Later, he headed back to the office smelling like the Body Shop had vomited on him, and arrived to find Cameron sitting on Meredith’s yoga ball, his eyes closed in contemplation, a mug of what looked like swamp water steaming away next to him.
“Hello, Cameron,” Andrew said.
Cameron kept his eyes closed and showed Andrew the flat of his hand, like a sleepwalking traffic cop halting imaginary cars. There wasn’t enough space for Andrew to squeeze around the exercise ball to his desk, so he had to wait while Cameron finished whatever the hell it was he was doing. Eventually, he let out such a long, powerful breath that Andrew thought at first the ball had developed a puncture.
“Good afternoon, Andrew,” Cameron said, rising with as much dignity as is possible when clambering off an oversized plastic testicle. “And how was the property inspection?”
“Truthfully, it was probably the worst one I’ve ever had to do,” Andrew said.
“I see. And how does that make you feel?”
Andrew wondered if this was a trick question.
“Well . . . bad.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” Cameron said, rolling his shirtsleeves up to the elbow before changing his mind and rolling them back down again. “No Peggy today then, poor thing.”
“No,” Andrew said, slumping down into his chair.
“Meredith and Keith are off on their hols,” Cameron said, running his finger along the top of Andrew’s screen.
“Uh-huh.”
“So that means it’s just us two here . . . holding the old fort.”
“Yep,” Andrew said, unsure where this was going, wondering if he should suggest that Cameron’s next move toward enlightenment should be an enforced period of silence. It was horribly clear, though, that Cameron had some sort of an agenda. Andrew watched him go to walk away before making a big show of changing his mind, snapping his fingers as he turned back.
“Actually, do you mind if we have a quick chat? I can make you some herbal tea if you want?”
The break-out area had evolved since Andrew had been away. There were blue and purple throws over the sofas and a coffee table book about transcendental meditation artfully placed on a beanbag where the coffee table used to be. Andrew was just glad that there weren’t any obvious hooks to hang wind chimes from.
“Are you looking forward to Thursday night?” Cameron asked.
Andrew looked blankly back at him.
“It’s Meredith’s turn to host us for dinner,” Cameron said, clearly disappointed that Andrew had forgotten.
“Oh, yes, of course. Should be . . . fun.”
“You think? Look, I know it was a bit of a funny old evening when Clara and I hosted . . .”
Andrew wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to agree with this or not, so he kept his mouth shut.
“But I’m sure it’ll be a more chilled-out evening this time around,” Cameron said.
They sipped their tea and Andrew chanced a look at his watch.
“I’m glad it’s just us two, actually,” Cameron said. “It gives me a chance to touch base with you about something.”
“Right,” Andrew said, resisting the temptation to scream, IF YOU MEAN “TALK” JUST SAY “TALK,” at him.
“You’ll remember my presentation a little while back, where a certain notification appeared on the screen.”
Cutbacks. With all that had been going on, Andrew had barely had time to think about that.
“The truth is,” Cameron continued, “I just don’t know yet whether it’s going to be us that’ll need to have fewer people wearing more hats, or another department.”
Andrew fidgeted in his seat. “Why are you telling me this, Cameron?”
Cameron flashed him a particularly desperate grin, his teeth on full display.
“Because, Andrew, it’s been playing on my mind to the point of distraction, and I just felt I had to say something to someone here and because . . . we’re mates, right?”
“Sure,” Andrew said, guiltily avoiding Cameron’s eye. If Cameron was telling him this, did it mean he would be safe? His optimism quickly vanished when he realized that meant that Peggy could be the one to go.
“Thanks, mate,” Cameron said. “Feels loads better getting that off my chest.”
“Good,” Andrew said, wondering if perhaps he should try to make the case for Peggy now.
“So how’s the old fam-fam, then?” Cameron said.
The question caught Andrew off guard. Troublingly, it took a moment for him to realize Cameron meant Diane and the children. He made to reply but his mind was blank, no false anecdotes or news coming to mind as usual. Come on, think! Just make something up like you normally do.
“Um . . . ,” he said, then, panicking that Cameron would take his hesitation to mean something might be wrong, quickly followed up with, “They’re fine. Just all good, really. Listen . . .” He got to his feet. “. . . I’ve actually got loads to do, so I better get back to it. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, well if you’re—”
“Sorry,” Andrew said again, nearly tripping over an errant throw on the floor as he hurried away, feeling suddenly short of breath, just making it to the toilets in time to cough up bile into the sink.
* * *
—
That evening, he chatted with BamBam, TinkerAl, and BroadGaugeJim, and tried not to think about what had happened with Cameron. It had been terrifying to go blank like that. Maybe he was just rustier than usual because his focus had been on Peggy. The closer he’d gotten to her, the more distant Diane had become. He’d neglected his “family,” the people he relied on for support, and the guilt he felt was deep and real. The strength of the feeling was horribly troubling. This. Isn’t. Normal, he told himself, digging his fingernails into his thigh.
He felt bad for interrupting the current subforum conversation (Which type of rubberized horsehair is best for creating bush scenery?), but there was nowhere else for him to turn.
