by Amy Dunne
She sluggishly crawled off her seat, returned the glass to the sink, and discarded the wine bottle in the recycling bin. After stumbling into her bedroom, she collapsed on the bed and quickly fell asleep.
*
Catherine glared menacingly at the staff team seated silently around the conjoined rectangular tables. The latest regional sale figures were in, and Catherine’s inept supervisor had demanded she talk to the team and resolve the issues immediately. She’d spent the last forty minutes ranting, motivating, strategizing, and basically being a royal bitch to them.
Catherine loathed Jonathon Bowler-Hays and resented he’d been promoted two years ago to the position of Executive Regional Director of Sales over her. The professional rejection still smarted and often flared up in situations like this one when she was left to do all the hard and dirty work while he was nowhere to be seen.
Jonathon was the grandchild of the organization’s founder, and that prestige had gotten him everything. He had no concept of what was involved or how to fulfil his current role. It was Catherine who ended up doing all the hard work, enforcing policies, and formulating intricate sale strategies, while Jonathon kept the title and reaped all the rewards.
Catherine straightened her shirt with both hands. She disliked this part of her job but also happened to be rather good at it. “So, if we don’t dramatically increase our sales before the Christmas break, January’s going to be a bleak month. With the current economic situation I’m sure I don’t need to emphasise how difficult finding a new job is. If you want to still have a job in the New Year, you’ve got to sell more in the next two and a half weeks than you did for the whole of last month.”
Tom, a lanky man with thinning blond hair, raised his hand. Catherine nodded curtly, giving him permission to speak.
“Isn’t that basically a threat, Catherine?”
Catherine folded her arms and regarded him coolly. “No, Tom. It’s an honest prediction of what’s likely to happen. I’m not here to be nice, to be liked, or to tell you comforting little lies. I’m here to get results.”
“But it’s so close to Christmas,” Alice said in an infuriatingly nasally whiney tone. She was plump with grey hair and a bright red nose from her incessant nose blowing. Large novelty Christmas tree earrings hung from both earlobes. “What you’re asking is practically impossible.”
“What I’m asking is difficult, but not impossible,” Catherine said. Exasperated by the attitude and glares she was receiving, she tried to boost their morale. “If we follow the strategies and give our all, we can achieve our targets. We’ve a distinct advantage. While all the other departments and sale companies dramatically slow down and take their eye off the prize in the lead-up to Christmas, we can reap the benefits. Unfortunately, there are going to be some restrictions. From this moment on, no more annual leave requested before Christmas will be authorised—”
“Just because you have no family or friends doesn’t mean you can take it out on us. We should be getting ready to celebrate Christmas, not being threatened with redundancy and certainly not being given an impossible task to complete. My daughter’s Christmas play is coming up, and there’s no way in hell I’m missing it because you won’t authorise my leave. I’ll go to HR,” Alice said, slamming one of her hands on the table. Murmurs of agreement were voiced until Catherine’s glare cut them off.
“Tell me where exactly in your contract it states leading up to Christmas you can be lazy and forgo your responsibilities?” She paused, staring each person down in turn. “That’s right. It doesn’t.” Catherine began to pace up and down, daring someone to interrupt or argue with her. Her temper seethed beneath the surface, and it wouldn’t take much to send her over the edge. Spoilt, selfish, lazy idiots. “Feel free to speak to HR, Alice. They’ll tell you, as stated in your contract, all annual leave must be requested with one month’s prior notice. Any requests previously granted within a shorter period were done so at my discretion.” The expression on Alice’s face gave Catherine tremendous satisfaction, but the dangling earrings, which blatantly contradicted the strict formal dress policy, only fuelled her anger. “And as for the comment regarding my personal life, from this moment onward, you’re—”
A loud knock was followed by the door bursting open. Eve, Catherine’s personal assistant, barged straight in. She paid no attention to the staff and focused solely on Catherine. Her brown face looked drawn, and her usual bossy disposition seemed quelled.”My apologies for interrupting, but I’ve been made aware of a serious personal situation. There’s a phone call waiting.”
