Yes, of course she should have seen it coming. That was the trouble with champagne on an empty stomach. It smoothed away the edges of your mental vision. She should have seen it coming and taken evasive action. Sent Kayleigh or Kevin for him instead. Stayed well away. As it was, she found herself alone in the unlit office with him, its forms and shapes murky against the darkening sky. She heard the door sigh shut, the click of the latch, the indistinct sounds of the rest of the staff partying so near yet so far away beyond it. He had a pencil in his hand, which he was using, but no calculator. No serried ranks of figures jumping through hoops before him. Just doodles. Endless doodles.
‘Are you all right?’ she said.
‘I’m OK,’ he replied, glancing up at her and nodding slowly. ‘Just needed to sit down.’ He had taken off his brown pullover. There were dark smudges beneath his eyes. ‘I thought I’d grab five minutes.’ He put the pencil down and pushed his hands slowly through his hair.
‘Only Madeleine was wondering where you’d got to. She’s about to do the cake.’
Simon stood up and started straightening his tie. It was an instinctive action, one so familiar you hardly noticed it. Like the way he always said tickety boo when his figures balanced, or the way he stirred sugar in his coffee so fast. Ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding! There was an almost full glass of champagne on the desk in front of him. He picked this up now and downed the contents in one gulp. She watched his Adam’s apple bob. She started to turn back towards the door. But even as she did so, she knew he’d try to stop her. Knew this was the moment she’d have to let him down. Poor Simon. She should have done it sooner, she knew. But how could you tell someone you didn’t want to go out with them before they actually asked you if you would?
‘Dutch courage,’ he said now, lowering the glass and considering her over it.
She smiled. Feigned lightness. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘That’s what they say, don’t they?’ He put the empty glass down and moved out from behind the desk. He was looking pointedly at her now, like a predator assessing his chances. A mild anxiety washed over her. How much had he drunk? ‘Why Dutch?’ he went on. ‘Why do you think they call it Dutch courage particularly? Are the Dutch a particularly uncourageous people, do you think? I’ve always wondered about that.’
He couldn’t pronounce the word ‘particularly’ properly. Hope took a step back, making a gesture as if she were headed to her own desk, to get something.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I don’t know any Dutch people. Isn’t it something to do with soldiers?’ He was advancing on her now, straightening his tie again as he walked. ‘Isn’t it a war thing? Something to do with the army? I don’t know. I –’
He was in front of her now. She could smell the fabric conditioner on his shirt. See the shadows beneath his arms, the sheen of sweat on his face, the grooves in his forehead as he frowned at her.
‘Oh, Hope,’ he said slowly, enunciating carefully. ‘Look at you.’
She blinked at him. ‘What?’
He opened his arms wide, startling her. ‘Look at you!’ he said again. The arms began moving up and down, for emphasis, his palms open, his gaze bobbing over her with them. ‘Look at you! Oh, Hope, have you any idea what you do to me?’
‘What?’
He slapped them back against his sides. ‘Oh, Hope.’ He swept the arms out once more and this time he left them there. ‘This!’
She stared at him, stunned. She was completely unprepared for this kind of drama. A mumbled invitation to dinner perhaps. A shy declaration. But not this. ‘Simon,’ she lied, ‘I really don’t know what you’re talking about.’
His brows converged as he advanced closer. ‘Don’t say that. Please don’t say that, Hope. You know very well. The way you look, the way you act, the way you –’ He grabbed her hand. Held it tightly between his own. They were big hands. Big powerful hands. Warm and moist. ‘The way you look at me, Hope. Me. Don’t try to tell me you don’t know. Please don’t.’ He squeezed it now, his gaze locked on to hers. ‘Don’t try to tell me you haven’t been aware – that you really don’t know. That you’re not a part of this. That you haven’t been waiting for me to – look, I know it’s been a difficult year for you. I don’t want to push things, really I don’t. I know you feel a bit shy. I don’t want to… ’ He moved his thumb tenderly in small arcs over the back of her hand. ‘I don’t want to pressure you or anything. But sometimes, sometimes, when you’re sitting there across the office, and I look over at you, and you catch my eye and smile back at me – the way you smile back at me, Hope. I can’t help but believe that –’
She pulled her hand away and stepped backwards, horrified. Her bottom was now against the edge of her desk.
