by Sue Nicholls
The cups are empty, and Fee looks at her watch. ‘I must go. They’ll be worried at home. Thank you for the coffee.’ She scrapes back her chair and picks up the shopping.
‘May I see you again?’ he asks.
She looks at him dubiously. She is tempted, although the timing could not be worse. She puts a hand in her pocket to find her car keys and touches a hard edge. Without over-thinking, she pulls the block out and slips a business card from the top. As she passes it to him, her hand brushes his surprisingly smooth skin. ‘If you’d like to ring me at work in about a week, perhaps we can manage lunch.’
He holds the small rectangle between is fingers, and studies it with interest. ‘IT Director, wow, I didn’t know I was talking to a business mogul.’
‘Well, hardly that, it’s the American type of Director, I’m not on the board. It’s an overly grand title for a senior manager.’ She starts to move away, conscious of the time. ‘Thanks again for the coffee.’
‘See you soon then.’ He raises a hand as she leaves and she sees it reflected in the inky window but doesn’t wave back.
Chapter 42
The office feels alien after two weeks away. Fee goes to her desk, enclosed, as they all are, in a ‘pod’, a cubicle divided by screens with a gap at the bottom. The dividers are tall enough to see over if one is standing up but frustratingly high when seated. Colleagues, like the weather and traffic, are heard but not seen unless heads appear unexpectedly over the top, or in through the small entrance.
With anxiety born of experience she sits down and regards her in-tray with concern. Hundreds of unread memos teeter in the metal receptacle. She dares not think about her on line communications.
‘I couldn’t deal with your emails. I didn’t know your password, and I didn’t want to disturb you at home.’
Fee looks up at the sympathetic face of Nick, her young protégé, peering at her over the divider.
‘It’s OK. I’ll cope. Have you got time this morning to update me on what’s been going on?’
‘’Course. Give me half an hour.’
‘And will you organise a managers’ meeting, for this afternoon please, Nick?’
‘Consider it done. By the way, I think you have an admirer.’
Fee tenses. ‘Oh?’
‘Some guy's been ringing. He wanted your home number but of course I didn’t give it to him.’
‘Thanks.’ Fee’s mind springs to Will. ‘I expect it’s the man from Michael and Morris. He’s trying to recruit me, but I’m not interested - especially not now.’ She looks straight into Nick’s eyes and he nods. She nods back and says, ‘I’ll get my desk sorted out and be with you in half an hour or so.’ She picks a document from the top of the pile, and Nick takes the hint.
Moments later another head peers over the partition. ‘Hi de hi.’
Fee breaths deeply. She will never get used to these continual interruptions. She smiles with what she hopes is sincerity. ‘Lucy, hello. How are you?’ The busty little admin clerk must be on tiptoe. ‘Come round. How can I help you?’ The girl comes in, her shirt snug across her breasts, and a short pencil skirt displaying strikingly shapely legs. Shirley always reminds Fee of Dolly Parton in 9 to 5. The girl brandishes a brown envelope and a large greeting card. ‘Sorry to trouble you when you’ve just got in Fee. I’m about to buy a present for Shirley, and I wondered if you wanted to contribute.’
‘Shirley? Is it her birthday?’
Lucy shakes her blond curls. ‘No, she’s leaving.’
‘Oh of course, I forgot.’ Fee delves for her purse and adds a five-pound note to the collection.
‘That’s generous Fee, thanks. We’re all going to the pub next Friday to say farewell. I’m sure she’d love you to be there.’
Fee is non-committal, thinking that Shirley will not want to have her boss at the gathering. Anyway, she does not want to leave Twitch alone. She studies the card, browsing the messages and kisses that pepper it and composing an appropriate message in her mind, distant but appreciative. Eventually she pens: Wishing you every success in the future. Thank you for all your hard work and enthusiasm, Fee Thomas.
As soon as Lucy’s curvaceous figure disappears round the partition, she returns her thoughts to emails.
The latter part of her morning is spent with Nick, and when she tells him he has done a good job in her absence, she is rewarded by his look of delight. The telephone has been ringing throughout the morning, but she has been letting the calls go to her voivemail. There are two from Will, asking her to call him and leaving his number, which of course she knows.
