by Nicci French
‘I wasn’t going to say that,’ I said weakly. Every spark of anger faded. I stared at Meg in dismay, with her puffy pale face and her frizzy morning hair and her creased brow.
‘Have you ever thought about me, Holly?’
‘You?’
‘Yes. Me. Have you noticed I’ve been a bit down recently? That my life’s not going according to plan? That I’ve been a bit anxious? No, of course you haven’t, because you’re so up and down that there’s no room to notice other people’s ordinary, less dramatic moods.’
‘That’s not true.’
She stood up and pulled the belt tight on her grey dressing-gown. ‘I’m going to have a bath, if you haven’t used up all the hot water, and then I’m going to get on with my day. Call your cab and let yourself out.’
I arrived early so I saw him walking towards me. We’d arranged to meet in the park near our house. At first he didn’t see me so I could watch him as he came along the road. He was wearing a thick coat we’d chosen together, and his head was slightly down, but I could still see the expression on his face, serious, almost grim. On another day I would have asked him what he was thinking about so hard. But I knew. I knew what made his face so tight and frowning, and his mouth narrow. Me.
When he saw me his face went blank and he pushed his hands deeper into his coat pockets.
‘Thanks for coming out to meet me,’ I said.
‘It’s all right.’
We walked together into the unsatisfactory small park. I cleared my throat, but couldn’t speak.
‘Good night?’ he asked quietly.
‘No,’ I said.
‘Have you spent the night with someone?’
‘No.’ I took a deep, stinging breath. I felt a few cold drops of rain on my face. ‘You were out last night, so I went out as well, with a guy called Stuart, a client. It wasn’t a date or anything like that. He’s the one I went to the art show with, but he’s not important. It’s stupid. I ought to like being alone sometimes. When I’m with a crowd of people, I often feel I’ll go mad, explode, unless I can get away from them and be solitary, but when I’m on my own I can’t bear that either. I can’t explain it, I don’t know where to begin, I–’
‘How about beginning with Rees? I think I’ve got his name right, haven’t I?’
I felt cold through to my bones. ‘Rees?’ I said. ‘What about him?’
‘That’s what I’m asking you.’
‘He’s not important.’
‘You mean, not important like this Stuart’s not important?’
‘No, I mean, it’s not anything to do with him, what happened, not in a way, though of course he was there, but it could have been anyone. I mean…’ I rubbed my eyes frantically. I didn’t know what I meant. I wanted to speak clearly, authentically, lay out my sins and failures, but it was all tangled up in my head, like a knotted coil of wires, and the words came out wrong. ‘How do you know about him?’ I said instead.
‘He called me,’ said Charlie. For the first time, there was a crack in his voice. Grief? Anger? Hatred? I couldn’t tell.
‘Oh, God, Charlie, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. What did he say?’
‘The first time he called my mobile. How did he get the number?’ I just mumbled something miserably, but he continued without paying attention. ‘He asked if I knew what you were up to. I thought it was a madman, someone you’d offended. There seem to be a few around at the moment. The second time, two days ago, he called me at home and asked to speak to you, and one thing led to another and he told me who he was.’
‘What did he say?’
‘The third time, yesterday evening, he said you were a wildcat in bed. And he asked if I knew what you were doing at that precise moment.’
‘How horrible for you. How disgusting. You should have told me.’
‘What? Then you would have comforted me?’
I started to say something incoherent but Charlie interrupted me: ‘Just tell me. Have you had sex with this person?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘About a month ago. I was very drunk.’
‘Again.’
‘Yes. Again. And everything got out of hand. I couldn’t believe I’d done it. It was like a dream, a nightmare, like someone else had climbed into my body. I couldn’t even remember what he looked like. It was like I’d had an illness. I wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened.’
A grimace of intense disgust flashed across Charlie’s face. I put out a hand but he pulled himself away, as if he couldn’t bear to be touched by me. I understood that. I didn’t want to be anywhere near me either. ‘I know,’ I said. ‘What I’m saying is that it was a stupid, stupid, senseless one-night stand. I didn’t tell you because… well, I knew it would hurt you and it didn’t mean anything. It didn’t mean anything,’ I repeated. ‘Or it didn’t mean that I don’t love you and want you. Only you. Charlie?’
