Rosie knew she was out of line, but she had to find a release for the anger she felt at receiving those images on her phone. She was pissed about the handbook, of course, she was. But it was James she was most furious at. She threw the envelope at Edward, and it floated past him and fell onto the ground, the most ineffectual weapon of all time. Rosie stood there, fire in her eyes, challenging him for a response.
Edward Logan was calm. He bent down, picked up the envelope and studied the handwriting on the front. Then, calmly, he gave her his answer.
‘That’s not my handwriting, Rosie.’
Chapter Eleven
Not for the first time since she’d returned to work, Rosie would have been happy for the ground to swallow her up and devour her. She hadn’t even considered the possibility that Edward might not have delivered the handbook. Every member of staff had one, after all. She’d just jumped to what seemed the obvious conclusion when she saw his name on the compliments slip.
Both Haylee and James had warned her about the new HR man. Maybe she’d been braced for it so much, she had failed to give him the benefit of the doubt.
Rosie looked at him, her mouth wide open, unable to find any words. Her cheeks were glowing hot, and Edward wasn’t helping matters by standing there, confident and calm, saying nothing.
‘I don’t know what to say… I’m so sorry,’ was the best that she could muster.
‘You’ve suffered from mental illness. It’s only to be expected,’ Edward replied.
If that was intended to be comforting, it was anything but. She was digging her way out of a deep, black hole and it would be impossible to claw her way out if everything she did or said was related back to her mental illness. Even if she knew it was true.
‘I want to ask you something, Rosie. Please be honest with me.’
Edward appeared to be changing the subject. His tone was conciliatory, as if he was seeking something from her. Perhaps it was the best thing to do, given the circumstances. It gave them a way out.
‘What is it, Edward? I’ll help if I can. Especially after accusing you of something you didn’t do.’
‘What are they all doing when they leave on a Friday?’ he asked.
That came out of the blue. Had he caught the scent of the after-work Friday drinks club? It was a good job her face was already red from the embarrassment of her false accusation; she could feel her face burning once again.
‘Oh, um, I don’t know, Edward. I… er, I haven’t been back long enough to know anything. I’m sorry, I can’t help. Why, what’s going on?’
‘They all sneak off on a Friday evening. They think I don’t know, but I do. What are they doing that can’t include me?’
Rosie studied his face, but it was devoid of any emotion. She didn’t know whether to feel sorry for him or to agree with her workmates that he deserved to be excluded from their social gathering. She was saved by the bell.
‘That’s my phone ringing,’ Edward said. ‘I’ll catch up with you later.’
Edward left the room, and Rosie moved back to the window, admiring the view once again. The phone on her desk rang. She picked it up, not expecting to receive any calls so early in the day.
‘Hey, it’s just me,’ came Haylee’s voice. ‘I take it you’re on for drinks this evening? I came by your office just now, but Edward Sausagehands was with you.’
Rosie laughed. That’s what she missed about work, the nonsense and gossip. She didn’t get that from Sam.
‘Why do you call him that?’ she asked.
‘Look at his hands next time you see them. He’s thin as a rake, but he has puffy hands. It’s weird. You see.’
‘I hadn’t noticed, but I’ll look more closely next time. Yes, I’m on for drinks. But warn the others, Edward suspects. He was asking me about it.’
‘Are you on for lunch again today?’ Haylee asked.
‘I’ve got a cheap sandwich that I bought at the Express store last night, but I’m happy to eat it with you in the square – if it’s not pissing with rain.’
‘Gotta go!’ Haylee said, and the line went dead. Rosie knew this of old. As a receptionist, the phone could go at any time. Haylee was always on a moment’s notice, a slave to the ring tone.
Rosie sat at her desk, removed the handbook from her bag and opened it up where she’d left it the day before. After the weekend, she’d have to dive back into her job properly. She’d need to arrange briefings with the sales team and Neil Jennings at some point, to get up to speed with the new online system and become fully embroiled. She hoped she could remember it all. The professional aspect of her life seemed a million miles away.
