by KL Slater
I can’t see the actual hands, just the round shape of the clock face, but I can hear the tick tock, marking the seconds that turn into minutes. My life ebbing away.
Two hundred and thirteen, two hundred and fourteen, two hundred and fifteen . . .
Precious seconds slipping by, and still Evie is gone.
I am floating inside myself, amongst my frozen cells. I imagine reaching out to touch Evie, wherever she is. Perhaps she is sitting quietly somewhere not too far from here, or maybe she is on the opposite side of the world.
I like to think there is a delicate, unbroken thread that joins us and that she can feel a glimmer of something, she’s just not sure what. A feeling, a memory of me that brings her a sliver of hope, of comfort.
I’m losing track of the clock count now; time to switch to the respirator.
In, out, space. In, out, space.
Pieces of Evie flash through my mind.
Her pale feet and perfect, shiny toenails like new shells on the beach. Small, neat teeth flashing as she laughs. The fine, downy hair on the side of her face.
That freakily warm day when she sat in the garden of the new house, soft toys arranged around her in a tea-party circle. She chattered to them as if they were real, her silvery giggle floating out, over the fence and down the lane. All these tiny pieces are bound together and by some kind of mysterious synergy they all amount to Evie.
The seconds turn into minutes, hours, days, then weeks, and finally the months turn into years that roll steadily on and the image of Evie grows a little dimmer in everyone’s mind.
It’s a long time since her picture appeared in the newspapers. Beautiful, vibrant Evie has somehow become old news. And I find myself wondering, for the millionth time, where is Evie now, this very second?
Will she even remember my face? Part of me hopes not.
I’m not a bad person, I just made some bad mistakes. I got distracted.
I let her down badly. Perhaps I was never meant to have her. She deserves so much better than I could ever give her. I do understand that now.
I begin my diaphragm exercises.
Up, down, up, down. Relax.
And again. Up, down, up, down.
Nothing happens.
The door opens and I hear it close again, softly.
Someone is in the room.
30
Three Years Earlier
Toni
The rest of the week plodded on. At least Evie wasn’t sobbing and threatening that she didn’t want to go to school each morning, but she seemed subdued and her beautiful, blue eyes took on a sort of dull cast. Even the new Lego set Mum bought her couldn’t seem to raise Evie’s old sparkle.
I didn’t see a lot of Dale at work because he had lots of countywide valuations on, but Bryony was in the office for the majority of the time. She gave me Phoebe’s old desk and I decided to keep my mouth shut about the potential draught problem. She looked on sourly when I took out a small, framed photo of Evie and placed it on my desk.
‘My daughter, Evie,’ I said, by way of explanation. ‘It’s OK to keep this on here, isn’t it?’
‘Of course,’ Bryony replied frostily. ‘The odd photograph is fine, just don’t let the place get cluttered up with personal items.’
As I recalled, there had been no photographs displayed on the immaculate desk or walls in Bryony’s office. I also noted that Jo had no photographs out on her desk.
I’d become quite practised in answering the phone and helping Jo with her workload, but I was also itching to carve out my own duties and make the job my own.
‘I could come with you, if you like,’ I offered, when Bryony announced she was leaving shortly to show a client to show around a property in Linby, a leafy village no more than a couple of miles away from the shop. ‘Just to get some practise in.’
‘That won’t be necessary, Toni. You aren’t a branch manager now, remember? Your duties don’t include client viewings. Your job is to remain here, in the office.’
‘Fair enough.’ She could please herself, I was only trying to show willing.
‘Jo is going to show you how we send a targeted mailshot out. That should keep you busy.’
Jo performed an exaggerated yawn for my benefit behind Bryony’s back.
The phone rang and I dealt quickly with a query about our opening times. When I came off the call, Bryony hadn’t moved. She stood at the side of my desk, still staring down. I was about to ask her if she felt OK when I realised what she was gazing at so intently.
It was the photograph of Evie.
