Blink

by KL Slater

  Nothing happens.

  But it’s a start.

  27

  Three Years Earlier

  Toni

  When I got back home after taking Evie to school, I made a coffee and sat drinking it in the kitchen, waiting for my mood to stabilise. I had that horrible feeling again. It was hard to explain it, but suffice to say it was a powerful feeling that something awful was about to happen, although I knew that was hardly rational. Enough awful things had happened already to last me a whole lifetime.

  I ought to be feeling hopeful. Surely things were looking up. With any luck, Evie would settle into school, and I’d landed a job way before I could’ve reasonably expected to. Yet even though I knew I’d be able to cope easily with the duties at Gregory’s, bearing in mind my previous experience, my hands began to tremble when I imagined myself walking in there this afternoon. The new girl all over again at thirty-five years of age.

  Evie was just five years old. Why was I even remotely surprised she was having teething problems at St Saviour’s? My daughter had a good excuse; I had none. I was all grown up and had to take whatever life threw at me.

  Tara had included a telephone number and email address in her recent letter. I could call her. I used to enjoy our chats; she was always so pragmatic and sensible, I remember she had this knack of calming me down.

  And then I remembered the recent bad news about her health. There’s no way I could ring, burdening her with my silly little problems in comparison. I would call her soon, but I wouldn’t be bleating about how hard my life was.

  Slowly these thoughts began to drift and one image filled my mind. That of a little brown bottle.

  I placed my mug down on the table and stood up. As I climbed the stairs I thought about one little tablet and the tremendous power held within it. It would relax me but there was a risk it would make me overly sleepy, too. Half a tablet would be just perfect. Half a tablet still had the power to calm me down, making me appear confident and relaxed on the first day in my new job, when I most needed it.

  Bryony James, my new line manager, hadn’t seemed overly impressed with me at the interview. I wanted to put that right, but the way I was feeling at the moment, I doubted she was going to get the impression I would turn out to be any kind of asset to the team.

  I opened the bathroom cabinet and scrabbled my fingers towards the back of the shelf, pushing through the half-filled packs and boxes of various toiletries. I plucked out the bottle and cradled it in my hand, like it was something precious I was afraid of crushing.

  The bottle was about half full of tablets. I hadn’t taken one for two days.

  If I was honest with myself, one of the reasons I’d delayed moving house for so long was because I was afraid it would affect my ability to continue collecting Andrew’s repeat prescriptions. I had managed to collect an extra month’s supply of the sedatives by pretending we were all going on holiday. Me, Andrew and Evie. ‘An extended family break,’ I’d told the regular pharmacist, who’d been only too pleased to authorise additional supplies.

  I’d packed the new bottle away at the bottom of a box of old photographs and greetings cards. I had no intention of taking those tablets, of course, but it gave me a warm glow to know I had them there. Should I need them.

  I’d read in a magazine that some prescription drug addicts couldn’t manage even for an hour or two after the effects began to wear off. I’d gone two days already, so I felt satisfied that I wasn’t remotely near addiction.

  The instructions stated that patients shouldn’t drive or operate machinery whilst taking the sedatives but I was just going to take half. That reduced dosage was hardly going to render me useless and incompetent.

  I unscrewed the bottle and shook one tablet out into my palm. It sat there like a lucky charm. I looked around the bathroom for something to cut it in half with, but, of course, there was nothing that was suitable.

  In the few moments it gave me to think, I was seized by a sudden rush of optimism. We had a new house, a new school for Evie and I had a new job which miraculously fit in with school hours, meaning I could still take Evie to class each morning.

  I could do this.

  My husband had died in a terrible tragedy but I was still forging on and I was nearer to coming out the other side than I’d ever been. Some people, like Tara, for instance, hadn’t been so fortunate.

  I had years of experience at management level in the property business. I could do the new job with my eyes closed. I knew it.

  I didn’t need the tablet. I could cope on my own.

  I tipped it back into the bottle and tucked it away in the cabinet again.