He looked at me almost in wonder. ‘Are you listening to yourself?’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘How am I meant to react to that – that fucking crap?’
‘I’ll change,’ I said desperately, ‘if you give me the chance. I will be good. If you forgive me.’
‘You know what, Holly? I can’t talk about this right now.’
‘Charlie–’
‘I used to be so proud of you… Proud of being the one who was married to you.’
‘Please, I’ll make you proud again. Please.’
‘I feel like such an idiot. I don’t know what to do. I need to think. I need to be on my own for a bit.’
‘Yes, yes, of course. Of course you do. I’ll just… well, I’ll be ready whenever you want to talk again. I’ll be at home today. I won’t work. I’ll just… I’ll be at home. I’ll wait for you, shall I?’
‘Whatever.’
He left the park. I watched him, his long coat flapping and his head down against the gusting wind, until he was out of sight. Then I went and sat on a bench.
When I was a little girl I used to go on long walks with my father. Whenever we got to a fence or a wall, I would clamber up to the top, and he would tell me to jump down into his outstretched arms. I never hesitated. Even when it was high up I would throw myself forward and know he would catch me. He called me his wild child. He called me his heroine. I flew through the air towards his safe embrace. Then he left and I was flying through the air but there was nobody who could save me any more, nobody to catch me when I fell.
I stood up at last. I had no idea how long I’d been sitting on the bench, but my hands were white with cold.
As I reached home, I met Naomi and she asked if we could have coffee together. I opened my mouth to send her away, then thought, Why not?
But when I took out my keys, I found the house-key was missing. I scrabbled in the bottom of my bag in case it had fallen there, but couldn’t find it.
‘I hate this,’ I said, almost crying. ‘I always lose my keys. Keys, wallet, sunglasses, phone, umbrella. Anything. I lose everything.’
‘How could you lose it when all the others are on the key-ring?’ she asked patiently.
‘It’s a stupid key-ring,’ I said. ‘Stupid. Look at it. I only keep it because it belonged to my fucking father. Huh.’
‘It doesn’t matter, anyway. I’ve got a spare key, remember? You gave it to me a few months ago in case of emergencies. I’ll go and fetch it.’
I sat on the doorstep until she returned a few minutes later.
‘Here. Keep it until you find the other.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Unless you think someone might have stolen it.’
‘Stolen it?’ I tried to keep the sudden fear out of my voice. ‘What makes you say that?’
She shrugged, then let me into my house and handed over the key.
In the end it was she who made the coffee and found a packet of biscuits hidden at the back of the cupboard. She told me I looked peaky and made me eat two chocolate digestives, and she asked me what was wrong. I opened my mou
th to say nothing, I was fine, but there were tears running down my cheeks. When she hugged me she smelt of vanilla and something spicy, like nutmeg. For a few seconds, I let myself be held in the motherly warmth of her embrace.
‘You’ve been baking,’ I said, through my tears.
She wiped my cheeks and held my hand. She told me that everything would be all right.
Then she left. And I just went on sitting at the kitchen table. I waited for Charlie to come home without much hope that he would. After what seemed like hours I put my cheek on the grainy wood and closed my eyes. I could fall asleep. Fall asleep and never wake up.
15
I’d always had the idea that I was the indispensable one who did all the work, who carried the company, who helped Charlie fulfil his artistic destiny, who was the life and soul of the party. Not any more. I had become the one member of the expedition who was injured and holding everybody back, endangering everybody’s lives. I was the girl in the old black-and-white science-fiction movie whose stiletto heel broke when they were running away from the monster.
I stood on Regent Street and took a deep breath. It was a matter of what was in my head. All I needed to do was change my attitude, which would then change my behaviour, which would then make everything all right again.
