by Daniel Hurst
This is not how it is supposed to be. Megan should be pottering around the house now while I should be chasing a small ball around a squash court and kicking my colleague’s arse. Yet here I am standing like a spare part on the street while this busy city’s inhabitants rush past me on their way to an enjoyable evening.
Suddenly, I see the door open, and I lean into the lamppost beside me, which I know will obstruct the view of whoever is coming out. I’m far enough away not to be seen by my wife, and there are certainly enough people around to make me blend in, but the lamppost is an additional precautionary measure.
Then I see her.
Megan, stepping outside the office with a big grin on her face.
Pausing to take her mobile phone out of her handbag, she looks at the screen for a moment before turning left and walking quickly in the direction of Covent Garden.
With the interview done, she is now on her way to meet the recruiter for a drink.
I am right behind her.
23
MEGAN
“Cheers,” I say as I touch my wine glass against the one in Sally’s hand.
“Cheers,” Sally replies before we both take a moment to enjoy a sip of the refreshing beverage that we ordered from the smartly dressed waiter not long after we arrived in this bar.
I had been hoping that we would get a bottle to share instead of just two separate glasses, but there is still time for that later. I guess Sally isn’t sure if I’m the kind of person that she would like to share a whole bottle of wine with after just meeting me today.
It’s my job to show her that I am.
“So you think it went well then?” Sally asks me again, even though I have already told her that it did.
“It went great. They seemed to like me and the answers I gave them. But you can never know for sure, I suppose.”
“I knew you’d do well. That’s why I tried to persuade you to change your mind.”
I’m touched by Sally’s faith in me, even if part of her is still chasing the commission that would come if I was to be successful and be offered the role. I wonder how often she invites candidates out for a drink. Maybe she does it all the time. Maybe she only does it if they really need persuading, like I did. Or maybe I’m the first one. Whichever it is, I’m just glad to be out of the tense interview and in this cosy little bar with a glass of something fruity in my hand.
Most of all, I’m just glad to be out of the house.
“So, do you come here after work all the time?” I ask, looking around at the other tables that are filled with people who have just got out of the office.
“Not as much as I would like to,” Sally says with a mischievous grin. “I usually work late and then just go straight home.”
“Where’s home?” I ask, genuinely interested.
“Camden. I share a flat with one of my friends from uni. It’s small, but it’s in a great location.”
“That sounds nice,” I say, because it does.
I would love to live with a friend in the heart of a city. The girly nights in. The girly nights out. And all the shenanigans in between.
“What about you? You’re in Sunningdale, aren’t you?”
“Yep, sunny Sunningdale!” I say, a little too enthusiastically.
I need to calm down. It’s only a drink for god’s sake.
“It’s okay, I suppose,” I add, trying to play it cool or at least a little cooler than I played it a few seconds ago.
“Are you kidding? Isn’t it nice out there? I’ve not been, but I’ve been to Ascot, which is nearby, I think.”
“Yeah, Ascot’s only about ten minutes away. It is nice. But it’s very quiet, especially where we live.”
“Quiet is good, trust me. You should try living in Camden. I get woken up every night by drunk men singing on the street.”
I laugh, but a little too hard, and I snort when I try to stop. Then I compose myself.
“I don’t know. I think silence can drive you as mad as noise sometimes.”
Sally nods as if she understands, even though I doubt she does. But I appreciate the gesture, and it prompts me to keep going.
“It was why I applied for the job. I was looking for something to get me out of the house. But I should have discussed it properly with my husband before I did.”
“Why’s that?” Sally asks, picking up her glass and taking another sip.
I had been hoping to learn more about Sally rather than just talking about myself, but I guess being on my own so much means I have very little else to talk about.
“He was just a little disappointed that I felt like I needed to go back to work. He thought I was happy at home, which I was but...”
“It got boring?”
“Yes, exactly!” I say, glad that I have somebody who can see things from my point of view.
“I can see how that might be the case,” Sally says. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’d love not to have to worry about money and give up commuting on the tube every day. But working can be fun as well, especially recruitment.”
“I didn’t realise how important it was to be around other people all day until I spent so much time on my own,” I confess, wondering why I find it easier to talk to this woman I have just met rather than my husband of three years.
“Well, it doesn’t sound like it has affected you too much if the interview is anything to go by. It sounds like you did great!”
I smile at Sally, even though her words are also a reminder of why we are here. We’re not friends; we’re just two people brought together by the need to work. She is just doing her job, and I am just trying to find one. The thought of telling her that I can’t go ahead with the application even if they offer me the role is not a pleasant one, because then I know she won’t care about meeting me for drinks anymore.
That’s why I don’t mention anything about how I told my husband I wouldn’t even attend the interview, nor do I say about how I promised him that I would not go back to work and would instead find other ways to fill my time at home during the day.