  * * *

  Dale Gregory had said that if there was a free spot, I could park around the back of the offices. As I turned in to the small grid of marked places, I was pleased to see a free space right outside the back entrance.

  It had just started to rain. I nabbed the spot right away, noting how the wipers on the Punto seemed a bit stiff and were leaving the windscreen still wet and smeared. They would probably be the next thing that needed attention on my list of jobs that I couldn’t afford.

  I bit down on my lip. This might be a good time to stop expecting the worst. Today had been a good start so far. Everything was going to be fine. I reached for my handbag and slipped my feet back into Mum’s black court shoes.

  I tried the back door of the shop but it was locked so I walked around to the front. I cursed as the fine drizzle settled on my hair; the last thing I wanted was to walk in looking a damp, frizzy mess when my line manager, Bryony, obviously put such great stock on looking well groomed and slickly professional.

  Out on the main road, I took a deep breath and pushed open the door, striding into the shop with confidence, as if I’d worked there for years.

  My optimistic mood dropped immediately as I stepped inside. The shop was empty. No customers and, even worse, no staff. I had a flashback to briefing my own team at the agency in Hemel.

  ‘Please make sure there is a member of staff out front at all times,’ I told them when I was first appointed branch manager. ‘Even if you have to stagger nipping to the loo or making a drink. Nothing looks worse to customers than walking into an empty shop.’

  When I got the chance, it might be a good idea to suggest the same to Dale or Bryony to make a good, early impression. It didn’t hurt to bring something to the table as the newbie, illustrate right away that you were adding value.

  I’d been standing there for a minute or so when a small, plump woman appeared from the back of the shop. She clutched an oversized soup mug and beamed at me.

  ‘Hello there, sorry to keep you waiting.’ She raised the mug and grinned. ‘Lunchtime. How can I help you?’

  ‘I’m Toni Cotter.’ I smiled. ‘It’s my first day here and I—’

  ‘Of course! Toni! I saw you when you came in yesterday but I was tied up with customers so couldn’t say hello.’ She plonked her mug down carelessly and the croutons floating on top made an easy escape onto the desk. ‘I’m Jo Deacon, assistant sales agent.’

  We shook hands and I found I liked Jo immediately. Her light brown, natural curls settled loosely on her shoulders, her warm brown eyes sparkled and dimples danced in full, lightly rouged cheeks. Everything about her came together to make me feel welcome, and finally I felt the tendons in my neck relax a little.

  ‘Dale’s out on a commercial valuation but Bryony will be back very soon.’ She dabbed at the soup spill with a tissue. ‘Can I get you a cup of tea or anything?’

  ‘No, thanks. I’m fine,’ I said, looking around. ‘Do you know which one will be my desk?’

  Jo blew at her soup and took a sip, grimacing as it scalded her mouth.

  ‘That was Phoebe’s desk, your predecessor.’ She nodded to the far desk located by the main door and I immediately thought of the constant draught the person sitting there would have to endure. ‘That will probably be your desk now, but who knows. Bryony likes to mix things up s
ometimes, you know?’ Jo rolled her eyes.

  I felt a kind of comradeship with her already. I’d worked out for myself that Bryony was the kind of boss who could be a bit pedantic.

  I perched on the edge of the desk behind me.

  ‘So, I heard Dale say you’ve just moved to the area?’

  I nodded.

  ‘With your family?’

  ‘With my daughter,’ I said. ‘My mum lives close by, too.’

  That was all I was willing to say at the moment. I liked Jo but I wasn’t yet ready to open up and tell her all about the reality of how crap my life was.

  ‘How long have you worked here?’ I asked her, just for something to say.

  ‘Far too long.’ Jo grinned, sitting down and making a half-hearted attempt to tidy the strewn papers on her desk. ‘It’ll be six years this Christmas.’

  ‘What did you do before?’

