by Lucy Dawson
Yeah – well it’s early enough in the morning to still practically be sodding dark.
‘Can you just hang on a minute?’ I shiver by the back gate, mobile clamped to my ear. ‘I’m ringing the landlord now.’
The builder nods and shoots a look at his two mates, who sigh and rest down the scaffolding poles they have balanced on their shoulders. We all wait silently in the freezing cold for my landlord to pick up – who says Mondays can’t be fun?
‘Mr Landsdowne? Hello. It’s Molly Greene … from number 27 … Barcombe Road?’ How many houses does he own for God’s sake? ‘I’m ringing because I’m stood outside with three builders who I’ve just found letting themselves into our back garden round through the side gate. Apparently they need access to next door to put scaffolding up because there’s a problem with their roof? And you said that would be OK?’ I pause and listen for a moment. ‘Well yes, except you didn’t tell us. I work from home and it was really frightening to find some strange men’ – ‘Sorry’ I mouth to the builders, who shrug, unbothered – ‘letting themselves into … well yes, I appreciate that, I’m just saying you’re meant to give us notice, that’s …’ I try to keep calm as he starts to blather on about how he must have rung the wrong number by mistake – another tenant in another house. Yeah right, of course he did. ‘OK, fine,’ I say tiredly. ‘Well, they’re here now, but next time could you please let us know?’
The builders, happily sensing victory, hoist the poles back on to their shoulders and – cheeky gits – start entering the combination on the padlock, which they’ve obviously been given as well, before I’ve even hung up.
‘We’ll try and keep it down while we’re “erecting”,’ says one of them, to the sniggers of the others. ‘What is it you do from home then?’
‘I’m a medical rep.’
‘Oh right,’ he says disinterestedly.
I can’t say I blame him. ‘I’ll leave you to it then,’ I reply, as if I’ve got any control over the situation at all, and head back into the house.
I very quickly discover that working in my office, which faces out over the garden, is not going to be an option until they’ve finished playing with their poles. We haven’t been able to shut the window flush since we moved in, the frame obviously expanded with damp some time ago and we’ve not got round to sorting it out – admittedly our own fault – but it means I can hear all of their banter, and see it once the scaffolding goes up, because helpfully there’s a platform right on eye level.
Sighing, I unplug the laptop and take it down to the sitting room with my mobile for a bit of privacy, which is much better – not to say quieter – and after a while, I begin to forget they’re there. Well almost; they keep walking backwards and forwards past the window, but things could be worse.
Things could be a lot worse. Since his drunken text on Saturday, I’ve heard nothing from Leo. I was expecting to get a message when I switched on the phone this morning; but there wasn’t a thing, which was an unbelievable relief. I hadn’t realised quite how stressed out by it I’d allowed myself to become.
Perhaps in the cold light of day – once he’d sobered up and re-read what he’d sent, realised how indulgent it looked – he’d felt embarrassed and now just wants to sidle off quietly. Save his male pride, pretend it never happened: ‘Think I need help! – Think I need you’ …
I snort, forgetting how scary it seemed on Saturday, when I was stood in our bedroom staring down into the dark street below. Not exactly Shakespeare, was it Leo?
I actually manage to get a lot done before and after lunch, despite the clanking around outside. I’m concentrating on how to word an email to a particularly tricky GP who likes to pick me up on every possible point he can, and have just reached out absently to switch the light on because it’s getting dark outside, when the ceiling creaks above me. I’ve been staring at the screen with such fierce concentration I haven’t noticed how quiet it’s become – the builders must have gone home. It creaks again; just the usual noises a house makes from time to time – not something you’d normally notice – but on my own, it sounds like someone moving around in one of the upstairs rooms. I glance up, pause and wait a moment … but there’s nothing, just silence. I return to the laptop … and then leap out of my skin at the PING! of an email arriving.
It’s Pearce.
Guess what? Know it’s Christmas do in two weeks?
Oh God, I’d forgotten that.
Get this – S says partners AND clients invited … clients. CLIENTS? At xmas work do? I ASK YOU!!! World has gone mad … urgh. No fun!
