by Jane Fallon
‘Yep,’ is all I can manage. I go into my office, shut the door and check my email. The one about Glen was sent from Emma’s computer at five to two.
‘Fuck’s sake,’ I say to no one.
‘I swear I didn’t send it.’
Emma is tearful. It’s Friday morning and I’ve been fuming all night about the situation at work. I’m talking to her in the print room, away from prying, gloating eyes.
‘I know you didn’t. I just needed to check in case Glen had had some kind of bang on the head or something.’
She sniffs. Pulls a tissue out of her sleeve and blows her nose. ‘What is going on?’
‘It’s nothing for you to worry about. I think someone’s got it in for me, that’s all, and they think it’s funny to make me look stupid. Just change your password and make sure no one sees you entering the new one.’
‘Who’s got it in for you?’ she says, wide-eyed. ‘And why? I thought you got on with everyone. Well, not Juliet so much. Oh, is it her?’
I don’t want to tell her who it is. I don’t want to risk Roz finding out I’m bad-mouthing her. That I’ve put all the pieces together. She’ll go into denial mode. Start hurling counter-punches. I need to catch her in the act. Not that I think Emma is indiscreet, not in the slightest, but things have a habit of leaking out once they’re said aloud. But, equally, it’s not fair on Juliet to allow Emma to think it’s her. ‘No. I don’t think she would be that mean. Listen, I can’t really talk about it, OK? But from now on could you let everyone know that any messages have to go through you? And then you can check they’re legit before I make a twat of myself again.’
‘Of course. I’m really sorry, Holly, that this is happening to you …’
‘And I know you won’t but don’t talk about it to anyone.’
‘I won’t. I swear.’
Dee and I are back on the sofa, waiting for Hattie, 34, a dental hygienist who’s into fiction and hygge crafts. Of the five new hopefuls that have offered themselves up as potential tenants she’s the only one I can bear to meet (the others having been rejected on the basis of being too smug, too religious, too eager to please and downright scary).
I sigh loudly. ‘We’ll just let her have a quick whizz round and then we can forget about it for this evening.’
‘Who knows?’ Dee says. ‘Maybe Hattie will be your dream lodger.’ I don’t know why she’s suddenly turned into Pollyanna.
I untie my hair, run my fingers through it and tie it up again. ‘Don’t let me offer it to her just because I’m desperate.’
‘I promise I’ll wrestle you to the ground if you try.’
I fill Dee in on today’s work trauma, and she’s incensed on my behalf.
‘You need to fight back,’ she says. ‘I think she’s trying to make sure you don’t get through your probation.’
Shit. ‘I can’t believe she’d be that vile,’ I say, although I’m not sure I really mean it. Who knows? ‘And besides, I have no proof she’s done anything. It really could all be Juliet. Or Lorraine. Or someone in a different department.’
‘Yeah, right. What would Lorraine have to gain from it?’
‘Fuck knows.’
‘At the very least we now know Roz is a liar. And a convincing one at that.’
The doorbell rings before I can answer. I stand up reluctantly. ‘Here goes.’
I open the front door, an old hand at this now. On the step is a tiny woman swaddled in a big black puffa coat.
‘Hattie?’
I half expect her to say ‘No, I’m collecting for my sponsored swim at school’ but instead she smiles and says yes, she is.
She makes nice noises at the room and then I take her to the kitchen via the bathroom. My heart’s not quite in it, if I’m being honest.
‘I don’t really cook much,’ she says. ‘If it was OK with you I have a little fridge and a microwave and I’d just put them in my room. I’d only really need to come in here to fill the kettle and wash up.’
Now my ears perk up. This sounds good. ‘That would be fine. Do you have a TV too? Because the living room’s, you know …’
‘Just my computer,’ she says. She has a quiet voice. Not so quiet that it’s hard to hear, but it’s quite soothing. ‘I watch everything on there anyway. Netflix.’
‘So, you’re a dental hygienist?’ I feel as if I should start making an effort.
She nods. ‘Private practice in Marylebone. I work ten till six, Monday to Friday, and then most weekends I go and stay with my mum in Eastbourne, to give the carers a break. She has MS.’
