by Jane Lark
I wondered if Jack felt guilty.
He didn’t act as though he felt anything.
When I got downstairs I walked out through the revolving doors and looked along the busy street, then turned towards the tube station. Ever since Christmas I kept getting a feeling that someone was following me, but not here – it was at the other end of my journey, when I got off the tube and walked from there to home. I think it was because I kept seeing the same guy.
I gripped the strap of my bag tighter as I walked down the steps to the tube station, then pulled my card out of my pocket and pressed it against the sensor. The gate opened to let me into the system. I glanced around as I travelled down the escalator, standing on the right, letting the people in a hurry run past me.
I knew where to stand on the platform for the quiet carriages, so I got a seat.
I pulled out my phone and started playing games, to take my mind off the pitch, and Jack. No matter how much I ignored him, he still danced around in my brain.
It was New Year’s Eve that had ruined any hope of me being able to feel normal at work. I didn’t regret Christmas, but New Year – I shouldn’t have gone when he’d called. It had been that one last element of control that had tipped the scales too far his way. He’d completely controlled how things were between us that night and ever since. He’d called me into the office, played out his desk fantasy that he’d told me about in the cottage. He’d told me about it even before our affair had really begun, and then fulfilled it before he let our affair end. Then he hadn’t let me go back to his, and since leaving mine he hadn’t spoken to me.
Until this evening, nearly three weeks after he’d left me in bed.
The whole thing had a nasty feeling about it, which was not exciting and adrenaline-pumping; it made me feel dirty.
When I got off the tube, I glanced around at the other people. I didn’t see the big guy who’d kept smiling at me.
I breathed out and slipped my phone into my bag.
When I travelled up on the escalator I glanced around, looking at everyone. I think I was getting paranoid. But when I walked out of the tube station, the guy was there, on the other side of the street. He was about to come over the crossing. I turned, holding the shoulder strap of my bag tightly, and walked quicker.
But I was being stupid – how could he have known I was about to come out of the tube station?
Unless he’d been waiting – and what were the odds of us happening to keep seeing each other? Lots. You live in the same area.
I glanced back. He was walking the same way as me. Mostly I saw him walking the opposite way, but one way must be home and one way must be back. He had to go the other way at some point.
He was walking quickly. He was a big guy. He had long strides. So I walked quicker. I didn’t want him to catch up with me. I didn’t want him to prove it was nothing and he wasn’t following me – in case I was right and he was following me. The street was busy. Lots of people were coming home from work.
I breathed out. Stop panicking.
I glanced back. The guy was still behind me. I half-ran around the corner into my road, then looked back to check no cars were coming and crossed over. I walked on down to the house where my flat was and reached the door as the guy turned into my road. He walked past the steps as I keyed in the code to get in, my hand shaking.
Oh, this was stupid. If he was following me it was probably because he fancied me. He’d smiled a few times when I’d seen him. He didn’t speak and I didn’t look back. When the door unlocked I pushed it open and hurried in. Then breathed out a deep breath and went over to check my post. I was looking forward to a glass of wine, some brain-numbing TV and maybe a phone call to Milly – anything normal.
‘Hello, Ivy.’
I looked over. Greg stood in the doorway into his place, holding the door as if he hadn’t been planning to come out – he’d just seen me and opened the door to talk. ‘Have you only just come in from work?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good day?’
‘Yes, okay.’ Why? Every time Greg talked to me there was an undercurrent of ulterior motive in the tone of his voice and his manner.
‘Are you doing anything tonight?’
Shit, I wished he’d get the hint. Maybe if I said, ‘I’m far too busy painting my toenails’. ‘I have stuff from work to catch up on. I’ll be staying in. I don’t have time to go anywhere.’
‘You work too hard. You’re young – you need to enjoy it while you can.’
I nodded, but I was too tired and worried about work and Jack to hang around to be nice and listen to his diatribe. ‘See you, Greg. Have a good evening.’ I left him where he was and ran up the stairs to get out of there.
