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Seven Lies (ARC)

Page 14

by Elizabeth Kay

“I think it’s because now that we’re husband and wife we just feel

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  like a flat probably isn’t the right sort of home for us anymore, you

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  know?” Marnie continued. “We just feel like a house would be more

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  appropriate. I love that flat, but there’s an argument, isn’t there, that 12

  this is the time to start thinking about the next steps in life. Room to

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  grow and all that. Maybe in September. I think that’s meant to be a

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  good time to sell.”

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  “You should do what you want to do,” I said. “Whatever feels right.”

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  “You sound just like Charles,” she replied. “You’re both so sensible.

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  He keeps saying that we’re only just married, that we have all the time

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  in the world to do these things, that there’s no pressure whatsoever. But 19

  I think he wants to do it too, you know, just that he doesn’t want to be

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  pushy. I think he likes the idea of more space. I could get him a dog—

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  you know the one he wants; is it a husky? But then, as he says, there’s

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  always more time, and dogs are so much work, aren’t they?”

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  I didn’t respond.

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  “Jane?”

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  I turned off my bedside lamp and closed my eyes.

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  “Shit,” she said. “I’m so sorry. Was that insensitive? There isn’t al-

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  ways more time. I know that. It’s why I think this way, I think, because

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  of Jonathan. I know that sometimes life shifts unexpectedly, that the

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  choices get taken away. Shit. Jane, I’m sorry. I was just . . . Jane?”

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  “It’s fine,” I replied. “Really.”

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  I wanted to go to sleep. I didn’t want to have this conversation.

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  E L I Z A B E T H K AY

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  I could see that her life was expanding as mine was shrinking. I had

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  once had the conversations that she was now having— asked myself

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  those very same questions— and looked ahead toward a life that offered

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  answers.

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  Jonathan had always wanted to move away from the city, to live in

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  the countryside: he’d wanted to keep chickens, and have more bed-

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  rooms than children, and build a treehouse at the bottom of the yard.

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  “You know the smog outside the flat? Well, there’d be none of that,”

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  he’d say, trying to persuade me.

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  “Did you hear that?” he’d whisper, in the middle of the night, in

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  response to bottles being broken or tires screeching on the street out-

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  side. “You don’t get that in the countryside.”

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  He’d go to the supermarket and, as he unpacked the vegetables,

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  each clinically wrapped in plastic, he would say, “I could have grown

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  this myself.”

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  I knew that eventually I would say: “Yes. Okay. Let’s do it.”

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  But that moment never came.

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  Chapter Twelve

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  k

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  H

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  ere’s the thing. When something starts to slip away, it becomes

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  almost impossible to think about anything other than how it

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  was at its best. I tried to fall asleep, but I couldn’t. I could only work 14

  backward through our friendship and try to find moments that felt

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  equally fragile.

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  We had one row at school, only one. It was about something and

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  nothing, as arguments so often are. She always pressed snooze on her

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  alarm clock, half a dozen times at least, until she was frantic and rush-

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  ing and falling into the classroom. We were partnered in every lesson,

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  and drama was first on a Thursday. Almost every activity required a

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  pair; a one on its own simply wasn’t enough. She rarely apologized for

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  being so late. And eventually I lost my temper. It was selfish of her not 23

  to think of me, to forget that her behavior affected others. I said that I 24

  wasn’t sure that I wanted to be her partner anymore. She said fine, if

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  that was how I felt, and she stormed off with her scarf trailing behind

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  her and her homework still clasped in her fist.

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  This friction lasted an entire day. We didn’t sit together and we

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  walked separately between classes. The hostility was unprecedented.

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  We were normally the harmonious anomaly in among endless teenage

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  conflict. Our teacher was so shocked by the situation that she sat us

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  down after our last class and unraveled the issue— with words like

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  E L I Z A B E T H K AY

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  “responsibility” and “compassion”— and insisted that we stop being so

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  immature and learn to address our problems in an adult manner.

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  And that was it. The only argument. We forgave each other, but we

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  didn’t forget it. Instead, we carried it like a trophy, because just one

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  argument in the course of an entire friendship seemed something worth

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  celebrating.

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  There hadn’t been another blip since. We’d moved to separate cities

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  to study at eighteen but it felt like we were barely apart, because there 09

  was always a reason to call, a story to share, something only she’d un-

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  derstand. We snapped back together three years later. And then we

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  were better than we’d ever been, a concrete team against a world that

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  seemed confounding.

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  It was in that first year in the Vauxhall flat— perhaps only a month

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  or two before I met Jonathan— that Marnie first tried to quit he
r job.

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  She’d written a letter of resignation, but her boss, Steven, had refused

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  to accept it. She’d returned to the flat that evening perplexed and rather 17

  despondent but determined to find a solution. She hated the work and

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  the people and her boss in particular, who thought he was irresistible to 19

  younger women, which was very much not the case. I’d met him a few

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  times before— at her various work events— and it was clear that he still 21

  thought himself as handsome as he’d been thirty years earlier.

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  Marnie tried to resign again the following week. She cornered her

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  boss and confronted him with her letter in front of their managing di-

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  rector.

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  “As discussed,” she’d said, firmly, “my resignation.”

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  “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,” Abi had said. “You must be disap-

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  pointed, Steven.”

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  “Very,” he’d replied as he reluctantly accepted the envelope.

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  “I hope you’re moving on to exciting new things,” Abi had said, and

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  she’d smiled. She had been appointed a few months earlier. She was six

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  foot one and fiercely ambitious. The younger women in the company

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  were impressed by her; the older men less so.

