I shake my head.
“Nathan didn’t tell you?”
I shake my head again.
“William, your boss, didn’t say before you left?”
I shake my head a third time. Izzy was very much office bound there and really it wasn’t any different. She met the guys on her own time. She stretched a lunchtime or two but all but a couple of her dates were in the evenings. May only have been one. I can’t remember; it was a year ago.
“You’re already giving up your evenings, twenty-something of them.”
I nod. “Twenty. Twenty-five days but twenty evenings. Fridays don’t count but–”
“So you shouldn’t have to give up your days too.”
“It’s fine. I’d fully expected to come here every day but one or two off occasionally would be a bonus.”
“Make sure you do. Go somewhere that isn’t Tring or Hemel. Too much concrete here, and of course you’re used to Tring. Do you know any nice cafés?”
“A few spring to mind.”
“Do you have access to a dog?”
I laugh. “My aunt and uncle have a mad cockerpoo type.”
“Perfect. It’s supposed to be nice all week so go somewhere different one lunchtime. Do you know the Bluebells, Marsworth way?”
“I…”
“The bottom of the reservoir, not far outside Tring. There’s a disused pub on the main road.”
I know exactly where he means. “My mum and aunt used to visit a friend there. I thought it was Long Marston but yes, I know it. I’ve not been in the café but the car park’s always been busy when I’ve driven past. I think popular with cyclists especially, like The Cog.”
“In Tring.”
“Frogmore Street.”
“I knew it when it was Tringfellows. It’s such a shame they changed the name. I love play on words.”
“Me too.”
“Of course, dear. You’re the journalist.”
I’m a columnist rather than fully fledged journalist but don’t correct him. “Do you do any writing, Frank?”
“Not really.”
“Not really?” Not really in my book usually means yes but they’re too shy to talk about it.
“Everyone’s got a novel in them,” I offer.
“So they say but not me. Not that kind of imagination. No, I’m helping Frankie with hers.”
“Oh?”
“Her autobiography. She used to be a nurse at Great Ormond Street Hospital.”
“Gosh.”
“Exactly.”
I laugh, only just getting the significance. I’d meant ‘gosh’ as an exclamation rather than an acronym.
“She obviously dealt with the children but many were offspring of celebrities. I’m talking back in the day; she retired probably around the time you left home, so not the people you’d see on television these days.”
I know what he means. In the year, minus two weeks ish, that I’ve been with Duncan, we’ve watched more films and box sets than ‘live’ TV so I recognise only a few of the people on I’m A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here or Strictly Come Dancing, even when told who they are. And having them described as a ‘TV personality’ doesn’t help.
I’m not quite George Clooney era, although he was incredibly sexy in ER… Duncan does like all the ‘scrubs’ type programmes… not actually Scrubs, other than the first couple of series as they got silly – banana-skin silly rather than clever silly – after that, but anything that features green operation-style uniforms. Supervet, that kind of thing. It makes me cry but Duncan’s used to it, although he is a big softie, and I love him cuddling into me on the sofa. I picture him looking up at me, doe eyed, and I smile but realise I’m ignoring Frank.
“Sorry, Frank. You’ll have to tell me more when we go out tonight. Should I book the K2?”
Frank shakes his head. “Leave it to me. Or I’ll get Nathan to do it. He won’t mind. And yes, gladly tell you more. Frankie’s a very interesting lady.”
“Thank you. I look forward to it.” Other than research, I don’t have a lot to do. This may be a lot tougher than I expect but for now I’m going with the flow.
“I’ll leave you to it,” he says and wheels the chair back to the other side of the desk.
“Thanks again, Frank. You’ve all been really nice.”
He shrugs as if it really is nothing. He’s probably glad to get out. “Have fun with James at lunchtime, whatever it is you get up to.”
I’m grateful that Frank has turned away and can’t see me blushing. I’m not the quickest at picking up on innuendos and I’m sure he didn’t mean it as such, but my brain is one step ahead this time.
