by Rebecca Done
Except that … he has not. When I reach the living room, the whole place is gloomy and quiet – he is nowhere to be seen – and then I spot the front door, wide open. A shot of panic rivets through me – usually I hide the key somewhere last thing at night, always in a different spot, because I fear him walking off somewhere in the middle of the night and coming to harm. He’s not tried yet, but there’s no telling when he might decide that would be an interesting thing to do. But last night, I recall now, I forgot.
Has he popped to the shop? His phone and wallet are still sitting on the side, though that’s not necessarily an indication of anything, since he frequently fails to remember them when he goes out.
After last night’s surprises, the image of Nicola now looming in my mind feels irrational. Still, I can’t help but panic – has he gone off to meet her? Did they have something arranged?
I check my watch. I’m already running late for work; I’ll have to pre-warn them. Finding Alex could take all morning.
Anxiety-fuelled, I dial Seb. ‘Seb, it’s Molly.’
On the other end of the line, silence.
‘Alex is missing. I need to find him. I’ll be there as soon as I can.’ It’s as much as I can possibly promise.
I hold my breath, praying for Seb to soften slightly, maybe make some suggestions as to what I should do next, offer to help. Instead, he clips coldly, ‘Come in when you can then.’
Stupidly, I interpret this as an unspoken agreement to let this one slide.
‘We’ve been patient long enough, Molly.’
Eventually, having jumped in the car and raced around the village, still in my pyjamas, I’d discovered Alex in the post office.
‘Alex,’ I breathed at him, ‘what are you doing?’
It transpired he’d missed the postman, who’d left a card to say Alex had a parcel to collect, so he went straight to the post office because if he didn’t get there on time the parcel would get sent back and then he’d have to call them and they might not have let him have it and he wouldn’t be able to explain himself. I gently told him he had to wait twenty-four hours to collect a parcel anyway, that I’d do it with him tomorrow.
I was so relieved that the episode had nothing to do with Nicola that I completely forgot to worry about how late I was for work.
Which is why I am now facing Seb in our CEO’s office. And unless it was down to a show of initiative on Seb’s part (unlikely, since he has none), in a somewhat cruel twist of fate, our CEO Paul is in the office today too. The man with not only the perma-tan and good-life belly but the power to hire and fire. In general Paul’s quite reasonable, but today he has presumably borne witness to Seb bellowing and bitching about me for three straight hours until I finally made it in at eleven o’clock.
But despite Paul’s presence today, it’s Seb doing all the talking. ‘You know the score, Molly,’ he says, running a hand over his slicked-back hair like he’s posing at a shoot for a low-end fashion brand. ‘You’ve had two verbal warnings and a final written warning.’
‘What happened to your face, Molly?’ Paul asks me then, and given the context of how much trouble I’m in, I have no idea if the right answer would be the truth, or a lie.
So, for once, I go with the truth. ‘Alex and I had an argument. But … it was an accident. It wasn’t his fault.’
A veneer of distaste temporarily clouds Paul’s face. ‘Right.’ For one crazy moment, I think he might be about to check if I’m okay, if I’ve seen a doctor, if I need any help.
But Seb is desperate to steer the conversation back round to bollocking me. ‘We’ve reached the end of the road, Molly.’
‘You’re letting me go?’ I say, desperate to take the words out of his mouth, to deprive him of the satisfaction of announcing it.
Seb decides to rephrase it slightly more bluntly. ‘Yes, we’re sacking you. We have no choice at this stage. You’re a disruption to everyone around you.’
I think about my mounting bills, about everything that’s happened over the past thirty-six hours, about what’s going to happen next. My eyes threaten to well up and I start breathing faster, so I try very hard to focus on Paul’s dead pot plant.
‘Let’s face it, Molly,’ Seb continues. ‘You never really cared too much about working here, did you? You only took the job because you had no choice.’
I get it, in a way – he’s been waiting so long to fire me that he wants to enjoy his moment, now it’s finally arrived. Seb’s the kind of person who probably practises firing people in front of his bedroom mirror.