Annoyingly, when I got up to my room, the first thing I thought of was Jack – because he’d left memories in my room. It was as though when he’d come back here he’d managed to set things up so he’d control my mind forever. If I could turn back time I wouldn’t go into the office on New Year’s Eve and I wouldn’t let him come here.
Wine. TV. Don’t think.
My phone vibrated. It was a text from Rick. I wouldn’t get back with him. But at this moment in time Rick’s niceness was a comfortable place. He hadn’t been over the top since we’d talked. We’d kept to our agreement, friends. And as a friend, he was a good consolation. We’d started sharing texts in the same way as I did with Milly, although not as many, but he helped me keep my mind off Jack. We were helping each other get over our breakup. I was helping him with a slow withdrawal; he was helping me forget the mess I’d made of things since I’d left – only he didn’t know it. The mess I was in was my secret.
Chapter 11
Mid-February
I looked up when someone else walked into the office. Ivy. I’d been watching everyone come in, waiting for her. She hung up her coat and walked across the room to her desk, then picked up her mug and walked back across the room to the kitchen.
She didn’t look into my office. She never did any more. I hadn’t seen her look directly at me since New Year. But playing it cool was what we’d agreed on, and apart from her angry text the first day back, she’d honoured the agreement. I sighed. Problem was, I didn’t want to keep up my end of the deal any more. I was days away from getting a court agreement for joint custody of Daisy and once I had that signed off then I could let Ivy into my life, and I wanted to.
I still thought about Christmas and New Year at least once a day.
But I wasn’t sure, after her explosion at me a couple of weeks back, if she’d want to come back into my life. She’d made it plain then she wasn’t interested. I’d probably left it too long.
I should have texted her after New Year. But it had been easier to leave things as they were while I was working on winning Daisy and losing Sharon – and I hadn’t realised then how much I’d felt for Ivy. I had a craving for her.
Ivy came back from the kitchen carrying a full mug. I picked up my mug and went out to get a drink. I was struggling to concentrate today, but that was what happened to me when I thought about Ivy, which was why I’d been avoiding her, and the subject of her.
When I came back with my drink, Phil came into my office.
‘Have you got some time, Jack?’
‘Sure, sit down.’
He shut the door. ‘Ivy went through the progress on the Berkeley account with me yesterday. She’s really confident, she’s doing well.’
I nodded while he sat down. The mention of her name made me awkward. I never knew how to respond when people mentioned her.
‘I wanted to go over a couple of the accounts I’m working on with you.’
‘Great.’ I pushed up my sleeves and sat forward as he put his laptop down on the desk, then opened it up.
When it came to the end of the day, Ivy and me were the last ones in the office. She was in the creativity room. I was ready to go but I hung around because I didn’t want to have to kick her out. I wouldn’t know what to say if I went in
there. Anything I said would be wrong.
She came out of there at six and hurried across the room. She knew I was here, but she didn’t look into the office – just put her stuff away, grabbed her coat and left.
I turned off my laptop and packed up once she’d gone. Then looked at my phone. I had an urge to text her. To say something like, ‘I miss you,’ I’d had the urge tens of times in the weeks since New Year, but I’d never texted because if she’d replied, what then? It would have been too complicated, with everything else going on.
Now I’d have time. But I couldn’t just text her, it was too late for that.
I shoved the problem aside for another day. I’d wait until everything was finalised with Daisy and then I’d worry about how to get Ivy to look at me again.
If I could. Sometimes her level of acting cool edged on disdain, so maybe the lust torch had burned right out for her since New Year and she wouldn’t have anything to do with me – my flame was roaring.
I’d have to offer to take her away again. Get her out of here and give us chance to get to know one another all over again.
I smiled to myself. Thinking about some of the conversations we’d had over Christmas. I’d sales-pitch her – she’d give in.
