.
On the one hand, it was arguably foolhardy to earn enough for a fancy lifestyle involving a big house, private schools and expensive holidays, but not save for a rainy day. If any of these people had had a childhood like James’s, they’d probably have learned to be a lot more prudent. James’s mother, and by extension her children, had frequently barely known where the next meal was coming from, let alone new clothes or a holiday.
On the other hand, you’d have to be made of stone not to feel sympathy watching a grown man cry. Plus, James didn’t like to be reminded even slightly about unemployment or poverty.
‘That’s a bad day,’ Matt said.
‘Yep. With ongoing backlash.’ How the hell had so many of these people got hold of his phone number? It was bad enough that a lot of them had found his email address, but the messages and the phone calls were ridiculous. And what did they expect James to do about the redundancies? He was just doing his job. Without that loss-making part of the business, the rest of the company his fund had just bought should survive. With it, the whole thing would almost certainly go under, and then a lot more people would lose their jobs. ‘I’m wondering how so many of these people knew how to find me.’
‘Facebook. I’m on there now. Emily’s posted stuff online about you and she’s given out your personal email address and phone number and linked it all to your firm.’
‘Christ.’ He should not have told her that he’d had a bad day on Wednesday. Never confide in anyone except your closest friends. If you confided at all.
‘Yep. Sorry, mate. What’re you going to do now?’
‘Well, that’s the question. How far will she go? She’s been back a couple of times. Is she going to keep coming? And how many times is she going to get past Security? I obviously don’t want to see her again. For a start, I don’t want to have to manhandle her out of my way.’
‘Yeah, definitely don’t do that. She might claim you’d attacked her.’
‘Exactly. But I don’t want to call the police myself because, you know, you just don’t, do you?’ James was fairly sure that Matt didn’t really know. James hated all things remotely sordid. They’d had the police round a few times when he was a child and he didn’t want to revisit those memories. By contrast, it was pretty unlikely that police visits had featured heavily in Matt’s childhood with happily married parents in a large house in a leafy suburb of Dublin. In fact, James would know if they had. Matt was an open book, which it was easy to be when all the pages of your life were as clean and wholesome as Matt’s were.
‘Fair enough,’ Matt said. ‘Did you take selfies of the injuries to your face? If not, maybe you should? Also, you have your one hundred and fifty witnesses. And I can save the recording from Facebook. She can’t argue with that. What about, if she gets past your building security you just threaten to call the police and hope that does the trick? I think you also need to tell her you’ll call the police if she posts your home address.’
‘Yeah, I think you’re right.’
‘What are you doing today? Want me to come over now and check whether the coast’s clear? Or you’re very welcome to move into our spare room for as long as it takes. Becca’s mum left yesterday.’ James thought longingly of Matt and his wife Becca’s spare room in their house in Clapham and even more longingly of Matt’s frequent barbecues and Becca’s tendency to insist on making large fry-up breakfasts for anyone in the house. And less longingly of their six-week-old, Charlie, and his tendency to scream the house down for half the night, according to Matt. Yup, he wasn’t going to go. If he needed to move out, he’d sleep a lot better in a hotel.
‘Thank you. Both very tempting offers but I’m big enough and ugly enough to look after myself, and I think you and Becca need your time with Charlie. I’ll take your advice on the selfies and the police threat, and go out now to get some breakfast if she isn’t there.’
‘Not ugly enough, mate. That’s your problem. The offer’s always there.’
‘Thank you.’ Matt was a great friend.
James changed into running kit and then decided that he should message Emily sooner rather than later.
Emily. If you give my personal details to anyone else I will call the police. I would remind you also that a lot of people saw you physically attack me on Wednesday, and not all of them would be willing to perjure themselves in court, plus I have a video.
Two grey ticks but she didn’t pick it up.
He poked his head outside the front door. No sign of her in the hall outside; hopefully he was safe to go out.
She was there, waiting outside the building, when James got back with a takeaway granola and a coffee after a satisfyingly pounding run. For a moment he considered leaving again, and then he decided that he wasn’t going to be pushed out of his own home.
She held out a bakery bag as he approached. ‘I brought you breakfast to apologise. I’m sorry I lost my temper. I shouldn’t have shared your details online.’ Right.
‘That’s kind, thank you,’ James said, not smiling, ‘but I’ve already got breakfast.’
‘Could we talk?’ Emily smiled at him and put her hand on his arm. James shook his head slightly. The contrasts between her moods were frightening.
He moved his arm away from her, and said, ‘I’m sorry, but no. I have a busy day.’
Emily smiled again and said, ‘Okay, later.’ She leaned forward to kiss his cheek before he could step away from her, and then set off down the road. James shook his head again and went inside. He really hoped he wouldn’t be talking to her later. After everything he’d experienced with his mother and his sister Leonie, he didn’t ever want to be involved in a complicated relationship again. Or any kind of serious relationship, for that matter.
Forty-five minutes later, after he’d had his breakfast and a bracing shower, James sat down in his office to go through some work. It was clear from the mountain of emails and texts he’d received that Emily had done an excellent job of broadcasting his personal details far and wide.
