by Abi Silver
Toby took in Juan’s red eyes and dishevelled appearance.
‘Have you been here all night?’ he asked.
Juan leaned back against his desk and scratched at the beginning of a beard. His t-shirt was clinging to him in all the wrong places and he really wanted to go and clean up but, evidently, Toby wanted to chat.
‘I got kicked out of my flat,’ he said. ‘Crazy landlord came in shouting, said I had to leave immediately.’
‘What did you do?’
‘Nothing…well I was having a party…just a little one. I thought he was away. Turns out he came back early and he doesn’t like parties.’
‘That’s a shame.’
‘I didn’t know it was in my contract. Who has a “no party” agreement?’
‘Does he live in the block?’
‘Downstairs. There was quite a lot of…stuff going on at the party which he didn’t like. I wouldn’t have let him in, but someone else opened the door. Thought he was my dad, he said.’
‘How many days have you slept here?’
‘Just three.’
‘Three! James’ll have a fit if he finds out.’
‘I know. It’s hard to look for a new place when I’m working. If I could take a day off, I could probably find somewhere. I’ve been looking.’
‘I thought you were married?’ Toby said, suddenly, thinking back to Juan’s personal statement he had read with interest a couple of months back.
‘I was. Rosa went back to Mexico. Said it was too cold here. She missed her family.’
Juan rubbed at his wedding band as he spoke.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. She only married me to get away from her parents. And I only married her for…well it doesn’t matter now.’
Toby peered over Juan’s shoulder to the coloured shapes shifting around on the screen. ‘Listen. I have a spare room,’ he said. ‘And I’ve been thinking of renting it out anyway. You could stay for a while, till you find somewhere else.’
Now Juan was pleased Toby had stayed to talk. ‘Thanks so much,’ he said. ‘That’s so kind.’
‘You’ll be doing me a favour too. But I would get rid of that curry box before James comes in here. There’s a dustbin out the back. You don’t know him very well yet, but he has a nose like a bloodhound.’
Juan looked confused.
‘He doesn’t like strong food smells in the workplace. Or mess of any kind. I’ll give you a buzz when I’m leaving tonight. We can go together. I’ll show you the room and you can see what you think.’
‘Thanks again, Toby. I promise no parties, OK.’
‘Oh no,’ Toby laughed. ‘I’m counting on a few parties.’
9
CONSTANCE LAMB was preparing to cover a bail application for her colleague, but every time she thought she had assimilated all the salient points, another document would worm its way into her inbox.
‘You’re a real mate,’ he had thanked her earlier, before departing for his wife’s thirtieth birthday do, leaving the work experience student to find all the relevant papers and pass them on. That was why he needed the favour. He anticipated a late night and a hangover, which might detract from his usual eloquence before the judge.
The student had knocked on Constance’s door and said her goodbyes around 7pm and, by 8.30pm, Constance was alone in the office again. It was only fair, she reasoned to herself, that she should help out when she was less busy and had nowhere to go. And she liked the tranquillity of the office at night, but she also wished she wasn’t so often the last man standing.
Part of it was her own fault, she knew that. There had been a work trip to The Band only last week, a musical playing in the West End, but she had declined, partly because she didn’t like the music but, mostly, because any theatre reminded her of Mike, her actor ex-boyfriend. While it was patently clear, with the benefit of hindsight, that they had grown apart and the relationship would never have worked, she still missed his physical presence enormously, and even a whiff of theatricality made her maudlin.
Constance finished her work and then spent five minutes catching up on Facebook, ensuring she ‘liked’ and ‘commented’ in all the right places, so that she wouldn’t become a total social outcast. She couldn’t resist a quick foray onto Mike’s Facebook page, attempting to ignore his new profile picture, and found that his latest post reported, in excited tones, that he had landed a supporting role in a new production of Tartuffe at the National Theatre.
As she switched off the lights and set the alarm, she thought about Mike again, and what he might be doing at this very moment. Probably standing in front of a mirror somewhere practising his lines and roping his new girlfriend in for support.
She should be magnanimous and go along to the play, she reasoned, take a friend, congratulate him afterwards. Not because she wanted him back, but just because it was the right thing to do. And Constance always tried to do the right thing.
10
JAMES SWEPT through the entrance of SEDA’s office, casting a critical eye over its glass panels and white tiles, all the time in perpetual motion.
He had developed the perfect combination of making each of the receptionists feel he cared about them, while, at the same time, maintaining his steady progress across the floor. He achieved this by a short, but meaningful comment, accompanied by a toss of the head or raised eyebrow, delivered without breaking stride. ‘Carol, how was your mother’s operation? Oh. That’s so good to hear. Give her my best.’ ‘Jane, thank you. The flowers in the atrium are superb today.’ ‘Diana, so good of you to send me on that material from Cars International. I’ll use it in today’s meeting.’
And, something about his speed, trajectory and the determined look on his face as he moved rendered him unlikely to be waylaid on his journey by any of them. After he had gone, they each preened themselves, safe in the knowledge they were a valuable member of the SEDA family.