* * *
When Bryony left, Jo made us both a cup of tea. I decided that now might be a good time to get Jo’s opinion on my boss’s bad attitude.
‘She’s very prickly, isn’t she? Bryony, I mean.’ I nodded my thanks as Jo handed me a steaming mug of tea and a two-finger Kit Kat. ‘I feel like I can’t do right for doing wrong. If I sit twiddling my thumbs she asks me if I’ve nothing to do but shoots me down if I try to show some initiative.’
‘She’ll calm down soon enough,’ Jo offered. ‘You’re right, she is very prickly, but it comes from a place of insecurity.’
I nearly choked on my tea. Insecurity? Bryony? Two words that didn’t go together.
Jo caught the look on my face. ‘I know she seems uber-confident and sorted, but she isn’t, not really.’ She put down her mug and sighed. ‘Look, if I tell you something about Bryony, do you promise not to breathe a word?’
‘Course.’ I gulped, wondering what Jo was about to say. Truthfully, I felt a bit uncomfortable, gossiping about my boss my first week in the job, but anything that would help me understand Bryony would be a massive help in breaking down the apparent barrier between us.
‘We had a staff night out about eighteen months ago. There were supposed to be four of us at the meal, but Phoebe had a stomach upset and Dale’s mum had a bad fall. So in the end, it was just me and Bryony rattling around on a table for four at Hart’s restaurant.’
I couldn’t imagine a worse scenario than being stuck on my own with Bryony, trying to make conversation, even if it was at one of the best eateries in the city.
‘You can guess how the evening went. We ate too much and drank far too much good wine. Towards the end of the night, Bryony suddenly opened up to me. She said it was a relief to talk to someone.’
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t reconcile the picture of the person Jo was painting with the Bryony James I’d just met. We were talking about a woman who seemed so sorted and so in control of her life. I honestly couldn’t imagine her confiding in anyone at all.
‘Turns out she’d just started her third programme of IVF.’ Jo’s voice dropped low, as if she was somehow afraid Bryony might overhear us from Linby. ‘It was destroying her. She said she couldn’t sleep properly anymore because the need to have a child was literally taking over her life.’
‘Oh God,’ I murmured, feeling immediate sympathy.
‘And as I said, that was eighteen months ago,’ Jo continued. ‘She’s had another course of treatment since then. I think the whole baby thing has chipped away at her and she’s just dealt with it by developing an icy, protective shell.’
I thought about the way Bryony had stared just a little too long at Evie’s photograph. What I’d taken as being a slightly creepy expression was probably nothing more than pure longing. Unknowingly, I’d witnessed a deeply buried sadness surfacing in Bryony’s cool demeanour.
‘Is she embarking on another course of IVF?’ I asked.
‘Dunno, she’s been a bit distant the last few months,’ Jo replied. ‘She’s avoided personal chat with me, probably because she can’t face talking about it. Not that I can blame her.’
‘It must be so hard,’ I agreed.
‘Her husband seems a bit of a cold fish. I’ve only met him once. He’s a consultant at the hospital,’ Jo said, breaking off a finger of Kit Kat and biting it in half. ‘They live in a fabulous house at Ravenshead. I haven�
��t actually been there but she brought me pictures of their new kitchen and the extension. It’s immaculate.’
‘Like her office,’ I remarked. ‘There’s not a thing out of place in there.’
‘You know, I think that’s her way of coping,’ Jo said through a mouthful of chocolate wafer. ‘She keeps everything in her life so ordered and perfect, even herself. I reckon it’s the only way she can make sense of it all.’
I nodded, feeling another twinge of guilt at our casual armchair psychology, dissecting a colleague’s most private personal life.
‘Thanks for telling me, Jo,’ I said, meaning it. It had already helped me to see Bryony in a new light, even though I had the distinct feeling she wasn’t going to be the easiest person to work with.
‘You’re welcome,’ Jo said. ‘Just don’t drop me in it. She’d never forgive me if she knew I’d been blabbing to you.’