‘Simon, you’re stressing me. I don’t –’
‘Stressing you?’ He pushed his hand through his hair again. ‘Why on earth would I be stressing you?’ He looked genuinely appalled. He took another step towards her. ‘Why on earth would you be stressed? There’s nothing to be stressed about. I’m just talking about us, Hope,’ he said quietly. ‘You and me.’
His arms were around her before she could properly digest this. And his face – God, his lips – were heading for her own – collision-course heading, like surface-to-air missiles. She wriggled away from him.
‘Simon, come on. Stop this, please. You’ve had a little too much to drink, and you’ll –’
‘Hope, come on. Don’t do this to me.’ He was crowding her again, a half-smile twitching on his lips. ‘Don’t play games with me. Just relax. Just let me hold you. There. That’s all I want. See? Just to –’ His arms encircled her again, and this time she could feel the steady pressure of them against her sides. ‘Just to kiss you, that’s all. I’ve been waiting so long, I can’t let you –’
She pressed her palms against his chest and pushed him gently but firmly away. ‘Simon, stop it,’ she said. ‘Stop it. You’ll regret this in the morning. Come on. Don’t be silly.’
His arms were still around her and his face was still angled to kiss her, but his lips, slightly open still, reined themselves in. He was looking at her now with unmistakeable determination, his eyes glittering with lust only inches from hers. Though his ears, evidently, weren’t working.
He licked his lips. ‘Oh, Hope… ’
There was an unsteady thickness in his voice now. God, but he was dogged. She’d never seen him like this, and it filled her with foreboding. ‘Come on,’ she urged again, more firmly this time. ‘Don’t be silly, Simon. It’s just the champagne. You’ll be kicking yourself in the morning –’
But it was fruitless trying to reason with him. The pressure against her shoulders grew, if anything, stronger. She could feel the warm bulk of his thigh against her own. And he was grinning at her. Grinning at her.
‘Come on,’ he whispered. ‘Look, we both know you want to really.’ He licked his lips again. ‘I do understand your reticence, you know. I do know how it’s been for you… ’
He was edging her back against the desk, albeit gently. Albeit only in his quietly persistent way. He was a persistent man and he was persisting right now. Also, as was becoming increasingly apparent, stupid and ignorant and immune to reality and persistently trying to get his tongue in her mouth and to press his fat knee between hers. There was no room for discussion. No point in cajoling. She shoved her hands against his chest hard enough to make him stagger backwards and collide with his own swivel chair.
‘The hell you do!’ she roared at him. He looked incredulous. Poleaxed. ‘The hell you bloody do! Do you hear?’
There was a moment of absolute silence. And then, either as a result of the push, or her expression, or the alcohol level in his bloodstream having dropped just half a millilitre below that required for the continuing application of Dutch courage – Hope really didn’t know – his expression changed from one of stupefaction to one of mild horror. And then, even as her own was busy forming one of forgiveness and compassion, i
t moved on to one of barely restrained anger. She grew frightened. She hadn’t expected anger either. Not at all.
‘The hell you do!’ she said again, his narrowed eyes and curled lip acting as fuel to her own fury. ‘You know nothing about me, Simon! Nothing!’
He was flexing and unflexing his fingers at his side now. Staring at her with as much hate as there’d been love moments earlier. She didn’t doubt it. Oh no. Not now. Where once she’d simply seen a gentle person with a puppy-dog devotion, she could now see the reality of his feelings for her. The raw intensity of the ardour of the man underneath. To think she’d caused this. To think she’d fanned such a fire. To think her innocent gestures of friendship and camaraderie had been so wrongly interpreted, so mistakenly read. Even as he stood there hating her for it, she couldn’t help but feel wretched that she’d let it come to this. How on earth would she deal with him now?
He was still staring at her, breathing heavily and raggedly. In – out. In – out. Flex – unflex. In – out.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, his voice low and cold, his eyes shining. ‘I’m sorry I ever laid eyes on you, Hope.’ Then he turned his face away from her, lifted his arm, and punched his fist, like a piston, at the wall.
‘There you are!’
Madeleine’s voice, mere seconds later, entered the office along with a bright stripe of light, as she’d swung open the door, blinding Hope. It had grown quite dark. She hadn’t realised. Madeleine flicked on the light switch.