  ‘Oh, you know, this and that.’ I got the distinct feeling she perhaps didn’t want to remember. That was fine by me; I knew exactly how it felt to want to keep your distance from the past. ‘It’s OK here, the hours and the pay aren’t too bad, I suppose. Above the minimum wage, anyway. It’s just that—’

  The front door flew open then and Jo immediately clamped her mouth shut as Bryony appeared. She was dressed in an immaculate black suit she’d paired with a silver-grey silky blouse and towering red heels. Her expression was thunderous.

  ‘Hi, Bryony,’ Jo called brightly.

  ‘Who the hell does that old Punto belong to in the car park?’ Bryony demanded. ‘Some idiot has only gone and dumped their heap of crap in my space.’

  28

  Three Years Earlier

  Toni

  ‘I’m really sorry, Bryony,’ I said breathlessly when I finally got back into the shop. ‘It won’t happen again.’

  I’d had to park up on a side street and scuttle back to the office as fast as I could.

  ‘Let’s hope not,’ she said sourly, her words laden with unspoken threats of what might happen if it did.

  I glanced over at Jo, who appeared to be suddenly absorbed in sorting out a pile of glossy leaflets. I’d been in the new job for all of fifteen minutes and had already managed to rub my line manager up the wrong way. The worst thing was that I had to admit it was all my own fault. Only when I’d reversed the Punto back out of the parking spot, carefully avoiding Bryony’s glistening white Audi TT, did I spot the ‘Reserved’ sign clearly displayed on the wall. I’d been in such a hurry to get into the office on time that I hadn’t noticed I’d poached my boss’s space.

  The shop door opened and Bryony’s face lit up, the sour fury melting away and being rapidly replaced by a winning smile. ‘Mr and Mrs Parnham, how lovely to see you. Please, come through to my office.’

  A heavily perfumed and coiffured Mrs Parnham swept by me and grasped Bryony’s outstretched hand, her diamond-studded Rolex glittering under the stark fluorescent lights.

  Only when they were safely ensconced in Bryony’s office did Jo look up from her leaflet shuffling. She let out a long breath and pulled a guilty face. ‘Sorry about the misunderstanding. I never thought to check where you’d parked. It’s one of Her Majesty’s pet hates, people nicking her spot. One of her many pet hates, I should add.’

  ‘My fault.’ I shrugged. ‘I don’t know how I managed to miss the reserved sign.’

  ‘You can relax now, anyway, she’ll be in there ages.’ Jo grinned. ‘Bryony adores the Parnhams. Well, she adores their wealth, I should say. They move house every couple of years or so, always on the lookout for the next ostentatious property to show off to their jet-setting friends. But this time, they’re looking to spend their most yet. I wouldn’t be surprised if Bryony’s commission is more than our salaries put together.’

  ‘Ahh, I get it.’ I smiled, everything falling into place. No wonder Bryony’s face had lit up when they walked in – the promise of a hefty commission can have that effect on people. The Parnhams had got me off a hook, anyway, so good luck to them.

  I turned back to Jo. ‘Can I help you with anything? I feel like a bit of a spare part.’

  ‘You could file these property details away, if you don’t mind. Thanks.’ Jo picked up an unwieldy pile of stapled brochures and pushed them across her desk. ‘They need to go in the folder in postcode order, hope that makes sense.’

  I smiled and nodded. It made perfect sense. Filing brochures was one of the duties I’d done as an apprentice, too many years ago to think about. In the space of a few days, the last twenty years of my career had melted away and it felt like I was back to square one.

  I collected the pile of papers and carried them over to Phoebe’s old desk.

  The phone rang once or twice, and Jo answered, but there were no more customers. Jo and I worked in companionable silence for a while.

  ‘Is it usually this quiet?’ I asked eventually.

  ‘Varies.’ Jo shrugged. ‘It’s been busier since Phoebe left.’

  I liked to be busy. I’d worked with people before who seemed to get a thrill out of doing as little as possible all day, or by making simple jobs last twice as long. I found time dragged that way; I’d rather have too much on than too little. Less time to brood and overthink things, which was always a bonus in my book.