31
Three Years Earlier
Toni
I’d just come off a call when the shop door opened. I expected to see Bryony walking in but it was Mr and Mrs Parnham again.
Jo looked up but she’d just begun a customer call she’d been waiting for all morning. I was fine with that, I felt confident I could cope.
‘Mr and Mrs Parnham, how nice to see you again.’ I stood up and stepped forward to shake both their hands. ‘I’m Toni.’
‘Hello there,’ Mr Parnham said, craning his neck towards the back of the shop. ‘We were hoping we might catch Bryony.’
‘I’m sorry, she’s out on a valuation,’ I explained. ‘She should be back very soon though.’
The Parnhams looked at each other.
‘Is there anything I can help you with?’ I offered.
‘Actually, perhaps there is. Those details you copied for us the other day?’ Mrs Parnham fished a property brochure out of her handbag and handed it to me. ‘There’s a house here that we’re extremely interested in and we’d like a few more details, if possible?’
‘No problem at all.’ I smiled, indicating for them to sit down at my desk.
Although it only seemed to irritate Bryony, my previous experience meant I knew exactly how to locate the property database and extract additional details.
I glanced over at Jo and she widened her eyes at me and shook her head. Mr Parnham noticed me looking across the room and twisted round, catching Jo’s expression.
‘There’s not a problem here, is there?’ Mr Parnham frowned, shifting in his seat.
‘Not at all,’ I said brightly. ‘I’m just bringing the property up now. Here we go.’
I rotated the monitor, so the Parnhams could see the additional online interior photographs.
‘I can’t understand why Bryony didn’t mention this house, it’s exactly what we’re looking for.’ Mrs Parnham tapped her long, red nails on the edge of my desk. ‘She said she had nothing with more than five bedrooms and nothing located in the Berry Hill area. Yet this property has both.’
I frowned and scanned the details on the screen. For some reason, it looked like the property had been flagged as under offer when it was clearly still for sale. I felt relieved it wasn’t my error.
‘I’ll get you the full details,’ I said, pressing the print button. ‘It’s a stunning property and it’s been with us for a few weeks now. Between you and me, the owner might well be open to a reasonable offer.’
‘Oh, I’m excited.’ Mrs Parnham turned to her husband, her leathery skin flushed against her startling, over-backcombed orange hair. ‘When can we view?’
‘I’m sure Bryony can sort you out a time when she returns,’ Jo called helpfully from the other side of the office, her call having just ended.
‘Bob, I don’t want to wait a moment longer,’ Mrs Parnham appealed to her husband. ‘I’m worried someone else will make an offer.’
‘Could you contact the owner while we’re here, please, Toni?’ Mr Parnham said firmly.
‘Of course.’ I beamed. ‘His number is right here.’
Five minutes later, I’d made an appointment for the Parnhams to view the property on Saturday morning.
‘Someone from Gregory’s will meet you there,’ I reassured them, unsure quite who it would be.
‘Thank you so much, Toni.’ Ms Parnham took my hand in both of hers as the office phone started ringing again. ‘We’re so grateful.’
I showed them out of the shop and closed the door. I turned to Jo, beaming. My smile faded at the look on her face.
‘Shit, Toni. What were you thinking—’
Just then, the door walloped open behind me and caught me hard on the shoulder.
‘Oww!’ I turned, expecting an apologetic customer. Instead, I got an irate-looking Bryony.
‘I’ve just bumped into the Parnhams,’ she fumed, slamming the door shut. ‘What the HELL have you just done?’
Jo buried her face in her hands.
‘How dare you?’ Bryony rounded on me. ‘I knew you were going to be trouble from the moment I set eyes on you. And you!’ She hissed over at Jo. ‘Why the hell did you let her—’
‘I was on an important customer call,’ Jo said calmly. ‘Had you instructed Toni not to deal with the Parnhams?’
‘I didn’t think I needed to,’ Bryony spat, her face thunderous. ‘Anyone with an ounce of common sense would know that—’
‘Is everything OK in here?’ Dale stood in the hallway. He’d obviously let himself in the back door, directly from the car park. ‘Sounds like World War Three is kicking off from where I’m standing.’
