by Lisa Hall
‘Right. Kind of manic, going to that posh leisure centre down the road to do yoga with that girl. What’s her name? Sadie.’
I pause, my heart doing a funny stutter in my chest. ‘Mags…’
‘No, no. It’s fine. I only put you back together again after the whole Harry thing. But you know, as long as you have time for yoga with your new friends, that’s the most important thing, right?’ Mags pulls out a crumpled hand-rolled cigarette and lights it with a flourish. ‘Don’t worry about it, Em.’
‘There’s no need to be like that,’ I say, but I would feel the same way, I think to myself. Mags has every right to be annoyed with me. ‘I’ll come and see you next week, shall I? We can have lunch or something.’
‘What, you’ll invite me over to your big house, with your stone lions, and your big driveway, like you do all your other, new friends? I don’t think so, Emily, that’s not really my style is it?’ Mags turns and starts to walk away, but not before I see the hurt flash across her face. She turns back. ‘You’ve got some post, at the flat, by the way. I’ll send it on, shall I?’
I watch silently as Mags strolls away, an unsettled feeling sitting heavy in my stomach. I feel bad about neglecting Mags, of course I do; Mags was the one who gave me somewhere to live and helped me get back on my feet when everything went wrong with Harry. I’ve been a shit friend, I know that, but Mags was never perfect. I think of the way she wore my clothes without asking, the messages that never reached me, the way I woke up to find her standing at the end of my bed, apparently asleep. And now there’s something about the way Mags was with me that has left me feeling a little rattled, but I’m late and shaking the thought from my mind, I hurry up the road to a building on the corner.
I’ve timed it perfectly. Angus Beaton, head of children’s charity The Children’s Trust, is juggling his briefcase, hot coffee, a bagel and trying to get the door open with one hand.
‘Here, let me—’ I push gently past him, holding the door open and then cheekily sliding in after him.
‘Thank you.’ Angus is walking towards the lift, about to not give me another thought, but I follow him, the heels of my boots clacking across the tiled floor.
‘Mr Beaton, isn’t it?’ When he nods, I stick out a hand for him to shake before I laugh, nodding at the coffee in his left hand and the bagel in his right. No sign of the butterflies that are currently swarming in my stomach. ‘Maybe no handshake… I’m Emily Milligan.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Miss… Milligan.’ Frowning, Angus punches at the lift button with his thumb. ‘Was there something I could help you with? Do you have an appointment with me?’
‘It’s Mrs Milligan. Sorry, I don’t have an appointment, and I know I’m being a bit cheeky just turning up like this… although I prefer to say, motivated and acting on my own initiative,’ I give another tinkling laugh, as I follow him into the lift, ‘but it’s about your fundraising and communication department… my husband donates to you quite a lot, and from your literature you’ve sent to him, I understand you currently have a vacancy?’
It’s only later, when I have taken myself out for a celebratory lunch of sushi and Sauvignon, congratulating myself on taking the initiative and bagging myself what did – in the end – turn out to be a sort of job interview, although it is of course a voluntary position to begin with, just like Caro’s, that I remember about Mags, and the chill that settled on me when she left. It’s only now, when I’ve had a chance to sit and relax for five minutes, to process the whole conversation, that I realize what made me feel so rattled. How did Mags specifically know that I was doing a yoga class at the leisure centre? Even I didn’t know until that morning. I sip at my cold wine as I think, but the icy finger that runs down my back has nothing to do with the ice in my glass as another thought strikes me. How does Mags know where I live, when I’ve never given her the address?
Chapter Sixteen
Rupert and I are back on track after our rocky weekend, and I am trying to keep things that way. I haven’t mentioned seeing Mags, or the strange unsettled feeling that comes over me when I replay our conversation in my head, the way she knew where I lived, and where I had been. I’ve also pushed away the way Rupert’s face changed that night, contorted into some ugly expression of anger and something that almost looked like fear. If I close my eyes, Harry’s face replaces Rupert’s and I see him coming for me, spittle flying from his mouth as he shouts, vicious words pouring from his lips as he calls me a bitch and his outstretched hands close around my throat. Rupert is nothing like Harry, I tell myself as we snuggle onto the sofa together each evening, my head on his chest, his fingers entangled in my hair, our hearts beating in rhythm. Maybe Rupert is right; I am so worried about someone wrecking this happy place I’ve found myself in that I keep finding things that point to everything going wrong. There have been no more letters, no more texts, no more disturbances that make me feel watched, hunted. All I need now to make everything perfect is for Angus Beaton to call and offer me a job.
