A Heat of the Moment Thing

by Maggie Le Page

  “And I’m not the person who stops you hating yourself.”

  Would he give it a rest? “I don’t hate myself. I—”

  “Then look after Number One for a change. Stay in London. Your friends are here . . .”

  “I’ll make new ones.”

  “. . . Your job is here . . .”

  “I can’t go back there.”

  “. . . Your home is here . . .”

  “Stop trying to change my mind, Jim.”

  “Stop running away, Becs.”

  I ground my teeth. “I’m not running away. I’m making a fresh start.”

  “Fresh start my ass.” He pointed at his backside, then at me. “You’re. Running. Away.”

  A horn blared outside. Thank God. I stood. “That’s my cab.”

  “What—so you take off to fuck knows where, leaving all this Dani-Charlie-Matt shite to fester, all woe is me and doing sod-all about it?”

  “That’s not fair, Jim.”

  “Hey,” he fired, “I just call it as I see it.”

  “Don’t you just.”

  We glared at each other. My chin did its tell-tale quiver, and I quickly turned away.

  “Can you look after Jules for a bit? Until I get myself sorted?”

  “Whatever.”

  I took a deep breath, and another.

  “Sorry I haven’t given any notice.” I picked up my bags. “I’ll keep paying rent until you find someone else.”

  After a pause he said a grudging, “Thanks.”

  He scrubbed at his crotch, then reached for my bags. “Here.” His voice was gruff. “Give me those. I’ll help you out.”

  “Ta.”

  “Since you’re so determined to go.”

  I stashed my sheetful of trinkets, so significant to me and worthless to anyone else, in my hamper. Together we hauled the remnants of my life out onto the street and the cab driver stowed it all in the boot.

  I turned, gave Jim a quick hug and a whispered ‘sorry’, then got in the cab and departed without a backward glance.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The lift doors opened. I poked my head out. Any signs of tall blond Matts? No.

  I emerged, wearing my best everything’s-hunky-dory smile, and made a beeline for my office. I hadn’t thought to check for signs of distinguished grey Garys, though, and dammit, there he was, coming straight towards me. I needed to speak to him, but not here. Not where others might hear.

  He glanced at his watch and I silently groaned. Just what I didn’t need: the late lecture.

  I tried to look business-like.

  “That Northern line,” I grumbled, bustling past. Not that Liz lived on the Northern line, but Gary didn’t know I’d moved in with her.

  “Feeling better, Becky?”

  My heart raced. Shit. Worse than the late lecture: he knew I’d gone AWOL. I was about to get my pay docked.

  I turned slowly to face him, clammy-palmed. Please, not that. I’d done my sums and I needed every miserly penny I could save between now and leaving London.

  “I heard you had to come home early,” he said. “Bad luck.”

  Sarcastic or genuine? I watched his expression carefully. “Rotten luck,” I agreed.

  “You must have been really ill.”

  Genuine. Phew. I resumed breathing. “Yes. It came out of nowhere.”

  He shook his head sympathetically. “Ah well, so long as you’re over it now.”

  If only. I forced a smile. “Much better, thanks. I’d better dash; I’m late for my lecture.”

  As I passed Sal’s desk she tut-tutted and looked pointedly at her watch. “Whatever the reason,” she sparkled, “I hope it was good.”

  I couldn’t find the energy to respond.

  “You can’t fool me!” Her voice followed me. “I’m hot on your trail, Becky Jordan.”

  Was she, indeed? Speculations already, and it was only Monday morning. Which just proved leaving was absolutely the best option.

  Might as well get this day over with. Lecture first, then Gary. Sal could wait.

  * * *

  I placed the envelope on the desk between us, took a step back.

  Gary looked at the envelope, then up at me. “What’s this?”

  I said nothing.

  He leaned forward and picked it up. Took a letter opener from his top drawer and slit the seal.

  “Have a seat.” He indicated a chair.

  I perched on the edge of it, hands clamped in my lap. He unfolded my letter and flattened it on the desk in front of him. Glanced my way again, then read the contents. It didn’t take long.

  His expression hardened. “You want to resign?”

