Construct A Couple

by Roland, Talli

  I squeeze Jeremy’s hand again, then push past the closed curtain of Jaffa Man and out into the draughty corridor. Sure, I’m from Maine and all, but I swear to God I’ve never been so cold, so often since moving to London. Something about the dampness in the air just clings to you.

  After looking up Top Class’s number on their website (what on earth did journalists do before smartphones?), I punch in the digits and press ‘call’, waiting as the receptionist patches me through to the right department.

  “Hello, Top Class public relations, Tanya speaking. How can I help?” The voice is so perky it almost leaps from the mobile and does a little dance on the polished tiles.

  “Hi.” I drop my normal tone an octave lower. God, I sound like Kermit the Frog!

  “Yes, hello, PR department?” A hint of irritation is creeping in, but the chipper voice remains intact.

  “Um, yes. I’m calling with a tip-off.” Is that what it’s called? I pause for a second to clear my throat; all the husky business has made it go funny.

  “Is that you, Gerald?” The hyper-friendly manner has completely disappeared. “I told you to stop ringing here. Now piss off!” The receiver slams down.

  Crap. Okay, maybe Deep Throat wasn’t such a great idea. I hit ‘call’ once more, tapping my fingers against the cold wall as I’m transferred. “Hi, sorry, I was just calling to—”

  “Gerald!” Tanya screeches. “For God’s sake, did you think talking like some demented American is going to convince me to take your calls? Piss. OFF!” And again, the phone goes dead.

  Right, well, Mom always says third time lucky! I go through the same steps, then hear the receiver being picked up and slammed down with such force my eardrums start ringing.

  Damn. What am I going to do now? I don’t have Julia’s direct line, and all my contact has been with the PR. I furrow my brow, scrolling through possibilities in my mind. Email? Even if it did reach Julia, there’s no guarantee the message would be read before Bulldog Helen shows up.

  Easing back into the room, I take up position by the bed. A groan fills the space, and Jeremy’s eyes open.

  “Serenity?” he rasps.

  I leap onto the bed, crashing into his legs. Oops – thank God he hasn’t broken any limbs. “How are you feeling?”

  “Must admit, I’m a bit tired.” Jeremy lifts his lips in a smile, and I can see even that’s an effort. “But I’ll be fine.”

  I squeeze his fingers. “Of course you will. Besides, if you’re not, I think Karen will kill you herself!”

  He laughs softly. “Yes, probably. Did she call? I didn’t want to worry you.”

  I nod, meeting his gaze as my guts clenches. Didn’t want to worry me? Okay, my Shut Your Mouth policy definitely needs to exclude health issues. “Yes, she did, thank goodness.”

  Jeremy drops his gaze. “Guess all the strain with the charity was too much for me. But now that everything is sorted, I can relax.”

  I force myself to smile, trying to keep the stress from my face. God, I hope everything stays sorted!

  Jeremy’s lids are at half-mast, and the grasp on my hand eases. “Ser, I’m probably going to sleep for the rest of the day,” he says, his voice drowsy. “You don’t need to sit around here.”

  I reach out, smoothing a lock of hair away from his face. His skin is cold and clammy, and my heart shifts with anxiety.

  “We’ll see how it goes. I may nip out for a little bit, but I’ll be back tonight for sure.” Although I’d love to stay by my boyfriend’s side, if I do want him to get better – and remain that way – I have to kill the story. Fast.

  As Jeremy’s eyes close and his breathing becomes steady, resolve washes over me. I’m not going to let a tiff between the PR and her Deep Throated boyfriend get in my way: I’ll head to Top Class myself. From all my research, I know they’re based in the Docklands, clear on the other side of the city. And forget the PR, I won’t leave there until I speak to Julia herself. Much more effective.

  She won’t recognise me as Jeremy’s girlfriend, will she? My Facebook profile pic is a Jaffa (more photogenic than I am), but the Camden community paper ran a photo of Jeremy and me cutting the ribbon when the charity opened . . . That was ages ago, I reassure myself. Julia has better things to do than reading local rags. On the off-chance she says I look familiar, I’ll just tell her I’ve got one of those faces.

