by Abi Silver
Martine was sitting in one corner of the room, watching a video on a laptop perched on her knees. One of the programmers was at work nearby. She turned around at his entrance.
‘Oh hello darling!’ She paused her screen, shifted the laptop on to the desk and sashayed towards him, kissing him lightly on the cheek. ‘You left so early this morning.’
‘I didn’t want to wake you,’ James replied. ‘What are you up to?’
‘Oh this. It’s just some stuff…’ She waved her hand over in the direction of the technician, who had taken his headphones off when James entered.
‘Juan,’ he said.
‘Thank you, Juan. It’s just some stuff Juan told me about, that’s going into the next model. More shiny metal around the wheels. Maybe I’ll get an early upgrade. I was going to come and find you when I finished. I thought we could have lunch together, if you’re not too busy.’
James scrutinised the frozen image on Martine’s screen. ‘It is an incredible piece of kit,’ he said. ‘Looks a bit different to the last time I saw it. But not sure why you’re looking at bodywork in the IT lab?’ James stared pointedly at Juan.
‘The design team asked me to double-check that the new shape and the added chrome won’t impact the sensors on the wheel arches,’ Juan explained.
‘Oh, yes, of course. And does it?’
‘Not as far as I can see, but I’ve asked for a few more tests to be run.’
‘Good.’
‘Can I help you with anything else, Mr Salisbury?’ Juan asked.
‘Well I… There was something, but it can wait. But also, I wanted to thank you. You’ve clearly made an impression on some of the others in the Connect team who I met on my trip.’
‘Oh. I’m so pleased if it was useful. I have some ideas…’
‘And I know I said you should report only to me, but I’ve just asked Toby to catch up with you first, later today. Hope that’s OK. And I want to discuss a new project with you, just the two of us.’
‘Sure.’ Juan frowned before regaining his composure. ‘How about tomorrow?’
‘Tomorrow is great. Put something in my diary then, if there’s a half-hour slot.’
‘I will.’
Martine was now standing by the door.
‘Didn’t you want to watch the rest of your video?’ James asked her.
‘Not now you’re here.’
He opened the door and they walked together back along the corridor, arm in arm.
‘How was your trip?’ she asked.
‘The usual. Did you manage all right on your own?’
‘Oh yes. I watched some Netflix and had an early night. You haven’t forgotten we have tickets for the theatre tonight? With Peter and Fiona.’
‘No, I hadn’t forgotten. Not great timing though. You might have to nudge me if I drop off.’ He patted her hand affectionately and kissed the side of her head.
20
TOBY HAD received two messages from Peter since they’d met, the second one marked with a red exclamation mark, and, having read and digested them, he wasn’t sure what to do. He had tried his father again but received another answerphone message. To be fair, his dad had called him back twice since his pizza-alone night, but they kept missing each other. It was probably just as well, as he didn’t really want to let on what a predicament he was in, and he might let it slip if they did connect.
Toby had seen Martine in the office on the morning of James’ return, but she had made no attempt to approach him or contact him and he was certainly not going to make the first move. Of course, he could try confiding in Juan, currently ensconced in the shower singing ‘Despacito’ at the top of his voice, and with all the right words, but Toby was reticent about sharing so much with such a new acquaintance.
And Juan didn’t take life very seriously, Toby had discovered. Absolutely wonderful when you wanted to let your hair down or get some advice on what to say to a prospective love interest but not much help when bigger issues were at stake. And while the girls had flocked towards Juan on their first serious night out together, no doubt attracted by his olive complexion, flamboyant style and skinny jeans, and this had led directly to Toby bringing ‘Marion’ home for the night, he would have much preferred Nita, Juan’s conquest. Thankfully, Marion had left early the next morning and had not called again.
Poor Toby. That was not all that was bothering him. He had pretended to follow everything Juan had told him about Project Connect, and Juan had been patient with his explanation, before joking around again, and suggesting they crack open a few beers, but Toby didn’t understand it all. He could follow the theory of linking to the test cars, although he doubted he could accurately reproduce the necessary steps himself, but he really couldn’t comprehend how the cars communicated with each other and what channels needed to be open, in order for them to do so. He wondered if he could conduct some independent research, quietly. It would be embarrassing to ask Juan to explain it all again.
Toby checked the time. They were supposed to be leaving in fifteen minutes for a party of one of Juan’s friends, and Toby had been looking forward to it, till he saw Peter’s messages. He plucked at his hair then he squeezed his own biceps. Not bad, given he did nothing other than the occasional game of tennis. But he should probably shower too if he was going to look at his best.
He muted his phone, turned it face down and left it on the kitchen worktop.
‘Juan? How much longer are you going to be?’ he called out. ‘I’d like a shower too. And I am the landlord.’
21
JAMES AND MARTINE greeted Peter and Fiona in the foyer of the National Theatre. Usually they would meet for a drink beforehand, but James had decided instead to freshen up at home, and since becoming teetotal a few years previously, he found bars a real struggle, even though he would never let on.