‘Hello James. I saw you arrive. Tim and Jason are already here with the new guy for your meeting, but I asked Diana to keep them in reception, as I know you usually like to head into the room first.’
James looked up. Toby was lurking by the door in a white t-shirt and black chinos. The previous day he had worn bright blue ankle-skimmers and James’ eyebrows had twitched judgmentally. Although today was clearly an improvement, Toby had remained steadfastly without socks.
‘Thank you for letting me know.’ James returned to his screen.
‘Were you happy with the briefing I sent over yesterday?’ Toby persisted. ‘I wasn’t sure it was what you wanted.’ Toby forced his glasses further up his nose.
‘Oh yes. Concise but on point. Next time, try to get it to me a little earlier in the day.’
Toby considered protesting and then thought better of it. James had only asked for the research late morning and he had worked solidly through his lunch to complete it, before James left for the evening.
‘And a couple more worked examples are always useful. Have you organised my transfers in Frankfurt? You know how awkward they are out there.’
‘Yes, it’s all done.’
‘And did they agree to a table for dinner at 8pm? They often close up before I get there.’
‘It’s sorted. They said, seeing as it’s you, they’ll take the reservation and not to worry if you are a few minutes late.’
‘That’s because I always give them a large tip. How’s the IT guy doing on our Project Connect?’
‘Juan? Good. He’s fitted in and he’s getting on with the things you asked. Working long hours too. Do you need the report from him today?’
‘When I’m back from this next trip. I’ll let you know. Anything else? Otherwise give me five minutes and then ask Diana to send them in?’
‘Would it be useful for me to take notes at your meeting, especially as I prepared the b
riefing?’ Toby was bolder now and had taken two more steps into the room.
James picked up his tablet and tucked a pen in his top pocket.
‘Today is pretty much routine. I’m sure you have other things to get on with.’ He tapped Toby on the shoulder, as he sidestepped him and exited the room.
After James had gone and Toby had watched him through the window, marching in military style along the corridor, he sat down in James’ chair and spun around in it, first one way, then the other, lifting his feet off the ground, like a child on a roundabout. He tapped James’ mouse and his screen came to life. Toby tutted as he scrolled through and closed the various applications which remained open, before locking the computer. Then he picked up James’ desk phone and dialled a number.
‘Hello. Juan here.’ A tentative voice filled the space around his ear.
‘Juan. This is James Salisbury, CEO,’ Toby spoke in an affected booming voice. ‘I’m thinking of a new “jacuzzi” option for the latest model. Do you think it will work, technically, I mean?’
‘Hello Mr Salisbury. Jacuzzi?’
‘You know, water with bubbles. In the back. For entertaining. Or will it interfere with the radar, do you think?’
There was a long pause before Toby burst out laughing.
‘Got you, didn’t I?’ he giggled.
‘I knew it was you,’ Juan replied. ‘I was just, how you say, playing the game.’
‘I don’t think so. I think I got you. That means first beer of the evening is on you.’
He replaced the phone and twisted the chair around again, so he could survey the greenfield site. On a sunny day, like today, it was a hive of activity. There were two men pounding the far shores of the lake, an older man attempting star jumps on the grass next to the car park and a heron standing stock still in the shadows, waiting to skewer any unsuspecting passing fish.
Toby stood up and brought his face close to the glass, pressing the palm of each hand either side. When he withdrew, they had left a greasy mark on the cool surface. He turned on his heel, punched the air once with his arm and then sauntered out of James’ office.
11
THE JOURNEY to school took around ten minutes without children in tow, but more like twenty when they travelled en famille. It wasn’t raining so Therese wrapped Ruby in a light cotton blanket and placed her, with great precision, in the pram.
How she had argued with Neil when they had shopped together for baby accessories, five years back. She had insisted on pink for Georgia, despite Neil’s protestations that ‘a neutral colour might be more serviceable’. Of course, Therese had known precisely what he meant. That when (rather than if) they had the boy he craved, they would need a new pram. She had delighted in tormenting him by insisting that it was totally acceptable ‘these days’ to push boy babies in pink prams too. It was only when Neil had become a seething mass of frustration that she had tucked her head into his shoulder.
‘Please babe. I just want Georgia to have a pink pram,’ Therese had whispered. ‘I’ll work extra days to pay for it when I go back. And when we have a boy, we’ll get him a blue one. Why should our son have any less than our daughter?’ And Neil had relented; to be fair he usually did, and now, of course, she was vindicated, because the blue pram was folded away in the loft and the pink one was back in action.
Outside, once they’d cleared the nearest obstacles, aka the neighbour’s motorcycle, which was parked halfway up the pavement, and a discarded shopping trolley, braved passing by number 26, where the smallest dog (a miniature Schnauzer) made the loudest noise, Therese relaxed and settled into her stride. It was a struggle with all three on her own, but she had the prospect of depositing two of them at school very shortly and a bright day ahead.
Ruby’s eyes were open and focused on a multi-coloured, giant ladybird which floated a few centimetres above her face and Georgia was skipping along at Therese’s side. Bertie was standing on the buggy board which Neil had insisted they buy. Therese hadn’t been keen. She thought it encouraged Bertie to be lazy. And when his weight was combined with the pram and the baby, she found it heavy to push.