Catherine’s seething temper calmed to mild annoyance. “Okay. Whoever the call is for may be excused from the remainder of the meeting.”
Eve grimaced and looked at the floor. Her tone remained soft, but with an edge of urgency. “The phone call is for you, Catherine.”
Catherine opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t find the words. For me? There isn’t anyone to call me. The last time she’d received a message like this from Eve was when the hospital had phoned to tell her about Granny Birch’s passing. She had no family left.
“Catherine? Shall we go?” Eve asked.
Catherine swallowed hard and nodded. She started toward the door and then hesitated to glance back. “Meeting’s over.”
She followed Eve out into the hallway and in the direction of her own office, struggling to keep up with the quick pace. For an oldie who frequently moaned about arthritis, Eve could sure move when she wanted to.
“I don’t have any family, Eve,” Catherine said. “There’s no one who’d call me.”
Eve didn’t slow down. “Beth’s on the phone. She says it’s urgent.”
Fear and guilt crashed down over Catherine. “Beth? Is she okay?” Fear suddenly rendered her paralysed to the spot. “Is Florence okay? Nothing’s happened to her, has it?”
Eve walked the last few steps past her own festively decorated desk and opened the door to Catherine’s office. “As far as I’m aware, Florence is fine.”
Catherine’s relief was short-lived as another thought struck her. “Is Katie okay? What’s happened?”
Eve shook her head. “You need to speak to her, Catherine. I don’t know anything.”
Catherine took a deep breath and nodded. Not daring to ask any more questions, she entered her office. Eve closed the door behind her. Catherine tentatively walked over to her desk. The red light was flashing on her phone.
Feeling weak, she sat in her leather chair and picked up the handset. She tried her hardest to ignore the disturbing thoughts churning over in her head. Whatever it is, I need to find out instead of torturing myself.
She drew a deep breath, held it, and slowly released it as she pressed the button next to the red light. “Hello?”
“Cat?” a familiar voice asked calmly.
“Is Florence okay? What’s happened?” Catherine asked. She covered her eyes with her spare hand, bracing herself for the answer. The line remained silent for a few long seconds as if Beth was hesitating. Oh, shit! If she can’t say it, then it’s got to be bad.
“Please don’t be too angry with me?” Beth asked sheepishly.
Catherine’s tense shoulders slumped; her hand lowered from her eyes and clenched into a fist on the table. “There’s no emergency, is there?”
“Well, it depends on how you look at it. I’ve called you every night for over a month. I was beginning to think you were dead in your apartment and nobody had realised. That, in my opinion, is classed as an emergency—”
“I was ignoring you, Beth. If I was dead in my apartment don’t you think Eve would’ve noticed?” Catherine glanced up. The floor-to-ceiling glass walls of her office normally had blinds drawn to give her privacy. She’d not had time to close them this morning, and from her desk she had the perfect vantage point to spot Eve, watching her from behind her desk. In a flash, Eve’s face disappeared behind her computer screen, but her grey hair bobbed above the red tinsel framing the screen. “I should�
�ve known she was in on it, too. I’m going to make her suffer for this.”
“Eve had nothing to do with it—”
“Yeah, and I’m Santa Claus,” Catherine said. Her temper was rising again because she’d been made to look a fool.
“I’m glad you brought up the subject of Christmas. That’s why I’m calling.”
Catherine bit a fingernail. How could she have been stupid enough to use Santa as an example?
“Please agree to come and spend the holidays with us? I promise it won’t be anywhere near as bad as you think it will.”
“Thank you for the offer, but I’ve already got plans.”
“No you haven’t, Cat.”
“Actually, I have.”
“What are your plans and who are they with?” Beth asked in her I know you’re lying to me tone that Catherine hated.
“It’s going to be a quiet affair and you don’t know these friends. I’m spending it with Chris and his friend.” Catherine nibbled her bottom lip, waiting to see if Beth believed her blatant lie.