He was going to have to change his phone number and his email address. It didn’t seem like something Dee would be able to sort out without significant input from him, so he might as well just do it himself. Such a waste of time.
He actually would call the police if Emily posted his home address online. You couldn’t easily change where you lived, and he really didn’t want to. He liked it here.
Mid-afternoon, the doorbell rang.
On his way to the door, he took a look at the security camera to check that Emily hadn’t somehow made it back in again. Nope. It was a man he didn’t recognise. Probably a delivery. Sometimes people left parcels downstairs; sometimes they brought them up. Had he ordered anything online in the past week? Had he asked Dee to order anything for him? He couldn’t remember. He swung open the door.
‘James.’ The man wasn’t in normal delivery driver garb. He was wearing a suit. He looked vaguely familiar now. Probably late forties, maybe early fifties, shortish, pleasant face. ‘I wondered if I could have a word? About the job?’ His voice was shaking, and his eyes were staring. He had to be one of the employees James had made redundant this week. Clearly, he had no idea how many people James had spoken to. How could he seriously remember any of them as individuals? More importantly, how the hell had the man found James’s address? Via Emily? ‘Could I possibly come in?’
Come in? No, of course not. James’s home was his sanctuary. He did work from home sometimes, in his study, but what work he did and when was his choice. He never invited anyone except his closest frie
nds over. And, occasionally, women, and that had just been shown to be a huge mistake, so he wouldn’t be doing that again any time soon. And he certainly wouldn’t be inviting this guy inside. He could be as off the rails as Emily, for all James knew. He certainly had to be desperate, or he wouldn’t be here, and James did not want desperation over his threshold again.
James patted his jeans pocket to check that he had his keys, moved outside and pulled the door closed behind him.
‘I’m sorry. I can’t talk. There isn’t anything else to say, unfortunately.’ He took a couple of steps round the man, to indicate physically that the conversation was over. The man turned so that they were still facing each other. James started to walk towards the lift. The man followed him.
‘I don’t know if you remember my name. Tim West.’ Of course James hadn’t remembered. ‘I did some detective work to find your address. I hope you don’t mind. It’s just very important that I speak to you.’ James did mind. It was better than if Emily had been sharing his address, but it wasn’t great.
‘I hope you understand that like everyone I have to have a line between work and home, and I can’t have people calling on me here in person.’
‘Not to worry,’ Tim said. ‘I wouldn’t tell anyone else and they won’t find you. I actually went to your office yesterday and followed you home and noted the address.’ Woah. Stalker-like and admitting to it. Doubly unnerving.
Tim was ploughing on with his obviously pre-prepared spiel. ‘I’ve been working at Leadson’s for twenty-nine years. I love my job. More importantly, I’m good at my job. I have ideas about how we can improve the business. I understand that some streamlining’s necessary but I think you’re making a mistake in letting the entire division go. It never works as well if you bring outside management in without retaining some of the people with knowledge.’ His voice cracked. ‘And I need this job. I don’t know how I’d get another one. My knowledge is very specific. I’m at twenty-nine years and eight months. After thirty years of service I’d have been able to take early retirement and access my pension.’
Christ, if you allowed yourself to think about things like this and you weren’t shaken by the invasion of your personal privacy, you could feel very sad. But you couldn’t let sentiment into business. Ultimately that made for poor decisions, lower profits and more job losses in the future.
James pressed the button for the lift and cleared his throat.
‘Sorry, sorry,’ Tim rushed on before James could speak. ‘I didn’t plan to mention the personal side of things. That’s irrelevant. What’s relevant is that I can help you and you’re making a mistake in letting me go. Please? Could we at least talk this through?’
James hadn’t made a mistake in making Tim redundant; he’d made a rational business decision. He did make a mistake in looking down at Tim’s face and seeing the pleading in his eyes. Hard to ignore that.
‘I can’t intervene personally, I’m afraid,’ he said. ‘I hope you understand that I wouldn’t be able to do this for everyone, so I can’t do it for anyone. Your best bet would be to work on your CV and submit it to HR. There’s a possibility that some who are at risk of redundancy will be considered for other roles within the business. Very few people, though. Please don’t get your hopes up.’ The lift door opened and James nodded at Tim. ‘Goodbye and good luck.’ He stuck his hand out.
Tim shook it fervently and said, ‘Thank you,’ before he got into the lift, which really didn’t make James feel good.
‘I’ll speak to HR on your behalf as well,’ he told Tim as the doors closed. James shook his head. He’d had no choice about the redundancies last week. It was hard not to feel awful, though, when you witnessed the fallout.
James arrived early for beers that evening with Matt and a couple of other university friends.
He’d received a message from Emily’s mother late afternoon telling him that he was ‘a shocking commitment-phobe’ and ‘a wolf in a handsome sheep’s clothing’ and that he’d ‘ruined Emily’s life’; and had decided that he’d rather be in the pub than at home.
He chose a table for four in a corner and sat down with a pint of low alcohol lager and a packet of smoky bacon crisps.