‘Wow,’ I say. ‘That’s rough.’
She smiles, showing little white even teeth. I imagine her spending all her tea breaks at work flossing with the practice’s state-of-the-art equipment. ‘Not really. I just need to get her meals and make sure she takes her meds. And it’s lovely down there. I like getting out of London.’
‘Would you like a drink?’ I say. ‘And then come and say hi to my friend in the other room, and we can chat through anything you want to know. If you think you might be interested, that is.’
‘Oh, I definitely am. Water would be lovely.’
‘Or a glass of wine?’
She accepts my offer and I pour one for each of us and take her through to meet Dee. Hattie takes off the giant coat and perches on the edge of the chair, hands folded in her lap. She looks like a kid dressed in her mum’s clothes but I like her style. DMs and skinny jeans with a big baggy jumper that hangs down over her hands. Dee raises her eyebrows at the wine and I raise mine back to indicate – hopefully – that she’s a possible.
‘So, Hattie was just saying that she goes away at the weekends to look after her mum,’ I say, once they’ve introduced themselves.
‘Oh,’ Dee says. ‘Great. I mean, not great but, you know …’
Hattie laughs. ‘It’s OK. I know people like their own space. I do too, to be honest. And it’s not every single weekend. Just … I mean, I don’t want to get your hopes up.’
She’s funny. I like her.
‘Where do you live now?’ Dee again.
‘I rent a room in Maida Vale. I’ve been there for three years. I love it but my landlady’s selling. Well, sold actually. It’s about to go through. Oh, she said she’d be happy to give a reference.’
‘Excellent,’ I say. ‘So, how soon could you move in?’
She jumps as Smokey appears from nowhere and leaps on to her lap. ‘Hello, gorgeous,’ she says, ruffling his ears. Tick. Another item off the list. ‘Sooner rather than later if that was OK. I want to be out of Mary’s – that’s my landlady’s – hair before she has to start packing up. But if you needed a few weeks that’d be OK too. She wouldn’t mind …’
I look at Dee. I want to offer Hattie the room before someone else snaps her up but, of course, I’ve promised to be cautious. ‘OK, well, obviously I have to have a think and I’m sure you do too …’
Dee is scowling at me. She gives me a hard stare as if to say ‘What are you doing?’ I realize that for all her scepticism she’s thinking the same as me.
‘Oh, sod it,’ I say. ‘If you want the room, it’s yours. You can move in whenever you like.’
‘Really?’ Her face lights up. ‘That’s fantastic. I’d love to.’
We talk about the practicalities and then she leaves after we agree she can move her stuff in on Sunday. I need to get some kind of contract for her to sign before then. Shit, I should have been more organized instead of hoping it’d all go away.
‘What is she, like twelve?’ Dee says as soon as Hattie is out of sight.
‘Thirty-four. She reminds me of Winona Ryder.’
‘Cool Winona or crazy shoplifting Winona?’
‘Cool Winona. Did I do the right thing? You liked her, right?’
‘Definitely. She’s perfect. The weekends away were the clincher.’
‘I know. I mean, poor woman, with her mum being ill and all that … and it feels as if she’ll spend most of her time i
n her room when she’s here.’
Dee holds her glass aloft. ‘Cheers to that.’
And just like that I have a lodger.
13
Sunday is a beautiful Spring day. The kind that makes you feel as if everything is going to be OK. Dee and I have decided to walk into town for lunch so that she can get her steps up and I can keep out of the way while Hattie moves herself in.
Yesterday I phoned the number she gave me for her current landlady Mary and I left a message when it went to voicemail. Later, when I came back from Waitrose, there was a return message. Yes, Mary could confirm that Hattie was a good tenant. Always paid her rent on time, no problems to report.
I downloaded a generic contract and she popped round last night to sign it, and to pick up the keys. I was a bit anxious about her coming over without Dee being there. What if it was awkward? What if I got cold feet? Decided she was actually really annoying, or she suddenly announced she liked to dissect animals in her spare time, or listen to ‘Galway Girl’ by Ed Sheeran on repeat. Or even once a week.