Without thinking, I immediately type back:
You do know all email is probably monitored at mo? Be more careful!
Fair point, but don’t be cross with me! He replies. Can I make it up to you at party? Have mistletoe – will travel.
I’m really not sure I’ve got the strength for the corporate Christmas do this year. Anyway, it’s hardly going to be much of a bash is it? Half of us may not even have jobs for much longer.
Another email arrives.
Er, Hi?
Pearce must be having a slow day. Although that reminds me – I don’t mail back, just in case our mail IS monitored – but text him instead.
BTW, crossed wires. Am not pregnant. Think you thought otherwise the other day? Just so you know!
Not sure what to say to that! He texts back. Congratulations? Bad luck? Call if you want to chat! x
I smile, but then another sigh from the ceiling makes me frown and raise my eyes again. I put my laptop to one side, get up and cautiously make my way to the bottom of the stairs. Pausing, I stare up the dark stairwell of my own house.
‘Hello?’ I call out instinctively and wait. Quite what for I don’t know – I’d hardly want someone to call hello back, not that anyone does of course. Then for reasons best known to myself, I reach out, not taking my eyes off the stairs, open the front door and bang it shut again – as if someone has just come in and I’m not alone – and say out loud, ‘Oh, hi love! You’re home early!’ Then I fall silent suspiciously … again nothing. Not a sound.
I flick the light on and warily begin to pad upstairs. Arms tightly wrapped round myself, I stick my head first round our bedroom door, which is of course empty, pull the light switch on in the bathroom – nothing there, and then slowly push open the door to my office. It looks like it always does; my desk, a chest of drawers, the armchair by the window, but I can hear tinny music coming from somewhere … and then someone talking. I cross over the room and peer out on to the scaffolding. There’s a small portable radio sat outside on the platform, aerial pertly up, but everything else has been packed away. The builders must have left it behind by mistake. I open the window to see if I can reach it – at least turn it off, and as I’m leaning out I see the side gate pulling shut, someone closing it behind them.
‘Wait!’ I call, feeling a bit silly that I’ve been shouting around randomly downstairs, not realising they were still here. ‘You’ve forgotten your radio!’ But they can’t have heard me because they don’t come back. By the time I’ve closed the window as best I can, run downstairs and opened the front door – they’ve gone, because the van isn’t there any more. Oh well. I’ll leave it in the kitchen. They can claim it when they come back to start the roof work.
I’ve just sat down on the sofa again when my mobile buzzes next to me.
Forgive me – this isn’t all talk no action, I promise. I could leave Helen. You could tell Dan, tell him now! We could be together tonight! Shall we just do it?! Xxx
‘Get a new phone, Moll,’ Joss insists. ‘If work really think it’s going to be that much of a bitch to change your number from a client point of view, just get a new mobile for personal calls. The second it hits six each day, turn the work one off and switch your new one on – then he won’t be able to get through to you apart from in working hours. It’s not ideal, but it’s a shitload better than him having this twenty-four hour access.’
‘It seemed a good idea at the time,’ I babble, ‘having work cough up for my mobile bills, me just paying for whatever calls I made. I wish I’d kept it separate now, had my own.’
‘Well – you still can.’
‘You don’t think he meant it do you? About telling his wife?’
She snorts. ‘No I don’t. He said he could, not he would. This is Leo we’re talking about. He’s a lazy little shit. Not once did I ever see him put himself out for you when you two were together. He’s just loving the drama of all this – the saddo.’
‘You’re not worried that … all the other stuff … you think I’m imagining it? I have to admit, hearing myself say it all out loud to you it did sound crazy.’
‘You’re not crazy,’ Joss says immediately. ‘Him texting you like this must be horrible, but even if he did come down to Brighton on Saturday hoping to bump into you, I really don’t think those drinks were from him Moll, there’s no way he could have known you were going to be in that bar, it was a last-minute arrangement with me and Bec. You only came in because Dan was in Chichester and you were all wound up after that baby shower. I almost wish I hadn’t sent the drinks back now, because then the bloke who actually bought them for us probably would have come over and you’d have thought nothing more of it.’
