by Marc Scott
By the time Matt had returned to the living room, Poppy had collected her things, made her way out of his flat and was halfway back to her car. She knew that she shouldn’t drive back home that night, but she felt the need to be somewhere else, anywhere else, just not there. Her hidden emotions were unravelling far too fast for her liking. She felt like she had opened some painful wounds that evening and now needed to go back into hiding. Cameron was not a great listener, in truth he never really asked her anything to do with her past, or the way she was feeling. He was always happy for her to bury her thoughts somewhere deep in her fragile and scrambled mind. Something told Poppy that, in truth, that really was the safest place for them.
Chapter Fourteen
Krista had finally plucked up the courage to tell her partner of ten years that she no longer had feelings for him. It had not been an easy conversation for her and all the things she had planned to say just came out wrong. He had accepted that their lack of physical contact over the past few months had put something of a strain on the relationship, however he put this down to the workload created by her recent promotion and his own hectic schedule of work commitments. He had left their house with a large suitcase and a sports bag full of his personal belongings. He did not leave in a fit of anger, but if she had told him the whole truth this may well have been the case. He believed that if he gave Krista some time to think things over that they may reconcile, as they had done on several previous occasions over the past decade. He had no idea of the double life she had been leading for the past couple of years and had no reason to think that, given time, they would work out their differences again. Krista had told him she hoped they could remain friends. They had come to England together all those years ago and had shared many highs and lows during that time. But something was now missing in their relationship. She wanted to tell him that she now thought of him more as a brother than a lover, but she decided to spare his feelings and instead blamed the breakup on the day-to-day pressures of their jobs.
He had moved his belongings into a work colleague’s house in central London. The man in question was going through something of a messy divorce himself, so her boyfriend would have someone he could relate to. Krista was in his thoughts, morning, noon and night, and he often hoped his phone would ring and it would be the sound of her beautiful voice, telling him that she had made a mistake.
Tonight, however, Krista was not thinking about him, she was not thinking about work. Tonight Krista was only thinking about one thing, Dean. She would be seeing him in less than two hours and she wanted to look her best. She had been into London that morning to visit her favourite clothes shop in Bond Street. She needed something special for the glamorous event they were attending together. After much deliberation, she found the perfect dress for the occasion. Costing more than £300, the black strapless dinner dress came with a novelty clip in the shape of a small padlock. The key for the padlock was tiny, so she put it in a small pocket in her purse. She intended to have a lot to drink that night to celebrate her first night of real freedom. The last thing she needed was not being able to get out of that dress. She had spent more than two hours in the hairdressers during the afternoon. Her flowing blonde locks bore tight curls at either side of her head and her nails were a painted a shocking shade of purple. She applied a final coat of lipstick before admiring herself in her bedroom mirror. ‘I hope that bastard appreciates it,’ she said, the bastard, of course, being Dean Jarvis.
Her best friend Millie had called her, just as she was about to set out for the evening. She warned her, and it wasn’t for the first time, that Dean was ‘playing’ her and she would end up being hurt. She wasn’t happy at the way that Krista had ended her relationship and begged her to rethink the situation, before jumping in ‘too deep’. Krista decided to ignore her friend’s advice. She knew how she felt about Dean and was sure that if she remained patient, things would work out for them in the end.
The Southern Gazette annual awards dinner was a ‘must-attend event’ on the calendar of every self-respecting local businessman in the North Surrey area. Usually held in the function suite of respectable hotels in either Croydon or Sutton, it was a tribute evening to the successes of local businesses and charity organisations. It was not necessarily the prospect of winning an award that got everyone excited about this particular event, it was more the opportunity to dress up in a tuxedo or evening gown and get completely inebriated at your company’s expense.