Rosie was grateful to get through the morning without further interruption. She’d had a brief encounter with Annabelle Reece-Norton who’d darted her head around the open door to exchange a word or two.
‘Morning, Rosie! I thought you were a ghost. It’s going to take some getting used to you being in here now. Damn, gotta rush! Edward is on the prowl. I don’t want any fifteen-minute time-outs; I’m looking forward to after-work drinkies.’
Rosie heard her accounting for her time further along the corridor as she ran into Edward.
‘Just making sure Rosie is up to speed on the new systems,’ she said in her cheery voice. Whatever Edward’s response was, it stifled her energy, strangled it and left it gasping on the floor for breath. Annabelle’s voice was heard no more.
As Rosie worked her way through the staff manual, she glanced over the headlines, mixing occasional reading with thoughts about the late postal delivery and the pictures from James. Had he set up the rat all along? Maybe he’d taken those pictures before removing the dead creature from her drawer, and it was some kind of misguided joke. But what about the nude picture? That was inappropriate, however she looked at it.
Edward’s revised handbook didn’t cover dickpics. It just offered a few non-committal words about sexual harassment in the workplace (don’t do it) and gender-inappropriate humour (don’t do it). She reckoned that last page must have been missing in Phil and Terry’s copies. Edward’s response to everything seemed to be don’t do it.
Want to pull a sickie after a night out on the booze? Don’t do it. Need to leave work early because it’s your kid’s sports day? Don’t do it. Want to post on Twitter sharing your poignant views on the political hot potato of the moment? Don’t do it. It left Rosie wondering if there was anything she could still do, now that David’s once happy company had passed over to new ownership.
She did her best to avoid James all day and only had one near miss when she went to the kitchen to pick up her sandwich at lunchtime. He was just leaving the kitchen and looked as if he might want to talk to her, so she swiftly changed direction and pretended she was heading for Edward’s office. She waited until the coast was clear, then returned to the kitchen, only to find her sandwich had been eaten.
‘For Christ’s sake!’ she cursed as Neil walked in.
‘What is it? Fridge wars again?’ he asked.
‘Some bugger’s eaten my sandwich. And they’ve left half of it in the plastic wrapping like they intend to come back and finish it. Cheeky bugger!’
‘You gotta lock stuff down in this place,’ Neil advised. ‘So many temps now, we hardly know who’s working here any more.’
After begrudgingly eating her second baked potato of the week from the snack van, and fighting off the temptation to tell Haylee all about James’ impolite photo habit, Rosie made it through the afternoon, putting everything in place to gently increase her tempo and do some real work when she came back into the office the following Monday morning. Before she knew it, it was Friday drinks time.
Edward was on the prowl. It made Rosie want to laugh. He knew something was up, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. As much as it was hilarious, there was also something very sad about it. He was so deeply unpopular, yet he couldn’t figure out why they didn’t want to include him in whatever it was going on.
‘Have a good weekend, Edward!’ Annabe
lle called along the corridor.
‘What are you up to tonight?’ Edward asked.
‘Oh, nothing, just TV and a takeaway,’ she replied, evasive and non-committal.
‘Are you off too, James?’ came Edward’s voice. He was like a patrol guard, but he couldn’t stop the prisoners escaping.
Rosie hadn’t thought about James being at the bar. It might be difficult to avoid him. But she couldn’t stay long; she had to get back for Sam.
‘Yes, have a great weekend, Edward. Anything you need to tell me before I go? I wouldn’t want to put you through the trouble of having to come to my house to update me on anything.’
It was Rosie’s turn to make her exit. They couldn’t all leave at precisely the same time; Edward would soon catch the whiff of betrayal and deceit.
‘You’re going too?’ Edward asked. ‘Anybody would think there was a party going on and I wasn’t invited.’
‘Ha – no, nothing like that,’ Rosie replied. ‘You know how it is, a busy weekend with lots to do.’
