by Anna Bell
‘OK,’ says Lucinda, ‘I think that could work. And you’re going to send us over the designs today?’
‘Yes,’ I say, hoping that Adam or Greg will come through. ‘IT are working on it as we speak. Hopefully I can send you something by the time you get back to the hotel.’
‘OK, great,’ she says, nodding.
‘Good work, Linz,’ says Rick, patting her on the back as she sits down.
‘So that’s it. We’re changing the name, just like that? Based on some felt-tip-pen drawing,’ says Thomas.
‘Yes,’ replies Lucinda. The discussion seems to be over and we’re left without any doubt as to who wears the trousers in their relationship.
‘Right then, so once you’ve seen the designs and approved or amended them, we’ll hand them over to Giles to get started on the website design, and Abi was going to mock up the leaflets.’
He gives me a look as if there’s some doubt as to whether I’ll be able to handle it.
‘Absolutely,’ I say.
‘Right,’ says Rick, almost through gritted teeth. ‘We will arrange for our photographer to come round and take photos of your new rooms and the views, and could you supply us with the text you want to use. I’ve highlighted a number of key words from your project brief for you to incorporate.’
He hands over a piece of paper to Lucinda, who takes it, nodding.
‘Perfect. It sounds as if it’s all on the right lines, and I can’t wait to see this logo. Such a shame about the IT,’ she says, giving me a small smile.
‘Isn’t it?’ I say, looking Linz in the eye. It’s all very convenient that she was here, with her pens and her quick sketching, to save the day. I remember her coming over last week and peering over my shoulder, asking me questions about the colours, but now I wonder if there was more to it.
We say our goodbyes to Lucinda and Thomas as Rick ushers them out of the conference room. ‘Abi, you wait here,’ he hisses as he leaves.
Linz packs away her pens and pops them back in her bag, before slipping it over her shoulder.
‘IT problems can happen to anyone,’ she says with a sympathetic look.
‘Yes, it was very strange that all my files were deleted.’
‘Deleted?’ she repeats, a look of shock appearing on her face.
I hadn’t realised that she’d be quite such a good actress.
‘Yes, they are all missing.’
‘Are you sure they weren’t put in the wrong folder by mistake?’
I love the fact that everyone thinks I’m some type of moron that would have done that or that that wouldn’t have been the first thing that I checked.
‘No, quite sure they’ve been wiped off the system. Luckily IT are probably going to be able to restore them from Friday night’s back up.’
‘That is lucky,’ she says. ‘Just a shame that you couldn’t do that in time for the meeting.’
She’s back to smug, smiling Linz.
‘Yes. Good job you were here with your pens though.’
She shrugs. ‘I thought you needed a little help. Right, I’m going to get myself a coffee. Do you want me to put one on your desk? Sounds like you might need it after Rick is finished with you.’
‘No, thanks,’ I say, starting to really believe that she’s to blame for my files going missing. ‘I’ll get my own later.’
She smiles and walks off, wiggling her hips as she goes.
I watch through the glass window as she bumps into Rick and he rubs her arm as if congratulating her.
‘Right, Abi. What the hell happened?’ he says as he walks through the door. It’s like he rubbed his good mood off on Linz’s arm. His face is like thunder and I have no idea how I’m going to get through this.
Today started off so well. I was buzzing after conquering Snowdon, and hugely excited about wowing the clients I’d managed to bring in. And now look at the mess I’m in. Rick looks like he’s about to throw me to the wolves, and the clients probably think I’m an incompetent idiot. The only reason that I didn’t fall flat on my face is that I was rescued by someone who is fast becoming my office nemesis.
I take a deep breath before launching into my spiel of the deleted files. It’s going to sound like I’m telling him the equivalent of the dog ate my homework tale. I was just starting to get back on an even keel at work after the disciplinary letter about my working from home stint, and things like this and the memory stick keep putting me back. It’s not like I’ve got any more clients I can magically pull out of my sleeve to put me back in favour.