Chapter 29 – Those Almond Eyes
I do a bit of googling and add to my lists. The Bluebells is exactly where I was thinking. It’ll be great if I can borrow Elliott and take him round the reservoirs. It’s not been raining for a while so little chance of getting him muddy, unless he jumps into the canal. Fortunately the sides of the main reservoir itself are too high and even nutty as he is, he wouldn’t be daft enough to jump in. Would he?
Although he’s a fruit loop, he’s very road savvy – my uncle’s taught him well – so I’ll probably be a skinflint and park near the village hall rather than in the car park itself. I google ‘Tring reservoir car park charges’ and click on the first link to Tring Reservoirs Herts and Middlesex Wildlife Trust. I feel guilty at trying to save some money, especially as I’m not going to pay for any meals this month. Not very helpfully, it just says ‘pay and display’. I don’t suppose it’s very much and like the country parks in Northamptonshire, all the money – in theory – goes to the upkeep of the park. They’re like corner shops; if you want to keep them going, keep going in. I like that. It sounds like a slogan. I should submit it somewhere.
I can’t believe I’ve nodded off. I look at the screen’s clock. Midday. It’s only been a few seconds but I have a couple of rows of ‘dddddddd’s where the middle finger of my left hand had rested on the ‘d’ key. DD for Duncan and Donna. I haven’t had enough early nights but it always feels like my mum and I have much to catch up on. Though it’s usually more her updating me on her hectic life than me with mine: work, Duncan, work, Izzy, work, Duncan, work.
Another half an hour and it’ll be lunchtime. I’m assuming it’ll be the same as yesterday, 12.30. Later rather than earlier suits me as it makes the afternoon go quicker but if I’m not tied to my desk, it doesn’t really matter.
I’m about to google something else when a shadow falls over my desk. A big dark shadow.
I look up and it’s James. I’m surprised my heart doesn’t skip. I don’t feel my hands getting clammy or my mouth dry. I’ve been thinking about Duncan a lot, although I haven’t checked my phone since Frank left my desk which I should have done to see if I’d had any messages or voicemails. I can sneak a peek when I’m out at lunchtime, or pop into the ladies on the way out if James has come to collect me.
“Hi,” he broods.
“Hello,” I chirp. I try to sound as non-committal as possible and his shoulders slump a little. Or I think they have. I have to wear my sensible Donna head when he’s around. Think of him as Leah, or Greta, or Nathan. Yes, that’s the way to do it.
“Okay for lunch?”
“That would be lovely. What time?”
“Okay if we go now?”
“Oh, right.” I wasn’t expecting that. I lean down to the floor, grab my bag, reminding myself to check my phone at the earliest opportunity.
“Sorry but I have a two o’clock meeting so need to drop you back here before I head out again.”
“No problem.” Dropping me back sounds like we’re going in his car. I wasn’t expecting that either.
“I thought we’d head up to Jarman Park.”
As well as getting my petrol from Tesco there on the way to the motorway, it’s also home to the ski centre and cinema, and others. I know we don’t have time for a quick ski or to see a movie, not even if we missed the advert
s, so I’m guessing it’s either Tesco for lunch or somewhere else I’ve not noticed the name of on the complex.
We pull up in the general parking area then head towards the eateries. There’s so much choice. First up is Frankie and Benny’s but we go past that. We also pass Chiquito and Bella Italia. Either of those would have done.
As expected, we pass Planet Ice. That would have been too much to ask of a lunch break. I’m pleased when it looks like we’re going into the Pommel Horse, one of the Hungry Horse franchises as they’re next up and have plenty of choice. I’m vaguely familiar with the chain as we have at least two in Northampton: one on the Sixfields leisure park and one in Kingsthorpe. I can’t remember their names yet neither venue is a million miles from mine or Duncan’s.
I’m confused when James walks away from the building rather than towards it.
“A little detour first,” James says and I fall a step behind so I can sense where he might turn.
Thankfully he goes past the Subway next to it. I’m sure he’d not do that two days in a row.
