A Passionate Love Affair with a Total Stranger

by Lucy Robinson

  I straightened up. ‘I resign,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah?’ Margot was shouting. ‘Well, how about this, John? Your little slut has been running a company on the side since she broke her leg. A dating company, of all things.’ She spat the word out as if there was excrement in her mouth.

  John turned to me, astonished. ‘Bullshit,’ he shot back, turning away from me again. ‘That’s impossible. She works all the hours God sends.’

  Too bloody true.

  ‘I resign,’ I said again.

  John ignored me. ‘Prove it,’ he hissed at Margot.

  Finally, my brain started to work.

  ‘I resign,’ I said loudly. ‘Is anyone actually listening to me? I’m leaving now and I won’t be coming back. If you want to sue me for my notice period then go right ahead. I want my life back.’

  Two faces looked blankly at me.

  ‘What?’ John said.

  ‘You heard,’ I replied. ‘We can discuss this all via email, or phone, or I can come in to do it formally, but right now I’m going to my grandmother’s funeral.’

  John was flabbergasted. ‘You can’t leave,’ he said incredulously. ‘You can’t just – just leave.’

  ‘I have to,’ I said slowly. ‘I’m thirty-two, nearly thirty-three, and I have no life. And my dad needs me.’ The words caught in my throat and I walked around John and out of my office.

  ‘How the hell will I explain this to Chambers?’ John sounded almost childish. He was hot on my heels.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll work it out,’ I said softly. ‘You’re used to putting him before anyone else.’

  As if on cue, Chambers scurried towards the office, his mean little face sniffing the air for trouble.

  ‘Off to the road show, then, Sharon?’ he asked suspiciously.

  I looked him up and down, this disgusting little prick of a man who had taken it upon himself to touch my backside more often than I cared to remember. ‘Fuck you, Runty,’ I said to him.

  And then I turned my back on John MacAllister for the first and last time. I handed my security pass to Cassie and walked out of the comms office, my car keys jangling loudly in the silence.

  As I exited the lift downstairs, legs almost buckling with shock, a heavily made-up woman with immaculate and extremely massive hair stormed through the main entrance. ‘Where will I find John MacAllister?’ she asked the security guard. She was American. She had serious nails. Talons of scarlet. She wasn’t speaking very loudly but there was something utterly terrifying about her. So terrifying, in fact, that I found myself momentarily rooted to the spot, watching her.

  And then I realized she was Susan Faulkner. Susan MacAllister now. Oh, I’d stared at her photo for hours.

  The security guard tried to explain that she would probably need an appointment to see the CEO but Susan cut in with a deadly smile and a voice of steel: ‘If you try to stop me, I may get violent,’ she said quietly. ‘John MacAllister is my husband. And I’ve just found out that the filthy pig has been sleeping with his press woman. If you let me up there, I will murder only him. If you detain me, I will murder you and him. OK?’

  ‘You’ll find him on the third floor,’ I interrupted, suddenly coming to life. I put my foot into the lift to keep the doors open for her. ‘And, yes, he has been sleeping with his “press woman”, I’m afraid. He told her his marriage was over and that you’d run off with another man to America. I’d definitely go and murder him if I were you.’

  She stared at me for a moment and I watched her face change. Then she let out a bloodcurdling war cry and charged into the lift.

  I smiled and walked out into the world.

  Fifteen minutes later I was stomping up a very pedestrian-unfriendly verge alongside the A1, feeling slightly silly. During my filmic departure from work I hadn’t spared much thought for logistics; in particular the fact that Salutech owned my car. The sudden absence of wheels, and indeed of anything resembling a bus stop, had not facilitated my great escape but I reckoned another twenty minutes would bring me to a bus that would take me home. That was all that mattered to me right now.

  I’d been unable to get hold of Ness and had eventually called Sam, who said he’d try to come and pick me up. However, I wasn’t expecting to see him any time soon. He didn’t own a car.

  I was dumbfounded by the events of the last hour. So dumbfounded, really, that I kind of didn’t have any idea how I was feeling. When Sam had asked me, I’d just sort of shouted, ‘Raaaaaarr!’ then tripped over a pothole and dropped my phone. There was an incredible feeling of lightness around my chest, but I was aware that this could be the breathlessness of shock as opposed to some metaphysical sense of freedom.