I am sat in bed, reluctant to start my Friday even though it’s nearly ten o’clock and Anya will be here at any minute to start cleaning the house, when my mobile rings. I check the screen, expecting it to be either Sadie or Rupert – after all, they are the only people who call me these days; Mags doesn’t have my new number and I haven’t heard from my mum since before the wedding, despite emailing her the photos – and when I see who it is my heart does a little leap in my chest. It’s Angus Beaton, calling from The Children’s Trust. I give a tiny yelp of excitement, pressing my hand to my mouth before smoothing back my curls, even though I know Angus can’t see me.
‘Hello?’ I inject a question into my voice, even though I have Angus’s number memorized, and I feel like I’ve been waiting forever for him to call me.
‘Ahhh… Mrs Milligan? Emily?’ He sounds different on the phone to how he does in real life, almost nervous.
‘Yes, this is Emily. Angus, how lovely to hear from you.’ I shift slightly in the bed, before pushing back the duvet and swinging my legs out, a shiver of anticipation running down my spine. I feel as though I’ve been waiting weeks for Angus to call, spending hours walking in the park, and doing class after class of yoga (although not at the one Sadie goes to) in an effort to pass the time every day. It feels wrong now to be lounging in bed when I hear whether Angus will let me come and work for him. I stand, pulling my long T-shirt down over my knickers, a faint chill about my legs where the heating has gone off.
‘Sorry it’s taken me a while to get back to you, I had a number of factors to consider, you understand?’ He sounds more confident now, more like the man I met in the office.
‘Of course, it’s no problem. I understand. I know I don’t have a lot of experience, but I am willing to learn, and as I said to you before, my husband is very committed to The Children’s Trust.’ I hold my breath, waiting for his response. I’m still not too sure why this charity is so important to Rupert, why he donates such a large amount to them every month; all I know is that if I can tell him I’m going to be working there I’m sure he’ll be pleased. He’ll understand that I’m doing the very best I can to fit in with what is important to him.
‘Listen, Emily, you were very impressive when you came to see me. Very impressive indeed…’
‘Thank you,’ I blurt out, wanting him to just say yes or no, to get to the point and stop beating around the bush.
‘But unfortunately, in this instance, we won’t be able to offer you the vacancy in our fundraising department.’
‘What?’ Pressing the phone hard against my ear, I want him to repeat it, sure that I have misheard him.
‘I’m really sorry, Emily. It’s vital that we get the right person.’ Angus is quiet, apologetic.
‘But it’s a voluntary position at first,’ I say, still not quite sure I have heard Angus correctly. If I’m honest, I thought I had it in the bag, and I was looking forward to having some sense of purpose back in my day. ‘I’m offering you
my time and my skills for nothing. I would have thought that that would be enough.’
‘Well, of course we appreciate that, but like I said, I had a number of factors to consider. I’m very sorry to disappoint you. We have events throughout the year – you’re more than welcome to come along and support us at these.’
I murmur something – I’m not even sure what I’ve said – into the phone and then hang up, sinking onto the chaise longue under the window sill. I can’t understand what has gone so wrong. Angus and I got along famously when I went to his office. Maybe that was the problem? Maybe I came on too strong? Perhaps I should have called him, rather than just turn up there, but I thought if I called, he might have hung up on me or I might not have even been able to get through to him at all. There must have been something I did wrong – I was offering my time for no pay – so why on earth would he turn that down? I get up from the chaise longue – Caro’s chaise longue – and move towards the bathroom, disappointment bitter on my tongue. There is that old familiar feeling of somehow failing, of somehow not being enough, lurking over my shoulder and I stare into the bathroom mirror, taking in every inch of my face. How would Caro have reacted to this? I think, pulling at the skin around my eyes, dismayed by the way it crinkles slightly under my fingertip, she’d probably have taken to her bed. You’re better than that, I tell myself.