Chapter 12
The beginning of March
Today felt good. Berkeley had loved the screening of the completed ad campaign. Jack had even walked by my desk and said a swift, ‘Good work’. I think probably because it would have looked odd if he hadn’t.
But he had to crack and talk to me sometime – he couldn’t cut me forever. People were noticing. Three people had said, ‘What did you do to Jack?’ Of course it had to be my fault, because Jolly Jack had sun shining out of his arse.
I keyed in the code to get into the house and went to the post boxes. It was obvious I had some because the letters were only half-jammed in the slot. I opened the box with my key and pulled them out. The folded-over part that sealed two of them looked really creased and they were torn, like they’d been opened and stuck back down again. That was weird. The third one was a hand-written letter from my nan. She preferred snail mail… That envelope looked odd too. There were two creases along the top like tramlines, as though it had been opened and then resealed.
Maybe someone was checking the post for cash, or looking to steal identities.
Tomorrow I’d stick a note on the box for the postman, telling him to check the letters couldn’t be pulled back out.
‘Hello, Ivy.’ Greg. I swear the guy spent his evening looking out of the window watching for when I got home. ‘You alright? You look ruffled.’
Ruffled… ‘Why?’ Would he have?
‘You look a bit pale and confused. Has something happened?’
‘I’m okay.’ I didn’t want him to know that he’d got to me if it was him who’d opened my post.
‘Sure?’
‘Yes. I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.’
‘I keep telling you, you work too hard.’
‘Yeah.’ My voice was probably rude. I turned to go upstairs.
My hands shook. It felt creepy, like I’d been assaulted or something. Who would look at my post? What if it was the postman? How could I prevent it, then? When I got up to my flat I threw the letters on the bed and hung my bag up on the back of the door. Then stripped off my coat and shoved my hat and gloves in the pocket before I found my phone. My heart pumped like it was trying to shift an ocean around my body.
‘Hello, sweetheart. How are you?’
‘Hi, Mum. Something weird’s happened. It’s freaked me out.’
‘What’s happened?’
‘It looks like someone’s opened my letters.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. It’s weird isn’t it?’
‘Tell the police, love. Don’t ring 999 and block the emergency number, but call 101 and tell them, and don’t touch the letters so they can take fingerprints – in case it turns into anything. Maybe it’s happening to lots of people.’
I looked at the letters. I’d already touched them. ‘Now you’re really scaring me.’
‘Then why don’t you come home tomorrow? We haven’t seen you since your birthday. You can get a train in the morning and go back Sunday evening.’
I took a breath. The idea made me homesick and there was no reason not to go home. Especially since Rick and I had begun tiptoeing our way into friendship, so it didn’t matter if I saw his parents. He and I had been out for a drink twice now. We’d talked, laughed and got along okay – as well as we used to in the beginning, when we’d just been friends.
‘Alright, I’ll try and get there for midday.’
‘That would be lovely, sweetheart. We’ll look forward to seeing you. But on Monday you’re to take those letters into a police station.’
‘Yes okay, Mum. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll text you when the train leaves London.’
‘Bye, darling.’
I hung up and put the TV on – on the news. Then looked at what food I had in the cupboard. But I wasn’t really that hungry after the thing with the post. My stomach was an upside-down mess. I pulled out a can of baked beans and put a slice of bread into the toaster. I ate sitting on the bed. I didn’t have a table or even a chair; just the bed, my tiny kitchenette, the TV and me.
The intercom buzzed as I finished eating and Emmerdale came on. I jumped. Shit. Who…? No one ever called on me. I always went to other people’s.
I put my plate in the sink, then went over to the intercom and pressed the button. ‘Who is it?’ I listened to the crackle from the speaker, as though this was a horror movie, expecting some crazy person to answer with a deep laugh.
‘It’s Jack. Can I come up?’