‘Ooh, don’t you look fabulous,’ Fiona kissed Martine on the cheek. And James thought Fiona had never spoken a truer word. Martine was dressed all in black, her skin-tight, leather pencil skirt and polo-neck jumper accentuating her curves and her high stilettos, which brought her almost up to his height, emphasising her slender calves.
‘You too,’ Martine replied, charitably and Fiona blushed. ‘I love that lipstick. Where’s it from?’
The two women disappeared off to the ladies together, chatting away, and James rolled his programme up into a cylinder. He was feeling particularly anxious this evening, not only because of the way his last meeting with Peter had ended, but also because he worried Peter might have already heard from the other manufacturers that they would not conform. Although perhaps that would be sufficient for Alan to relent and confirm SEDA was on the government list after all.
‘It’s so good the girls get on well,’ Peter commented, and James reflected on how much Martine detested being referred to as a ‘girl’.
‘Yes. What do you think they’re talking about?’
‘I haven’t a clue.’
‘What does Fiona do again? I’ve forgotten.’
‘She works in marketing, for a pharmaceutical company.’
‘That’s right. That must be interesting. Does she bounce her ideas off you?’ As James said the words, he stifled a laugh. Peter’s belly was certainly ample enough for the trampoline metaphor to be appropriate.
‘I don’t let her talk about work. She’s lucky she’s allowed to have a job.’
James frowned. Then Peter burst out laughing.
‘Had you there, for a moment, didn’t I? Yes, she’s always singing jingles and making me watch hours of advertisements. It’s a good antidote to my day job. Is Martine still working at that homeless shelter?
‘Yes. She seems to find it rewarding, more than her modelling career ever was, so she says.’
‘Good for her. Not everyone can be academic, can they? I bet she was stunning when you fi
rst met her. Still a very attractive woman, if you don’t mind me saying. You’re a lucky man.’
James managed half a smile. Was it really acceptable for Peter to tell him how much he admired Martine’s looks? He wasn’t certain, these days, what was allowed. Martine and Fiona returned, still deep in conversation.
‘I just had a wonderful idea,’ Peter said, as they entered the auditorium together. ‘Fi, you could use Martine in one of your commercials, couldn’t you? You’re always saying you need older, presentable women who’ve lived a bit, not just those blond, wispy types who look like they would blow away in the wind.’
Fiona frowned and Martine did her best not to appear affronted. ‘That’s what we were just discussing, actually,’ Fiona said, winking at Martine.
‘Oh,’ Peter appeared genuinely surprised.
‘I’d love to,’ Martine replied. ‘We’re going to talk about it over coffee this week.’
Martine allowed Peter and Fiona to enter their row first, before following herself, placing James at the end of their group. James fidgeted as his knees knocked against the seat in front and he resigned himself to another evening sitting twisted and askew, which would have to be fixed by some judicious yoga later on.
‘You OK?’ Martine asked, behind her hand, after sharing another joke with Fiona.
‘Mm. You’re not really going to do a pharmaceutical advertisement are you?’ he asked.
Martine patted his knee.
‘Spoilsport,’ she said. ‘I think it sounds like fun.’
‘I’m not sure we should have come,’ James muttered under his breath.
‘Just focus on the play. It’s had rave reviews. Can Peter take a look at the programme?’ Martine nudged James’ arm.
James handed the programme down the line, with apologies for its crumpled state although, in reality, he wasn’t at all sorry. Peter never bought his own programme or stumped up for the interval drinks, however many times James treated him to events like this. He would insist that it was ‘protocol’, not wanting to be seen to be preferring one business contact over another, but James knew it was because he was mean.
For a short moment, as the music began and an aged Salieri strode onto the stage and raised his arms as if conducting the orchestra inside his own head, James wondered if Peter would pass the programme back with a copy of the government list tucked inside, with SEDA’s name right at the top. Then he would enjoy the rest of the evening, safe in the knowledge that the future of his company was secure.
Maybe he would ask Peter subtly in the interval about the progress of the list, drop it into the conversation, allude to it in passing? He knew it was a bad idea but the thought that he could ask, if he wished to, sustained him throughout the first half of the play.
10th October
22
JAMES STRODE purposefully out of the modern office block as the minute hand on his Omega Seamaster nudged 2.35pm. He had been visiting one of his suppliers and was delighted to see that they had taken on board all his suggestions for the new design of the seats for the latest model.
He hung his jacket on the hook in the back of his car, smoothing it down and checking in his top pocket for his favourite pen. Then he walked around to the passenger side, wiping away some stray blades of grass, which had attached themselves to his back bumper, and deposited his brief case, iPad and notebook on the seat. He tapped the car, companionably, on its roof, twice, before retracing his steps to the driver’s side.
Once inside the car, he allowed his back to sink into the upholstery, then closed his eyes and double-checked he was feeling supported and comfortable, even though he had only arrived two hours earlier and, to his knowledge, no one had touched his car in between. Next, he reviewed the position of wing mirrors and rear-view mirror before pressing the ignition.
‘Hello. I’m VERA, your voice-activated, enhanced, road-experience assistant.’ The woman’s voice rang out from the four speakers situated in the front part of the car.
