“Hmm, slight issue,” he heard Rupert say.
“What? And where do you keep your glasses?”
“Top-left cupboard. And the issue is there’s a woman just outside, staring at us.”
Andrew nearly dropped the glass as he spun around to look at the window. Thankfully, it was Peggy. And as she caught his eye and smiled, one eyebrow slightly arched in amusement, it was then that Andrew was overwhelmed by now happy and relieved he was to see her—that this was how he felt whenever she came into the same room as him.
He walked over and slid the French windows open.
“Hello,” Peggy said.
“Hello.”
Peggy widened her eyes slightly.
“Shall I come in?”
“Oh, right, yes,” Andrew said, quickly stepping aside. “Everyone, this is Peggy.”
“Hello . . . everyone,” Peggy said. “I think your doorbell’s kaput.”
Andrew started to garble an explanation but Peggy put up her hand to stop him. “It’s fine, it’s fine, you don’t have to explain. I’ll go through, shall I?”
“Good idea,” Andrew said. “Cameron’s already here, actually.”
“Spectacular news,” Peggy said. “Down here, is it?”
“Yep. Second—no, third—door on your right.”
Andrew watched her leave, then turned back to the countertop, leaning on it for support and taking some steadying breaths.
“She seems nice,” Jim said.
“She is,” Andrew said. “So nice in fact that I think there’s actually a very good chance I’m in love with her. Anyway, how’s the butternut whatever coming along?”
When Jim didn’t answer, Andrew looked around to see that Peggy had reappeared without him realizing it. There was a moment when nobody did anything. Then Peggy stepped forward and reached past Andrew, avoiding his eye. “Glasses in here, are they? Lovely. Just getting Cameron’s water.”
She filled the glass from the tap and left, whistling softly.
“Oh great,” Andrew said. He was about to follow this up with some less family-friendly words when there was a knock at the front door.
“I’ll get it,” Andrew said, heading off down the hall. He opened the door to find a panicked-looking Alex bookended by a confused-looking Meredith and Keith.
“Just picked up those things you asked for,” Alex said robotically.
“Ah. Right. Yes,” Andrew said. “Thank you very much.”
“No problem . . . neighbor.”
Andrew took the bag and ushered Meredith and Keith into the hallway, gesturing to Alex that she should go around to the French windows.
“Good luck!” she mouthed, giving him a double thumbs-up.
“Can I use the loo?” Meredith said.
“Yes, of course,” Andrew said.
“Where is it?”
“Um, good question!”
Meredith and Keith didn’t join in with Andrew’s forced laughter. “It’s just through there,” he said, pointing vaguely down the hallway, then scratching at the back of his head. Meredith went through a door and Andrew breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the bathroom fan come on. He showed Keith into the dining room and asked him to take Alex’s bag in with him.
“Should be some fun bits and pieces in there. Party stuff, you know?”
He patted Keith on the back, wondering when it was he’d become a back-patter, and dashed away to the kitchen.
Jim had his hands over his face and was muttering through his fingers.
“What’s happened?” Andrew said.
Jim took his hands away. “I’m so sorry, mate. I don’t know what’s happened, but I think in technical cooking terms, I’ve bollocksed it.”
Andrew grabbed a spoon and took a tentative slurp.
“Well?” Jim asked.
It was hard to adequately explain what Andrew’s taste buds had just experienced. There was too much information to process.
“Well, it certainly has a tang to it,” Andrew said, not wanting to hurt Jim’s feelings. His tongue was probing at his back teeth seemingly of its own accord. Wine, he thought. That was the answer. If they were drunk enough they wouldn’t care about the food.
He uncorked two bottles of merlot and headed to the dining room. As he came around the corner he was just thinking how ominously quiet it was—that it was the sort of silence that hung in the air following an argument—when he was met by a series of loud bangs. Startled, he felt both bottles slip from his hands. There was a moment where they all looked at the red wine spilling out onto the light blue carpet, and the falling streamers from the party poppers nestling in the resulting puddle, before everyone burst into life, offering different advice.
“Blot it, you need to blot it. Definitely blot it,” Peggy said.
“But only with up-and-down movements, not side to side—that just makes it worse, I saw it on QVC,” Meredith said.
“Salt, isn’t it?” Keith said. “Or vinegar? White wine?”
“I think that’s a myth,” Andrew said, just in time to see Cameron leap forward with half a bottle of white wine, which he deposited onto the carpet.
“He’s going to kill me,” Andrew breathed.
“Who is?” Meredith said.
“No one. Everyone, please just . . . wait here.” Andrew dashed back down the corridor and into the kitchen. He explained the situation to Rupert, who listened to his rambling, took him by the shoulders and said, “Don’t worry. We’ll sort it later. You need to give those people some food. And I rather think I’ve found a solution.” He pointed to the counter, where five frosted Tupperware boxes sat. They were all labeled with “Cannelloni.”
Andrew turned to Jim, about to apologize.
“It’s fine, do it,” Jim said. “They might’ve found my dish a bit on the . . . challenging side anyway.”
