It’s not a scenario I had anticipated on day three, day two official, and really not wanted. It’s not the end of the world; someone will turn up eventually, and Gavin the Gerbil… ooh, I like that, yes, Gavin the Gerbil will spot them a mile off. Not an actual mile as the camera only goes as far as the road but far enough to spot a danger.
He’s not fat but his uniform is definitely a size or two too small. Considering he never answered my ‘How long have you worked here?’ question, I can’t tell whether it was the original uniform he was given on day one that he’s grown into or one he’s had to replace that for as he ran out of room.
I shouldn’t be nasty, he’s probably a really nice guy – he’s certainly conscientious enough – and it’s really not like me. No, it’s much more Izzy’s style. She had plenty of practice this time last year. Then I realise that this time last year, she was typing up her notes from meeting Duncan the night before. The first cog in my happiness.
And back to present day.
Gavin must have convinced himself I’m not that untrustworthy as I’m not shackled to anything that doesn’t move, or anything that does, and with his back to me I could garrotte him. I look around the room and can’t see anything immediately that would do the job. Here I was, only a few hours earlier, saying I couldn’t write a novel, yet my mind is thinking of how I could murder someone I’ve only just met and who holds the security of millions of pounds’ worth of building in his beady eyes.
I look down at my lap. My notepad and pen look back up at me. I could papercut Gavin or stab him with a Bic. It’s not actually a Bic. Nor a Biro. It’s a very classy looking three-for-a-pound-from-Poundland ballpoint. Blue. Blood poisoning. I’d stab him with a Poundland pen then he’d get blood poisoning. In about three months. No, that’s not going to work. I’m rooting around my brain, and Gavin’s office, for another scenario when there’s a knock at the door.
I look up and there’s James. Uh oh.
Needless to say, Gavin doesn’t hear him. How he missed him on the monitors, I’m not sure, but with his back to me, as I said, and him not moving, there’s no way of telling if he’s actually awake. It’s past his clocking off time – I look at my watch. It’s an hour and a half past his clocking off time so maybe past his bedtime.
“Gavin, mate,” James says. Nothing. “Gavin!” he bellows. I’m prepared for it but Mike, sorry Gavin, isn’t. I can see the similarity more now; they even have the same haircut.
Gavin wobbles in his chair, rattling the desk slightly and the monitors with it. “Huh?” Gavin turns round. So the noise cancelling aren’t quite. “Oh, watcha.” He’s all class.
“Gavin. I shall take charge of this lovely lady here.”
“You will? Oh right, okay. She was just sitting here until you came, or someone.”
“She has a pass.”
“Yeah, I know that. We was keeping each other company.” Were.
James, thankfully, doesn’t appear convinced. It doesn’t look like James respects him and I like him all the more for that. That’s all. Respect. No more than that, Donna.
After holding the door open for me and letting me go first, James climbs the stairs two steps at a time. I struggle to keep up. He mumbles something then speaks louder, possibly loudly enough for the non-noise-cancelling ear buds. “He’s such a wa… No, James, be nice. Gavin’s a misunderstood fellow.”
I go cold when James’s hand brushes mine. That must be a good sign surely. No rush of heat, no longing. There’s no apology, no comment, so it must have been accidental or I imagined it. I’m hoping for the former as it’s the innocence I’m seeking. I don’t want to go imagining things that aren’t there.
Not sure why I thought Owen would be there considering it was clearly only Gavin and me until James arrived but again, I wouldn’t put it past Gavin to hang onto me, albeit not literally, until someone convenient came to collect me. A phone call to the only other member of staff being far too much trouble, given that it was to another complex.
James and I walk through to the main office area in silence, the movement-sensitive lights flicking on as we go. It feels a bit like a catwalk except I’m the dowdy fashion designer walking alongside the supermodel.
“This is me,” James announces when we get to his desk.
“It is.”
“You have a good morning and I’ll see you for lunch?”