At lunch time she slips on a light jacket and makes for a cake shop popular with staff at the office. She queues for a sandwich and a glass of orange juice and parks herself at a small table in the window.
The little café is cool after the heat of her walk, and she unbuttons her jacket, in a hurry to satisfy her complaining stomach. With the bread held in in both hands she takes a couple of generous bites then wipes her fingers and lips on a napkin and pulls out her phone to dial Will. She takes a swig of juice as she waits for him to pick up. He does not, and his voice tells her he is away but that she should leave a message.
Of course, he is probably working. Fee speaks briefly and over-formally into the mouthpiece, leaving her number and instantly regretting it. She should just let things die between them. Twitch’s mood is still fragile, especially since Millie. If Will rings back, she will tell him they cannot meet again. She picks up a fallen prawn from her plate and bites off half.
By four o’clock everything in Fee’s department is under control. She tells Nick she is going to work from home and sets off with her handbag and a briefcase, heavy with unanswered mail. Driving through parched, sun-bathed residential roads she passes gardeners stooped to weed and water brimming tubs of flowers, and children skipping and skateboarding on pavements.
When she opens the front door at home, her ears are assaulted by Kitty’s high-pitched yells, and angry shouts from Sam. She lowers her bags to the floor and jogs up the stairs to discover the two children facing one another on the landing. Kitty has her back to Fee, her body taut, her head thrust towards Sam. Sam’s face is a mask of frustration and guilt.
‘Why did you do that Sam? shouts Kitty. I spent ages on it’
‘It’s a stupid picture.’
Fee’s eyes move to the object of their argument, a juvenile scene of human figures, crumpled on the floor. ‘Hey, you two, what’s going on?’
Kitty rushes to Fee and pitches her arms round her mother’s waist. ‘Sam spoiled my picture. I was drawing us - our family, I wanted to stick it on the fridge for Lucas and Olivia when they get home.’
Fee releases herself from her daughter’s grasp and stoops to pick up the artwork. She spreads it against her front to smooth it and holds it up. In the middle of the page is a house, drawn in red pencil, with crisscrossed windows and floral curtains, and standing in a childish row in front, are the children with Fee and Twitch. Flying above the roof, resembling a curly headed crow, is the figure of Millie.
Fee perches on the top stair and pulls Sam and Kitty to her sides. Together they stare at the picture. ‘So, Kitty, Poppet, tell me what you have drawn.’
‘Well that’s us.’ She jabs the stick-like characters standing on the ground. ‘And this is Auntie Millie.’ Kitty’s finger strokes the figure in the sky. ‘She’s watching us, caring for us. I wanted to do it to make Luc and Livvie feel safe when they get here.’
Fee puts her arm around Sam and pulls him to her. ‘Sam, what’s upset you about this?’
‘I don’t want to think of her anymore. She’s not here and we have to get used to that. Mummy says life goes on. Well let’s get on with it then.’
Kitty looks at Sam with an expression of disbelief. ‘We can’t just forget her. We loved her. And for Luc and Livvie, well, she was their real mum. I did this picture for them, and you ruined it.’
Fee looks from one to the other wondering wher
e Twitch and Josh are. ‘You know we’ve all had a big shock and we all miss Auntie Millie, but everyone has a different way of dealing with their feelings. Kitty, this is a lovely picture and I’m sure Lucas and Olivia will be happy you’ve done it for them. Sam, you are angry. Life doesn’t always go the way we expect it to, does it?’
Sam gives an affirmative grunt.
‘But we’ve still got to live together. It’s fine to disagree but not to hurt each other’s feelings.’
The boy tries to pull from Fee’s grasp, but she holds him tight.
He rivets teeth together and mutters, ‘Kitty will just remind Luc and Livvie what’s happened. Won’t that hurt their feelings?’
‘I hope not. They won’t want to forget their mother, and if Kitty explains why she drew this picture, I think they’ll be comforted because they’ll know how much she cares about them.’
Sam looks at Kitty and at the picture. ‘Can we fix it? Could you iron it or something?’