The previous year Krista had sat three tables away from Dean. He had been the guest of a rival company. The two of them made eye contact through the whole of the evening and managed the odd couple of minutes of conversation during their frequent visits to the bar area. There was no touching, that was the rule last year, no touching in public. They managed to keep to their agreement at the event but almost as soon as the function had ended they were wrapped up in one another’s arms. Dean had booked a cheap, but not so cheerful, bed and breakfast hotel, less than a mile from the venue. They both headed there in separate taxis after the event had finished and nobody was the wiser to their sordid affair. The Regal Deluxe hardly lived up to its name with a stained carpet and burn marks on the duvet spread. The bath towel smelt of stale tobacco and the shower didn’t work properly. However, neither of them had been worrying too much about what they might write in a Trip Advisor review for the place, as they enjoyed a two-hour session of animalistic sex. They also did not seem to be bothered that they both had small insect bite marks on large areas of their legs, as they made their way back to their respective partners in the small hours of the morning.
In Krista’s mind, tonight would be different, public showing of her affection could be allowed. She was a single woman now and everyone at Imediacom knew it. What she did not realise was that everyone at her workplace had also worked out that her and Dean had been something of an ‘item’ for more than a year, but in truth, nobody was really that bothered. Their suspicions were rubberstamped when Krista had invited Dean to be her guest at their table at the forthcoming function. George Penning had given each head of department at Imediacom the chance to invite one client along as their guest. Only he, being the boss of the company, would be allowed to have his partner there. So when it was announced that Dean Jarvis, a mere salesman of one their smaller clients, had been invited, he knew that there was more than just a working relationship between the two of them. The company owner respected his employee enough, however, to say nothing on the subject, but his staff all knew that he was not a fan of the cocky sales rep.
In Krista’s mind, it would be different tonight. There could be touching, maybe dancing. Kissing, however, would be a definite ‘no-no’ in front of her work colleagues. But in truth, if the night ended with Dean inside her, she did not care where it happened. Whether that was in a five-star hotel or that disgusting Regal Deluxe place, it would not worry her at all.
Krista met her work colleagues in the main bar area of the Britannia hotel, many of them passing comments on her unusual evening dress. She was never one to compliment herself, but Krista thought that she looked ‘hot’ tonight, a fact borne out by the countless men who stared in her direction on their way to the bar. But the much-talked-about outfit, the expensive cut and blowdry and her perfectly manicured nails were all for the benefit of just one person, but he was nowhere to be seen. She tried hard not to, but she found herself looking over her shoulder every thirty seconds or so, expecting to see Dean’s face.
As the toastmaster indicated loudly and clearly that guests should be seated, Krista reached for her mobile to call Dean. Not tonight, she thought, please don’t be late tonight. Before she could make the call, however, George Penning had started to chat to her about his forthcoming cruise around the Mediterranean. She felt obligated to walk with him into the main hall, turning her head around a few times hoping that Dean was behind her. He wasn’t. Those damning comments from her friend Millie came back to haunt her as she took her seat a
t the Imediacom table. Maybe she was right, maybe nothing would ever change, maybe she was just kidding herself that she could ever have him to herself.
Dean finally arrived, somewhere between the serving of the starter and the introduction of the compere for the night. ‘Sorry, sorry, sorry,’ he said as he approached the only empty seat in the banquet room. He acknowledged everybody at the table with a small handshake. ‘Dean Jarvis from Galaxon,’ he said to them all, leaving the final gesture of a small kiss on Krista’s cheek to last.
‘Bastard!’ she whispered as he neared her face. ‘I really hate you sometimes.’
Dean ignored her comment completely. ‘Really good to see you too, Miss Nylund,’ he said and perched himself down next to her. Nobody at the table from Imediacom was fooled by the formalities, a couple of them expressing their disapproval with a shake of the head. Dean’s hand found Krista’s knee and gave it a small squeeze under the table. ‘You look fucking amazing!’ he whispered, before pouring himself an overgenerous glass of the house wine.
‘You had better make up for this later,’ she replied softly, not that anyone at the table would have been bothered by her comment.