“Would that be Kris Kringle and one of his little helpers?”
“Beth, I love you. There’s no way I’m coming to stay with you, though. Nothing you can do or say is going to change my mind. I’m adamant. Seriously, you need to accept it.”
After what felt like a lifetime of silence, Beth finally spoke. “Okay, I understand. I accept there’s nothing I can say that will change your mind.”
Catherine sat back in her chair, startled. This was too easy. She began to grow suspicious. “Good.”
“I’m sorry, Cat.”
“For what?” Catherine asked. Her palms grew sweaty and she blotted them on her trousers.
“I’ve tried to be reasonable with you. I’ve given it my best shot, but you’re right. I can’t change your mind. You’ve left me no choice.” Beth sighed dramatically. “I’ve got to use my secret weapon. I’m sorry.”
Catherine felt a chill slither down her spine. Secret weapon? The realisation dawned on her a split second too late for her to react. “Beth—”
“Hello, Aunty Cat. I miss you lots. I got your Christmas present today from Tim the postman, but Mummy Beth and Katie won’t let me open it. It looks big. What is it? Is it a puppy?” Florence asked without pausing to take a single breath.
Catherine could hear Beth’s whispered voice in the background. The conniving witch!
“I’ve been such a good girl this year. Mummy Beth says you and Santa are both coming to see me. It’s going to be the bestest Christmas ever—’specially if I get a puppy from Santa. I’d call him Bob. Are you coming to visit, Aunty Cat? Please? I miss you.”
It was over. Catherine’s steel resolve melted into a gooey mess. “Yes, I’m coming to visit, Florence. I miss you, too.”
Damn you, Beth!
Twelve minutes later, Catherine placed the handset down and buried her head in her hands. I’m screwed. Beth had refused to let her off the phone until she’d promised Florence she would spend Christmas with them.
A gentle rapping sounded on her office door, but Catherine chose to ignore it. She wasn’t finished wallowing in self-pity yet.
The door creaked open and someone came inside the room. Catherine knew only one person would dare to venture inside without her granting permission. Peering through her hands, Catherine asked, “Why would you do this to me? You’ve ruined everything.”
Eve gave a loud tut as she walked over to the desk and placed down a steaming cup of fragrant coffee and a small dish. “Stop being so dramatic.”
Catherine glared ferociously at the cup, the delicious looking muffin, and finally at Eve. “Bribery? Or are you feeling guilty? Which you should feel, by the way.”
Eve sucked her teeth in annoyance and sat opposite. “Neither. I happen to know what’s best for you.”
Catherine sat back in her chair and folded her arms defiantly. “I’m thirty-one, Eve. I’m more than capable of deciding what’s best for myself. You’re my assistant at work. In no way does that give you permission to interfere or meddle in my life.”
Eve raised an eyebrow. “I made the pumpkin muffins last night. Eat it and then we’ll talk. You’re always cranky when you haven’t eaten—”
“I’m not cranky,” Catherine said, scowling. “And I’m not hungry either.” A loud, ravenous growl sounded from her stomach. Embarrassed, she tightened her folded arms.
A twitch of a smile touched the corners of Eve’s mouth. “How did the meeting go?”
“Awful. They’re lazy and workshy,” Catherine said. She reached across the table and drew both the coffee and muffin closer. She deliberately didn’t look at Eve as she bit into the muffin. It tasted delicious and she had to physically restrain herself from gorging on it.
“Well, it certainly looked intense in there,” Eve said. She absentmindedly began tapping her glittery red fingernails on the desk. “So am I booking you a flight for Beth’s or not?”
Catherine wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Yeah. There’s no way I can get out of it unless I’m lucky enough to break my leg or something.”
Eve gave a loud tut. “Here you go.” She pushed some papers across the desk.
Catherine scanned the text from the first page quickly. “You’ve already booked the tickets. I should’ve known.”
“You wouldn’t have wanted them to be sold out now, would you?” Eve smiled sweetly.