But what I do is catch the waiter’s eye as he passes by our table. Then, as he is standing beside us waiting to take my order, I ask Sally if she would like to get a bottle instead of a glass.
I am thrilled when she says yes.
24
CRAIG
I should be savouring my first pint now with Danny after a hard-fought win over him on the squash court. Instead, I am hanging around outside this wine bar in Covent Garden waiting for Megan and Sally to leave.
I can see them both now at the table by the window, a bottle in a bucket between them and a glass in each of their hands, chatting and laughing as if they are two old friends catching up after years apart.
Except they are not.
They have never met before, and I was hoping that they would never meet again. Yet this little meeting between the pair of them seems to be going on and on, just like the interview before it.
I’m leaning against a wall opposite the bar, taking turns looking at my wife in the window and the street performer running through his routine in the busy square nearby. So far, the clown has juggled, walked on stilts and done some strange kind of break-dance for the crowd that has gathered around him, and I’m sure he is enjoying himself. That’s more than can be said for me as I look away from his painted face and back to the sight of my wife enjoying a bottle of wine.
She obviously believes that she will be able to disguise how much alcohol she has consumed when I get home later, which is either foolish or an example of perhaps how much she is actually drinking these days. I remember when she used to be tipsy from just one glass of wine, but those days are long gone. All the daytime drinking saw to that. Now she can put plenty away without me knowing, or at least she thinks I don’t know. But just like I used to find those empty bottles hidden at the bottom of the bin bags at home, so too have I found out about her drinking tonight.
After all this time, I thought she would have real
ised that there isn’t a lot that she can do that gets past me. Yet the sight of her laughing and joking without a care in the world suggests that she believes this is one little incident that I won’t find out about.
How wrong she is.
I look at the woman sitting opposite my wife, and this is Sally, I presume. While I can’t be sure from this distance, she does look younger than my wife but not by much. I’d say she is in her late twenties, and she is attractive if a little plain. Blonde hair, black blouse, basic makeup. She wouldn’t stand out from this crowd in Covent Garden right now if she wasn’t sitting opposite my wife.
But she does stand out for that reason, and it is why I find myself staring at Sally, wanting to know what she is saying. I can guess what Megan is saying. Probably talking about me, about our house and about the fact that she hasn’t worked for three years. There isn’t anything else that she can talk about. But Sally is a mystery, and I have no idea what she could be saying that is having such a positive impression on my wife.
Megan laughs again before pulling the bottle from the bucket and topping up both their glasses. They’re having quite the night, and it’s not even seven yet. I wonder what time Megan will call it quits and say she has to leave, rushing back for her train so she can beat me home. She will know that I don’t usually walk through the front door until ten on Wednesday evenings after my night with Danny, so she still has some time to play with yet. The thought of her calculating the time as she sits there and laughs with this stranger is a frustrating one, and I feel like storming into that bar now and marching her out of there.
But that would only give away the fact that I have been following my wife’s movements, so it isn’t a viable option. I’ll have to be patient and wait for her to leave. It’s a good hour and a half to get home from here for Megan so she can’t stay too much past eight. That means I probably still have another hour or so out on this street.
At least that clown over there is getting paid for it.
25
MEGAN
This is going much better than I expected. I think Sally likes me and not just because I told her that my interview went well. I think she is genuinely enjoying herself in my company, which is just how I dreamt this night would go.
She has just left the table to go to the toilet, so I am currently sitting by myself, nursing the last of the wine bottle in my glass beside me. I want to order another one, and I can see the waiter hovering nearby to take a fresh order, but I’m not sure if Sally will go for it. We have had quite a lot already, and I don’t want her to think I have a problem with alcohol. But she is younger than me, so maybe this is just a quiet night for her.
Maybe it’s just me that is treating this like the big night that it is.
Sipping the last of my wine, I think about the long journey I have ahead of me to get home. It will take about an hour and a half to get from this bar in the beating heart of Covent Garden back to my dark and empty house in the silent countryside. That means that I need to leave about eight if I want to get back, have a shower and get into bed before Craig gets home.
That means I only have half an hour left with Sally.
Will I see her again? Will she want to see me again? Could we go on to become friends or is this purely a one-off borne from our two paths crossing when I applied for a job?
I don’t know the answer to those questions, but I am determined to find out.
And I am determined to have one more drink.
I wave to the waiter, and when he reaches my table, I ask him for two more glasses of wine. A bottle would have been too much to drink in the short time we have left, but a couple of glasses will be okay. I hope Sally is okay with me ordering another drink without her.
It’s only a few seconds since the waiter left my table before she returns, and I am about to tell her about the two fresh drinks we have coming before she cuts me off.