  But among all the thoughts that were flying around my head – panic, disbelief, astonishment, anger, joy, to name but a few – there was one thing about which I was very certain. And that was the fact that John was not the man I’d thought him to be.

  He was weak.

  I was deeply shocked. John had always been the strongest, most confident man I’d known and it was this confidence that had mesmerized me for seven years.

  And yet John was so scared of Bradley Chambers that he had tricked me into coming into work so he could, what? Kidnap me? What was he going to do? Bundle me into his car boot and roll me out at the conference? It was actually laughable. And to think he was so scared of his boss he’d tried physically to stop me leaving the building … It was quite sick, really.

  ‘John is weak,’ I said out loud. ‘A weakling!’

  But an idea was forming somewhere in my head. A rather radical one. I’m not all that strong either, I thought slowly, hopping across a drainage ditch. Had I not flayed myself alive for Salutech? Had I not, a mere hour ago, agreed to abandon my family on one of the hardest days we’d ever had together just because Bradley Chambers had decreed it must be so?

  ‘I’m a weakling,’ I muttered, extricating my tights from a clump of brambles.

  And then: ‘ I’M A WEAKLING!’ I tried it a bit louder and it felt glorious. I was not a Scottish Amazon or anything of the sort. I was just another weak, imperfect person, a girl who’d thrown her life into her work because she had no idea how else to live.

  ‘I’M NOT TOUGH AT ALL!’ I shouted, grinning. ‘WOOOO!’

  A lorry driver honked at me, clearly perplexed by the sight of a six-foot woman shouting to herself as she crashed along the grass verge in a suit and heels. I waved in acknowledgement. ‘YEAH!’ I yelled, feeling something release in my shoulder blades. ‘I’m a knob!’

  Another horn sounded behind me. Not even bothering to look round, I waved my hand in acknowledgement. ‘WHATEVS!’

  ‘Charley,’ a man’s voice yelled. ‘Get in the fucking car, you lunatic!’

  I whipped round. ‘SAAAAAAAM! Sammeeeee!’

  Sam grinned, leaning over to open the passenger door of the car he was driving. ‘Oh, my God,’ he said, as I threw my bag into the back and hopped in beside him. ‘Oh, fucking hell, you’ve gone mental!’

  ‘Whoop!’ I responded. ‘YEAH!’

  Sam pulled away from the kerb, foot hard on the accelerator to avoid another lorry speeding up behind us. He was laughing. ‘Oh, Chas, this is a glorious day,’ he said. ‘WHOOOOOOOOOP!’ he whooped.

  We both whooped for a bit and then I settled back in the seat, trying to find a comfortable position. ‘Hang on,’ I said. I took my heels off and threw them out of the window on to the verge. ‘There!’ I stuck my feet up on the dashboard, laughing at the number of ladders running up my tights.

  ‘We’ll pick them up on the way back,’ Sam said.

  ‘Yup,’ I agreed. We both laughed and I felt free. I’d been hiding at John’s house since Sam and I had conducted our scientific experiment last Thursday, terrified that he had noticed how much I’d enjoyed it, but Sam hadn’t let me get away with it. He’d called me most days with First Date Aid queries and updates and had seemed so completely normal that I’d begun to relax. Clearly, for him, it hadn�
��t been an issue at all.

  And the lovely thing was that, right at this moment, I didn’t care.

  ‘I am a free woman, Sam!’ I cried suddenly. ‘I’m FREEEEEEE!’

  Sam grabbed my shoulder enthusiastically, his eyes on the road. ‘I’m so fucking proud of you, Charley,’ he said, suddenly emotional. ‘You got out of that shithole. You have no idea how much this means to the people who care about you.’

  I glanced sideways at him. Even though it was November, Sam was wearing sunglasses and, with his hair blowing in the breeze from the still-open window, he looked like some sort of film star. ‘Thanks for coming to get me, Bowes,’ I said gratefully. ‘Did you steal a car?’

  He grinned. ‘No. It’s Sheryl’s.’

  ‘Sheryl who? Tell me this isn’t some sex-friend’s car, Bowes?’

  ‘No,’ he said, slightly hurt. ‘Sheryl from downstairs.’