Catherine skimmed the rest of the pages, making mental notes. A taxi was booked for Friday evening after the office Christmas party and would take her to the airport. The flight was two hours, and thankfully, she was seated in first class. Beth had already promised to pick her up from the airport and drive her to their house, which was situated in the middle of bloody nowhere. “What about presents and things?”
“They’ve already been purchased, wrapped, and posted. Beth and Katie have some decorative candle holders and Florence has a SpongeBob SquarePants pirate ship.”
Catherine looked up. “A pirate ship?”
Eve smiled. “Yes, I’ve had it on good authority she wants one.”
“Not as much as she wants Bob the puppy,” Catherine said dryly. “If I make a list can you get me a few things and ship them up to Beth’s, please?”
“I’ll have to send them before tomorrow afternoon or they won’t get there on time.” Eve frowned and sat back in the chair. “What things are you after?”
Catherine scribbled a quick list of items and handed over the sheet. Eve started reading and Catherine waited for her response. The first few items were fairly mundane, but the more Eve read, the higher one of her eyebrows arched.
“A drum kit and a crate of red wine?”
“Don’t worry. The wine’s for me,” Catherine said. “Make a note the drum kit is a New Year’s Day present for Florence and can’t be opened before.”
“What on earth are you up to?” Eve asked.
“I want to make sure my lovely goddaughter starts her New Year with a fun hobby. What child doesn’t want to learn to play the drums?” And Beth’s New Year starts with a bang.
“You’re wicked,” Eve said as she continued to read. Suddenly, she snapped her gaze from the paper to Catherine. “I’m not getting Florence a puppy called Bob, Catherine. That’s not going to happen, and you should be ashamed of yourself for suggesting it,” she said, her Jamaican accent becoming more pronounced with her irritation.
“It was worth a shot.” Catherine shrugged. In her mind she could picture the expression on Beth’s face. That would ensure this was the last invite I ever get for Christmas. “You’re a spoilsport.”
CHAPTER TWO
Catherine rushed down the busy pavement, nimbly weaving in and out of the herd of people charging against her. Although it was after four in the afternoon, the sky was growing dark and the chilly temperature was plummeting. When she reached the familiar heavyset doors, she took a moment to blow out a deep breath that formed a rolling cloud of steaming fog.
Cool
and collected, she pushed open one of the doors and made her way into the building. The public library was welcoming thanks to the lights and warmth. As Catherine walked toward the Homework Room, she felt a sense of calm wash over her.
She loved this place, but then she’d yet to find a library she didn’t love. There was something comforting in the quietness. The rows upon rows of shelves holding books gave protection.
She’d only been volunteering here for a little over a year, but it had made a huge difference to her life. It meant two nights a week she’d something that didn’t revolve around work or spending time in her depressing apartment.
As she approached the closed door, she could hear the muffled lively chattering of children’s voices. With a smile, she turned the handle and went inside.
“Hi, Catherine,” Rose said. She passed by busily setting up the tables and chairs.
“Hello. Sorry I’m late.”
Rose stopped, looked up pointedly at her, and smiled. “Don’t worry. It means the world you’re here as often as you are. I don’t know how we’d cope without you.”
Catherine shuffled her feet, uncomfortable with the gratitude.
Rose was the coordinator, and two other single parents, James and Veronica, volunteered on the same days Catherine did. They were both busy watching over the children, but they’d smiled in greeting when she’d entered.
She glanced around the room and took in the usual faces, noting one in particular was missing. Twelve children were scattered around the room. The seven younger children’s ages varied from five to nine, and they were either rushing around or playing on the carpet, their happy high-pitched voices bellowing out. The five older children were aged up to thirteen and sat away from the younger children talking about something important, if their serious expressions were anything to go by.
She knew all of them—their names, personalities, likes, and dislikes, although the older they got the more frequently the last two aspects changed. Their reasons for coming to Homework Club varied. Some parents didn’t finish work until later, and this was a safe educational place where their children could come after school. Some children came because they wanted to. Others came because their parents or teachers felt some additional help might benefit their educational development.