Chaps, not to bring the mood down, but remember when I told you about that person who I was starting to get along with really well? It turns out there was something more than just friendship there, but now I’ve blown it.
BroadGaugeJim: Sorry to hear that, T. What happened?
Tracker: It’s a bit complicated. There’s someone else in her life. But that’s not even the main problem. Basically, I’ve been holding something back from her, and I know that if I come clean she’ll probably never talk to me again.
BamBam67: Yikes, that does sound rather serious.
TinkerAl: Tricky one, mate. What I would say is maybe you should just be honest with her? Maybe you’re right—she might never talk to you again, but if there’s even the smallest chance she’ll be okay with it, then isn’t that worth fighting for? This time in a week you could be together! Bit of a cliché I know, but isn’t it better to have loved and lost, and all that???
The discordant “Blue Moon” arrived in an instant, and the screeching feedback and stabbing at Andrew’s temples was so severe that he had to slide to the floor and clap his hands to his head, drawing his knees up to his chest, waiting for the pain to subside.
* * *
—
He slept fitfully that night. He’d developed an earache and a raw, scratchy throat, and his body was starting to ache all over. As he lay awake in the early morning, listening to the rain hammering at the window, he thought of Peggy, and wondered whether he’d caught this cold off her, or just a stranger.
— CHAPTER 23 —
Peggy was still off sick the following day. Andrew had texted her asking if she was feeling better, but there was no reply.
The cold he’d caught had evolved into something that sapped him of energy but left him too uncomfortable to sleep. Instead, he sat shivering or sweating under a duvet watching mindless action films, the moral of each story appe
aring to be if you drive a car fast enough a lady will take her top off.
He was halfway to work the following morning, feeling like he was trudging through thick mud, when he suddenly remembered it was the day of Alan Carter’s funeral. He forced himself to turn back and flag down a taxi.
The vicar—a squat man with piggy eyes—greeted him at the church’s entrance.
“Relative?”
“No, council,” Andrew said, glad that he wasn’t a relative given the brusqueness of how the vicar had spoken to him.
“Ah yes, of course,” the vicar said. “Well, there’s one lady inside. But it doesn’t look like anyone else is coming so we better crack on.” He raised a fist to his mouth to cover a burp, his cheeks bulging like a frog’s neck.
Beryl was sitting in the front row of the empty church. Andrew tucked his shirt in and flattened his hair down as he walked up the aisle. “Hello, dear,” Beryl said when he arrived at her side. “Gosh, are you okay? You look ever so peaky.” She put the back of her hand to his forehead.
“I’m fine,” Andrew said. “A bit tired, that’s all. How are you?”
“Not so bad, pet,” Beryl said. “Have to say, it’s been a long time since I’ve been in a church.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’m not exactly a believer in the beardy bloke upstairs. Neither was Alan, truth be told. I’m sure he’d have found all this palaver funny, really. Is Peggy coming, do you know?”
“I don’t think so, I’m afraid,” Andrew said, looking back toward the door just in case. “She’s really poorly, unfortunately. But she sends her love.”
“Oh well, not to worry,” Beryl said. “More for the rest of us.”
Andrew couldn’t think what Beryl meant until he looked down to see she was holding an open Tupperware box full of fairy cakes. After a moment’s hesitation, he took one.
The vicar appeared and stifled another belch, and Andrew feared the worst about the sermon, but thankfully the vicar’s delivery was heartfelt enough. The only blip in the service came when a man wearing a baseball cap and waterproof trousers—a gardener, Andrew presumed—shunted the church door open and whispered, “Oh bollocks,” just loudly enough for them to hear before slipping back out.
Beryl remained composed throughout. Perhaps because Andrew had more of a personal investment than usual, he listened intently to the vicar’s words and, to his intense embarrassment, found himself on the verge of tears. He felt a wave of shame hit him—he hadn’t ever met this man; it wasn’t his place to cry. And yet that guilt only made things worse and eventually he was unable to stop a single tear from spilling down onto each of his cheeks. Luckily, he managed to wipe them away before Beryl saw. He’d have to blame his cold if she said anything about his puffy eyes.
As the vicar asked them to join him in reciting the Lord’s Prayer, the realization suddenly came to Andrew that he hadn’t been crying for Alan, or even for Beryl, but for the future version of himself, his death unmourned at a service in a drafty church with only the walls to receive the vicar’s perfunctory words.
* * *
—
They said polite if stiff good-byes to the vicar (“I don’t trust men with handshakes that firm—you have to think they’re overcompensating for something,” Beryl said) and were walking arm in arm along the churchyard path when Andrew asked Beryl whether she needed accompanying back to the station. “Don’t worry, love. I’m actually visiting a couple of old friends. ‘Old’ being the operative word; I think they’ve got about seven teeth between them these days, Sheila and Georgie.”
They’d reached the end of the path. The wind was rushing through the branches of the imposing yew tree that stood just inside the churchyard walls. They were only in mid-September, but the sublime August day in Northumberland seemed a long time ago.
“You got time for a cuppa before I go?” Beryl said.
Andrew scratched at the back of his head. “Sadly not.”