  ‘Oh!’ I was surprised. ‘But you don’t know the Greens.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ he replied. ‘You needed picking up. I’m sure you’d do the same for me.’

  I would. I had a whole world of possibility opening up before me. I was going to have time to borrow a car and help a friend. To go for a walk. I could make someone dinner. ‘I feel like a newborn,’ I said.

  Sam smiled.

  ‘It’s like I’m starting again, Sam. I’m totally shitting myself, and I’ll probably have a panic attack soon, but right now I feel like I might burst. With excitement and hope and stuff. Do you know what I mean?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I do.’

  As I peered sideways at him, I saw how happy he was for me and I wanted to cry. We’d done it! We’d taken action! We’d fought through all the fear and started our lives again! I positively glowed. If it weren’t for Sam, I wouldn’t have been here, fighting my way down the A1. I would never have taken my life back.

  ‘We did it, Bowes,’ I said. ‘We did it together.’

  Sam was looking dangerously emotional himself. ‘Right on, brother.’

  I watched him driving for a while and pondered how much I loved being with Sam. Not only was he silly and kind but he was safe. I felt no urge to be someone else when I was with him: not clever, not strong, not witty. It was OK to be a moron or a bore and I loved him for that.

  ‘So, John’s a wanker,’ he said, after a few minutes.

  I snorted, although not without sadness. ‘Yep. And he’s probably dead, too. His wife arrived just as I was leaving. She was made of ice. She’s going to kill him. Absolutely no doubt about it.’

  Sam punched me on the shoulder. ‘Bo,’ he remarked. ‘And do you have any sort of a plan?’

  I thought about it. ‘No,’ I said truthfully.

  ‘Good girl.’ He reached over and squeezed my leg. Oddly, I wanted to hold on to him but he moved his hand to the gear stick and, in true Bowes fashion, started singing along enthusiastically to a Backstreet Boys song on Sheryl Green’s car stereo.

  I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

  At two o’clock that afternoon, I walked slowly down the aisle of the crematorium chapel behind Mum and Dad, who had their arms around each other. Nessie, Katy and I had copied them and I felt strong and protected with my beautiful sisters on either side of me.

  We sat down on the pew and I felt someone squeeze my shoulder from behind. It was Hailey. ‘Love you,’ she muttered, a tear rolling down her face.

  Sam, who was sitting next to her, smiled kindly at me. ‘I’m so proud of you Chasmonger,’ he whispered. And it was then, looking at his lovely green eyes – so full of understanding and compassion – that I let go and started to cry. I cried and cried and cried.

  Today was one of the saddest days of my life but it also felt like one of the happiest. However uncertain the future felt right now, I knew I was ready for the challenge. Ready for the unknown. Ready, finally, to find out who Charlotte Lambert really was.

  Chapter Eighteen

  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ I mumbled, sleepy but very amused. Malcolm looked round to check that no one had detected him, then wagged his tail. ‘Malcolm, if they find you upstairs, you’re in a world of trouble.’ He wagged even harder, grinning at me as if I were the most beautiful and amazing woman on earth. ‘Go downstairs before we get rumbled,’ I told him. ‘Go on, you great big fool.’

  Malcolm rejected this plan, opting instead to trot over to my bed where he stuck his nose joyously into my duvet.

  ‘No!’ I jumped out of bed and, scanning the landing for signs of human life, ran him down the stairs. ‘You are a very bad boy,’ I told him, as he head-butted the door to the cupboard where his food was kept. I measured out his meal and added a bit of water, trying but failing to get the bowl on to the floor before he shoved his head into it.

  I sat at the kitchen table and watched him eat, smiling fondly. It was cold and beautiful outside. Sharp winter light punched through the bare branches, illuminating tiny cobwebs and old dust on the kitchen window. A cat sat on our gatepost, watching a solitary bird chirping from Dad’s apple tree. There was a lovely stillness, broken only by a column of steam coming from the boiler vent. It snaked up into the air and quickly fluffed out into nothing.

  I walked over to the kettle where last night’s glasses were still piled, grainy red stains sitting in the bottom of well-fingered wine glasses and Scotch tumblers full of melted ice. It had been a good send-off. After an awkward, sombre start, we had all relaxed and shared our Granny Helen tales, most of them very funny. My aunts, uncles and cousins, a small handful of neighbours and also Hailey, Sam and Sarah had stayed until the bitter end and now they were all asleep, dotted around our house and Granny Helen’s cottage next door. Malcolm and I might be the only ones up but I still had the sense of security I’d felt yesterday, of being surrounded by people who made me safe.