“So I just got a phone call from the guys at Papier Projects,” she begins, sliding into her seat with a big grin on her face. “And guess what? It’s good news!”
What? Is she really saying what I think she is saying?
“They offered me the job?” I ask and it sounds even more absurd when I say it out loud.
“Yeah, they loved you!” Sally replies, confirming this craziness. “They want me to ask you how you feel about starting a week on Monday.”
I’m trying to stay calm, but I can’t believe this is happening. I’m not even sure I want this to be happening. I only attended the interview today so that I could meet up with Sally afterwards. After all, I’ve already told Craig that I wouldn’t be going for the job.
What the hell is he going to say when I tell him that I got it?
“Are you serious?” I ask, because surely she can’t be.
“Yes, of course!”
“What did they say? Exact words?”
“They said they found you to be a very pleasant and confident woman, which I told them I agreed with. Then they said that they weren’t put off by the gap in your employment history and understand your situation about how you don’t need to work, but that you miss it. And then they said they were happy to offer you the job!”
This is unbelievable. It really does sound like I got the job. Somehow, I am now employed, despite telling my husband that I was going to stay at home all day like he wanted me too.
Ooops.
That’s when the waiter arrives at the table with a tray containing two fresh glasses of wine. Sally seems a little surprised by his appearance, so I quickly let her know that I ordered more drinks while she was gone. But she looks more than happy with that and picks up her full glass, before holding it out towards mine.
“Here’s to you, Megan. Congratulations on the new job!”
26
CRAIG
Finally, it looks like they are leaving. The wine glasses are now empty, and both women are standing up, still chatting but gathering up their belongings, which is a promising sign. It’s a little after eight, which is around the time I estimated that Megan would have to start making tracks if she wanted to get back home before I did tonight.
At least she is doing something predictable this evening.
The women briefly disappear from view as they leave the table by the window, but it isn’t long until I see them again, this time walking through the front door that leads onto the street. Maintaining my discreet position across the square, I watch as the women chat for another couple of minutes before eventually departing and leaving in separate directions.
I presume Megan is heading for the nearest Underground station, where she will take the tube back beneath the river to Waterloo Station before boarding the train that will call at Sunningdale an hour after that. Then I expect she will remove her clothes and makeup, shower, drink a tall glass of water to sober up and then get into bed where she will stay until I come home.
It will look like she has never been out, which will be just how she wants it to look. But appearances are deceptive.
I know the truth. I know what she has done.
I watch my wife walking away across the square, in the opposite direction to where the clown was performing earlier. After a few seconds have passed, I leave my position by the wall and start walking.
But it’s not my wife that I am following now.
It’s Sally.
27
SALLY
Today was a very productive day. Not only did I get a lot of work done in the offices of Red Royal Recruiters, but I successfully placed a candidate with one of our clients. Megan got the job at Papier Projects which means I get the commission that comes with it.
Go me.
To top it all off, I am feeling a little drunk right now after sharing far too much wine with Megan in one of my favourite bars in Covent Garden. I only set up the meeting as a way of persuading her to attend the interview today after she had initially turned it down. I had got the sense that she was a little lonely from my first few interactions with her s
o I had dangled the carrot of a drink with me if she would come into London and at least give the interview a try. Thankfully, she had agreed. Not only that, but she had gone and got the job.
Go Megan.
Okay, so she hasn’t officially accepted it yet, saying that she needs to go home and discuss it with her husband. That is slightly worrying, but she changed her mind once, so I am sure she can do it again. And to tip the scales in my favour, I have accepted her invitation to meet up for another drink at a later date.
My suspicions about her were right.
She is lonely.
There is no denying that Megan is a pleasant woman. Chatty, confident, funny. I can see why the guys at Papier Projects liked her. But it is also clear that she doesn’t get out much, nor does she have many friends to go for drinks with like the ones tonight. I’m not surprised by that considering she lives in the middle of nowhere and hasn’t worked for three years.
She’s hardly going to make new friends in her back garden.
I could tell that she was trying to play it cool and not come across as desperate while we shared stories across the table in the wine bar, but I could see beneath her façade. She was always a little too eager to laugh at my jokes, as well as slightly too keen when it came time to get another drink. It felt as if she didn’t want the night to end, which makes me feel a little sorry for her, even though I had a good time in her company.
To me, the thought of putting my feet up all day in a lovely house in the countryside without needing to go to work sounds like bliss, but maybe it isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Perhaps the small flat that I share with my best friend isn’t as bad as I think it is, even with the drunken men singing outside it at all hours. And maybe the fact I have to get up early and squeeze myself onto the tube to get to work isn’t that bad either. At least I walk into an office full of friendly faces, where there is always somebody to have a chat with over a cup of tea. I guess Megan doesn’t have anybody to talk to other than her husband and he is at work most of the day.