I’ve only got myself to blame. If only I’d been more organised and printed my designs off this morning rather than faffing about on Facebook. I’ve got to leave Joseph and my list with my personal life at the door. From now on I’ve got to put work Abi first.
Chapter Twenty
One week and six days until the abseil. I can’t even get excited that I’m ticking two items off my list this weekend, as the more I tick off the closer I am to having to dangle from that thread . . .
‘And you have no idea where they went?’ says Ben, whistling air through his teeth.
‘None. Thank God for IT and their back-ups. I’m just glad I was working later than Linz on Friday night, because if she’d deleted them before the back-up then I would have had to start from scratch and I would have been in even more trouble with Rick and the clients for delaying the designs.’
The train that had been rocketing through the West Sussex countryside begins to slow, signalling the approach into our station.
‘You’re sure that it’s Linz that did it?’ he asks.
‘Absolutely. I spent the rest of the week watching her, and she kept looking at me and giving me these small, telling smiles. And she’s all over Rick like a rash. It’s disgusting.’
‘Have you told him about your suspicions?’ asks Sian.
I look up, surprised for a second that she’d joined the conversation. I hadn’t realised she’d been listening. Ever since we’d met Ben and Pete at the train station, she’s only had eyes and ears for Pete. I’d almost forgotten that they were with us.
‘No, I felt pathetic enough saying I’d lost the files, I didn’t want to risk accusing the golden child.’
‘So what are you going to do?’ asks Ben.
‘I don’t know. I’m being extra careful and saving everything to my personal Dropbox account as well as on the office folder. There’s not really a lot I can do. It’s not like I can prove who did it.’
‘Can’t your IT department tell who deleted the files? You would think in this day and age that would be possible,’ says Pete.
I hadn’t even thought to ask them. I was just so grateful that they were able to find the files.
‘I don’t know. I guess I can ring them on Monday.’
It’s a long shot, but if I could prove that it was Linz that did it, I could go to Rick and show him what she’s really like.
The train grinds to a halt and we hurry off it.
‘Where did this rain come from?’ I say, wishing I’d bought my cagoule instead of my silly lightweight military jacket – it’s barely warming, let alone waterproof.
Yesterday, when I’d sweated my way through the Race for Life, it had been unseasonably hot for April, but today, when we actually want to feel like we’re on the Med, it pisses down. Typical bloody English weather.
Pete starts singing ‘Why Does it Always Rain on Me?’ and Sian giggles.
‘Right, shall we wait for the rain to ease off a bit,’ says Ben. ‘It looks like it’s just a shower, and the vineyard is supposed to be a half-hour walk from here.’
‘What about getting a taxi?’ asks Sian.
‘That would get us there dry,’ I say. ‘But I think you have to walk around a lot of the vineyard to get to the bit where they do the tasting anyway. There’s a pub over there. Why don’t we get a quick drink and wait for the rain to pass?’
The pub is all cute and villagey and looks inviting. It’s one of those cr
ooked white-washed buildings with a thatched roof.
‘Sounds good to me. I don’t think I’ve dried out from last week yet,’ says Pete.
He links arms with Sian and they make a run for it out of the station and across the road to the pub.
‘Seems like they’re getting on well,’ says Ben, raising his eyebrow at me.
‘Yes, well, you missed the warm-up act last Sunday.’
He nods slowly. ‘I’m sorry about that. I had no idea that Tammy was going to show up and I really needed to talk to her, so I couldn’t not go.’
‘It’s fine,’ I say, waving my hand around like I wasn’t in the slightest bit bothered. ‘Right, let’s go.’
We do a fast walk out of the station and a slight jog across the road.
I push open the heavy door and barely get over the threshold, when Sian calls over to ask me what I’m drinking.
I take in the surroundings – it’s exactly as I imagined it would be from the outside. There’s the log fire at one end and low, dark wooden beams decorated with horse brasses and tankards.