Dean had hired his tuxedo, shirt and tie for the event from a local tailor. It was nothing too fancy, but he looked sufficiently smart to convince the other guests that he was more than comfortable in his surroundings. In truth though, he wasn’t. Dean hated all this dressing up palaver for the sake of watching a self-indulgent newspaper editor hand out a few cheap trophies. He resented paying out over £100 of his hard-earned wages to pretend to be someone he wasn’t. Many of these people enjoyed six-figure salaries and spent at least four weeks each year sunning themselves on faraway exotic beaches. He, on the other hand, was a journeyman, a salesman with no real talent. In truth Dean would have starved if he had to rely solely on his commissions, and only endured the job at Galaxon because of the half-decent basic salary they paid him. But he did not want to upset Krista any more than was necessary. She had been somewhat strange with him on the telephone over the past week or so and he felt she might be growing tired of him. He didn’t want that, he had found his ‘Persephone’, his golden goddess. She made him feel special inside, not that he told her that often enough. So he was here, he would pretend to laugh at the guests’ jokes and listen to them drone on about islands to visit in the Caribbean. He would, however, be taking full advantage of the free bar that night. Dean had every intention of making sure that his presence was rewarded with both sex with his goddess and consuming enough alcohol to make him feel that wearing this uncomfortable suit for the whole evening was worthwhile. He emptied the remains of the last bottle of house wine into his glass and ordered some Chablis.
The general table conversation seemed to be centred around the rapid development of modern technology and the publicity behind the tribute band that were performing that night. Dean’s input to both conversations was limited. He seemed to have other things on his mind. Getting drunk and inside Krista’s knickers that night were very much at the forefront of his thoughts. The pleasant and somewhat innocuous table conversation, however, was about to take a twist in a different direction.
‘How is that lovely Norse god of yours, Krista?’ Mr Penning’s wife asked. Obviously, no one had made her aware of the recent change in her personal circumstances.
‘Oh, we are not together anymore,’ she replied, her comment receiving a look of bewilderment from Dean’s direction.
‘Oh, I am sorry,’ the uninformed woman said. ‘You were together for a long time, I believe.’
Krista blushed slightly as she became the centre of attention at the table. ‘About nine years, but it was always on and off. I guess we had just passed our sell-by date.’ Dean said nothing, he looked as surprised as Mrs Penning.
Melanie Sharp from the finance department suddenly got in on the discussion. ‘No kids though, Krista, it is good that there are no kids.’
Still embarrassed at being the topic of conversation, Krista laughed. ‘God no!’ she said. ‘The last thing I want in the world is kids!’ She was now holding court at the table, so felt obligated to carry on. ‘I can never imagine me wiping someone else’s bottom. No, definitely no kids on the radar for me.’ Her response startled Dean somewhat and he gulped down at least half a glass of wine in one go.
‘What about you, Dean?’ Melanie asked. ‘Have you got kids?’ A comment that made Krista realise that the woman from accounts was stirring the pot.
‘Just one,’ Dean replied. ‘Poppy, my beautiful little girl.’
It was now George Penning’s wife’s turn to poke her nose in again. ‘How old?’ she asked.
‘Almost two and a half,’ Dean said. ‘She started playschool last week.’ There were a few token ‘Aaahhhs’ and ‘Bless hers’ bandied around the table, but not from Krista, she was seething inside. She made a mental note to make life hell for the prim and proper Ms Sharp from now on. But before she could formulate any plan to exact her revenge, something else began to irritate her. Dean was deep in conversation with the big-chested lady with striking red hair, to his left. The woman was clearly flirting, those large bosoms thrusting over the top of her silk dress and pointing directly in the eyeline of ‘her man’. What are they talking about? she thought. What was so fascinating that she had his full attention?
Krista decided to fight fire with fire. She turned to the well-spoken man on her right and indulged him in a pointless conversation. ‘You look like an actor,’ she said. ‘The one off that New York cop series.’
The man thanked her for her kind observation. ‘I get that all the time,’ he replied. ‘God, I wish I had his money.’