Fee gives the boy a final squeeze and stands up. ‘I expect we can do something. Where are Auntie Twitch and Josh?’
‘In the garden.’ Kitty is smiling again.
‘The garden? It’s a bit late.’
‘Well, they’re burning off some energy.’
Fee recognises Twitch’s terminology. ‘Come on then, let’s go and burn off some energy with them. First one to the swing gets a biscuit.’ She pauses. ‘Have we got any biscuits?’ But the two children have already disappeared.
When the doorbell rings they are playing French cricket, and Fee slips off her muddy court shoes and runs through to open the front door to Mick, Lucas and Olivia. When she has hugged each of them tightly, she looks down at the children. ‘The others are in the garden you two. They’ll be very pleased to see you. They’ve missed you,’ and the children speed off.
‘How are you, Mick?’ Fee strokes her palm up and down the outside of his sleeve, then Twitch runs up the hallway and embraces him.
‘Not too bad. The kids are still cut up. I’m not that comfortable leaving them here so soon after Millie…’ He glances at the wall with a look of pain then back at Fee. ‘I need to get back to work though, and this is home to them.’ He looks perplexed for a moment. ‘Once I wouldn’t have wanted to say that but now,’ he pauses, ‘well, it's reassuring.’
‘Stay for something to eat, Mick.’ Twitch takes his arm and pulls him towards the kitchen, ‘It’s only Spag. Bol. - not up to your standards – or Millie’s.’
The women potter in the kitchen, laying the table, stirring, tasting, opening wine, and Mick stands in the doorway with his hands in the pockets of his trousers telling them about his new role at work.
‘It’s going to involve a fair amount of travel I’m afraid. I need to visit other hotels, in Europe.’ Enthusiasm grows on his face and his voice becomes animated. ‘We need to standardise our dining identity. I want this chain to have a reputation for class eating. Most hotels don’t realise that having fancy facilities, but poor food just lets them down.’ He jingles the loose change in his pockets and grins at the two women. ‘It’s a fantastic opportunity.’
Dinner is ready, and Fee calls the children while Twitch lifts steaming spaghetti with a special tool and drapes it into bowls. By the time she is spooning on the sauce, the children are dragging out chairs to sit down.
‘Well, good luck with your job. We’ll see you as much as possible and in the meantime these two,’ Twitch smiles at Mick’s children, ‘Will be absolutely fine. We’ll take good care of them.’
There is a high-pitched chirp from Fee’s briefcase. Her phone. She stands up. ‘Excuse me; that might be important.’
Twitch raises her eyebrows. Answering the phone in the middle of a meal is not what they do. Fee crinkles her eyes and squeezes her mouth into a line of apology. ‘Sorry, there’s a lot going on at work and it might be urgent. Carry on without me - don’t let yours get cold.
Fee runs up to the bedroom to take the call. ‘Hello?’
‘Fee, it’s Will.’
‘Oh, hi, Will.’ She makes her tone casual although her hands are shaking.
They exchange pleasantries.
‘I hope you don’t mind but I’d like to see you again.’ He sounds diffident, unsure of himself, and she warms to him, and despite her resolution in the café, she finds herself accepting a lunch invitation. After saying goodbye, she clicks the red phone symbol and looks at her face in the mirror. ‘You,’ she points at herself and waggles her finger, ‘are a very silly woman.’ Then she skips back downstairs to the kitchen.
The others have all finished, and the children are waiting for ice cream.
‘Sorry everyone.’
‘Are things difficult at work?’ Twitch looks at Fee with sympathy in her eyes.
‘All sorted out now.’ Fee picks up her cutlery and spins a deft reel of spaghetti onto her fork.
Chapter 43
At Fee’s suggestion Twitch is indulging herself with a day out. While her housemate works from home, Twitch is heading for Oxford. Oxford Castle to be precise, to view an exhibition of aerial photographs.
Her GP has prescribed anti-depressants, and today, for the first time in years, she is up-beat, looking forward to this trip to Oxford and planned lunch in one of the little restaurants described on the Oxford Castle website. She may even indulge in a glass of wine in the cool sunshine.