I laugh nervously as the only other options are the DJ’s Play Park, which I don’t think caters for anything over a teenager – legally rather than mentally, the athletics track – I’m wearing the wrong shoes, or over the road to XC, which I think is a climbing and skate park. Although it’s bound to be for all ages, again it feels a little too young and perhaps too much for a lunch break.
We do indeed stop outside DJ’s. I look at the list of activities on their board and spot go karting. Duncan and I went to a track in Northampton, one in the St James’s part of town ironically, for his birthday last year and I loved it, although the cars we had were particularly smelly and I did get a bit sick and disorientated as I whizzed round but he loved it so that was all that mattered.
“Have you karted before?” James asks, standing a little too close for comfort. For mine anyway.
“A couple of times. It was fun, when I wasn’t feeling queasy from the engine fumes. Duncan, my boyfriend, thrashed me but yes, fun.” I’m not as competitive as him, or probably most men… or Izzy. “The last time I drove a kart, I sat in the middle of the lane so Duncan couldn’t get past… not actually on purpose but I didn’t know the rules. While he hadn’t complained as such, he had rightly pointed out it didn’t make it much of a contest.”
James goes to open the door but stops so I stop. “I’m only kidding,” he says. “Literally. I’m sorry for teasing but the karts are tiny.” He grimaces as if only now realising how short I am. I’m used to it and was teased as a child but grew to love my five-foot-two-and-a-half frame.
“It’s fine,” I say and give a genuine laugh. He’s only being funny and he’s all the more lovely for it. Help.
He points to the nearby XC, the climbing and skate park. It’s a huge place so they probably do more than that. I’ve only just thought that when a poster shows us they also do high ropes and caving. I’m not great with heights and certainly can get claustrophobic so I’m hoping we’re doing the first of the two choices. I’ve never skied because I like to be in control of my feet but would give a baby run a go. At least with the climbing, I assume, we will be attached to something, and ropes being easier to manage than skis I’m keeping everything crossed that it’s that. I could jump off a skateboard which I couldn’t with skis so that would be my preference there.
Thankfully it is my first option; the climber, a trial in fact, so pretty much as low level as it can get. The blurb says, ‘Join us for a one-hour taster session where you’ll get the full climbing experience with all the basics taken care of for you. Enjoy warm-up games, bouldering, rope climbing and auto belays. We also run dedicated Mini Mountaineer sessions for three- and four-year-olds.’
“Am I a mini mountaineer?” I ask James and he grins, his earlier unintentional faux pas put behind us.
I have no clue what an auto belay is but the tutor explains it’s the device we’re going to be attached to. It looks a bit like a gadget Duncan has for weighing his suitcases but hopefully this one’s a lot stronger. I’m not overweight, slightly curvy at the most – it’s tricky for anyone five foot two (and a half) to be skinny, but I could still give a handful of suitcases a run for their money. Not that suitcases run.
It turns out James had pre-booked so we only have to wait a few minutes before it’s our turn, although not before we both sign waivers.
“It’s so if we die it’s our fault,” James explains cheerfully.
Chapter 30 – A Great Distraction
The hour flies by and it’s such a great distraction. I can’t remember the last time I’d forgotten everything. Needless to say, James is far more skilled than me. I’m not as competitive and have certainly less muscle definition; James’s so much so that it becomes a distraction. But I hold my own and get higher than I had expected from when we’d stood at the bottom looking up.
Finally our hour is done. What he says next stuns me.
“I love what we have,” James says as he removes his helmet. He does look particularly sexy in his jeans and zip top. “I don’t want it to stop,” he continues, “but I want more. I’m assuming we can’t…” James looks at me with those gorgeous eyes and I can feel my heart breaking. Literally breaking. Part of me wants to be with him too but every time I think of Duncan, I feel worse. I won’t cheat on him. I absolutely won’t. But these eyes keep looking at me.