  I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nervous flutters at facing the Royal Bitch – not to mention the high stakes of what I’m about to do. Lois Lane could handle it, I’m sure: she’d put on a fresh trouser suit, re-gloss her hair, and hold her own. But can I? Am I really going to do this – visit Top Class’s headquarters uninvited, and say what, exactly? I can’t pretend I’m Helen; everyone knows what she looks like. Maybe I could claim I’m her assistant (true), conducting the interview in her place?

  If Helen heads over this afternoon, though, Julia’s sure to say someone from the magazine has already been there. A few descriptive words, and Helen will twig it’s me. Given how paranoid she is . . . I shudder, imagining the fury on her face if that scenario ever happened.

  Perhaps I can use Helen’s paranoia to my advantage. She already thinks One World is onto us, right? I can pretend I’m one of their reporters. Even if an interview isn’t scheduled, I can’t imagine Julia turning down the opportunity to pontificate on how wonderful she is.

  Leaning over, I kiss Jeremy’s cheek, lightly brushing my lips against his skin. The soft release of his breath warms my face, and tears push at my eyes. Whatever we’ve been keeping secret – no matter how big or how small – there’s one thing I’m sure of: we love each other. We’d never have come this far if we didn’t.

  Forcing myself to walk from the bed, I head down the lemon-scented corridor and into the lift, where I check out Top Class’s website again on my phone to get their exact address. Outside, I rush to a mini-cab that’s just dropped off passengers. The journey to the company’s offices in Canary Wharf will take a good hour if I’m lucky, and I’ve no time to waste dicking around on the tube.

  Sixty minutes later, I’m standing in front of the corporate headquarters, my stubby form distorted in the building’s glass surface. In a way, the reflection feels like my reality now: bent out of shape, so far from normal I can’t get a grip on it. I mean, who’d have thought I’d be risking the dream I’ve toiled so hard for? And who’d have guessed Jeremy would be working with Julia, of all people? I shake my head, watching as the monster reflection wiggles hers, too.

  Smoothing my sandy hair, I push through the revolving door, standing stock-still at the sight in front of me. Wow. Whoever said the market was slowing hasn’t been here. Marble floors glisten beneath my feet, and the lofty ceiling arches over me. A video flickers on one wall, showing time-elapsed buildings rising from the ground in a flurry of construction. It’s more like a cutting-edge art gallery than a company headquarters, I think, striding to the security desk in the corner.

  “Hello. I’m here to see Tanya in PR?” Safer to start from the bottom up. If I ask for Julia right away, they’ll probably shut me down.

  “Name?” the security guard barks.

  “I’m, um, Geraldine from One World,” I answer, cringing internally. Geraldine? Is that the best I could do?

  The guard picks up the phone. “Tanya? There’s someone from One World to see you.” He motions towards a twisty white sofa resembling a sculpture. “Have a seat. She’ll be down in a second.”

  I sink onto the hard surface, trying not to slide off as I fidget nervously. Finally, a woman about my age – so skinny her head resembles an egg on a straw – clacks over.

  “Hello there,” she says, her pink lips stretching in a big fake grin. “You’re from One World? Can you remind me, did you have an appointment?” Tanya cocks her head, and despite all the tension inside, I can’t help smiling. Something about her reminds me of the hopping robins in my parents’ front yard.

  “No, sorry, we’re on a rather tight d
eadline. I just need a quote from your CEO to add to the press release you emailed us earlier.” I cross my fingers they actually sent one to One World.

  Tanya nods. “No problem. You’re lucky, our CEO Julia Adams happens to be free right now. Come on up, and I’ll introduce you.”

  I follow her into a glass-mirrored lift, feeling like I’m about to meet Godzilla. She’s just a girl from Jeremy’s past, I tell myself, even though deep down, I know that’s not true. Julia had a massive impact on him.

  Wincing, I picture the watch I’d found on one of my exploratory missions through Jeremy’s house (I shouldn’t have snooped, but I was playing undercover reporter). It was a Bvlgari, dripping with diamonds, and the inscription on the back read: To Jules, I’ve had the time of my life. Happy Two Years!