Hope was on her knees beside Simon, who was crying. Great gulping sobs as he rocked on his haunches. Her hands were shaking, she realised.
‘Hope?’ Madeleine said, peering across the office at them. ‘What’s happened? Is Simon all right?’
Hope could hear him trying to still his sobs.
‘He’s fine,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘Just fine. No panic. Just tripped on one of the computer leads trying to pick up his pen. You’re all right, aren’t you, Simon?’ He made some sort of noise.
Madeleine was crossing the office now, and Hope, still with her back to the door, swivelled her head to catch Madeleine’s eye.
‘Too much champagne, eh?’ she said, ostensibly to Simon, but inclining her head and signalling with her eyes to let Madeleine know not to press. She would have to tell her, of course. She couldn’t not. But not now. Not with everyone around. ‘I think we’re all a bit worse for wear,’ she went on. ‘Maybe you could call him a taxi or something? Wouldn’t do to have the other staff see you like this, eh, Simon?’ She felt his shoulders heave beneath her hands.
Madeleine, though clearly perplexed, was also blessed with a quick brain and a keen nose for trouble. She nodded. Stuck a thumb up. Winked knowingly.
‘Absolutely,’ she said now, while rolling her eyes at Hope and grinning. ‘No problem. On its way. Hey, Si? I’ll make sure they save you some cake.’
And she was gone. Hope rose to her feet, heaving Simon up too and hooking his chair with her ankle. He sat down on it listlessly, silent and acquiescent. He was, she realised, far more drunk than she’d thought. The sour tang of alcohol eddied around him as he breathed. His knuckles looked livid. Two angry cuts oozed bright red blood. She found a packet of tissues in her desk drawer and wrapped several around his hand, which was already swelling, then spat on another and rubbed away the smear of blood on the wall. He watched all this through glazed eyes.
‘Right,’ she said finally, not knowing quite what to do or say to him, and retreating to the safer ground of getting organised instead. ‘That’ll have to do. I’ll go and get your coat for you and fetch you once the cab arrives, OK?’
He lifted his head and looked up at her. ‘Thank you,’ he said dully.
‘Do you want some water or anything? A coffee?’ He shook his head. ‘Right then. I’ll be back soon.’
* * *
‘I need a proper drink,’ declared Madeleine some forty-five minutes later, once everyone else had left and the offices were dark and silent again. ‘And so do you, by the looks of it. You in a hurry to get home?’
Hope looked at her watch. It wasn’t yet nine. And no, she wasn’t in a hurry to get home. She felt too strung out. Too tearful. All out of energy for dealing with people. Besides, with her mother out of commission at the moment, she’d had to ring round and get the girl down the road to babysit. She’d come with her boyfriend. No. She’d be in no rush. Hope shook her head. ‘Now I’m out, I may as well get my money’s worth, eh?’ So they walked the few streets to the local wine bar, and perched themselves gratefully on stools at the bar.
‘Ah, a cigarette at last,’ Madeleine said, pulling a packet from her handbag. ‘You can’t imagine what a trial it is having to pretend I don’t smoke all the time. Makes me feel like a naughty school girl.’
‘What I need,’ said Hope, resting her elbows on the bar top and sipping tentatively at her expresso, ‘is a large mug of cocoa, some slippers and a hot water bottle, and to go to bed – under a candlewick bedspread, ideally – and stay there for the rest of my life. Look! See? My hands are still shaking. Can you believe that? Do you think he broke anything?’
Madeleine lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. ‘God. That’s better.’ She shook her head. ‘Broke anything? I doubt it.’ She winked. ‘Bar his heart.’
‘You didn’t see it. He really punched it hard, Maddie. God, it was horrible. What got into him?’
Madeleine smiled broadly as she drank a mouthful of red wine. ‘Well, half a bucket of Sainsbury’s finest, for one thing. But mainly you, of course, sweetie. What else? It would be rather romantic if it wasn’t so pathetic. Just goes to show. You never know with people, do you?’
Hope felt this statement to be profoundly true. She felt she didn’t know anything about anyone any more. ‘But Simon? Simon, of all people! If I’d had the first idea –’
‘Come on, darling. He’s been mooning over you since the day you started. No. Tell a lie. Before that, even. He used to come back to the office with a dozy expression on his face when you were still helping out at the shop. It was only ever a matter of time.’