A period of relative serenity followed as they cooked the cannelloni in batches in the microwave and cleaned up the mess. Andrew even felt relaxed enough that when Rupert wryly observed the absurdity of what they were doing, and Alex joked that she couldn’t believe Andrew had talked them into it, he nearly dissolved into hysterics, having to shush the others good-naturedly. He periodically returned to the dining room to hand out breadsticks and olives, while Alex took on the role of continuity adviser on a film set, making sure he carried an oven glove over his shoulder and wiped a damp cloth on his forehead to give the impression of slaving away at a hot stove.
When the food was finally ready to dish up, Andrew felt the most composed he had that evening. The cannelloni wasn’t exactly awe-inspiring, and neither was the conversation, but it really didn’t matter. Civility was exactly what was needed, and thus far everyone was on the same page. Keith, who had been quieter than usual, and less inclined to sarcastic asides, related a story, falteringly, about a voicemail he’d received the previous week. A woman had seen in the local paper the story of a pauper’s funeral and had only then realized it was her brother, whom she’d not spoken to in years. “She told me they’d fallen out because of a table. They thought it was an antique passed down through ten generations. They’d fought over it when their parents died and eventually she came out on top. It was only after she’d seen that he’d died that she decided to get the thing valued, and it turns out it was a fake. A cheap knockoff. Barely worth a fiver.” Keith suddenly seemed uncomfortable in the reflective silence. “Anyway,” he said. “Just makes you think, I suppose. About what’s important.”
“Hear hear,” Cameron said. They were quiet after this, creating the inevitable awkwardness after someone’s said something profound, nobody wanting to be judged for bursting the bubble by following up with something trivial in comparison.
It was Peggy who broke first. “What’s for pudding then, Andrew?”
“You’ll have to wait and see,” Andrew sai
d, hoping that the others weren’t beginning to get annoyed with all this vagueness when it came to the food.
He headed back to the kitchen and took in the scene from the doorway. Jim, Rupert and Alex were all huddled around the counter, where they were carefully adding strawberries and crushed pine nuts to bowls of something that looked genuinely delicious. Andrew stayed still for a moment, not wanting to announce his presence just yet. The three of them were hushed in their concentration, all working as a team, and Andrew felt the faint soreness of tears beginning to form behind his eyes. How kind these people were. How lucky he was to have them on his side. He cleared his throat and the others looked back, concern on their faces, smiles appearing when they saw it was him.
“Ta-dah!” Alex whispered, making up for having to lower her voice with some extravagant jazz hands.
Andrew brought the plates into the dining room and received some admiring oohs and aahs.
“Blimey, Andrew,” Cameron said through a mouthful of ice cream. “I didn’t realize you were such a whiz in the kitchen. This one of Diane’s recipes?”
“Ha, no,” Andrew said. “She’s . . .” He searched for the words. Something light. Something funny. Something normal. As he racked his brain, the memory came to him, crisp and clear, of Diane taking his hand and leading him away from the party, down the stairs, out into the snowy night. He shivered involuntarily.
“She’s not here,” he said eventually. He looked at Peggy. She was digging around with her spoon in her bowl, despite the fact it was empty, her expression betraying nothing.
Cameron was drumming his fingers on the table. He seemed to be waiting for them all to hurry up and finish, and Andrew noticed him check his watch surreptitiously. Peggy finally stopped pretending to eat and Cameron got to his feet.
“I actually have a few words I need to say to you all,” he said, ignoring the others’ exchanging nervous looks. “It’s been a challenging few months. And I think that sometimes the personal has got in the way of the professional—to some extent at least—for all of us at one point or another. On my part, I apologize for anything that I’ve done that’s not sat well with you. I know this, for example—these evenings—haven’t been to everyone’s taste, but I hope you understand it was simply an attempt to help bring us all together. Because, as you may have gathered by now, it was my feeling that top brass were much less likely to try and break up a strong, cohesive team in the event of cuts. That, I suspect, was naive on my part. And you’ll have to forgive me for that, and for not being as explicit with you as I should have been, but I was just trying to do what I thought was best. However, it turns out that the statistics—and it feels strange to say this, I promise you—are on our side. The number of public health funerals rose even more sharply this year than any of us were expecting. And I’m incredibly proud of how you have dealt with that as a team. In truth, to be completely blunt, I have no idea what’s going to happen next. A decision has been delayed on whether cuts are needed until at least the end of the year. Here’s hoping that isn’t the case. All I can promise is that, if it comes down to it, I will fight your cause to the absolute best of my abilities.” He looked at them all in turn. “Well, thank you. That’s it.”