  Jeremy and I have been together over a year now, and he’s never given me anything remotely similar. Not that I’d know what to do if he did – diamonds are better suited to someone like Julia than an Accessorize girl like me – but . . . does that mean something?

  Mom would stroke a braid and tell me material things don’t determine the wealth of a relationship. Sometimes, though, I’m not so sure her hippie sayings are relevant to the twenty-first century London dating scene.

  “So how much do you know about Top Class Construction?” Tanya asks as the lift whooshes upwards.

  Besides the fact they’re completely dodgy? “Just the basics,” I say, not wanting to let on yet what I really do know. “You’ve been in business for a year, and managed to corner a good chunk of the market.”

  “Yes, that’s right.” She nods, ponytail swishing back and forth. “But did you also know Top Class puts great stock in philosophy?”

  “Philosophy?” I ask, staring in confusion. The employees read Plato in their downtime? What the hell is she talking about?

  “Er, um . . .” Tanya’s eyes dart to a notebook in her hand. “Sorry. I meant philanthropy. We put great stock in philanthropy. In fact, next week, we’re going to announce a major donation to a charitable foundation!” Leaning closer, she lowers her voice. “Of course I can’t tell you all the details at the moment, but keep an ear open!”

  Thank God I managed to get in here before Helen, I think, smiling through gritted teeth. She’d rip this chirpy PR to shreds.

  “Take a seat” – Tanya points to a plush boardroom as the lift doors slide open – “and I’ll grab our CEO. You’re going to love her.”

  Yeah, right. I grimace, feeling slightly ill. I can do this, I tell myself as I sink onto a padded leather chair. I have to. If I don’t warn the company now, Helen will barge in and tear them to pieces. I’m not sure even Julia could hold her own against such a fearsome character.

  There’s a flurry of activity outside, and in walks an excited-looking Tanya followed by a tall, perfectly groomed blonde woman wearing a severe black suit.

  “Hello, I’m Julia Adams.” Julia extends a slender hand, and it’s all I can do not to shrink away. “Thank you so much for coming to see us today. I love meeting members of the press.” A large diamond sparkles on one finger, and images of her over-the-top wedding to David flash through my mind. The familiar fury fills me as I recall Jeremy’s devastation at her traitorous actions.

  I gaze into Julia’s perfect, ice-queen face. Her glossy lips are curved in a smile, her skin is flawless (and she hasn’t even had Botox or fillers; I’d recognise them for sure); and silky hair cascades in a shining curtain past her shoulders. Everything is pulled together, tucked in, and covered with a smooth sheen of success.

  Taking the freezing hand, I try not to wince as her fingers close around mine and the diamond bites into my palm.

  “Sorry to rush you, but I’ve only got about ten minutes before I need to be in another meeting. Fire away!” Smiling confidently, she leans back in the chair and crosses her slim legs.

  I can’t wait to wipe that grin off her face. God, I really would love to break the news of what her company’s been up to. But the thought of Jeremy’s expression when he learns his charity won’t get the much-needed influx of cash stops me cold, and a small pang of anger jabs inside when I realise to protect him, I also need to protect her.

  “Um, okay.” I glance down at my notepad, unsure where to start. I have to admit, part of me is relishing the coming blow – even if it’ll never make the public realm. Hopefully, anyway.

  “We’ve been speaking to various clients of yours,’ I begin.

  “Fabulous. I can’t wait to hear what they’re saying.”

  “One client we talked to is Rose House. A care home.” I watch her face, noticing her eyes narrowing slightly.

  “Oh, yes?”

  “How do you respond to their allegations Top Class engaged in poor workmanship with inferior materials? And despite repeated requests, your company hasn’t fixed the mess it created?”

  Julia snaps her fingers at the now-quivering PR.

  “Out,” she orders Tanya, who scurries off without looking back. Digging lizard-skin stilettos into the carpet, Julia wheels her chair closer to mine, so near our legs are almost touching. Reflexively, I try to move away, but I’m already up against the wall. God, this woman’s scary.