‘Hello VERA. You sound as perky as ever. It’s James. Back to the office please.’
‘Hello James. I’ll calculate time to destination for you. That should take twenty-three minutes if we go by the most direct route. Is that OK?’
‘Yes. Thank you, VERA. I’m surprised it’s so quick. Same as last time, when we travelled at eleven. Are you sure?’
‘Current time to destination, twenty-three minutes exactly.’
‘OK. You’re the boss.’
‘Please put on your seat belt and I will let you know when we are near our destination. Would you like to listen to the radio?’
‘The usual please.’
‘Is “the usual please” Radio Four?
‘Do you know, I’m going to be radical today, VERA.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t understand which channel you required.’
‘My fault. I wasn’t clear. Let’s try Classic FM, at least for the first five minutes. I might as well try and relax before I get to my next meeting. God knows there will be little time to relax once I’m there.’
‘Switching to Classic FM. Classic FM is playing Gustav Holst’s The Planets.’
‘Is it really? Which movement?’
‘It is “Mars, The Bringer of War.”’
‘I think that’s a little heavier than I was anticipating. How about you go to my Spotify playlist and play that aria I like from The Pearl Fishers?’
‘Searching for Pearl Fishers aria.’
‘Ah!’
As the strings began to play, James unfastened his top button and reclined his chair just one click. Then he reached over to the passenger seat and grabbed his iPad.
‘James. Would you like the seat warmer on?’
‘No thanks, VERA.’
‘There is chilled water in the box next to you. Do help yourself. Can I help you with anything else?’
‘No. That’s everything for now.’
‘The compartment is currently maintained at twenty degrees Celsius. If you wish to change the temperature please let me know, beginning your request “can you change the temperature please?”.’
‘I understand but it’s good for now.’
‘Temperature outside is 18 degrees Celsius.’
‘Great. Thank you.’
‘Should I let you know when we are approaching “Villa Italia”? Last time you purchased an Americano coffee.’
‘No thank you. I don’t drink coffee in the afternoons any more. You should know that. I have enough problems sleeping as it is. I should like you to be quiet now and let me work. If I need anything else I shall let you know.’
‘Thank you, James. If you wish to switch off VERA, please press the red button to the right of the steering wheel. Wishing you a pleasant journey.’
23
THERESE BEGAN the walk home from the dental surgery. The sunlight was seeping through the plumy clouds and she draped her jacket over her arm.
Her back was sore and her breasts were swollen, but she couldn’t help but succumb to the smile which tugged at the edges of her mouth. She had done it. A second morning at work this week and looking forward to the third. Three children under five, well including five, and her brain was still functioning. In fact, it was feeling decidedly spritely and raring to go, although admittedly the rest of her was fading fast.
She felt the familiar buzz of an incoming message on her phone but resisted the temptation to take a look. She had told her mum she’d most likely be back by 1.30, but Ella had had to rush in to help when one of the patients felt unwell, so she’d run slightly over. She picked up her step, just a little, not wanting to rush, savouring her last minutes of relative freedom, flicking at her hair with the tips of her fingers, thinking that she might enquire if her mother-in-law would come over for a couple of hours next week, so she could get her lowlights done.
As she turned into her street, she quickened her pace even more and felt her heart rate begin to rise. A rush of endorphins and she was buoyed along by her own sense of wellbeing and optimism.
Jacquie, her mother, was seated in an armchair feeding Ruby when she arrived home. Therese’s smile quickly dropped away.
‘Mum! I asked you not to feed her again,’ she wailed.
‘She was hungry love. I’m sorry. You can express, can’t you?’
Therese shut her eyes tight and blinked back the tears that were threatening to escape. She pressed her hands to her breasts.
‘Didn’t you have a good morning?’ Jacquie asked. ‘You don’t have to go back if it’s too much for you, you know.’
Jacquie plucked the bottle gently from Ruby’s lips, placed it down next to her and lifted Ruby over her shoulder. Ruby beamed at Therese and Therese wiped her eyes and sniffed.
‘I did. It was really good. I can’t wait to get back, actually,’ she said.
Jacquie’s nose wrinkled. ‘You can take Ruby, if you want,’ she said. ‘I’m only half way through the feed. I suppose it doesn’t matter if I throw the rest of the formula away.’ She tapped Ruby’s back lightly. Therese retreated.
‘No. It’s a shame to waste it. I’ll go upstairs and change and then I’ll get the pump. I’ve got a few minutes still before I go for the other two. And I don’t want to spoil my work clothes, do I?’
24
MARTINE HAD arrived at the office at around 11am. Toby had noticed her flitting through the reception area with a laptop under her arm, then reviewing designs in the factory for around half an hour – not that he’d been keeping tabs on her – but then she had disappeared. He had asked each of the receptionists if they had seen her, but no one had.
Then, around 1.45, he saw her emerging from the far side of the lake, talking animatedly to Juan. They stopped halfway across the grass, with Martine pointing back along the path. She carried a jumper draped over her arm and as she shook it out, Juan suddenly raised his hands to either side of his head with his index fingers facing forwards. Then he bent over and began to paw at the ground with his foot.