  ‘I don’t have a job,’ I told Malcolm, as the kettle boiled. He cocked his head comically to one side, licking the remains of his breakfast from his nose. ‘Oh, Malcolm, I do love you,’ I told him. Needing no further encouragement, he jumped up and stuck his face into my belly.

  ‘Morning,’ a sleepy voice said in the doorway. It was Sam. His hair had taken on a very amusing triangular wedge shape after a night on the sofa and he had one of our old blankets wrapped around him. ‘I wouldn’t say no to a tea,’ he announced. He pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and yawned, running his hands through his hair.

  I lined up two mugs, thinking how nice it was to have Sam at my parents’ house. I’d been looking forward to bringing John here some time but had also felt that I’d probably have to come in first and clean up a bit. There were no such worries with Sam, who, until recently, had had the domestic habits of a farmyard pig. And with whom I felt very relaxed.

  It occurred to me that I was comparing my housemate to my ex-lover, so I moved my focus elsewhere. ‘Why are you up so early, Bowes?’ I asked.

  There was a pause.

  ‘I have to get back to Edinburgh pronto,’ Sam said eventually. He appeared to be concentrating hard on the bird on the gatepost outside.

  I sat down and slid a mug of tea in front of him. ‘What’s going on?’

  Sam didn’t reply for a while, but when he did his voice sounded different. ‘Chas,’ he said. I looked up sharply. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I got the job.’

  For a moment, I had no idea what he was talking about but it came eventually. The acting job, of course. The London job. The definitely-not-Edinburgh job.

  I knew I should feel happy but I didn’t. Why was Sam being taken away from me now of all times? I’d just quit my job, for crying out loud – now was the time for us to start out together as a business! Scrap that: now was the time for us to start out together as human beings!

  I forced myself to remember what he’d said about the acting job being pretty much the gig of a lifetime. ‘Congratulations!’ I said shrilly. ‘Did you get the part you wanted?’ I tried to look happy.

  He nodded, barely able to
contain his smile. ‘For real. I got one of the main bloody parts, Charley!’

  I was gutted. ‘Oh, my God!’ I said emptily. ‘Wow! That’s amazing! I’m SO pleased for you!’ I clasped his arm miserably. ‘So happy, Bowes! And proud,’ I added. I was proud. But with this came sadness of a severity that confused me.

  ‘Thanks,’ Sam said bashfully. ‘It’s probably the best news I’ve ever had. Eleven years of nothing and then – boom!’

  I made a face that was meant to show awe and delight.

  But I was not delighted. I was sad and also quite afraid. Part of the reason I had felt relatively secure about marching out of Salutech and into a new life was that I knew Sam would be there with me, doing exactly the same thing. It was unsettling to think that I now had to do it alone, particularly if Sam was going to be moving on with his life down in trendy London, surrounded by beautiful people.

  ‘Does that mean you’re leaving soon?’ I asked. At least give me a few days, just to get myself started. I need you!

  But I knew it wasn’t going to happen. It was written all over his face. ‘Actually, I’m leaving today,’ he said awkwardly. ‘Sorry, Chas. I got the call yesterday and we start rehearsals on Monday. I was going to stay another day but that’d only give me Sunday to find somewhere to live in London.’

  I nodded in what I hoped was an understanding manner as Sam explained that they would run from mid-December until February. My heart sank further when he admitted that he wouldn’t make it back to Edinburgh at all because it played on weekends – and that there was even a chance of the play extending into the summer if it went well.

  ‘You may decide to move to London properly,’ I blurted out, hoping he’d deny it.

  He didn’t. He just nodded reflectively. ‘If things go well, then, yes, I suppose I might.’

  There was a silence during which Malcolm started munching loudly on his balls.

  I sipped some tea and smiled brightly. ‘Well, Bowes, I’m absolutely thrilled. Cheers!’ I shoved my cup rather forcefully at him, slopping a lot of tea on to his nice shawl-collar jumper. ‘Oh, fuck! Sorry!’