‘Why?’ If I sounded defensive, it was because I was defensive. What the fuck was he here for? He had control of my life in the office, but I wasn’t going to let him start playing his Captain Control games with me at home. He couldn’t suddenly turn up. But he had… It was Jack playing everything his way again.
‘Because we need to talk.’
‘We don’t. We’ve had plenty of opportunity to talk at work. You chose not to speak to me. So, no, I don’t want you to come up here and talk. Go away. I’ll see you at work on Monday.’
I lifted my hand off the sound. The intercom buzzed again. I ignored it. My phone rang. I didn’t answer it. It buzzed with a message.
‘Come on, Ivy. You know I can’t talk to you about personal stuff in the office. Don’t leave me standing out here like an idiot.’
‘Maybe you are an idiot. You’ve acted like one since New Year.’
‘Look, hey, calm down. I didn’t know you were so pissed off about it, otherwise I’d have come over sooner. You never said.’
‘You don’t speak to me, so when was I meant to say?’
There was no reply.
I tossed my phone down, realising that after weeks of being brilliantly cool, calm and professional, and acting like I hadn’t been bothered, I’d blown it all and given myself away. Bum. I’d sounded as pathetic as Rick last year. I should have let Jack talk and looked bored. Or made him talk through the intercom and laughed.
Footsteps struck the stairs outside and then someone knocked on my door.
‘Ivy?’
Shit, someone had let him in. What the fuck was a security system for, for God sake? That was probably how whoever had tampered with my post got in.
I got up and reached out, grasping the door handle, so if he tried to turn it I could stop him getting in. But he couldn’t get in unless I opened the lock anyway. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I want to spend the weekend with you.’
What a prick! I opened the door. ‘Fuck off. I’m not having sex with you, Jack.’
‘What’s wrong with you?’
‘What do you think? You haven’t spoken to me as an individual since you were last in this room. You can’t come up here expecting sex. What’s wrong with you?’
‘Let me co
me in, so we can talk?’
‘So you can run your sales pitch and twist everything out of shape, so it turns out your way, like it did before. No. Please? Go away.’
His arm lifted and his elbow rested on the doorjamb by my head. It meant I couldn’t shut the door. It was an arrogant, domineering gesture – completely alpha-male and completely Jack – and, annoyingly, it twisted something in my stomach and thrust a memory of having sex with him into my head. A memory of the last night in the big house. ‘Go away. I don’t want to talk to you if you can’t talk to me at work. Oh, no, I forgot, there was one time you spoke to me, when you wanted sex and I was working late and there was your good work comment today.’
‘I’ve been busy.’
Too busy to even text after having left me in bed… I didn’t say that, it sounded petulant, like Rick had been with me. I needed Jack to think that it didn’t matter. ‘I don’t really care, Jack.’
His arm dropped and then his hands slid into the pockets of his leather jacket. He wanted sex, that was all. Maybe that was even the reason he’d complimented my success at work. That was a shitty thought. Everything he’d done since Christmas kept spoiling my memories of Christmas.
‘I couldn’t see you; Sharon’s lawyer has a private detective watching me and I’ve been fighting for a legal agreement to see Daisy, so I didn’t want to mess it up. But I‘ve been seeing Daisy every Sunday for a couple of hours since the New Year and now I have a legal agreement. I get her every other weekend. So this weekend I’m free, before the new arrangement starts.’
And you want sex. I stepped back and sat on the bed. I didn’t like his excuses. Excuses were a sales pitch in the opposite form – reasons to forgive me, one, two, three. ‘I’m not free anyway.’
‘Why?’
‘I’m going to see my parents.’
Jack had stepped into the room. He leaned against the wall behind him. ‘I was going to take you somewhere on the bike.’
‘No thanks.’
‘Why are you being awkward? This isn’t just about sex, Ivy.’
‘I’m not being awkward. You’re being controlling. Everything gets played your way, come to my cottage, come into the office and celebrate New Year with me… Don’t text me, people might know—’