‘Yes, but the way he lunged at me! I mean I know he’s been keen on me, but if I’d thought for one minute he’d behave like that – he really didn’t have a clue. He really thought I was up for it. I was gobsmacked! I wouldn’t mind, but I’ve never given him even the tiniest indication that I was interested in him. Never!’
Madeleine placed a hand on Hope’s forearm. ‘Darling, you are so touchingly naïve. You didn’t need to. Some men are highly accomplished self-deluders. And you are just the sort of woman that men like that have no difficulty fixing their fantasies upon.’
‘Me? How d’you work that out?’
‘Because you’re just so damn sweet and pretty, honey.’
‘Come on!’
‘Believe me, you are. Hope, if I was gay, even I’d fancy you, sweetheart.’ She laughed. ‘You just have those looks that bring out the beast in a man.’
‘Thanks, but I think I already knew that. Iain was perfectly civilised when I met him.’ She pushed her coffee away. Perhaps she needed a real drink too. ‘Oh, stop depressing me, will you? I don’t want a beast. What do I have to do? Become one?’
‘God, Hope, no. Stay as sweet as you are. It’s just something you have to factor into your dealings with men, that’s all. Mind you, you are way too nice. If he’d tried it on with me like that, you wouldn’t have caught me patting him and offering to call him a taxi. I’d be too busy stamping on his other hand.’
‘I know, I know. But I just felt so guilty. I mean, what is it with him? Months and months of looking like he’s – Christ – and then this!’
Maddie flicked her ash into the ashtray. ‘He has a little difficulty expressing himself, our Simon. Bit of baggage, that’s all.’
‘Baggage? What sort of baggage?’
‘Oh, I don’t know the ins and outs, but I believe he was jilted. There was certainly an engagement, or so Betty told me. Five or six years ago.
I think she pulled out pretty close to the wedding. Like I say, I don’t know the details. And I certainly haven’t asked. He keeps himself pretty much to himself, but to the best of my knowledge, there hasn’t been anyone since. You want a text book on low self-esteem? Well he wrote it.’
‘I should have read it. God, what a mess. This has been brewing up for months, and I’ve just shut my eyes and let it. I’ve been running with him so often –’
‘Well, there’s that for starters. Frankly, sweetie, with a body like yours, it doesn’t do to don Lycra with a man you’ve no carnal designs on. He’s probably been trotting round ogling that little bottom of yours, thinking his excitable little thoughts, planning his little campaign, imagining his –’
‘Oh, don’t, Maddie!’ Hope put her face in her hands. ‘I know. God, I can’t imagine how he must be feeling right now. How’s he going to face me tomorrow?’
‘That’s his problem, darling. Not yours.’
‘Maybe, but how am I going to face him?’
‘Look. Do you want me to speak to him?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Is there any point?’
‘Probably not. Unless you want to slap a harassment action on his head, I’m happy enough to let it go. Look, it’s done now. At least it’s brought it to a head. And let’s face it – it was an office party. Everyone does appalling things at office parties. Even the Simons of this world, apparently. So – hey - there’s hope for him yet! Er… ’ She raised her glass. ‘No pun intended, of course.’
Hope wished she was still married. Wished it vehemently and profoundly. She didn’t wish she was still married to Iain, of course, she just wished she could return, by some miracle, to the safely married state. She wished she didn’t have to inhabit the real world any longer. Or could inhabit it differently. In a nun’s habit and iron knickers, or with an obsessive compulsion to play bowls. Sex, it felt, had never loomed larger in her life. It was all around her, latent yet suffocating. It was all too exhausting, this business. Too time-consuming and racked with anxiety and insecurity. Too much a world of playing games. Of small rushes of hope and great storm clouds of disappointment. She thought she’d done that bit. She had done that bit. But now she was back, full circle, doing it all again, only this time with the handicap of hard knocks and experience, and the awful knowledge that the field on which she was now playing was no longer in the premier league. That most of the players on the other team were either the subs that didn’t get a game last time, or the ones that got injured, or the ones that got sent off.
Barefoot in the Dark Page 24