‘Yes, and you’ve got a party on for Sam this weekend – that’ll keep you busy.’
Had she told him about that? How did he know?
‘Yes, have a nice weekend, Edward. See you on Monday.’
She hadn’t seen him like this before. Where the previous evening he’d been all about working hours and doing your duty for the company, now he was anxious; he knew something was going on, but he couldn’t quite grasp it.
He’d made no effort to put Rosie at ease since her return, so she was happy to head out of the office without a backward glance. A man like Edward Logan deserved to be left out.
Terry, Annabelle, Phil, Haylee and David were all there, laughing loudly at a table crammed with beers and lagers. James was there too, along with a couple of other people she didn’t know yet. She avoided his glance, unable to face that particular conversation.
Terry was in the middle of recounting the story of December’s Secret Santa, when he’d replaced the Action Figure toy that had been bought for Edward with a strap-on dildo. As he’d pulled it out of its seasonal wrapping paper, at least ten smartphones had been primed to take a photograph. Every time Edward pissed them off, they’d email each other an image of him holding up the strap-on, a look of discomfort and bemusement on his face, with a suitable retaliatory caption like Dick head! or What a cock! After so much time away from an office environment, Rosie forgot how much solace could sometimes be found in such petty acts of vengeance.
This wasn’t the only thing Rosie had forgotten in the past two years. Even though she’d sworn to keep a close eye on the time, after five minutes she remembered what a great laugh after-work drinks could be. Terry and Phil ought to have used up all of their comedic material by now, but still, it came, joke after joke, well-told story after well-told story. She was laughing so much she almost peed herself.
‘Got to go to the toilet!’ she said to Haylee, who had tears streaming down her face. ‘You’ll find out about the perils of pelvic floor muscles one of these days!’
She slid off to the toilets at the back of the pub and texted Iain while she was sitting in the cubicle.
Okay to stay a little later? I’ll bring back takeaway.
She was relieved when the reply came in immediately afterwards.
We’re fine here, Rosie. Enjoy yourself. You deserve it x
Rosie finished off, washed her hands and double-checked in the bathroom mirror that her skirt wasn’t tucked into her knickers. All good, she headed out and ran straight into James. He’d been waiting for her, that much was obvious.
Rosie glanced to the side, sensing that the atmosphere had changed in the bar.
‘You’ve been avoiding me, Rosie. I thought we were pals. What’s up, did I do something wrong?’
Why were Terry and Phil so quiet? They’d been laughing their heads off when she left the room.
‘You know why I’m avoiding you.’
Why did he even need to ask? A surge of rage sent her heartbeat racing.
‘Really, I don’t,’ James protested. ‘What’s up, Rosie? Have I offended you in some way?’
‘Those pictures you sent on Facebook? What on earth were you thinking sending me dickpics?’
‘What pictures? Rosie, what are you on about? I haven’t sent you anything – I don’t know about any pictures. And I’m far too old-fashioned to be sending you nudes. Besides, I’d lose my job if I did something as stupid as that.’
‘It was on Facebook. It came from your account.’
‘Rosie, I don’t even use Facebook – I hate social media. It’s all I could do to join WhatsApp, so I can tag along to these drinking sessions.’
She looked directly into his face, searching for signs of a lie, but she found none.
‘Look, let’s talk about this,’ James continued. ‘Whatever you think I’ve done, I swear, I’m innocent.’ He paused and glanced towards the bar area. ‘Have you noticed it’s all gone quiet out there?’
‘Yes.’ Rosie nodded. ‘Do you think everything’s alright?’
She followed James as he moved towards the bar area. They were right. It had gone quiet. The entire group – Terry and Phil included – were sitting in silence with guilty looks on their faces. And standing next to their cluster of tables was Edward Logan, looking like he’d just caught a big mouse in a trap.