I am already dressed, ready to go out for Miles’s birthday dinner when Rupert arrives home from work that evening. I perch on the chaise, smiling prettily at Rupert as he emerges from the en suite in a cloud of aftershave and scented steam, a small towel round his waist.
‘Come here.’ He pulls me to my feet, twirling me in my tight-fitting dress. ‘God, do we have to go out? Miles won’t even notice if we don’t turn up.’ He nibbles at my neck and my knees go weak.
‘Yes, we do. Miles has booked some place in town, and the cab will be here any minute.’ I kiss him back, already feeling better now that he’s home, and spin away towards the mirror to fix my hair. I watch him in the mirror as he smooths his hair down, fastens his shirt buttons and think again how lucky I am to be here, in this house, with him.
My good feeling doesn’t last too long, though. I don’t mention the call from Angus until we are in the cab on the way to the restaurant, and only then because he asks if I am OK.
‘Em, is everything OK? You’re very quiet.’ Rupert reaches for my hand, fiddling with the pair of diamond cut rings – one for engagement, one for wedding – that adorn my third finger.
‘Not really,’ I turn and give him a thin smile. I thought I had managed to convince myself that it didn’t matter, but clearly it does. To me, anyway. ‘I heard from Angus Beaton today.’
‘Angus Beaton?’ Rupert says, pulling his fingers away. ‘What are you doing talking to Angus Beaton?’
‘The Children’s Trust?’ I say hesitantly. ‘You donate to them every month, their letters are always sitting in the post pile. I went to see Angus, to see if I could start volunteering with him, but for some weird reason he said no. I did mention it to you when we went out for dinner. You said it was OK.’
Rupert is silent for a long moment, and I can feel the beginnings of a headache thumping at my temples. ‘Well,’ he says, eventually, ‘it’s not like you need to work anyway, is it? Probably for the best.’
‘It’s not about working, Rupert,’ I say testily, a buzz of irritation vibrating under my skin. ‘I just don’t understand why he turned me down. I mean, I’m offering him my time and my skills, for free – at first anyway – and they are a charity, for goodness’ sake. You’d think that they’d snap my hand off for offering, especially since…’ I stop, turning to look out of the window. ‘I thought Angus and I got on really well, the interview was excellent. I’m just disappointed, I suppose. I was looking forward to having something to do every day.’
Rupert says nothing for a moment. ‘I’m sure something else will come up,’ he says eventually, the relief when our cab pulls up outside the restaurant and he can avoid talking about it anymore evident on his face. He helps me from the car, pulling me to his side as we step over a large puddle. ‘Come on,’ he says, squeezing my shoulder a bit too tightly, ‘it’s not the end of the world. I’m sure, if you really, really want to volunteer then there will be somewhere else that could make good use of you.’
I can’t help feeling as though Rupert has just brushed the whole thing away like it’s nothing. Again. And it’s not nothing, not to me anyway. I can’t help believing that he wouldn’t have reacted that way if Caro had been upset. I have to force myself not to think like that, and I sneak a glance at Rupert, as we enter the upmarket Chinese restaurant Miles has chosen, reminding myself that he’s my husband now.
I shake the feeling off, determined not to spoil the evening and soon feel better once we get inside. The others are already here and are seated with the men at one end of the table and the wives at the other, and I won’t lie, I feel a little relieved by this seating arrangement. At least I can relax and have a drink with Sadie and Amanda without having to pretend I’m not annoyed with Rupert. I hope they will be a little more sympathetic to my disappointment.
‘You look gorgeous, I love how you’ve done your hair.’ Sadie sits down next to me and passes me a pisco sour. I have never had one before, not that I’m going to admit that to Sadie, and the combination of pisco and lime dances on my tongue.
‘Thanks. I’m looking forward to having a drink tonight, if you must know.’ I raise my cocktail glass, the foam from the egg white running over the top, making my fingers sticky.
‘Bad day?’ Sadie puts her head on one side and pouts. I get the feeling that maybe this cocktail isn’t Sadie’s first drink of the day.
‘Ugh. You could say that. I got a phone call from the guy at The Children’s Trust.’