Krista continued her attempts to draw Dean’s attention away from the heaving bosom of the woman beside him. ‘I like men with rugged looks,’ she said loudly. ‘Not guys who look like they spend more time getting ready than I do.’ She didn’t know where it was all coming from – the drink, the jealousy, the anger she was feeling towards her so-called soul mate. But she was not yet getting this strange man’s undivided attention and Dean certainly didn’t seem too bothered about her flirting. Krista knew she had to up the ante. ‘Everyone has been trying to guess if the padlock on my dress has a real key or not,’ she said, now gaining a grin from the well-heeled gent and the undivided attention of a couple of the male guests sitting at the table.
‘Well?!’ her newfound friend asked. ‘Does it?’
Krista took a long drink from her glass and said, ‘I hope the bloody key fits, otherwise I will be wearing this for work on Monday.’ The man laughed and was joined in his laughter by the two curious men and Melanie, who had been listening in on the conversation.
The drinks continued to flow at their table, bow ties were being loosened and the tone of the conversation began to drop. The blonde middle-aged woman, who was the guest of the sales manager, had been quiet for most of the evening, but suddenly came to life and had some raunchy tales to tell about some of the sexual shenanigans that went on at her office in North London. Before long she had begun to share with the table her intimate fantasy involving clowns and custard, bringing a roar of laughter from most of the guests, most that is, but not Krista. The well-spoken man, who had been flirting with her, had now turned his attention to Melanie. The two of them seemed to have a mutual interest in horse riding and sailing. Dean and his new flame-haired friend had stopped laughing by now and were both considering their dessert options. The bubbly blonde parked her sordid office tales and decided that she needed to relieve herself of the full bottle of red wine she had just necked. Dean’s new chatting buddy decided to follow her, leaving him looking aimlessly at the other guests. But, no sooner had the large-breasted lady disappeared to go to the toilet, Dean was at it again. He was clearly flirting with the waitress. Krista couldn’t quite make out their conversation, the noise of the tribute band was covering their words, but she could tell that it was more than friendly b
anter by their body language. She may have been wrong about ‘Miss Big Tits’, Krista thought, but she could see that Dean was definitely chatting-up the hired help. She wanted to scream at him at that moment, but something told her it was not the right thing to do. Instead she bit hard into her thumb and made the decision that she would make him suffer for the rest of that evening.
A range of desserts arrived at the Imediacom table, accompanied by envelopes, marked up for voluntary, but obviously meaning compulsory, charity donations. The guests began to lower their voices as the toastmaster asked for some silence in the hall. The speaker for the evening was Brian Needham, the managing editor for the newspaper. He took his place on the stage and announced that he would shortly be revealing the winners of the 1997 awards. Dean now came into his element. Having been there the previous year he realised how laborious the next hour or so would be, so he added his own brand of entertainment for the table guests. He began mimicking each recipient of an award, with his own take on their mannerisms. His impressions were certainly more entertaining than the actual award winners. Even the usually sour-faced Melanie was amused by his comic routine. Her and the other table guests laughed loudly at his antics, attracting much attention from other attendees, who asked them to respect the efforts of the compere.
Krista felt slightly more at ease now. The woman with the exposed chest had moved seats and was chatting to her boss on another table. She seemed to have Dean back to herself. But now another new threat had appeared in the shape of a slim brunette waitress serving at their table. She was much younger and prettier than the other one. His eyes were all over her. The waitress and Dean were exchanging some amusing anecdotes and he seemed to be enjoying the attention of this much younger girl. Krista’s face screwed up as she watched their banter continue. Why the hell is she still at the table? she thought. She is just a waitress, she is just the bloody hired help, she is here on minimum wage, to serve food and drinks, not to chat to all and sundry. Was he doing this on purpose, to wind her up? Why doesn’t she just fuck off and leave him alone? A moment later the young girl moved away from the table leaving Krista to give Dean a stare that would have killed off one of his mythical heroes at thirty paces. Millie’s warning was sounding out louder than ever in her head now, Krista was livid.