I could see her looking around, appraising the place, probably wondering if she’d done the right thing. It struck me then that this must be as awkward for her as it was for me. Moving in somewhere where you’ll always feel like a somewhat unwelcome guest. So I offered her a drink, and we sat at the kitchen table for a while, nursing cups of tea and chatting. I like her. I think we’ll get on.
‘It’ll be about thirteen thousand by the time we get there and back,’ Dee says in the same excited tone a six-year-old uses to tell you it’s their birthday tomorrow.
‘Who said anything about walking back? It’s all uphill.’
‘That’s the best bit,’ she says, swigging back the last of her coffee.
‘You really are a fucking freak.’ I take her mug from her, rinse it out in the sink. I don’t want to send out the message that leaving dirty dishes in the kitchen is acceptable. I’m hit with a wave of panic. Am I ever going to be feel as if I can be myself in my own home again? Wallow in my own chaos if I feel like it? I bat it away. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
Dee likes to move at a pace that can only be described as ‘training for the Olympic power-walking event’. We’ve only just set off when I start thinking this is a bad idea. She’s barely breaking a sweat while I can hardly talk without wheezing.
‘When’s your story conference thing?’ She knows I’ve been angsting about making sure it runs smoothly. Emma organizes all the practicalities like booking the room and food and drink but I have to produce a document that contains all the stories – submitted by both the writers and the editors – in some kind of sensible order and provide everyone with an up-to-date timeline of what is happening to each of the characters, and the actors’ contract dates. I want everything to be perfect. We always hold it in a local hotel, over two days so there are no interruptions, but that also means there’s no fallback if you forget anything.
‘Monday and Tuesday week. It’s come round so quickly.’
‘You’re all prepared though, right?’
I nod. ‘Pretty much. There’re still a few stories trickling in, but everything else is done.’
‘Thank God. I feel as if I’m as nervous as you.’
‘That’s why I love you,’ I say. ‘Although I’d love you a whole lot more if you’d walk at a pace where I could breathe at the same time.’
‘See,’ she says, looking at her wrist. ‘We’ve done a thousand steps already.’
‘Great. Do keep me posted every thousand, won’t you? Because I’d hate not to know.’
‘You can scoff but you’d be amazed by how many people barely even do that some days.’
I laugh. ‘I wouldn’t though. I don’t have an opinion.’
We keep on motoring down the hill towards Regent’s Park. ‘What’s Gavin doing today?’
Dee rolls her eyes. ‘Sulking.’
‘What about?’
‘He wanted us to go to Homebase.’
‘Oh shit, sorry.’ I sometimes get the impression that Gavin finds Dee’s friendship with me a bit irritating. Not that he doesn’t like me. He does, or I think he does. But I think he feels he’d see a lot more of her if I wasn’t around. Which is pretty unfair considering how often he goes away for work. I’ve sometimes worried about being the needy time-rich friend but I also get the feeling that Dee often likes an excuse to come and hang out at mine. They’re happy in so far as I can tell, although lately I’ve felt as if they’ve been drifting apart. Not quite the unit they once were. I first met Dee when I was doing some temping years ago and I ended up covering mornings for someone who was off for four weeks at the doctor’s surgery where she was then a receptionist. She and Gavin had only been married a year at that point. It’s nearly twelve now.
‘God, no, don’t be. It’s the last thing I want to be doing with my weekend. He’s got some idea in his head about retiling the bathroom and he’d only want me to help.’
‘OK, well, I’ll consider it as a favour then. You owe me.’
‘He’s doing my head in, if I’m being honest,’ she says, suddenly serious. ‘Ever since … you know … he’s got really irritable. I feel as if I can’t do anything right.’
She doesn’t need to say any more. The ‘you know’ refers to the fact that Dee and Gavin decided to draw a line under their years-long attempt to get pregnant a few months ago. They had no idea what the problem was; there didn’t seem to be anything fundamentally wrong with either of them. But the three attempts at IVF that the NHS allowed them had failed. She was about to turn forty and was exhausted by the whole thing, the disappointments and, even worse, the false hopes. Dee had wanted to try for adoption, but Gavin had said enough was enough. He just wanted them to get on with their lives with each other. She never really talks about it but I know she’s devastated.