Paul clears his throat and shifts from one substantial arse cheek to the other, which I guess is his way of indicating that he might not have put it quite like that, were he in charge of this conversation. And I am privately of the opinion that perhaps he should be, given he’s the damn CEO.
‘Coming from a big London agency like that. Maybe you felt you didn’t need to bother with us. Small fry, aren’t we?’
‘No, it’s not like that,’ I tell him, because it isn’t. ‘I need this job, Seb. And I always give it my best.’
‘Yeah, well,’ Seb says, clipping his words, ‘your best needed to be a whole lot better, Molly.’
‘Well, I’m sorry,’ I say, because what else is there to say? But then I catch Paul’s eye and he’s staring at me intently, and for some reason I feel as if he’s impelling me to fight, urging me to stand up for myself because he’d love the opportunity to override Seb if only I’d show him what I’m made of.
I hear Eve’s voice in my mind, reminding me that the way Seb behaves is neither fair nor legal. I picture Sarah’s delight at my glimmer of interest in going back to work at the agency. I remember all the people who care about me, who love me – and then I remember that I don’t need to put up with treatment like this.
So I do show Paul what I’m made of – but perhaps not quite in the way that he was expecting. After all the battling I’ve done with Alex over the past few years – and on his behalf too – standing up for what I believe in, now they’ve finally decided to kick me out, feels almost easy.
‘Actually, you know – I think you’re being a bit hasty here.’
Seb stares at me in disbelief. ‘Excuse me?’
I clear my throat. ‘I’ve only ever been late on legitimate, compassionate grounds, and I’ve almost always made up the time. When I haven’t, you’ve docked my pay. I’ve worked late and got in early whenever I can. I rarely take a full hour for my lunch.’
Seb snorts, like pointing out why they shouldn’t fire me is quibbling over details. ‘We’ve done everything by the book.’
‘No, you haven’t. Our only meetings have been just me and you – you’ve never given me the opportunity to have anyone else present, or warned me ahead of time. You emailed me my written warning and never followed it up. You don’t even have an HR department.’
‘That’s not a requirement,’ Paul points out, because of course they only do the bare minimum when it comes to staff welfare.
‘No, but treating people fairly is.’
‘You’ve been treated exactly as we would treat any other employee,’ Seb says, visibly seething that I’m questioning his competence. There’s nothing that infuriates him more.
I smile faintly at him. ‘Exactly – unfairly.’ I get to my feet. ‘I’ve done nothing but try my hardest, nothing but work my arse off since I started here – despite everything – and this is how you repay me. You have responsibilities too, you know.’
‘Molly, I suggest you sit down –’ Paul begins.
‘And I suggest you consult your employment law handbook,’ I fire back at him, slinging my handbag over one shoulder.
‘Where the hell do you think you’re going?’ Seb barks. ‘You can’t just walk out. We’re not finished here!’ he adds, a final attempt to intimidate me into complicity.
‘Actually, I’m going to consult my solicitor,’ I say smoothly, feeling calmer than I have done in weeks. ‘Do the same, if you like – that�
�s if you even have one. Because you’ll be hearing from me.’
And then I open the door, stride out of Paul’s office and straight down the corridor towards the exit, head held high.
18
Alex – 21 March 2013
After we clear everything up from the wake and all the mourners finally depart, we get back to Dad’s cottage late. Graeme’s gone home to his flat, to give me and Molly time to talk. So then I tell her that we’ve read the will, that we’ve inherited the cottage, that this beautiful – if slightly decrepit – old building now belongs to us.
Molly bursts into tears – perhaps from grief on my behalf, perhaps from shock. Or perhaps she’s subconsciously relieved, in the way people are when financial pressures suddenly and unexpectedly lift. And then we both stand there in the kitchen, arms locked round one another, allowing all the emotions of the day – which I’ve just added to massively – to subside.
Some time later she curls up in Dad’s old leather armchair, watching me light a fire in the inglenook, an attempt to take the edge off the freezing room. I never did quite get the hang of the ancient oil-fired central heating in this place, but I’ve been lighting fires here since childhood, Dad teaching me how to concertina the newspaper just so.