It seemed I’d misjudged Dale. There was no trace of the mild-mannered personality he’d displayed during my interview.
‘Bryony?’ he said sharply. ‘What’s happened?’
‘I pop out for one hour, that’s what. One bloody hour! And your new appointment, Miss Cotter here, loses me a shitload of commission by poking her nose in where it’s not wanted.’
I took in a sharp gasp.
‘Bryony, please.’ Dale frowned. ‘Try to keep it professional.’
‘You won’t say that when you find out she’s probably just lost us one of our biggest customers. The Parnhams.’
Dale’s mouth opened and closed again. He looked at me.
‘They came into the shop looking for Bryony,’ I said, my mouth instantly turning dry. ‘I told them she’d be back any time but they asked if I could get them details on a property they were interested in. I thought I was helping by—’
‘That’s the trouble,’ Bryony snapped, beside herself with fury. ‘You didn’t think at all.’
My years of experience were telling me that something wasn’t adding up here. All I’d done was furnish the Parnhams with some additional property details and arrange a weekend viewing. A completely normal task in any property agency – it’s what we were there for.
‘You shouldn’t be introducing them to properties. They’re my clients. That’s my job.’
I’d held back long enough. Bryony was trying to cover something up and by the look on Dale’s face, if I didn’t watch it, she was going to successfully pin the blame firmly on me.
‘They already had the property details, Dale.’ I picked up the original brochure the Parnhams had brought into the shop. Bryony lunged for it but Dale was quicker and took it from me.
‘Th – they shouldn’t have had that one,’ Bryony stammered, reddening. ‘I thought I’d kept it back. I never gave them that one.’
‘Dan Porterhouse’s property,’ Dale mused, looking at the brochure. ‘Why would you not give them details of this one, Bryony?’
‘They said it was perfect, just what they were looking for,’ I added, earning myself a killer glance from Bryony. ‘It had somehow been incorrectly tagged as under offer on the system.’
‘Mr and Mrs Parnham wouldn’t leave until Toni tried to make a viewing appointment with the owner,’ Jo explained. ‘She didn’t really have a choice.’
I looked over gratefully at Jo.
‘If you didn’t
give them these details, then who did?’ Bryony said, as if she’d caught me out.
I suddenly remembered that I’d picked up a stray property brochure from the floor of Bryony’s office when I’d been looking for the photocopier. I’d assumed I’d dropped it, but . . .
‘Why does it matter so much that they were interested in the house, Bryony? You should be congratulating Toni that she’s managed to make a viewing appointment on a 1.5 million pound property,’ Dale said sternly. ‘A property you’ve somehow managed to mark as already sold. Can you come through to my office, please?’
Bryony followed him a little sheepishly, but not before she’d thrown me yet another hateful look.
‘Oh God,’ I sighed, sitting down heavily at my desk. ‘I’ve made a complete balls-up and I don’t even really know what I’ve done yet.’
‘That’s what I was trying to tell you when I was on the phone,’ Jo said in a low voice. ‘Never, ever attempt to deal with Bryony’s clients. You never know what shady deals she’s pulling off.’
I looked at her, puzzled.
‘She plays clients off against each other,’ Jo explained, glancing nervously though the back to check we were still alone. ‘She’ll be keeping the Parnhams away from that property so they buy another mega-expensive one. Meanwhile, she’ll have another client lined up to buy Dan Porterhouse’s property. That way, Bryony gets double commission. She’s pulled it off loads of times.’
I shook my head, incredulous. That wasn’t ethical or honest behaviour in anyone’s book. Worst of all, it was betraying the trust of loyal clients like the Parnhams, who’d been coming to her for years.
Jo and I both worked in silence for a while. My hands felt a bit shaky and my heart was pounding.
Ten minutes later, Bryony whisked through the shop, clutching her coat and bag.
Jo had customers again by this time and Bryony came close to the edge of my desk.