‘Oh?’ A look crosses Sadie’s face, her brows drawing tightly together. ‘What about?’
‘After we talked about doing charity work at lunch the other week, I went to see him about volunteering in their fundraising department – basically he called me today and turned me down.’ I make a face and sip at my drink, the alcohol buzzing straight to my head.
‘Perhaps it’s for the best. Everything happens for a reason and all that.’ Sadie is brisk, brushing it aside in much the same way Rupert did, although this time there is an underlying edge to her voice as if I have said something wrong.
‘Maybe.’ I eye her closely, as she looks down the table to where Rupert, Miles and Will are all talking animatedly. ‘Sadie, did I do something wrong? You seem a little… I don’t know. Is it something about Angus and the trust?’
‘Look, if you must know…’ Sadie folds her napkin into tiny squares, her immaculate nail polish catching the light. ‘The Children’s Trust… it’s where Caro used to work. You caught me by surprise, mentioning the name of it, mentioning Angus.’
‘Oh my God.’ I sit back, my hand covering my mouth. The pisco sour is a heavy, sticky mass in my stomach. ‘The vacancy in the fundraising department isn’t Caro’s job, is it? I had no idea.’
‘Well, why would you? I mean, it’s not like we talk about it, is it? And Angus probably had no idea who you are. Don’t take it to heart, him saying you weren’t right for the job. He always was a fussy old bugger, according to Caro.’ Sadie rests her hand on mine, patting it as if to comfort me.
‘No, of course. I feel like a fool… Rupert never mentioned it when I told him I’d been speaking with Angus.’ A bloom of hurt bursts in my chest and I have to swallow hard. No wonder Rupert has been donating so much money for all this time. It was all for Caro. I feel sick as I picture his face when I mentioned Angus’s name.
‘He probably didn’t want to upset you. Like I said, Em, don’t take it to heart.’
‘Here you are, ladies—’ Amanda appears beside us, a waiter stood next to her with a tray full of more pisco sours. ‘Emily, nice to see you.’ She gives me a kiss on the cheek, the overwhelming scent of her perfume tickl
ing the back of my throat. She slides into the seat next to me and starts talking about her latest design project. When I look up the table at Rupert, he is engaged in conversation with Miles, so I reach for another cocktail, trying to push Sadie’s comments from my mind, feeling like the biggest kind of idiot.
We order food, and the conversation turns to more general things – work, holidays, what everyone will be doing for Christmas. The food is fancy – not the Chinese food I am used to, slumped on the overstuffed sofa at the flat with Mags – there are fat, plump dim sum crammed full of seafood and chicken, thinly sliced duck, bowls of fragrant rice. I struggle with the chopsticks, having never learnt to use them properly, and my cheeks burn as Sadie whispers to a waiter and he returns a few minutes later with a knife and fork, laying them carefully on the table next to me. It doesn’t take long for the conversation to turn into a game of ‘remember when’, and I paste a smile on my face as they all talk about things that happened long before I met Rupert.
‘Remember the Norway flight, Rupert?’ Sadie gives a ladylike snort of laughter as Rupert grins and covers his face with his hands.
‘Never been on a flight like it, before or since,’ he laughs. ‘It was so rough even I was throwing up, and I always say I’ve a cast-iron stomach.’
‘Caro was the only one who didn’t look like she’d been run over,’ Amanda says, turning to me. ‘It was horrendous, Emily, the worst flight we’ve ever been on.’
‘I can imagine,’ I say, wishing desperately that the conversation would turn back to things we can all discuss.
‘Or that time we went to the college wrestling, and Miles got given an atomic wedgie.’ Will can barely get the words out he’s laughing so hard, which sets the others off as Miles bangs the table in protest.
‘No, no, I gave him an atomic wedgie!’
They all erupt into hysterics, as I sit there forcing out laughter, feeling alone and adrift as they reminisce about things that I have no idea about. I finish my drink and wait, staring into my empty glass with its sticky egg foam wash around the rim, trying not to make my discomfort evident until finally Will says, ‘Come on, guys, let’s not forget about Emily, she wasn’t around for this stuff, remember? Sorry, Em.’