‘I’ll have a G&T.’ This doesn’t look like the type of pub you drink wine in and my real-ale days are well and truly behind me.
I go into scout mode, looking for somewhere to sit. It’s not very busy – just a few people tucked around the tables by the fire. I soon come across a snug at the back of the pub. There’s a large round table, and a wooden bench that runs around it lined with cushions.
‘This is perfect,’ says Sian, squeezing round and Pete shimmies in next to her. I go round the other way to sit next to her and Ben sits next to me.
‘Well, cheers,’ says Pete, and we all chink glasses.
‘This is really cute,’ says Sian, looking around.
‘I know, isn’t it?’ I say.
‘I’ve been here before,’ says Pete, ‘When I was walking the South Downs. There’s actually a few more pubs in the village that are really quaint too. It’s a village that’s big with the walkers.’
I sip my drink and realise that it’s going down rather nicely.
‘It’s a shame we’re not going on a village pub crawl, instead of the wine tasting,’ I say.
I can just see myself sipping G&Ts at the other pubs. Maybe having some Scampi Fries in one of them and a fat home-cooked pie in another. If I’m honest I don’t really feel like swilling wine around my mouth and spitting it out, trying to pretend I can taste the hint of pine or blackberries that are supposedly there.
‘We’ve got to get your list done somehow,’ says Ben.
Ah, yes, the list. It all comes down to the list. He’s right. It might not impress Joseph to see pictures of me in the pub where he’d probably expect me to be, but walking through vineyards and sipping wine with barrels behind me might. Only in my head I think I’d imagined some French vineyard in the boiling hot sunshine. I hardly think walking in the countryside being pelted by the rain, my hair all frizzy and the vines obscured by the drizzle, is going to conjure the same image.
‘I was thinking of you this week,’ says Ben.
We’ve lost Sian and Pete to the board game Mastermind.
‘You were?’
‘Yes, I got an email about a colour run in Brighton, and I thought you and Sian might want to enter. I know you’ve ticked the run off your list, but they’re pretty cool. I thought after yesterday’s race you might have caught the running bug.’
As my Rudolph the Reindeer-coloured nose will testify, the only thing I caught yesterday was the sun. I honestly thought at times on the course that I was going to have a heart attack. By the end I was little more than speed marching and even that was tough. I don’t want to put myself through that again, especially if it wasn’t even for the sake of the list.
‘What’s a colour run?’ I ask out of politeness.
‘Oh, it’s like this running event where everyone wears white and then at various points of the course people throw coloured powder at you.’
‘Right,’ I say, thinking that it sounds like one of the weirdest things I’ve ever heard of. Not only do you have the torture of running, but you get stuff thrown at you to boot.
‘It was fun when I did it. You end up all coloured and they have really good music pumping round. The atmosphere is electric and you barely realise you’ve run anywhere. Thought it might be the kind of thing you’d like now.’
‘Um.’ I’m still not convinced.
‘I’ll forward you the email, just in case,’ he says, shrugging.
I feel a hint of sadness that he’s suggested that I do it with Sian and not him. It really does sound like when this list is over we won’t be seeing each other again.
‘Anyone want another drink?’ asks Pete, standing up.
‘Wouldn’t say no,’ says Ben. ‘Is it still raining?’
Pete leans round the edge of the snug. ‘Seems to be.’
‘OK, then, I’ll have another pint.’
‘And I’ll have another G&T,’ I say, looking down at my almost empty glass.
‘I’ll give you a hand,’ says Sian, getting up to join Pete.
‘I don’t think this beer is doing my palate any good for the wine tasting,’ says Ben.
‘Like you’d be such an expert anyway.’
‘I’ll have you know I’m a wine taster extraordinaire.’
‘Oh, really,’ I say, laughing.
I know I haven’t been in that many drinking situations with Ben, but I’ve never seen or heard him talk about wine. I’ve only seen him drink beer.