The cottage feels weird without him. It’s the first time we’ve stayed here since he died, and it’s hard not to dwell on the fact that the fire was already laid, ready for the next time. Except Dad didn’t know that, for him, there wouldn’t be a next time.
Molly’s already trodden all the rooms again, running her hands along the grains of wood, the bowing walls, the fabric of the house, perhaps seeing the place in a whole new light now that she and I own it. But I’ll never see it as anything other than my childhood home, and – if I don’t do something about the Graeme situation – a reason to for ever feel horribly guilty.
I need to talk to her.
‘Moll, I’ve been thinking.’
Because it’s cold, and we’re both tired and emotional, Molly’s made us mugs of sugary malted milk from a tub she found in the cupboard, and she curls her hands round hers. Mine’s on the hearth next to me, in Dad’s favourite mug.
She nods agreeably, waits.
My heart is pounding. ‘I was thinking … how would you feel about moving in? Here?’
Behind me, the fire flares into life. It’s always a magical moment, and we both take it in for a couple of seconds, the flames reflected against our faces as the gloomy room is illuminated.
Molly’s eyes widen. ‘Here? You mean … move to Norfolk?’ She didn’t ask me earlier what I wanted to do with the cottage. I guess she just assumed I wasn’t sure.
I nod, feeling a swell of excitement in my stomach that I struggle to conceal. I tentatively suggest that now might be the perfect time to start the little family we’ve always dreamed about. ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ I say quickly. ‘I’m not saying you have to give up your career, if that’s not what you want. But you always said you’d want to be a stay-at-home mum, like your mum was. And that you wanted to do it sooner rather than later.’
She nods, taking this all in. ‘Wow.’
‘Good wow? Bad wow?’
‘Just … wow wow.’
‘I know you love London,’ I continue, ‘but we could try something different. And if it doesn’t work out – if we decide not to have kids yet, or you want to move back – we could always rent the cottage out and move back to London. But it seems like the perfect opportunity to give it a shot.’
‘You were going to move back when I met you,’ she recalls now, sadly. ‘And you gave it all up, for me. You missed out on that time with Kevin …’
Trying and failing to swallow another pang of regret with a mouthful of malted milk, I shake my head. ‘Don’t agree to this out of guilt. If we’re going to do this, it’s got to be for the right reasons, Moll.’
She asks me what Graeme thinks.
‘I haven’t told him yet. I don’t think he’s expecting us to move back here. But … I want to do what’s right, Moll. Dad left him nothing.’
‘I know.’ Her face furrows up with sadness. ‘I feel so awful for him.’
‘I offered to sell, so he could have his fair share. He turned me down.’
She hesitates. ‘Kevin wouldn’t want you to sell.’
‘No, and it would break my heart to do it. But I don’t have enough money to pay Gray the equivalent to his share. I was thinking I could add his name to the title deeds instead, a sort of temporary measure while we work out what to do.’ I sigh. ‘Not that Dad would want me to do that either, but it’s better than nothing.’
‘It is,’ she says, straight away. ‘And it’s the right thing to do.’
I go on to tell her about Graeme rashly selling his flat, his plans to travel. ‘I’m worried about him, Moll. I’m not sure he’s coping that well.’
‘Your dad just died,’ she reminds me softly. ‘Maybe this is what he needs. To go and find himself, make sense of everything.’
She’s right, of course. Molly’s always right.
We talk for a while by the light of the fire about some renovations we could do to the cottage, to make it child-friendly more than anything else. Dad left me a small amount of money too, which would be enough.
I know Molly’s parents would be devastated if we moved away to start a family – they’ve always had the dream, I think, of living just round the corner from their grandchildren. But there’s an outbuilding with planning permission for conversion in the back garden that I’ve been thinking we could turn into guest accommodation for them so they could stay for extended periods. That way, they could come up as often as they like.