I wandered through some shops. First, in a bookshop, I found a collection of poems specifically designed to make you happy. The introduction said so and I read one short poem, which made me smile. So I bought thirty copies of the book. There were only four copies on the shelf. An assistant had to go to a back room and get a box for me.
Then I went, staggering under the weight of the box, to a stationery shop and found a postcard of a still-life showing just a glass of water and a head of garlic. Again I bought thirty. On the way back to work I went into a kitchen-supply shop. I was looking for something but I couldn’t quite picture it. I wanted something made of wood. Suddenly I found the perfect thing. It was a wooden rod and at the end of it were two discs, a small disc and a smaller disc. It looked a bit like a model of one of those pointless towers you see in some cities that have a revolving restaurant at the top and nothing else. I asked an assistant what it was for and she told me it was for runny honey, which was great. It even rhymed. I bought the whole little wicker basketload of them.
When I got back to the office I distributed them to the girls. There were quite a lot left over, so I put them into a package. I wrote a note to go with them addressed to the head of eYei, the design company for which I was supposed to be running an event: ‘Dear Craig. I couldn’t be bothered to write a proposal. Have these instead. Love, Holly.’ And I got Lola to messenger it round to them.
I looked round the office and thought again about how we needed areas of privacy. On the spur of the moment I rang an architect that Lola’s mother’s neighbour knew. He said he’d come and have a look soon and draw up some rough plans.
After that I got tired again. I needed to get home and get to bed, the way a drowning person needs to get to the shore. Sleep. If I could just cram some more sleep into me, stuff myself with it until it was coming out of my ears, I could get my mood sorted out and things would be fine again. I left an hour early. I went home and got into bed. I felt cold. What I wanted was a hot-water bottle but there wasn’t one in the house so I got up and put on a tracksuit and a sweatshirt, then spread a rug on top of the duvet and got back under it. At some point in the evening I was dimly aware of Charlie coming into the room and saying something – I didn’t know if it was to me – and leaving.
When the alarm went at eight the next morning I knew I felt better. I had slept for fourteen hours and when I emerged from unconsciousness it was almost as if I was newly born, blinking and a bit confused. The world’s edges were hard and straight and clearly defined again. My panic had receded as well. I knew that there were big problems in my life but I felt finally that I could deal with them. I showered and washed my hair and dressed myself in a dark suit. Charlie was fast asleep. I felt an ache in my chest at the sight of his untidy hair and his face pushed under the pillow. I left a message on the table to say that I loved him very, very much and we must talk.
I was at the office before anyone else. I drank a mug of strong coffee and began to tackle the pile of work I hadn’t done and, worse still, the smaller pile I had done but that now needed undoing. But it felt good, like spring-cleaning, and I knew I could manage it. I set myself the task of disposing of the whole pile by lunchtime, which I would spend in the office. By the end of the day I would be up to date and moving forward. I worked solidly, head down, virtually unaware of what was going on around me. When Meg tapped my shoulder, I was startled. I didn’t even know what time it was. I looked at my watch: ten past twelve.
‘Can I have a moment?’ she said.
‘Sure.’
‘In the conference room.’
‘What for?’
‘It’ll just take a moment.’
I followed Meg in and felt a jolt like an electric shock. Trish was already sitting at the table with a woman I didn’t know. Between them was Charlie. Weirdly, my first thought wasn’t about what he was doing there, but how he had got into the building without my noticing. I realized he must have come up the back stairs. Meg walked round and joined them on their side of the table. She gestured to me to sit on the other side, facing them, like in a job interview.
‘What’s going on?’ I asked. ‘This Is Your Life?’
‘This is Dr Jean Difford,’ said Meg. ‘She gives advice on issues in the workplace.’
‘What kind of advice?’
‘Medical advice.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘What is all this?’
Jean Difford smiled an irritatingly reassuring smile at me. ‘I’m glad to meet you, Holly,’ she said. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’
‘What have you heard?’
‘Do you know of a place called Glenstone Manor?’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘I’ve booked you in there today.’