  I nodded. A don’t ask why, don’t ask why mantra repeated in my brain.

  He steepled his hands. “Why?”

  Gary may well be the most understanding boss in the universe, but that didn’t mean I was about to bare all about my one-night-stand-gone-wrong. I inhaled, exhaled, said nothing.

  “Isn’t this a little—premature?” he asked. “You’ve barely been here six months.”

  “I know. It’s just . . .” My eyes darted left and right as I cast about for a palatable excuse.

  “Give it more time, Becky.”

  “I can’t. I need—”

  “A break?” He nodded. “It’s a stressful job, granted.” A pause, then a conclusive nod. “Yes, a couple of weeks’ stress leave might be a good idea.”

  “No! I mean—thank you, that’s very kind, but it’s not stress. Well, it is, in a manner of speaking. But not . . .” I stopped, pulled myself together, tried again. “It’s more . . . personal reasons.” I felt myself blush.

  His eyebrows shot up. “Oh?”

  “Yes.”

  His gaze dropped to my stomach.

  “Oh! I’m not pregnant. I’m . . .” I started to chew on a fingernail then stopped, returned the hand to my lap. “It’s my grandmother.”

  My grandmother?

  “She’s eighty-seven. She—er—needs my help.”

  He frowned. “Oh?”

  Actually, she was way beyond my kind of help, having been dead these past five years.

  “Yes,” I said, “she’s just . . . broken her hip.” Then, warming to my theme, “And she really can’t manage on her own anymore. She lives in . . . um . . . a remote village, yes, very remote, completely cut off from the world, up in . . . in Yorkshire.”

  “I see.”

  “And I’m her only family,” I emphasised the words, “so it’s up to me to take care of her.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realise your parents had passed away.”

  I gulped. Lies and me just didn’t mix.

  “Um—yes, well, I don’t remember it.” That, at least, was the truth. “It all happened years ago, when I was just a kid, a little kid, barely talking, and I was taken in by some wonderful people who brought me up as their own. They even changed their surname to mine, to minimise the trauma for me.”

  What? What?

  His eyebrows prepared to launch into orbit.

  “Anyway, my parents—that’s what they are to me—aren’t related to my grandmother. At least, not that I know of. But they don’t look anything like her, so I’m sure they’re not. And they don’t want to interfere—it wouldn’t be right—so, you see, I need to go up to Yorkshire for the time being.”

  “Ah.” He blinked. “Of course. Family is family.” He paused. “Becky, have you spoken to Matt about this? He is your line manager, after all.”

  The blood drained away from my head so fast I felt dizzy. No! Not a fainting attack. Not now, please.

  “Becky?”

  I refocused on his face. “Sorry.” Deep breaths, deep breaths. “No, I haven’t told Matt.” I shook my head. “No.”

  “I think you should talk to him about this. It’ll be easier to finalise details, your finish date and so on, with him.”

  “Oh. But . . . er . . . that’s why I needed to talk to you.” Come again? Why was that? I
tried to come up with a plausible explanation. “It’s just . . . you see, I needed to come straight to you because I . . . I couldn’t find Matt. No, I don’t know where he is. That’s right. He wasn’t in his office, or anywhere, and this is so urgent that I need to get it sorted straight away.” I nodded emphatically. “Straight away. Like, now.”

  “He’ll be around. Matt’s always here early. In fact, I saw him just a few minutes ago.”

  “Oh. Well, anyway,” I said brightly, “I’ve told you, so that’ll do, won’t it? I’ll tell Matt when I see him,” I added, crossing all my fingers as I said it because, if I had my way, I wouldn’t be seeing him again. Ever.

  “That’s fine. I’ll leave you to confirm your finishing date with him.”

  “No!” My heart thudded loud enough for the whole building to hear. “I mean, can’t we just do that now? I—well, you know, I might not see him for hours and hours, and I was hoping to finish today.”

  “Today?” Gary looked startled.

  I nodded vigorously. “Yes. Gran’s desperate. She won’t last the week if I’m not there. I mean, she could fall, or take the wrong pills, or starve to death, or—well, anything could happen, she’s so unwell, and I really don’t want her death on my conscience.”