  I slotted the property details in their rightful places in the laminated ring binder and glanced at the wall clock. Evie would have had her lunch and be back in class now. Maybe she’d do some artwork to bring home later. They would probably go through their spelling or handwriting drills, both of which Evie would be confident doing because we’d always spent time doing lots of reading and writing at home, even before she’d started nursery. I couldn’t wait to see her later and hear all about it.

  ‘Hello, is anybody there?’ Bryony’s hand swept in front of my face. ‘Goodness, Toni. That’s the third time I’ve spoken to you.’

  ‘I – I’m so sorry,’ I mumbled, feeling heat instantly channel into my cheeks as Mr and Mrs Parnham stared at me. ‘I was miles away.’

  ‘Weren’t you just!’ Bryony turned and grinned at the Parnhams, but I sensed a concealed threat hanging behind her words. ‘Can you photocopy these details for Mr and Mrs Parnham? They have another appointment in town, so quick as you can, please.’

  ‘Of course.’ I stood up and took the thin wedge of property brochures from Bryony, who was already distracted again, gushing about Mrs Parnham’s rather vulgar-looking clutch purse that had what looked like a jewelled knuckleduster for a handle. The new Alexander McQueen range, apparently.

  I hadn’t been shown where the photocopier was yet but I sensed this was not the time to interrupt Bryony’s charm offensive on her most valued of customers. I walked around them and headed for Jo’s desk to ask her. But the phone rang and Jo began an animated conversation with a builder who, from what I could gather, hadn’t turned up for a customer’s viewing of a brand new apartment near the train station that morning.

  I walked into the back hallway and looked around. I’d operated enough photocopiers in my time to know that extracting a few back-to-back copies wasn’t rocket science. I just had to find the damn thing.

  I surveyed the available doors. The one to the right was the small boardroom I’d had my interview in. The door at the end bore a sign that read ‘Staff Toilet’. That left two others.

  I opened the first one and stepped inside. It was quite a large room and held a sleek blonde wood desk and a beige leather chair. A couple of aesthetically beautiful filing cabinets stood against one wall with tastefully framed secluded-beach prints hanging symmetrically on either side.

  I stood for a second and surveyed the longest wall, lined floor to ceiling with shelves that housed what seemed like hundreds of perfectly colour coordinated and immaculately labelled files. Not your regular dull black or grey office binders but those expensive, elaborately coloured designer folders from a specialist supplier. The desk was dotted with other products of the same brand; a complicated post-it
holder, a stapler and hole punch, all obviously part of a matching range.

  I turned to another door, tucked away in the corner of the room. Often, unsightly copiers were hidden away in walk-in cupboards so I put the stack of brochures down on the desk and tried the handle, but the door was locked.

  ‘What the hell are you doing, snooping around my office?’ Bryony’s voice cracked like a whip behind me. I jumped and spun around. ‘The Parnhams are still waiting for their details.’

  ‘I – I was just looking for the copier,’ I stammered. ‘I haven’t been shown where anything is yet.’

  ‘Well, it’s fairly obvious there’s no copier in here,’ she snapped, her tone acerbic. ‘Try the next office.’

  I hurriedly gathered up the papers from Bryony’s desk, at the last second spotting one that had fallen on the floor by her chair.

  ‘Sorry,’ I mumbled, silently berating myself for failing yet another task on what was promising to be the worst first day ever. I pushed open the door of the tiny room next to Bryony’s office and there it was: an all-singing, all-dancing photocopier that took up most of the floor space.

  I braced myself for further problems as I peered at the complicated computerised control panel but breathed a sigh of relief when I saw there was no passcode and straight forward back-to-back copying seemed to be a case of pressing a single button.

  A few minutes later, I was back in the shop and I handed the details to Bryony.

  She took them without thanks and turned back to Mr and Mrs Parnham, and I found myself as good as dismissed.

  29

  Present Day

  Queen’s Medical Centre

  As the daylight dims I begin my routine.

  First, I count the ticks of the clock. Thousands and thousands of seconds, stacking up into wedges of lost time.