There was a long silence. I looked at Meg, Trish and Charlie in turn. Meg and Trish were staring at the table but Charlie looked at me with concern. For the first time in days, I saw love in his eyes. Or pity.
‘This feels like a conspiracy,’ I said.
‘It is a sort of conspiracy,’ he said. ‘We all care about you. Something’s going wrong with you and we think you need help.’
‘You can’t go on like this,’ said Meg.
‘That’s for me to decide, I’d say.’
‘No,’ said Charlie. ‘At a certain point, one has to intervene.’
‘You’ve all been talking about me to each other. Discussing me.’ I turned on Meg. ‘This is your revenge, isn’t it?’
‘No.’
‘You weren’t at the dentist yesterday. You were setting up this – this ambush.’
‘It’s not an ambush. It’s a plan of action,’ said Trish.
‘OK – what’s this plan of action?’
‘You go to Glenstone Manor,’ said Dr Difford. ‘You’ll be assessed and receive treatment. You will stay there for a week or two.’
‘I don’t understand,’ I said. ‘You’re a doctor.’
‘Yes.’
‘This is what puzzles me. You’re saying that I need to go into an institution and you’ve never even met me.’
‘I’ve talked to your colleagues and I’ve talked to your husband.’ At this I flashed a look at Charlie, who had the decency to appear a little shamefaced. ‘They want to help you.’
I took a deep breath and then I forced myself to smile. ‘Obviously this has taken me a bit by surprise,’ I said. ‘Am I allowed to ask any questions before they come to take me away?’
‘Ask anything you like,’ said Dr Difford, with her infuriating tone of patience and calm as if she were talking me down off a window-ledge.
‘Does anybody here think I have a drug problem?’ I asked.
‘No,’ said Meg.
‘Dr
ink?’
‘Not in particular.’
‘Then what are you saying about me?’
There was a pause. Nobody looked at me.
‘That’s for us to discuss at Glenstone Manor,’ said Dr Difford.
‘You all think I’m going off the rails.’
Nobody said anything.
‘All right, I had a wobbly few weeks,’ I said. ‘I admit that. I’ve had a night or two out where things got out of control. I’m not proud of my behaviour but I’m sorting it out. The last few days in the office weren’t my finest moments but that’s all sorted. You should have come to talk to me about this, Meg, Trish’ –I gave them fierce looks – ‘before going behind my back to some smooth-talking doctor who thinks she can diagnose me before she’s even set eyes on me. Especially you, Meg, because you are – used to be, anyway – my friend. As for things with Charlie, I’m aware of my lapses. I know I’ve got issues to sort out, apologies to make, but that’s nobody’s business but ours. I’m sorry, but this is a waste of time.’
‘We’ve discussed it,’ said Trish. ‘We think it’s the right thing to do.’
‘You should have discussed it with me.’
‘We are discussing it with you.’
‘You’re not. You’re–’ I could hardly speak. I was becoming hot with the anger bubbling up inside me. ‘Look, it’s time to take the gloves off, if that’s what you want. I’ve admitted it. This week I’ve had a couple of bad days–’
‘It’s not about this week,’ said Meg. ‘You know that quite well.’
‘Meg and I created this company and in the last year I’ve been running it almost fucking single-handed. Who has found about nine-tenths of our clients? Me. Who schmoozes them in the evening? Me. Who leads the presentations? Who creates the events? Who dreams up the ideas? Who sells them?’
‘Some of us work here as well,’ said Meg. ‘Boring things, like the accounts. Like clearing up your mess.’
‘When you were all pissing around not daring to deal with that bully Deborah Trickett, who was it who bit the bullet and fired her? And ever since she’s been bad-mouthing me all over London. That was your job, Trish. I’ve spent a year working seven days a week, and when I wasn’t working, I was doing so-called entertaining of clients. Things got a bit out of control and now I’m sorting them out. Because that’s what I do. Go out and look at my desk,’ I said. ‘If you can find a single mistake, any task that hasn’t been sorted out, you can haul me into the bin and inject me with anything you want.’