  “Becky.” He wiped a weary hand down his face. “I’m not sure we can do this at such short notice. Even the end of the week would be more manageable.”

  “The end of the week?” I squeaked. “No! It’s got to be today. I have to leave today. Even that’s hard enough, knowing I could bump into”—I stopped myself just in time—“er . . . a wall or a desk or something and hurt myself really badly and end up in hospital where I’d be no help whatsoever to my poor old Gran just when she needs me most. A broken ankle at her age is a disaster.”

  He shot me a sharp look. “Ankle? I thought it was her hip.”

  “Oh, y-yes, she did break her hip. But, well, you see, she fell really awkwardly and broke her ankle, too. She’s far more worried about her hip, but I can see she’ll have trouble for months with that ankle.” Crap, crap, crap.

  “She’s in a really bad way,” I added. In case there was any doubt.

  “I see.” He placed both palms on the desk and took a deep breath. “Well. In light of your”—he frowned—“determination, I suppose I have no choice but to support your decision.”

  “Thank you,” I breathed. “And today’s my last day?”

  He checked his calendar, then leaned back in his chair and regarded me intently. I shifted from foot to foot, found an interesting patch of carpet to study. Finally, when I thought I’d pass out from the tension, he nodded.

  “Fine. Today’s your last day. Sick leave for the rest of the week, resignation effective thereafter.”

  “Thank you,” I repeated.

  “I’ll let payroll know.” He shook his head. “I have to say, Becky, I’m very disappointed. You were doing so well here.”

  “Oh. Yes. Well. I suppose. But, you know, que sera sera, whatever will be will be.” Oh, shut up. I stood and moved towards the door. “Well. Best I be off, then. There’s lots to do before I leave. Like . . . packing my office and . . . things.”

  He nodded, a frown creasing his brow.

  I quietly closed his door behind me, avoiding Sal’s curious stare, and dashed to the loo for a few moments of privacy. Deep breaths, steady hands. Well, then. That could’ve been worse. I headed back to reception. Next on the Nasty Task list: Sal. Time to tell her I was leaving. And now I’d fed Gary all that grandmother cock-and-bull I’d better stick to my story.

  “Hi, Sal.” I leaned over the counter.

  “Hey!” She put down her work and clapped her hands with glee. “Gossip time! I’ve heard the rumours. Are they true?”

  “Which ones?”

  “You and—”

  I held up a stop-sign hand. “Forget it, I don’t want to know.” I glanced left and right then lowered my voice. “Sal, there’s something I need to tell you.”

  “I knew it.” She leaned forward, chin resting on her hands. “Go on, then, I’m all ears.” She lifted her hands briefly and waggled her ears, then grinned at me.

  “Well, this may come as a surpr—”

  “Oh,” she interrupted, swivelling away from me with a smug smile. “Hi, Matt.”

  I saw stars. My mouth went dry. I swallowed convulsively. Followed her gaze.

  Sure enough, Matt was approaching the counter. A gamut of emotions clustered in my chest: desire, hurt, anger, sorrow, love.

  Love.

  And just like that, in less than a second, my hard-won resolve crumbled. How could I possibly leave? How could I just walk away?

  Matt stopped in front of Sal and my eyes met his, cold and aloof and totally unyielding.

  I looked away, nauseous. Anguish squeezed my heart. I had to leave. It was the only way. But first—first I would say goodbye.

  I turned back to him and opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Come on, Becs. My chin wobbled. Damn. I flung away from Sal, away from him, and made a run for it, scattering papers from the counter as I went.

  “Don’t worry about the fliers,” she called after me. “I’ll pick them up.”

  * * *

  After that, it all happened with frightening speed.

  Returning to give Sal the grandmother-and-hip explanation. Her dismay. My guilt: I should have told her my real reason for leaving. Quickly replaced by relief when I saw how fast the news spread. Sal—a good friend but an even better gossip. Telling her the truth would have been suicide.