  “I don’t know who you’ve been talking to over there,” she says through a plastered-on smile, “but here at Top Class, we undertake each and every job with the highest of standards.”

  “Does the name Ryan Johnson ring any bells? It should, for all the times he’s been in touch.” Recognition flickers across Julia’s face before she rearranges her perfect features back into a mask. “He claims his business is suffering because of your shoddy workmanship. It’s a great angle – elderly people at risk due to an uncaring construction company raking in millions . . .” I want to jolt her into some kind of damage control, but now that I’ve said it, it really does sound like a killer story. Damn.

  “I think you should go,” Julia spits out, getting to her feet. Her previously smooth face is furrowed, and small dots of sweat have broken out under her nose. Ha! Maybe she should get Botox after all. “I won’t lower myself or my company to answer these accusations. I assure you, any allegations your publication prints will be taken very seriously by our legal team.”

  Only if they’re printed? No, no, no. I need to scare her into attack more now. I stand up, too.

  “Once this article gets out, it won’t matter what your lawyers do,” I say. “Your reputation will be ruined. And I’m sure our paper wouldn’t mind a little extra publicity; something to prolong the story. I can see the headlines now: ‘Top Class Construction Sues over Care Home Allegations’. That’ll hardly put a damper on the news, will it?” Ha! Take that, you corporate wench.

  Julia steps threateningly towards me, but I hold my ground, even though I’m staring at her bullet-like boobs. “I think you should go now,” she repeats through clenched teeth.

  “No problem! Thank you for your time.” As I march out, I almost collide with Tanya, who’s hovering in the corridor.

  “All finished?” she chirps. “Got what you came for?”

  “I hope so,” I respond as she shepherds me into the lift, pressing ‘G’ in case I can’t figure it out myself.

  “Call if you have any other questions!” She waggles her red nails in the air as the doors slide closed.

  Sagging against the wall, I try to breathe to ease the heavy weight off my chest. What to do now? I may have warned Julia before Helen comes along and uses Guantanamo Bay interrogation tactics to extract information, but will it be enough? Even if Julia’s lawyers threaten the magazine, I can’t be sure the story won’t run.

  I pray for a flash of inspiration, but my mind remains resolutely blank. Until I get another bright idea, I’ll wait it out at Seven Days. At least there I can keep an eye on Helen and stay on top of events until I determine the next step.

  I run a hand over my face, unable to believe all this mess came from one tiny story. God, I wish I’d never delved into it – or at least that Jeremy had
told me sooner Julia was behind the donation. As fantastic as the feature is, I wouldn’t have run with it had I known.

  Or would I? A moment’s doubt flashes through me as I remember how much I wanted to impress Jonas; to gain full-fledged reporter status. But the one thing I’ve learned is success in a job doesn’t automatically equal happiness.

  Right now, my happiness is wrapped up in a man lying prostrate on the other side of the city – a man whose world, carefully reconstructed through months of hard work, is about to cave in.

  I race to a taxi rank. “The Daily Herald,” I tell the driver, then climb in the back.

  Right now, my happiness depends on stopping that article.

  CHAPTER NINE

  As the cab bumps towards south London, my head pounds with the day’s events. Although I keep trying to come up with a plan, all I can think of is Jeremy lying so still, while a story brews that could damage his dreams.

  I trudge into the newsroom, glancing from cubicle to cubicle as I make my way to Fact Check Row. Has Helen left for her interview yet? Has Julia’s team of lawyers been in touch? There’s nothing but the usual ringing of phones and clacking of keyboards, and I’m not sure whether to be happy or anxious.

  Lizzie glances up as I settle into my chair. “Hey! Didn’t expect you back today. Is your boyfriend all right?”

  “Yes, thanks. He’s going to be fine. How have things been here?” I ask tentatively.

  Gregor lifts his snout from the computer monitor. “Helen wants to see you.”

  “You just missed her,” Lizzie explains. “I don’t know what happened, but the way she was acting, it looked like something crawled up her arse and exploded.”

  A flicker of hope goes through me. If Helen’s angry, it could mean Julia cancelled the interview. Or . . . no. She couldn’t have found out about my little trip to Top Class. “Okay.”