“Time waits for no man, eh? Hang on, though.” Beryl scrabbled in her handbag and found a pen and paper. “I’m around for another few days. Give me your number. I’ve got my special old-lady mobile phone the size of a brick with me, so maybe we could meet up later in the week or something.”
“That would be lovely,” Andrew said.
Another gust of wind came, stronger this time. Beryl readjusted her hat and took Andrew by the hand.
“You’re a good man, Andrew, coming here today. I know my Alan would’ve appreciated that. Take care now.”
She walked away, looking brittle against the wind, but after a few steps she stopped and came back.
“Here,” she said, digging the box of cakes out of her bag. “Share these with Peggy, won’t you?”
— CHAPTER 24 —
Andrew stooped to double-check, but there were no two ways about it: he was looking at a dead mouse.
He’d been searching for a bucket because water was leaking from an unidentifiable hole in the ceiling above the back stairs. Cameron had called the maintenance team but they’d fobbed him off. His response had been to repeat some sort of mantra over and over under his breath, his eyes tightly shut.
“Back in a sec,” Andrew had said, edging slowly away.
As he opened the cupboard underneath the kitchen sink he was hit by the familiar stench of death, and sure enough, lying there on its back among bleach bottles and a hi-vis jacket was a mouse. This wasn’t exactly under Andrew’s remit, but he couldn’t just leave it there, so he put on a single washing-up glove and picked it up by its tail. He caught his distorted reflection in the shiny side of the coffee machine and saw the mouse swinging back and forth, as if he were performing some sort of macabre hypnotism. Since he didn’t want to disturb whatever mindfulness ritual Cameron was going through, his only option was to go back through the office and out of the front entrance to find somewhere to dispose of the corpse. So it was with a horrible inevitability that he had managed to get all the way to the main doors without passing a soul, only to be met by Peggy coming the other way. She was distracted by collapsing her umbrella, and making a split-second judgment, Andrew opened his coat pocket and stuffed the mouse inside it. Her umbrella now folded away, Peggy spotted Andrew and made her way over.
“Hello,” she said, “how’s tricks?”
Aside from the dead mouse in my pocket?
“Yes, okay. Nothing new, really. You’re feeling better then?”
He had meant it as a genuine question but in his flustered state it came out almost sarcastically. Thankfully, Peggy didn’t seem to take it that way.
“Yep, much better,” she said. “What’s the craic today then?”
“Oh, just the usual.”
Mouse in my pocket, mouse in my pocket, mouse in my pocket.
“Keith and Meredith?”
“Not in yet.”
“Thank god for small mercies. And we’ve not been fired, yet?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Well, that’s something.”
For the first time since Andrew had known Peggy, there was an awkward pause.
“Well, I better crack on,” Peggy said. “Coming?”
“Sure,” Andrew said. “I’ve just got to . . . I’ll see you in there.”
He disposed of the mouse in some weeds in a corner of the car park. He had only just gotten back inside when he looked out of the window to see Keith arriving on his scooter next to the burial ground. Such was his size relative to the machine it reminded Andrew of a clown on one of those ankle-height tricycles. Barely half a minute later Meredith drove up in her custard-yellow hatchback, and Andrew watched her and Keith take a sly look around before locking lips, Keith wrapping his arms around Meredith as the kiss became more passionate, so it looked as if she’d fallen into quicksand.
* * *
—
Andrew was trying to write an obituary for
Warren but kept distracting himself by stealing glances at Peggy, who despite her earlier assurances that she was feeling better still looked pale and worn out. Though that might have been something to do with having to listen to Meredith banging on about some sort of “retreat” where she’d just been on holiday. He was considering going over to rescue Peggy, but things felt so different now. He couldn’t bear the idea of her smiling warily as he approached, worried that he might try to bring up what had happened in Northumberland. Instead, he trudged to the kitchen and went to make tea. Someone had finished the milk and put the empty carton back in the fridge. Andrew wished that whoever it was (and let’s face it, it was Keith) would tread on an upturned plug in bare feet sometime soon. From the kitchen doorway he could see into Cameron’s office. Cameron was sitting at his computer, arms aloft, viciously squeezing a stress ball in each hand. He saw Andrew and his grimace turned into a slightly pained smile, the same expression a baby pulls in the process of filling its nappy. At least today can’t get any worse, Andrew thought, and as if Cameron had read his mind he chose that moment to wheel himself over on his chair.
“Remember, guys, it’s dinner party mark two tonight.”
— CHAPTER 25 —
Andrew peered out from behind a tree across the street from Meredith’s house, picking at the price label on the cheapest bottle of wine he’d been able to find in the corner shop. (He was no expert, but he was pretty sure that Latvia wasn’t famed for its rosé.)
He braced himself to enter the fray. Cameron had been suspiciously quiet since the cutbacks conversation, and even though they were supposedly “mates,” Andrew wasn’t going to assume for a minute that he was safe. He would have to be on his best behavior tonight. Cameron was continuing to give a disproportionately large shit about these stupid dinner parties, so if pretending to be the sort of person who enjoyed talking about school catchment areas over an underbaked flan stood him in good stead, then so be it.
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