We had this discussion yesterday, or rather I’d told him I wanted Leah to take me out for lunches from now on, or I’ll fend for myself, but that either didn’t sink in or he’s trying his luck.
“No, not today. The reason I’m here early is that I’ve come in to type up a couple of articles before I’m having the morning off.”
“Oh.”
We look at each other for a few seconds and it appears to be the end of the conversation.
I head to my desk. I feel good. Not because I’ve killed the conversation but because I held my own. I said ‘no’ to James. Something feels lifted. Whatever weight I had around my shoulders has gone. It may come back. I have another four weeks of James’s company whether it’s a few desks or a few miles apart but that’s okay. He’s blurred into the distance, and Duncan and Elliott are the only males in my brain as I cross the plain blue carpet to Veronica’s domain and log on my computer.
I pull my notebook out of my bag and in less than twenty minutes, I have one article submitted, the other in drafts. Both Williams have given me a free reign this month and as long as I’m not ‘derogatory to any establishments’ I frequent (William I’s words) and keep all the receipts (William II’s – Billy’s) I can go, do and say almost whatever I like. It’s really quite liberating.
James’s desk is void of human life when I walk back past. I’ve already mouthed a ‘hello’ and ‘thank you’ to Frank, putting up my hands as if I’m praying – not sure why, and smile at Greta. Nathan was the only other desk I passed and he wasn’t there. Timekeeping seems very relaxed here, regardless of what Phil had said previously. For the upper echelon – William and Billy’s bosses – who probably do receive the paperwork for every aspect of their empire, I don’t suppose the editors’ PAs being a bit late features on their radar.
As long as the cogs keep whirring, the editions sell, they’re happy. They must be to a point because Billy always seems to be. William, on the other hand, will always be William and seem dour to those who haven’t got to know him.
I continue my journey out to reception. Owen’s on the phone so I get the briefest of waves. Gavin has, thankfully, been replaced by Phil who is also on the phone and gives me a more regal wave than Owen, in keeping with Phil’s heritage. Not that I know what the heritage of Arizona really is, and for America not having any royalty, that doesn’t make sense but I’m going out through the front door rather than in so I’m happy.
Chapter 36 – A Snake On Speed
Making sure I’ve left the office before they head out to Costa, my aunt and uncle are thrilled when I call them, hands free, from the car on the way home. They’re always pleased to hear from me but especially when I offer to take Elliott for a while.
So I go straight there and my uncle answers the door. “Oh good morning,” he says as if it’s a total shock.
“Morning. Something smells nice.”
“Pies for the freezer.”
“Yum. Is Auntie Jan busy?” I ask then can’t help giggling when Elliott races in at the sound of my voice, his whole body shaking, and squeaking like mad. He’s like a snake on speed… a very curly-haired snake. He licks my hand and I know he’d lick anywhere he could find that was naked. That conjures up a rather disturbing image so I slot it back in the ‘do not retrieve’ section of my brain. “Did you not hear the doorbell?” I ask Elliott, not expecting an answer.
“In the garden,” my uncle explains, the day already being warm enough to leave the back door open. I’m pleased, not for Elliott’s benefit, he’s out there regardless, but because I plan to go to Tring Reservoir and it’s invariab
ly overcast whenever I visit the place.
“Aunt Jan’s in the garden too?” I ask not sure whether the ‘in the garden’ only referred to Elliott or was answering my previous question.
“Painting. The horses.”
I smile and wander through to their conservatory, via the kitchen where the smells are naturally even stronger. I breathe deeply then out as I stumble over the threshold and bundle myself into the stifling glasshouse.
“Nice trip?” my aunt asks as she adds a bit of white to show reflection in one of the horse’s eyes.
I laugh, half-hearted. Only my pride has been dented and my aunt’s known me all my life so I shouldn’t be bothered but it reminds me of my dad and it makes me sad. Just for a second.
“They’re beautiful,” I gush as I look between the photograph – one my uncle probably took, being a professional photographer – and the painting. It’s more than replicated; it’s captured the souls of the horses’ eyes. It takes weeks, especially part time, to do each of these paintings and she charges way too little, and this one’s nearing completion.