‘I did think that myself actually,’ I admit, ‘after I’d left.’
‘Well there you go. As for that car outside your house; you’re on edge and worried that Dan is going to find out what happened. It’s making you jumpy, I get that, but if you don’t chill out he’s going to cotton on to something being wrong anyway. I knew something was up with you on Saturday and even Bec asked me what was going on once you’d gone.’
I fall silent. ‘Did you tell her?’
‘No, of course not. I said I thought you were just worried about the baby stuff.’
‘So you don’t think that text he sent me, the “you look nice today” one – like he’d actually seen me in person – is anything sig—’
‘No, I think your first instinct was right, it probably was meant for someone else,’ she interjects. ‘He’s a smarmy weasel. It’s vile having him text you all the time, but that’s all it is. And for the record, he’s wrong – he always has been all talk and no action. Seriously, go out NOW and get yourself a phone. He’s going to get bored and give up. Leo was never built for endurance.’
‘He told me he loves me, Joss. He’s never said that before – you know that.’
She snorts. ‘Molly, I told the wanker with the clipboard who tried to hug me this morning that I already support Greenpeace – I didn’t mean that either. They’re just words.’
I take a deep breath. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry to ring you at work, I was just freaking out here.’ I almost tell her about shouting up the stairs like a loon too, just to make her laugh, but I’ve taken up enough of her time.
‘It’s honestly not a problem. That’s what friends are for.’
She sounds tired though, and I begin to wish I hadn’t bothered her. ‘Are you OK?’ I ask.
‘Yeah,’ she says, flatly. ‘We went to see Mum yesterday afternoon. The whole place was a tip, and she was off her face, it really upset the twins. I shouldn’t have taken them round. You just keep thinking one day it’s going to change, you know?’
There’s a long pause and then she suddenly says, brisk again. ‘Bloody hell, listen to us – you want to slit your wrists first or shall I? Come on Greene. Enough of this. New phone – go right now, OK?’
‘OK,’ I promise obediently.
‘Oh! Just quickly though – what are we doing for your birthday this weekend?’
‘Can I be honest? I don’t really want to do anything.’
‘Fair enough. No one says you have to. I’ve, er,’ her voice suddenly becomes careless, ‘actually got some stuff on this week anyway. I’ve a date on Thursday …’
‘Oh?’ I perk up at that. ‘Who with?’
‘Just a bloke from work,’ she does what I think is a fake nonchalant yawn. ‘But I’ll speak to you before then anyway, I’m sure.’
‘That’d be nice, but in case we don’t, have fun Joss.’
‘Pffff,’ she responds dismissively, ‘depends on him really, doesn’t it? I’ll try though. Love you.’
It’s only once I’ve hung up that I realise I didn’t tell her about bumping into Leo in London after my appointment … but I push away my niggling doubts, she’s right. Leo’s not omnipotent, he’s not God. He just thinks he is.
Joss is right about the new phone. It’s incredibly easy to sort. The handset will be delivered tomorrow or the day after and I’m already feeling better by the time I finally pull up outside the house, but it’s quickly replaced by confusion when I see that the curtains have been pulled and the lights are on.
Dan’s back? How come?
‘Hello?’ I call warily as I shut the front door behind me.
‘I’m up here,’ he calls. ‘Can you come up a sec?’
I jog upstairs and appear in the doorway of my office to find him sitting in my chair, in front of my computer. ‘You’re back early!’ I exclaim happily. ‘You should have called me and let me know – I’d have come to pick you up.’
‘I did, your phone was off,’ he says, still frowning at the screen. ‘I don’t feel great, I wanted to check the swine flu symptoms but I left my laptop at work, so I thought I’d use yours.’ He sits back and looks at me very directly. ‘You left it on the sofa for starters where anyone could see it – and your email was open too. I want to talk to you about a message I’ve just read.’