They sat in silence as they digested the news. Clearly, Andrew thought, things were still up in the air, but it seemed they’d been given a few months’ respite at least. After a while the atmosphere returned to something approaching how it had been before, though they were understandably more subdued. Before too long it was time for everyone to leave. Andrew fetched their coats. You’re nearly there, he told himself. As he watched the others readying to go, he was expecting to feel a great wave of relief at having survived the evening, especially now that it seemed his job was safe, at least in the short term. But instead, with each good-bye he said, he felt not relief but fear, and it seemed to spread up through his body like he was edging slowly into freezing water. He pictured Carl composing his next message—demanding to know where his money was, or maybe telling Andrew that he was about to bring his world crashing down instead. And then there was Diane. Ever since he’d told Peggy everything, the memories that he’d repressed for so many years had been begging for attention, and tonight they were coming to him thick and fast. It was as if a trapdoor had opened above his head and Polaroids were cascading down on him: A lingering look across a smoky room. Kissing as the snow fell. The fierce hug on the platform, the embers of that embrace warming him until he was home. The parched grass of Brockwell Park. The paleness of her skin illuminated by lightning. Orange frames next to cracked slate.
Peggy leaned in to hug him good-bye.
“Well done,” she whispered.
“Thank you,” he said back automatically. As she let him go, it felt like all the breath had been taken from him, leaving him light-headed. Before he knew what he was doing, he’d reached out and taken Peggy’s hand. He was aware of the others looking at him, but in that moment he just didn’t care. In that moment, he realized that all he wanted was for Peggy to know how wonderful he thought she was. And even though the thought of saying those words was terrifying, the very fact he was considering doing it had to mean something. It had to mean he was ready to let go.
That was when Cameron opened the front door and a rush of cold air came down the hallway, eagerly searching out warmth to attack.
“Wait!” Andrew said. “Sorry, everyone, but would you mind just waiting for a minute?”
After a moment, the others filed reluctantly back into the dining room like schoolchildren who’d been kept back after class.
“Um, Andrew . . . ?” Peggy said.
“I’ll be right back,” he said. He could feel his heart starting to thump again as he skittered into the kitchen. Jim, Alex and Rupert all looked at the door, frozen in fear that they’d been discovered. When Andrew asked them to follow him they exchanged confused looks, but Andrew forced a reassuring smile.
“It’s fine,” he said. “This won’t take long.” He ushered them down the corridor and into the dining room, where he introduced the two equally perplexed groups.
“What’s going on, Andrew?” Cameron asked, once they’d arranged themselves in a semicircle.
“Okay,” Andrew said. “I’ve just got a few things I need to tell you all.”
— CHAPTER 34 —
Andrew listened to the phone ringing out and gulped down half a glass of tepid pinot grigio.
“Andrew, what a pleasant surprise.”
“Hello, Carl.”
“Funny you should call—I’ve just checked my bank account and I still don’t seem to have my money.”
“It’s only just come into my account,” Andrew said, trying to keep his voice even.
“Well,” Carl said, “you’ve got my bank details, so as long as you transfer it straightaway then we won’t have a problem.”
“The thing is though,” Andrew said, “I don’t think I am going to transfer it.”
“What?” Carl snapped.
“I said I don’t think I am going to transfer it.”
“You are,” Carl said. “You absolutely are, because remember what happens if you don’t. All I need to do is pick up the phone and you’re fucked.”
“This is what I mean,” Andrew said. “I appreciate that I may not exactly deserve this money—that perhaps my behavior did cause some of Sally’s unhappiness, and maybe more than that. But the thing is, we still loved each other, and I know that what I’ve been lying about might’ve been hard for her to deal with, but I think it would have been easier for her to understand that than the fact you’re blackmailing me.”
“Oh please. You really don’t get this, do you? I am owed that money. I wouldn’t be having to do this in the first place if you’d just done what was right. So you listen to me. It’s very simple, okay? If that money isn’t in my account within twenty-four hours, then your life as you know it is over.�
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The line went dead.
Andrew let out a deep breath and felt his shoulders slacken. He leaned forward in his chair and looked at his phone, which was on the dining room table. There were seven others placed in a circle around it, all of which showed that they were still recording. There was silence in the room. Andrew looked down, his cheeks burning. There was a flash of movement, and for a second Andrew thought he was about to be attacked, but then he realized it was Peggy, a split second before she threw her arms around him.
— CHAPTER 35 —
Andrew waited until the taxi had wound its way out of the cul-de-sac, stopping to let a fox diligently trot across a zebra crossing, before he spoke.
“Am I going to get fired, then, do you think?”
Peggy handed him the bottle of wine she’d smuggled into the taxi and he took a surreptitious sip. “Honestly? I’ve no idea,” she said.
The work lot had left in another cab. Jim and Alex had decided to stay a little longer at Rupert’s, not being able to resist the opportunity to see his attic and its dedicated Rocky Mountains–themed train setup.
“I couldn’t quite tell how everyone reacted at first, when I told them everything.”
Andrew had only given the short version of events to the others, and describing his deception that way made it sound all the more stark. He’d braced himself for scathing interruptions from Keith and Meredith, but neither of them said anything. Nobody did, in fact, until he got to the part about Carl, at which point Alex launched into a furious rant about how they weren’t going to let him get away with it. She demanded that Andrew call Carl right there and then, explaining to him impatiently exactly how he’d need to play the conversation to get Carl to reveal unambiguously what he was doing. She cajoled the others into giving her their phones, lining them up on the table and setting them to record. Afterward, they listened back on each one and decided that Meredith’s recording was the clearest.
“Great, so you just need to send that to Andrew now,” Alex told her.
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