“For a sixtieth birthday,” my aunt explains. “One of your mum’s friends. Her husband’s commissioned it. Really sweet. And brave of him to get me to do it. You know what your mum’s like at keeping secrets.”
Frank. It has to be Frank. I didn’t know they had horses.
“Is her name Frankie?”
My aunt turns to face me, brush poised in her right hand. “Yes. Do you know her?”
“I work with her husband.”
“Ah yes. Your mum did mention something like that. That’s handy actually.”
“Oh?”
“Would you mind taking it to him when it’s done? It’ll be a few days but I’m ahead of the deadline. I can’t trust your mum with it. Too much temptation to blab.”
“Not at all. I’m there the rest of the month.” Even if I weren’t, I’d have come down from Northampton especially. Frank’s been so good to me, and Frankie to my mum, I’m sure.
“Do you mind if I finish this little bit?” My aunt points to one of the horse’s noses which looks complete but presumably isn’t. “Only we’re going to collect your mum shortly.”
“Sure.”
My aunt turns back to the painting. “And you’re taking Elliott out, Pat tells me.”
“I thought we’d go to the reservoir.”
“Mmm. He’ll like that.” I know she means Elliott but I’m sure my uncle would too.
“See you later,” I say, not sure exactly when as I plan to eat at the Bluebells café in the grounds of the reservoir which will take care of lunch then I’m off out with Greta tonight so it’ll be somewhere in between. That’ll be interesting as Greta will have met my mum twice, enough exuberance for anyone even remotely shy, so I’ll get her take on the bath bomb that is my mother. I’ll need someone to be in though to drop Elliott back as I won’t be able to get in.
Elliott does his snake impression again as I walk back through to the lounge. My uncle’s engrossed on his iPad so I retrieve Elliott’s lead and clip it onto his collar. The noise makes my uncle look up.
“There’s something interesting on eBay,” he says and points at the screen. They belong to the Tring Historical Society and my uncle helps out at the town’s museum, the general rather than Natural History one – the town has both, so he’s forever looking for local memorabilia. He turns the screen and I see it’s a piece of Goss crested china. A sweet little bowl. It has the usual lion and unicorn picture and is only £3.99 ‘buy it now’. I remember at least two similar in one of my uncle’s dining room cabinets but he returns the screen to face him and clicks on the blue button. “For the museum,” he states and I nod.
“See you later,” I say and tug gently on Elliott’s lead, not that he needs any persuasion as he’s already primed.
“Have fun,” my uncle says while going through all the paying procedures.
“I will,” I reply and let myself out.
Elliott loves going in the car. He doesn’t even mind the vet as it’s going somewhere and he gets to see cats up close and personal. He’s funny. He goes nuts if he sees them through the lounge’s patio doors but avoids them if confronted on the pavement. It’s like he’s protected by the glass and makes so much noise when he’s let out that they’re long gone by the time he could get anywhere near. I don’t know what he’d do if he did.
I open one of my car’s back passenger doors and he hops up. I swap his lead for the harness I leave in the car. It’s a sort of one-size-fits-all but Buddy, Duncan’s beagle, isn’t much smaller than Elliott so I don’t bother altering the straps. We’re not going very far and while I know accidents can happen anywhere, it really would take Harry Houdini to get out of this harness. Elliott’s too busy looking out of the windows, from side to side like a tennis match observer, to attempt an escape.
I take the route past the old tip. It’s now a council truck depot and even though it’s not been raining, there’s still an awful lot of mud on the road. I drive carefully through it. I know it’s not as dangerous as wet mud but my tyres will still lose traction. I’m nothing if not cautious. I should have been a girl guide.
Considering how much my mum loves clubs these days, I’m surprised she’s not an owl, or whatever they’re called. A thought to google it flashes through my brain but that’s all it is. It’s not important enough to find out. Should my mum ever get the urge to join the… club, clan, or whatever a group of guides, or owls is. Now I’m curious about that and wish that Amazon made an Alexa for the car. It’s only a matter of time.