“You’re married, aren’t you,” I say as we walk towards an area selling hot and cold drinks, not quite a café but it amounts to the same thing. My statement is not a question. And it’s not a topic we’ve raised before. He’s not wearing a ring – it’s an instinctive glance that almost every woman does the first time they meet a man they fancy, regardless of whether in a solid relationship or not – but I know the answer’s going to be yes.
He bows his head and stares at the floor so I can’t see his eyes. “Yes,” he whispers.
I feel sick, warm, I’m not sure which but I knew the answer before I asked. He’s too lovely to not have been snapped up already.
“Then it’s a definite ‘no’. I’m sorry but I’m not only not cheating on Duncan but I’m certainly not letting you cheat on your wife, not with me anyway.” I don’t want to ask the next question but I need to know. “Do you have children?”
Without looking up, he nods.
“How many?”
He mumbles something. I think it’s ‘Two’. Or ‘Oh’. He could have a dozen children, it doesn’t really matter. Having a wife is bad enough but even one child is a no-no. Now I’ve got a picture of a bright pink defibrillator… no, not defibrillator, that revives people. No! No! What a stupid name for that hair removal thing. Delapidator. Come on, Donna. What’s it called? I’m usually so good with words but my brain is mush. Baby brain. I shake my head. Babies are the last thing I want to think of.
James finally looks up and I see the hurt in those eyes, and realise I’m still shaking my head. I’d stand here all day doing that if it meant it would sink in… with either of us. We have an undeniable spark but I’m a decent human being. He is too, I’m sure. I can’t. He can’t. We can’t. Oh, it’s horrible. I’m horrible for thinking it.
“It’s probably best if Leah accompanies me for lunch from now on,” I whimper. “Or I go on my own, or sit at my desk. It’s no problem, especially if I’m out every evening.”
He says nothing.
“I’m very grateful though,” I say, stepping forward and I hold his arm. My hand feels as if it’s burning through his top. I release my hold and step away. “For such a fun time today. It was really kind and thoughtful of you.”
“I can’t help feeling the way I do,” he says.
And I guess he can’t but I’m only here for a month so…
“We should get going,” he says and pulls his keys from his jeans pocket.
We walk side-by-side back to his car, past the Hungry Horse and all the other options.
We haven’t eaten but I brought in the Asda salad a
nd it’s sitting in the fridge at work, right at the back with my name on it… a little childish but it’s the only reserve I have.
I feel lousy but less guilty than before we’d had the conversation. I hope it doesn’t cause an atmosphere as our paths will cross again, even if it’s only me walking past James’s desk.
The drive back to the office is wordless. The radio’s not on – he’d switched it off on the outward journey. I’m tempted to switch it on but apart from being rude, it would state the obvious.
I thank him again as he pulls into the car park, into the space that was between Nathan’s and my car last night. Normally I would have told James this but it doesn’t seem appropriate, nor important. It’s the silly kind of thing that’s so insignificant there’s nothing much to say in response, less this time.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat as he swipes his pass to let us in the back door of the building. It’s the first time I’ve come in this way and we’re greeted by a simple grey stone and metal staircase. It seems as bleak as I feel, and I can almost sense the cold underneath my feet.
My apology either goes unnoticed, unheard or ignored. I think the latter is most likely.
The stairs come out to a door next to reception, not the one I’m using when coming up from the front door or security office but one tucked in a corner, not noticed – by me certainly – before now. I should be more observant but my brain’s been a little occupied since I arrived here yesterday morning. I can’t believe it’s only been a day and a half. So much has happened, and gone wrong.
As James peels off to speak to Owen, I remember I have another twenty-three and a half workdays left at this office. Twenty-three and a half with James. I’m not sure I can bear it.
I also don’t know whether I should be waiting for James or make my own way back to my desk. For my own pride, I pick the latter but pull a notebook and pen from my bag and jot a brief ‘Thank you again for lunch, James’ onto a sheet and leave it on his desk as I walk by, having collected my Asda salad en route.
The Serial Dieter (The Serial Series Book 2) Page 12