All of the blood rushes from my face, I feel it just pull from the muscles. Oh my God. Oh Jesus. I just stand there, stupidly, frozen to the spot, unable to speak. Has the Facebook blocking not worked after all? Has Leo somehow found me again? Did I leave an old message on there by mistake?
‘Why is Pearce emailing you and asking you not to be cross with him?’
Eh? My expression flickers. ‘Pearce?’
‘Yes, Pearce,’ he says patiently. ‘Look.’ He twists the laptop round, ‘“Have mistletoe will travel?” I’m not happy about that, Molly,’ he says. ‘I’m not happy at all, and what’s this supposed to mean?’ – he opens another one – ‘“Er, Hi.” Hi what? Hi, I’m sorry? Hi, how are you? Hi, I’m trying it on? Because if he is, he can fuck off and hi.’
I can’t help but smile at Dan’s fierce tone, although mostly with relief. ‘He’s just mucking around. Pearce is going out with Sandra! And more to the point, since when is it OK to go snooping through my emails?’
I actually can’t believe I’ve just said that … the sheer hypocrisy is breathtaking.
‘I didn’t snoop!’ he coughs violently with indignation. ‘You left it open! And if he’s going out with Sandra, why does he think it’s a shame that husbands and wives are invited to the Christmas do? Does he mean me? Urgh, I need a tissue.’ He fumbles around in his pocket sniffing heavily.
Wow, he really did read through the mails.
‘I don’t like him being so over-familiar, it’s not on. He clearly has a huge crush on you, but that’s no excuse. Please don’t encourage him, OK? Sending you email jokes he’s found and texting you business updates on Sunday nights,’ he grumbles. He holds out an arm to me and I walk over, bending down to kiss him as he hugs me to him. ‘Cheeky little shit,’ he says gruffly. ‘Him that is, not you.’
‘Thanks for clearing that up. Shall I go and make you a Lemsip or something?’ I put my hand on his forehead. ‘I don’t think you’ve got swine flu though, you’re not hot at all.’
‘Story of my life,’ he concedes gloomily. ‘Well, you just remind Pearce you’ve got a husband who’ll take him outside at the Christmas do if need be, give him a shiny Rudolf nose and happily show him where to shove his antlers, OK?’
‘You’re going to come are you?’ I say surprised, because Dan hates that sort of thing.
‘Yup,’ Dan says determinedly, glancing at the emails again. �
�I am now. By the way – where did all that come from?’ He motions to the scaffolding outside and I fill him in.
‘Hmmm. Well, I better make sure that window is secure then,’ he says – and insists on going next door to ask them if he can climb up the scaffolding, before bashing the window shut from outside so we can lock it.
‘Done it,’ he says, looking terrible as he comes back in from the cold and gives another hacking cough. ‘I think I’m going to go to bed now.’
Which is where he stays – unusually for him – the following day. I’m awake from half-six anyway, my brain worrying away before my eyes are even open, and what with poor old Dan coughing … sleep is impossible.
By the time I’m up and tucking my feet under my desk ready for the start of the working day however, he’s gone quiet, dozing presumably. I take a deep breath and switch my phone on …
And my heart thuds as the little envelope appears with a 1 next to it.
Nearly told H last night. Think we ought to discuss plan? Xx
My mouth falls open – just as Dan appears at the door with bed hair, dressed in tracky bottoms and an elderly zip-up fleece, looking rather sorry for himself. ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ he offers, clutching a tissue.
I hit the delete button straight away and shake my head. ‘No thanks. You should be in tucked up in the warm. I’ll make you one if you like though.’
‘Yes please,’ he says weakly.
‘How you feeling?’
He shrugs. ‘Bit crap. I’m going to stay out of your way though, don’t worry.’
‘No, it’s fine.’ I switch my laptop on. ‘In fact it’s really helpful that you’re here. I’m having a new phone delivered and it might arrive today. Could you listen out for it this afternoon, just in case? I won’t be back from my meetings until about three.’
‘OK,’ he says and blows his nose. ‘Is something wrong with your BlackBerry then?’ he nods at it.