Ten minutes later and we’re parked up at the reservoir. Elliott’s going nuts in the back because he recognises where we are. I turn round and the harness connection to the seatbelt is bouncing. He’s still securely fastened, not that it matters as we’re stationary, or at least the car and I are, but Elliott and his immediately surrounding area are a bit of a blur.
He’s very good off the lead when we’re where he can run around but this is a car park so I swap the harness for the lead. We walk sedately… okay, I walk sedately, he’s still a mad thing until we get to the bottom of the crazy-steep steps with a buoyancy aid at the top. I wonder if it works on dogs.
“Three… two… one…” I say and unclip his lead. Lightning hasn’t bolted faster than this mad mutt. He’s from bottom to top in warp speed. Lewis Hamilton couldn’t have been prouder and nor could I. He’s adorable… Elliott, not Lewis, though Lewis isn’t bad either. Although I’m four, maybe five, years younger than him, the thought of going so fast, quickly, makes me feel old and so does climbing the steps. I need more exercise and taking more mornings off to come here would certainly help. It’s all too easy to work, eat, watch TV during the week. Duncan and I are active at the weekends but it’s often sedentary like the cinema or shopping. Shopping with Duncan is browsing in half a dozen shops, not a full day wandering around the town, not unless we go somewhere new – to us, the older the better in terms of architecture. I’m not a huge history fan, all those dates to remember, but I can appreciate curves.
Speaking of which, Elliott’s a dot in the distance. I’m not worried as he panics if he can’t see me, he just forgets to look too often. The main reservoir is blocked at the end so even if I don’t get that far, Elliott will have to come back. And he’ll have covered umpteen times the distance I will have from all the zigzagging he’s doing. Bless him.
I’ve remembered my iPod so pop the earphones into my ears and click on the remote’s play button. Gnoissienne number one by Eric Satie plays. It reflects the mood, not mine particularly but the gathering clouds above me. Almost clear blue sky a few miles away but here it always seems to be melancholy. I wonder if something happened years ago here and Mother Nature is still mourning.
I stop to look around. It’s actually a great place to hide a body. Probably not the place to kill someone, this bit certainly, as it’s so open, but there are plenty of bushes and, of course, the water. I have no clue h
ow deep it is but there are a couple of fishermen on the opposite side so clearly enough for some kind of life. The main reservoir is high up, hence the steep steps. A light bulb goes off in my head. If the bottom of the water is level with the car park… But there’s a bit of a hill to the canal so that blows that theory out of the… er, water.
My heart thumps as Elliott’s dangerously close to the edge, head hanging over. We’ve been here dozens of times, with and without my aunt and uncle, and a few times with my mum, and Elliott’s been fine but I’m too far away to do much.
I run and scream like a banshee, arms flailing, scaring a couple walking towards me with Elliott in between. Elliott looks over to me, the other way to the couple, then at me. He wags his tail then looks back over the edge. The wind’s picking up and he’s not a particularly skinny thing, weighing a bit less than Buddy the Beagle but still, it wouldn’t take much for everything to go south… literally.
I’m still running and screaming but the couple now seem unfazed, as does Elliott who’s ignoring me completely. Seeing as my actions are having no effect, I slow, bring my arms down and stop screaming. I turn as if walking away and this works much better as Elliott speeds towards me and leaps up, almost knocking me over. There’s a steep drop both sides of the grass verge and had I not anticipated him, we would have ended up careering into a wooden fence separating the reservoir with parked cars and the road. That would have hurt.
As it is, I stiffen myself against the barrage and make a fuss. He doesn’t know he’s done anything wrong, which actually he hasn’t. The couple has caught up with us and give me a simple uniformed smile. I smile and say, “Nice day.” It’s cooled down quite considerably so they probably think I’m mad, as if the wailing banshee act hadn’t given them that clue already.
The Serial Dieter (The Serial Series Book 2) Page 15