But she understood that Neil liked to do little things for his son that he had enjoyed as a boy or that he knew he would have enjoyed if they had existed then. That was why he had bought an extensive train set, second hand, and was slowly re-populating it with Bertie’s favourite Thomas the Tank Engine figures. It was also why he’d already put Bertie’s name down for an Arsenal season ticket.
‘It means he can help too,’ Neil had told Therese eagerly.
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well if you are really tired, Bertie can help push Ruby, you know…’
‘I can’t believe you just said that! He’s three years old.’ Therese had flung Neil a look which would have turned lesser men to stone. But, eventually, she had conceded defeat and the board had been purchased and installed.
Now they had reached the last stretch before school, Bertie gave his mum an enquiring look. She knew what that meant, from the last time they had all walked together.
***
Neil had allowed Bertie, then, to take control of his sister, to push off, lift both feet onto the buggy board and open up a small gap on Neil, herself and Georgia. Not only that, he had held Therese back with a whispered, ‘Leave him, Tay. He’s responsible, he can do it,’ as the space between them had increased to ten metres. Therese’s heart had been thumping in her chest, and all her instincts had screamed at her to prevent her son from extending his lead, when Bertie had stopped independently and waited, ahead of the main road. She remembered how Neil had caught up with Bertie, patting his back and tousling his hair.
‘Well done Bertie,’ he had said loudly, to Therese as much as to his son. ‘What a great big brother you are.’
‘Well done Bertie,’ Georgia had copied her father, rapping Bertie on the top of the head.
***
Therese gripped the handles of the pram with both hands, gritted her teeth and pushed up the slight incline.
‘Mum?’ Bertie fidgeted and leaped off the board, landing heavily in front of her, forcing her to an abrupt stop. He giggled and Georgia giggled too. ‘Can I push Ruby?’ he asked, this time in words. ‘No, not today,’ Therese replied, her mood suddenly plummeting.
Bertie stared at the ground, kicking at a loose paving stone. She held out her hand for him and he turned away.
‘Tell you what?’ she said. ‘You push one side and I’ll push the other. That way, we’ll get there together even faster.’
Bertie thought about the proposal for a few seconds. It wasn’t quite what he had wanted, but he was prepared to try anything once. After a scowl and a quick scuffing of his toe along the pavement, he took the right handle of the pram in both hands and Therese took the left. And Georgia, unwilling to be left out of the joint enterprise, gripped Bertie’s back pack in her fist and they continued in this rag-tag procession all the way to school.
12
TOBY HAD ALWAYS been fascinated by Martine Salisbury. She would arrive at the factory regularly, unannounced, and wander around, often pretending she was looking for James. She would stride through the assembly room in her red stiletto boots or peer over the shoulders of the IT specialists, extending a polished fingernail in the direction of anything which required explanation.
Then she would drape herself over the reception desk, her wavy locks streaming in the blast from the air conditioning unit, positioned just above Carol’s head, as if she were modelling some hair-care product. And, with a sweetened latte in one hand, she would oversee the day’s appointments and arrivals.
Occasionally, she came in on the premise that they had a board meeting, even though James always provided for them to be held virtually. She, Toby, and Bruce Debrett, SEDA’s legal adviser, were directors of SEDA, together with James. Not that being a director meant anyt
hing at all, or at least that was how it had been for Toby up till now. James’ view on how to run the company had always claimed the day. Toby was there just to make up numbers and draw up the relevant minutes, which the lawyer always checked anyway. But, most of the time, Martine arrived when no board meetings were planned and James wasn’t even there.
Toby had made the mistake once of mentioning her visits to James, although it had left him even more confused about whether he should consider deferring to a second master, this one sporting real fur and a diamond in her belly button. He had dropped it casually into the conversation without, he believed, having proffered any view as to the motivation behind it or its merits.
‘I don’t need you to tell me all the details, Toby, thank you. Martine and I have no secrets,’ was James’ curt response. Although he had noticed that, after that exchange, for a few weeks or so, Martine had tended to time her visits more for when James was absent.
The girls in reception complained sometimes too, only quietly as they liked Martine ‘as a person’. She always bought them fabulous custom-made gifts at Christmas, and her presence certainly livened things up. But she did question and challenge some of their duties and then they, like Toby, were confused as to who was really in charge.
And when Toby thought about it, as he often did, on those long afternoons when James was in meetings or abroad and he had completed the various menial duties allotted to him, he had to admit that Martine was a very persuasive woman.
A large part of the influence she wielded was down to her appearance. After all, she looked amazing for a woman of her age and Toby was forever trying to curb his vivid imagination about the sex life she shared with James. It didn’t help that, on a random search online, he had uncovered photographs of Martine from her Miss South Yorkshire days. That was how he knew about the belly button stud and, try as he might, he struggled to prevent himself from undressing her, mentally, back down to that skimpy bikini she had worn in the swimwear round, before taking her well-deserved crown, whenever he encountered her.