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  S E V E N L I E S

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  And so Steven wasn’t going to make things easy; he was determined

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  to make Marnie suffer for the simple crime of suggesting that she might

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  not be entirely content in his presence. He pulled Marnie aside later

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  that day and informed her that she had a six- month notice period and

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  would be expected to serve the full duration. Marnie argued that it was

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  ridiculous— that she hadn’t known what she was signing and that it was a

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  disproportionate term of notice for an assistant— but he was insistent.

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  That evening she threw herself onto the sofa and buried her head

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  beneath the cushions and seethed because it wasn’t fair, simply wasn’t

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  going to happen, because she couldn’t do it, wouldn’t do it, couldn’t be

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  expected to work for such an odious man for another six months.

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  “Help me,” she pleaded, peeking at me from between two pillows.

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  “I will die if I spend another month with that man. I can smell his

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  breath on my clothes,” she said, “and I can hear his nasal laugh grating

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  in my head all the time, even when we aren’t together, even on week-

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  ends. Help me, Jane.”

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  So we devised a plan. I had done this before, of course, without her,

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  to retaliate against her seemingly charming but fundamentally volatile

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  first boyfriend, but it was so different, so invigorating to be sharing the 19

  anticipation. Their company’s annual summer party was the following

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  weekend. It was a big event designed to charm their suppliers and in-

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  vestors and to thank the employees and to entertain their partners. It

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  was held on the river in the garden of the company’s largest pub and the

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  attention to detail was inspiring. It was themed— they always were—

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  and this year the spotlight was on the circus.

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  We arrived early. Giant gates sprayed in gold paint had been erected

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  in the car park and we were ushered in by two clowns and directed

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  through to the circus itself. There was a big top tent in stretched blue

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  plastic and a man on stilts strolled past in bright red flares, looking

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  straight ahead, as though entirely unaware of the world playing out

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  around his feet, the smaller lives scrabbling at ground level.

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  Marnie took my hand and together we weaved through the masses.

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  E L I Z A B E T H K AY

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  She was wearing a black leotard and sheer black tights and she looked

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  elegant, confident, as though her body was the very thing that she

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  wanted it to be. I was wearing a long floral skirt and a small crystal ball 04

  on a chain around my neck. I had wanted to wear my jeans.

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  Marnie paused in front of the bar and pointed at a very tall woman

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  dressed in a red leather jacket with striped gold cuffs and black leather 07

  lapels. A small red top hat was perched on her head and a bull whip was

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  clasped in her fist.

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  “There,” she said. “That’s her; that’s Abi.”

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  I nodded. “And where will I find you?” I asked.

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  Marnie pointed at a wooden caravan just beyond the popcorn stand.

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  It was painted lime green and had bright yellow stripes down the sides.

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  “Behind that,” she said. “In fifteen minutes.”

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  I approached Abi. I interrupted her conversation. I introduced myself

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  as Pippa Davies.

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  She recognized the name immediately. Pippa Davies was the daugh-

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  ter of one of their principal suppliers. Pippa had called Marnie the pre-

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  vious week and said that she was no longer able to attend, and Marnie

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  had chosen not to amend the guest list.

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  Abi was delighted to see me. She led me through the circus— she

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  wanted to show me their site, their flagship pub, the scale of their

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  operation— and she was pitch- perfect as she sold me their success and

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  their ambition. I followed her willingly and slowly, subtly, focused on

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  maneuvering us past the popcorn stand and toward the green caravan.

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  “This is very elegant,” I said, and I started to circle it.

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  “Sure,” said Abi, a little surprised by the unexpected detour. “I ex-

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  pect your father has mentioned the parties we host for the customers

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  too: Saint Patrick’s Day, Halloween, New Year’s Eve.”

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  I stopped and I stared. It had worked. I could see that they were

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  squabbling and so I cleared my throat. Marnie looked up and then her

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  posture softened slightly, her weight shifting to one side, her hip jutting 32N

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  out, and she stepped toward him and put her hand on his shoulder. It

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  looked illicit, flirtatious, and I felt both repulsed and delighted.

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  “We feel that attention to detail is paramount and, for me, this is

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  one of the many things that separates us from our competitors and— ”

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  Abi looked up and made a tiny noise, a tiny gasp, and her hands flew

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  up to cover her lips, her whip falling to the ground beside her.

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  “Steven,” she said. “What on earth . . . ? What is this?”

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  He furrowed his eyebrows— it was rather endearing, really— and he

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  glanced among the three of us, bewildered and unable to process what

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  exactly was happening and why his boss was looking so shocked, so

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  horrified. And then he understood. He looked at Marnie and he raised

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  his eyebrows and he turned his head to one side as though about to

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  shout, and then he recognized that there was a more important con-

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  cern, someone else who he ought to address.

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  “Abi,” he said, and he stepped backward away from Marnie. “This is

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  not what it looks like. This is absolutely— ”

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  “Don’t,” said Marnie, and she held her hand up and out. “Please.

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  Let’s just be honest. We can’t keep this a secret, not now, not anymore.”

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  She was not a great actress, probably not even a good one, and her

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  words were stilted and sharp, her actions unnatural. But he was playing

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  his part so perfectly. His wide eyes were scanning the garden either side 21

  of us, presumably looking for his wife. His mouth was opening and

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  closing, unsure what to say, unsure where to start.

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  “I’m sorry. We should have told you,” continued Marnie. “But for

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  obvious reasons we’ve been trying to keep this quiet. But you should

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  know, I think, that Stevie and I . . . we’re in a relationship.”

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  “A relationship?” said Abi.

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  “A what?” said Steven.

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  “And I know— I’ve checked the policy— that one of us needs to re-

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  sign. I understand and you know already that I’ve been thinking about

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  my next steps and— ”

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  E L I Z A B E T H K AY

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  “Effective immediately?” asked Abi, clearly keen to find the least

 

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