  Packing up my office. Personal effects in one box, lecture notes and texts in another. Fragments of me, all carefully boxed away. Wondering if I’d ever feel whole again. One last glance into my lecture theatre. One last walk down the corridor, past his office. One last trip in the lift, reliving our first kiss.

  Desolation.

  Knocking at the door, a visitor to my own flat. Standing on the doorstep, handing Jim three weeks’ rent and my e-mail address. Telling him I’d send for my bedroom furniture; he could keep the rest if he wanted. Begging him to look after Jules until I found a new place. Jim starting to refuse, then changing his mind and nodding. His ‘Sure you’re doing the right thing?’ echoing in my ears as I left.

  The end of an era.

  The phone call to my parents, carefully timed when I knew they’d be at Church. Telling them I was going away for a while and wouldn’t be home for Christmas. Gulping back tears. My postscript that I would call them on Christmas Day.

  The realisation that, with the festive season upon us, I would be celebrating Christmas alone.

  Loneliness.

  Not ringing Dani. Dani not ringing me. The huge void left where our love-hate relationship had previously been. Realising there was nothing I could do or say to put things right. Allowing my departure to speak for itself.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “Views of Edinburgh Castle”, the advertisement had boasted. I scanned the skyline. Random rooftops, more like.

  I sighed, turned back to the tiny attic room. “I’ll take it.” But only because I couldn’t find anything else. Hazardously-low sloping ceilings, and that hideous candlewick bedspread didn’t really do it for me.

  “First three weeks in advance.” The proprietor watched me from the doorway, an eagle honing in on his prey.

  “In advance?” Eek. That would put a dent my savings.

  “Christmas.”

  Yeah? Thanks for the Christmas spirit, pal.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ve got to collect my bags from Waverley Station so I’ll stop for cash on the way.”

  “No pets, no alcohol, no friends.”

  No friends? I stifled a laugh. No problem.

  “You’ll get the key when I get the money.” He turned his back on me and headed down the stairs, leaving a pall of stale smoke in my room.

  I switched on the oil heater. It gurgled ominously. Oh, please work. With snow on the ground and more forecast overnight
, a broken heater would be the last straw. I left it running while I tramped downstairs and back to the train station.

  I wound my scarf around my neck and pulled up my coat collar, walking as fast as the thickening snow would allow. Collected my luggage and clattered my weary way out of the station, thanking my lucky stars both suitcases had wheels.

  “Any spare—”

  I jumped and shrieked as the beggar materialised at my side.

  He paused momentarily, then continued. “. . . change, Miss?”

  “I really hope so,” I snapped, “because I need a good strong coffee and I’m seriously thinking I should take up smoking.”

  Stupid ass. Heart pounding and hands shaking, I stalked off down the street, my suitcases swerving wildly in my wake. Passers-by took a wide berth. A biting wind, direct from the North Pole, cut through my coat. My teeth started to chatter. It really couldn’t get any worse, could it?

  Behind me, my bags collided. With a warning krrrritsch, the zip on my smaller bag gave way and I turned around in time to see the contents burst forth like an overstuffed chicken. Bras and panties spewed out onto the footpath. The snow continued to fall. It looked like Santa meets Ann Summers. I made a sound halfway between giggle and sob.

  Fine. Things could get worse. I quickly stuffed my clothes back in any old how and jammed the bag closed with my knee. How to keep the cursed thing shut? I glanced around but nobody stopped to offer string, nothing useful dropped out of the sky, and if I stayed in this position much longer I’d be frozen to the spot until spring.

  Blast. It would have to be my scarf. At least if I got hypothermia I’d be in hospital with a roof over my head.

  I’d just finished tying my bag shut when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned and came nose-to-fabric with a sodden black, lacy bra.

  “This yours?” the beggar asked, all leering grin.

  Mortification rose in me. I stared helplessly at my bra. Should I pretend it wasn’t mine? But then this slobbery old mutt of a man would keep it like some kind of trophy, I just knew. And it was my favourite one, dammit.

  Fiery-cheeked, I glanced around. Nobody seemed to be watching, so I snatched back the bra and stuffed it in my coat pocket.