Chapter Twelve
It wasn’t the most elaborate birthday party for a two-year-old, but it was the best Rosie could do. There had been no parent and toddler groups for her, no succession of children’s parties at fancy venues and no play dates in the park. Her friend, Leonie, had suffered from postpartum depression, which was how they’d met at Trinity Heights. Leonie was a day patient rather than an inmate – as Rosie liked to refer to herself – and they’d hit it off from day one when they met at the snacks machine.
Leonie had wanted to smother Owen once upon a time. Rosie had never considered killing Sam, but she did, for a short time, detest and despise his presence. What a glowing couple of new mothers they made. Thanks to a cocktail of modern drugs and the support of people like Vera, they’d navigated the dark tunnels of their minds and emerged into the bright light at the other end.
As Rosie watched Sam and Owen snatching toy cars from each other on the play rug, she consoled herself that the children wouldn’t remember much of it. She couldn’t recollect any of her own childhood birthday parties until the age of five or six years old. Sam would never know what a crappy day it really was.
‘So, how are you doing?’ Leonie asked, taking a sip of wine. They’d promised themselves one small glass. That couldn’t mess with the drugs, surely? Besides, in the world of anti-depressants and anxiety treatments, the nemesis appeared to be grapefruit, for some bizarre reason. Neither of them was craving grapefruit at that particular moment.
‘I managed two whole days at work,’ Rosie replied. ‘I can’t say my heart is in it. Only another thirty-five years to go until retirement. Not long left now.’
Leonie laughed.
‘I know that feeling,’ she replied. ‘Oh, I forgot to tell you. I got the all-clear, I’m just getting the light touch from social care now. It’s official; I’m no longer loopy.’
Rosie reached out and hugged her friend. In the world of mental illness, no longer being considered loopy was every bit as good as receiving a line of As in your school exam results, or the all-clear in a cancer test. It meant you could move on to the next stage of your life.
‘You’re still on the meds, though, right?’
Rosie wanted the reassurance of her friend not quite being out the woods yet, as a touchstone to measure her own progress.
‘I’m on the lighter stuff now,’ she replied. ‘You should see the list of contra-indications. I think I’d rather live with depression. Lack of bladder control is one of them. At least that’s not a problem – giving birth to Owen already screwed that up!’
They laughed out loud. Rosie had almost forgotten how go
od it was to chuckle freely. It washed through her in a way the drugs could never do; it renewed her, blasting away the dark thoughts that lingered in shadowy corners. Serotonin was the reason, Vera had explained. The more she got, the better she’d feel, apparently.
Rosie’s mind wandered back to the horrors of Friday night. There was a lot of serotonin flowing that night until Edward Logan turned up, the grim reaper whose presence left laughter and good company as corpses at the roadside. She and James had done the only thing possible when they’d seen him from across the room: they’d hidden in the public bar at the other side of the pub. If he’d caught them having sex in the broom cupboard at work, it might have been slightly less embarrassing.
Like the treacherous colleagues they were, they hid there until the group dispersed ten minutes later, exchanging a few polite pleasantries with Edward then, one by one, making their excuses to escape. Ten minutes – that was all it took for Edward’s icy fog to descend and freeze them all out. They watched it from afar, each painful moment playing out in slow motion.
They’d had a lovely time in the other bar. He’d shown her his phone, demonstrated that there was no Facebook on it – or any other social media come to that – and, for good measure, allowed her to flick through his most recent images. There was nothing of interest there. No nude pictures, no dead rats and no pictures of Mackenzie. She would never claim to possess the credentials of a TV cop, but as far as Rosie could tell, James was innocent. It made her wonder who’d stitched him up.
‘Do you think Edward noticed our coats on the back of those chairs?’ Rosie asked, once their work party had finally dispersed, and Edward had left the pub.
‘I hope not,’ James answered. ‘With any luck, we got away with it. I don’t think our work colleagues will be very pleased with us on Monday morning, through. I expect to hear the words traitor, betrayal and Judas Iscariot but anything they say to me will be considerably less torturous than having to explain to Edward why he was excluded from after-work drinks.’
Two Years After ; Friends Who Lie ; No More Secrets Page 7