‘Oh, Dee.’ I know she can’t bear sympathy so I have to tread carefully. ‘You can come round and make me walk stupidly long distances any time you feel like getting out of the house. And if you want to talk about it, you know …’
I leave it hanging out there. She doesn’t say anything, just reaches out an arm and drapes it round my shoulders for a second, pulling me towards her.
I get back to mine at about half past three. Dee and I had lunch in Selfridges and then perused each floor from top to bottom like a pair of forensic scientists. She bought a Ted Baker cardigan and I found a peacock-blue notebook and some Benefit goodies, and then I persuaded her to share a taxi home. So, all in all, it was a good day.
‘Still nearly eight thousand,’ she said, waving her wrist at me in the cab, and I smiled indulgently.
‘Do I get a gold star?’
‘No, but your heart will thank you.’
She offers to come in with me, but I feel as if that’s a bit unfair on Hattie on her first day. And besides, I need to be a grown-up.
‘Come over tomorrow night if you feel like it, though.’
She grimaces. ‘I might. I’ll call you.’
Inside the flat is quiet and I wonder if Hattie has gone out exploring her new area. Or if she’s even moved in at all. In the kitchen I open the cupboard I allocated her and there is a neat pile of plates, and a couple of pans. I’m tempted to peek in her room, but I know that’s a line I shouldn’t cross. And a couple of minutes later when I hear the door open and her tiptoe out to the bathroom I’m glad I didn’t.
‘Hi,’ I say. I know I have to make an effort. I draw the line at offering her a cup of tea, though, despite the fact I’ve just put the kettle on. I don’t want to set a precedent I’ll regret.
‘Oh, hi.’ She smiles.
‘Are you getting settled in?’
‘Yes. Lovely, thanks. Have you been doing anything fun?’
‘Dee and I walked to Selfridges,’ I say.
She looks at me as if I’ve announced I’ve just done Land’s End to John o’Groats. ‘Can you do that from here?’
‘You can but it’s more about the walk
than the destination. I was knackered by the time I got there.’
‘I might try that one day. You’ll have to give me the best route.’
‘Sure.’
She pushes open the bathroom door. ‘Well … see you later.’
I fill my mug quickly. By the time I hear her come out and go back to her room I’m ensconced in the living room with my tea and a book. That wasn’t so bad.
14
Emma has proofread all the documents for the story conference. There are still tweaks to be made, so I hold her off printing them for now but at least I know they’re in pretty good shape.
‘Don’t show them to anyone else. Apart from Glen, obviously, if he asks.’
‘Of course not. And I’m going to change my password once a week.’ I’ve made her suspicious of everyone, and I feel a bit guilty, but it’s probably not a bad thing at the moment. She actually asked Joe what he was up to when she saw him in the print room the other day. He said ‘printing something’ and, funnily enough, she had no answer to that.
‘Thanks.’ I smile at her to, hopefully, put her at ease, but it probably looks more like a crocodile is coming to get her. ‘I really appreciate your help.’
I’m head down in a script when there’s a tap on my door and Roz is standing there. Hot-pink jumper, red skirt, orange tights and red shoes. Orange seahorses dangling from her ears.
‘Am I allowed to come and talk to you any more? Emma told us all we have to go through her now.’
She obviously has no idea I’m on to her. I’m tempted to tell her I’m busy but keeping my enemy close feels like a sound self-preservation strategy so I force a smile. And besides, if I’m being honest I could do with a distraction. Now I no longer have someone to exchange a bit of mindless chatter with the days feel very long.
‘Of course. What’s up?’
‘Nothing. I’m bored. It’s not the same now you’re shut away in here all the time. I have no one to play with.’ She flops into the chair. Looks out at Glen and Emma talking in the main office. ‘Do you think Mrs Glen trims the beard for him? Or do you think he does it himself?’