He hadn’t felt like this in a long time. Not at ease in his own home and his own daily life. Time for a holiday, maybe, except he was only just back from skiing last month and he was very busy with work. He and his private equity partners had discussed recently the idea that one of them might spend some time out in the States, working with their Boston and New York offices. There were a lot of opportunities out there that they wanted to look at, including ecotourism.
Maybe he should think seriously about a stint in the US.
He munched crisps, staring at a very odd picture of a crowned frog on a cushion above the mantelpiece. He probably should broaden his horizons. Thirty-five years old and he’d lived his entire life in London. He’d come a long way since childhood, from the small high-rise flat in a crowded estate, but by distance it was actually only about two miles.
Yeah, a temporary move to the States was genuinely tempting.
‘You should, mate,’ Matt told him later on when James had finished describing where his thoughts had taken him. ‘And rent the flat out. Give you peace of mind.’
‘Tricky to find the ideal renter, though?’
‘Swonbee.’ Josh spoke through a mouthful of half-pounder. He swallowed. ‘Sorry. SwapBnB. You literally swap properties, with some obvious caveats. We’ve done it three times. Some great places on there. You start by putting a ballpark rental value on your own property but you can go higher or lower if you and the other party agree. Where are you looking at?’
‘Somewhere commutable to both Boston and New York, but probably somewhere rural. I want to look at investing in some ecotourism businesses.’ The whole idea was sounding more and more appealing.
‘Two of the three swaps we did were in the US. Both great.’
‘Thanks, mate. I’ll check it out this evening.’ James was liking the sound of SwapBnB. Really liking it. If there was a great-looking house on there in a good location he might genuinely go for it.
It turned out that Emily had been back while James was out. Henry, on security, had been primed, so she hadn’t made it inside; but she’d left a bottle of wine for James. He passed the wine to Henry.
He was liking the idea of a US sabbatical more and more. A sabbatical involving calm, solitude and no women.
Four
Cassie
‘Goddid,’ Dina slurred. ‘Totally got it.’
Cassie blinked and shook her head. Serious googling was hard work on the island. You either had to stay up late or set your alarm and get up in the middle of the night, or you had to sit in the garden to get reception and squint at your phone. Tonight it was raining, so they’d gone for the staying up option. They’d combined it with wine and now Cassie’s eyes felt heavy.
‘Got what?’ she said, still blinking.
‘You were asleep.’ Dina pointed an accusatory finger in Cassie’s face.
‘No.’ Cassie shook her head again. ‘I was just resting my eyes. They hurt.’ They’d been staring at the screen for a long time plus it was four o’clock in the morning. Of course she’d been asleep. And now she was really, really aching because a kitchen chair for a mattress and her forearms on the table for a pillow were a poor substitute for her lovely comfortable actual bed, and when forty wasn’t that many years off you really valued your own pillow for not getting neck-ache at night. Maybe she’d take herself back to bed in the morning for a bit more sleep once she’d got the chickens up and sorted their water and feed.
‘Anyway. Look at this.’ Dina moved round to Cassie’s side of the table, pulling her laptop with her. ‘Got to be him. James Grey. Director of a company registered to the same address. He looks like a stud. I’d be totally happy for you to swap with him. He looks like he’d be a great neighbour.’
‘You cannot tell whether someone would be a goo
d neighbour by looking at them,’ Cassie said. She peered at the photo on Dina’s screen. Oh. Okay. No, she’d been wrong. You could totally tell. ‘No. He’d be a shit neighbour. I mean it. And I don’t want to swap with him.’
‘What? Whaddya mean? He’s got the most amazing apartment ever, in what looks like an amazing location, he wants to swap for the right length of time, and he’s got a smart haircut and a good suit so he’s probably someone who’d be anal and look after your property well. He’s the dream swappee. And he’s hot.’
‘He is not the dream swappee. Someone looking neat and tidy means nothing. You can’t judge a book by its cover. I think he’d be a terrible swappee. I think he’d be unsupportive, untrustworthy and, basically, horrible, and I don’t want him in my house.’ Whoops, Cassie’s voice was shaking.
Dina was staring at her. ‘Honey, are you okay? You’re sounding a little nuts. You don’t know him at all, right?’
‘I know his type.’
‘But you just said you can’t judge a book by its cover. Honey, what’s wrong?’
‘He looks very similar to my ex.’ Simon had betrayed her when she was at her most vulnerable and she didn’t like to be reminded of that time.
‘You do know that two people can look similar but be very different? This man is not your ex, he’s a completely different person.’
‘I suppose so. I mean, obviously, yes. I suppose he doesn’t look exactly the same. It’s more the impression he gives. That blond, good-looking, swaggery look.’
‘Two things. You cannot see a swagger from a corporate headshot. And you cannot dislike all blond, good-looking, confident-looking men for the rest of time. It isn’t good for you disliking people on sight.’
‘Not always good for you liking everyone on sight.’
Dina was looking for a happily ever after and had a tendency to like men very quickly, and it often ended in tears.