The more I think about it, the more my plan makes sense. We’d never be able to afford to buy in London unless I sold this place, but it’s my childhood home. It was never Dad’s intention that I should sell it. Far better to start a new life here, bring up our own children in it. That’s what Dad would have wanted.
‘I love you, Molly,’ I tell her now, moving over to the armchair and kissing her.
She smiles. ‘You know, Alex – doesn’t it feel as if Kevin’s given us a gift? As in, this could be the start of the rest of our lives?’
19
Molly – present day
A week or so later, Alex and I head to the pub to meet Eve. I have gone to ground since walking out of Paul’s office, and am just about ready to face the outside world again.
Phoebe gave me the name of a friend who’s an employment lawyer, and we’ve had a couple of positive telephone calls over the past few days about the possibility of bringing a claim against Spark for unfair dismissal. He’s willing to accept the case on a no-win no-fee basis, which I’m guessing means he’s fairly confident of winning. The bruising around my eye is slowly fading – easier to hide now with a really good concealer – and I’ve also had a formal offer from Sarah about taking over Libby’s job at the agency. She needs to let them know quickly, so she can start the recruitment process if I turn her down – so all I need to do now is make my decision.
Alex knows I walked out of Spark on Monday morning, but he’s not quite got to grips with the details, and of course I haven’t yet told him about the job offer from Sarah.
‘Sorry, this was a bad idea,’ Eve says as we settle down with our drinks.
‘Why?’
She gestures to a poster on the wall behind my head. ‘Karaoke night.’
I smile. A racket like that is guaranteed to ensure a fast exit from anywhere these days. But it’s not started yet; I glance over at Alex, who’s standing by the pool table watching his new-found partner rack up. We don’t know him – he must simply be a willing stranger.
‘How’s your eye, Moll?’ Eve asks as I sip from my ginger beer and she grabs a fistful of nuts from the packet we’re sharing. ‘I still feel so awful about it.’
I called her on Monday afternoon after I got home from being fired, filled her in on everything. Needless to say, she blamed herse
lf for my argument with Alex, despite my repeated reassurances.
‘I told you before,’ I say now, ‘I wanted to know about Nicola meeting Alex. I needed to know.’
‘Have you … heard from her since? Seen her?’
I shake my head. ‘Have you?’
‘Just saw her in the park with some clients on Wednesday. It took every ounce of my willpower not to march up to her and say something, let me tell you. But I resisted on your behalf. Went home and gorged on three jam doughnuts just to make up for my insane display of self-control.’
I smile softly. ‘Thank you.’
‘Tom got chatting to a colleague this afternoon, though.’
My pulse races. ‘About Nicola?’
Eve nods. ‘Apparently she trains this guy a couple of times a week. Anyway, somehow he got talking to Nicola about Alex, and she said something flippant like, she doesn’t think he’s as bad as everyone makes out. Like every time she’s seen him, he’s been just as he always was. That she’s started to doubt …’
‘Oh my God,’ I say quickly. ‘The more I hear about her, the more I despise her.’
‘I know. It’s such a horrible thing for her to say.’
I throw back some more of my drink. ‘Did I invent my black eye, then? Or perhaps give it to myself?’
‘Don’t take any notice of her. We already know the woman’s completely barking.’ Eve shakes her head. ‘I wasn’t sure whether to mention it.’
‘I’ve told you – when it comes to Nicola, I’d always much rather know. Keep your enemy in sight, and all that.’
‘Well, Tom’s colleague set her straight, apparently.’
‘And of course Alex would be like that with her – he tries to flirt with her, charm her! And she does the same! But she’s not the one seeing him through every single day, is she? She only ever tells him what he wants to hear. Which is essentially Alex’s ideal conversation.’
‘I know,’ Eve says. ‘We all do. Anyone sensible wouldn’t so much as dream of passing comment on it, Moll. It’s only because you married him, and she didn’t. Don’t waste any more time thinking about her.’ She gives my hand a reassuring squeeze. ‘Let’s talk about something more positive. Did you get anywhere with the solicitor?’