With her artistic eye she enjoys the curve of the winding country road snaking between fields of green and brown, and around the gentle slopes of hills. Soon though, the highway is clogged with cars and trucks, and Industry and commerce line the thoroughfare. Traffic bunches at signals and junctions and she is glad when the map indicates that she should turn off.
She cruises side streets, in search of a parking spot, and when a car pulls out on the opposite side of the road, she pounces on the vacated space, even though it means she will be facing the oncoming traffic. A litter bin blocks the driver’s door, so she slides across and throws open the passenger door and extends her leg towards the road. A yell and a crunch startle her, and the door is flung back, banging her hard on the ankle. She yelps and pulls her foot into the footwell, then presses her forehead to the window. On the ground is a man, very much tangled in a bicycle. ‘Oh, my goodness.’ Twitch winds down the window and is horrified to see blood oozing from his knee through a tear in his worn and faded jeans. ‘Let me help you! I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Are you alright?’
The fellow looks up without moving. His fine features are drawn into an expression of shock and frustration. ‘If you could give me a hand - I can’t get my leg out.’ His trainer has been forced into the triangle of tubes that form the main structure of the bike frame, and to makes matters even more difficult his jeans are trapped between the cogs at the centre of the rear wheel. The other leg is underneath the bike making escape impossible. Cars ease past, their passengers craning to see.
Twitch manages to open her door and scrambles round the man and his bike, looking at her car. The dark green door of the MPV is scarred by a deep dent, and a white scratch describes the path of the bicycle as it crashed to the ground.
Together, she and the stranger wrestle with the jeans, the leg and the bicycle, inflicting more harm on all three and eliciting whimpers from the cyclist, and anxious apologies from Twitch. When he is free, they examine the damage.
‘Your poor leg, I think it’s going to need stitches. God, I’m so sorry!’ She is repeating herself, babbling, while the white-faced man before her has hardly spoken a word. ‘I’ll take you to the hospital, I can find my way. I have a map - I’m Twitch.’ She extends her hand to him feeling ridiculous.
‘Luke.’ He responds and shakes it. ‘Er, I think we should get out of the road.’
‘Oh, gosh, yes. Here, let me help you.’ She takes his arm, but he gently withdraws it saying shyly, ‘if you could take the bike?’
‘Yes, good idea. Silly me.’ What is the matter with her?
With a sense of
relief, she remembers that the car has a first aid kit and rummages unearths it from a cubby-hole over the wheel arch. Luke rips off the half-severed leg of his jeans, and Twitch does her best to stem the flow from his knee with bandages and wadding, while he stands on the pavement like an unlikely freemason.
By the time they have removed the front wheel from the bike and jammed it into the back of the car, blood is seeping through the bandage.
Locating the hospital on her map calms Twitch and by the time they set off, she feels equal to the job of finding the A & E, trying not to regret her thwarted attempt at culture.
They are silent for a while then Twitch says, ‘I’ll pay for the damage of course.’
‘That’s very kind; I’ve only just bought the bike, as a matter of fact.’
‘I don’t know much about bikes, was it very expensive?’
He looks embarrassed. ‘Well, it was for me. I’m a social worker, so money’s always a struggle.’
They discuss cycling and social work and the pitfalls of both. How surreal, making small talk to a strange man while steering along Oxford streets. Blood now trickles from Luke’s wound, staining his sock. The wrecked bicycle rattles in the back.
They cruise round the hospital perimeter before giving up the idea of finding a parking place. Twitch drops Luke at the main doors and bounces the car up a curb onto an illegal grass verge a short walk away. As she marches back, she hopes she will not get a ticket.
In the waiting area they settle side by side on low, dun coloured plastic seats, not holding out much hope of the promised ‘short wait’. Luke sticks his leg out in front of him to keep it straight and they stare straight ahead in awkward silence. To their relief a nurse with a comforting smile soon leads the limping Luke away.
While she waits, Twitch flicks the pages of a dog-eared magazine. Around her, children play with grimy plastic toys and men and women sit in resigned silence. Nearby, a group of elderly people wait for an ambulance and their banter provides a little diversion.