‘Oh, yes, when I was at university I was quite the expert.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Yep, we lived near a Netto, and I think I tried every wine they sold for under four pounds. I’m pretty good at telling what’s drinkable and what’s essentially vinegar.
‘Sounds sophisticated,’ I say.
I don’t want to tell him that I’m not much better. I still pick my wines based on what’s on special offer.
‘To be honest, I may drink a lot of wine, and despite Joseph trying to educate me, I don’t have much of a clue what I’m talking about. I usually play it safe with a Pinot Grigio for a white and a Shiraz for red.’
At least I can pronounce them, unlike Chianti . . .
‘Well, that’s probably more than I know. I got told off by a girlfriend once for pouring her wine into a mug and ever since then I’ve given it a wide berth.’
‘You never heard of glasses?’ I say, laughing.
‘Of course, but I lived with four other blokes at uni. There was no way we’d own actual wine glasses. She wasn’t impressed and refused to drink it. But really, what difference is there between a mug and a glass?’
‘She sounds like she was high maintenance.’ I nod in consolation.
‘Yeah, the mug probably did me a favour.’
‘Well, I have to say I’ve never drunk wine from a mug before.’
‘Then you’ve never lived. I did offer her the bottle so she could swig it straight from that, but she wasn’t having any of that either.’
‘Another thing I’ve never done.’
‘And you went to university? Things must have been different at yours than they were at mine. I drank alcohol from anything that hadn’t been piled up on the kitchen side for more than a week. I once drank shots from an egg cup and beer from a saucepan.’
‘Yuck, that’s gross. It definitely wasn’t like that in our shared house. We had a dishwasher.’
‘What? That’s cheating. Were you like the poshest students ever?’
‘No, probably just cleaner than you were. I remember going round to some of the houses of the guys that we knew. They were disgusting. I used to pray that I never had to use the loo. They were worse than the ones from when I went camping as a kid.’
Ben lets out a belly laugh.
‘Yeah, I remember my mum coming to visit once a month and bringing her Marigolds. I’m sure she even had one of those funny SARS face masks too.’
I get a mental pictur
e of his mum dressing up in a floral pinny and slipping on industrial rubber gloves before going in to tackle the unknown.
‘Now that’s best-mum-in-the-world material right there.’
‘Absolutely. None of us understood what bleach was. I think she probably stopped us from getting dysentery or some other godawful disease.’
‘Does your mum still come and do your cleaning for you?’
I haven’t been to Ben’s flat. I know he lives above the shop, but I can’t imagine it being anything like Joseph’s grown-up bachelor pad. Even though it’s a long time since Ben was a student, I still imagine him living like one. I can visualise the dishes piled up in the sink and the floor covered in oily bike parts. I’m sure his mum nips round every few weeks to give it a blast.
‘She actually passed away a few years ago, so no.’
‘Oh, God. Ben, I’m so sorry,’ I say. Instantly the smile falls off my face and I sober up a notch. ‘I didn’t mean to put my foot in it.’
‘You didn’t and you weren’t to know. Besides, it’s fine, I can talk about it without being a total crumbling mess. Well, most of the time anyway.’
‘What happened?’ I ask, unsure if he’ll want to talk about it.
I’m suddenly glad that we’re in the snug and away from the hustle and the bustle of the rest of the pub as this has suddenly turned into an intimate conversation.
‘She had a brain tumour. It was all quite sudden, although I think the symptoms had been there for a while but we hadn’t put them all together. She went through a round of treatment and they thought they’d got it, but then it came back more aggressively and there was nothing they could do.’
‘That’s awful.’ I instinctively reach over and rub his arm.
‘It was awful, there’s no denying it, but at the same time, she knew she was going. A few weeks before she died, we went up to her favourite holiday cottage in the Lake District for two weeks – we’d been there when we were kids. We played board games, read books to her, spent time on the water. It was some of the best family time we’d ever had.
‘That’s how I remember her. Sitting on the deck of a boat in the pissing rain, all wrapped up in waterproofs, giggling away. She’d never looked so happy.’