‘Christ, Mannie, if you’d told me you’d turned lesbian I couldn’t be more stunned.’
‘Cal, can we talk about—’
‘What is there to talk about, for heaven’s sake?’
‘I haven’t done anything! Cal, please, you’ve got to believe me! It’s just how I feel and I can’t help it.’
‘I thought you loved me, Mannie, I had begun to think we could make it.’
‘Me too!’
‘I laid my heart on my hand for you.’
‘Cal—’
‘And with your pals moving out, I thought we might even talk about living together.’
‘Sweetheart, I—’
‘Sweetheart? What are you talking about, Mannie? You can’t be in love with two people at the same time. And certainly not when one of them is me.
‘Please try to understand—’
But Cal is reaching for his sweater. ‘You’re a great talker, Mannie, but don’t try to talk yourself out of this one. ’
She is heavy, weighed down with it all. She can’t move. Even raising a hand to try to stop him seems too difficult. All she can do is watch, her eyelids leaden with shed and unshed tears, as he slams out of the room.
She hears Myra say, in startled tones, ‘Everything all right, Callum?’ and his growled reply, and then the front door bangs closed and he has gone.
Christ. I messed that up.
‘You okay, Mannie?’ Myra’s head comes round her door, her kindly face full of concern.
‘Fine,’ Mannie says, in a voice that tells exactly the opposite story. ‘Just fine.’
It’s a wretched night. Why did she have to tell Callum? Couldn’t she have kept the whole thing to herself until she’d sorted her head out? Sleep doesn’t come to her till dawn, and even then it’s fitful and brings little respite. The first thing she does when she wakes is check her phone.
Mannie hates herself for that, because in truth what she wants to see is something from Brian, not Callum. The memory of Cal’s face, the look of shock, and hurt, and wretchedness, and confusion, of his usually kissable lips slack with barely controlled emotion, hurts her inside like a reamer scouring her guts – but it’s Brian she wants to text her.
Frantic with longing, she flicks her way through the messages, wondering if she has missed something in her eagerness. But there’s nothing. Against all rational judgement, she texts him again.
She goes to wash.
Makes herself a coffee.
Forces herself to wash last night’s dishes before she checks again. Still nothing.
By the time she leaves for work, she has sent eleven texts. Nothing unusual in that. Just making sure he knew she wanted to talk to him. Just normal, friendly texts.
She’s in a client meeting first thing and is forced to put her phone on silent, but she leaves it on the table in front of her.
‘Expecting an urgent call,’ she says with an apologetic smile. ‘Hope it doesn’t disturb us. Sorry.’
If he calls, she’ll have to excuse herself, there can be no other choice.
But he doesn’t call. With an effort that feels almost superhuman, Mannie forces herself not to text again. A dozen times she picks up the phone, her fingers itching, then makes herself lay it down again. He will think she’s mental. She isn’t, of course, just ... just what, Mannie? Just obsessed? Not that, surely not that? Just friendly, just wanting to know he’s all right, that he has been thinking about her.
Don’t kid yourself, Mannie, a voice in her head keeps telling her. You’re crazy about him.
What, then, of Callum?
And so it goes on, round and round her head until she really does feel crazy – but Brian doesn’t call that week. Neither does Callum.
Chapter Nineteen
Home, even for a nearly thirty-year-old, is the place to run to when life gets rough. At home, Prince will greet her with unequivocal, non-judgemental devotion. At home, her mother will fold her in her arms and hug her to bits just as she used to when she was a kid. At home, her father will kiss her eyelids and the tip of her nose and call her, ‘Treasure.’
Mannie heads to the cottage at the weekend, carrying – unusually – an overnight bag and thinking longingly of the small room she grew up in, still painted pink, still ready for her return at any given moment.
‘Hi!’ she calls, stepping out of her car.
It’s unusual not to be greeted by someone – her father normally, sometimes Jonno, always Prince. She calls again, uncertainly, ‘Anyone at home?’ The door is unlocked and she steps inside. The cottage feels curiously vacant, as if its heart has slowed and its pulse is failing. She drops her bag and sniffs. No cooking smells, no enticing aromas.
Unsettled, she stomps through the hall to the kitchen. She relies on her parents to supply routine and normality in her life, to be there for her, no matter what.
‘Hello?’ Her voice is almost quavering now. This is so not what she needs.
‘Hello, pet.’
Her father comes through the back door and opens his arms wide. Prince, gruff and excited, his tail flapping like a sail in full wind, barges past him and catches the back of her knees with full force so that she buckles and laughs.
‘Hello, Daddy. Hello Prince, old thing.’
‘Your mother will be back shortly. She’s at some reception or other.’
‘So what’s new?’ Mannie grins. ‘Is Jonno at the pub tonight?’
Even as she asks it, her question is answered because her brother comes into the kitchen, still wearing wellies and carrying a dirty bucket.
‘Hey, Sis.’
‘Hey, Bro. Heard from CommX yet? How did the interview go?’
He puts the bucket down with a clatter and hold up his hands in warning. ‘Don’t hug me, I’m covered in chicken shit,’ he grins. ‘It went okay, I think. Haven’t heard yet.’
‘Who interviewed you?’
‘Two women – the editorial director and one of the client directors. They normally have the managing director there too, they said, but he was in Dubai, apparently, meeting with an important client.’
So that’s why Brian hasn’t answered! He must have gone off to Dubai right after they met for dinner. The skin of misery that has been hanging over her all week peels back. She could whoop with elation. He hasn’t been ignoring her! He has just been busy! He has been abroad!
‘So when will you hear?’
‘They said a few days. They’re going to run everything past him when he gets back.’
‘Which is when?’
‘Thursday.’
Thursday. Two more days. That’s all she has to endure. Two days, then they’ll be back in contact again. He’ll reply then. She can text him – when? – maybe tomorrow. Surely he’ll be back home a day before heading back into the office?
‘Cuppa, Mannie?’ her father asks. ‘Or are you ready for a glass of wine? I’m in the middle of a song, I’ll get back to it till your mother gets home, if that’s all right. We can catch up over supper?’
‘Tea would be great, Dad. Thanks. Stop me from drinking for another hour,’ Mannie says. She doesn’t need a drink, she can’t stop smiling.
‘Me too,’ Jonno says, disappearing into the utility room with the bucket. Mannie can hear him swilling it out as her father drops tea bags into three mugs and busies himself pouring hot water over them.
There’s a gray pallor on his face that doesn’t look normal, and the line that runs vertically between his eyebrows seems to be etched deeper than usual. ‘You okay, Dad? You look tired.’
‘Just the deadlines,’ he says, stirring busily, not looking at her. ‘That’s all.’
‘Really? Hey—’ she remembers, ‘—that tune you wrote. Finished the song yet?’
He shakes his head. ‘Stupid, isn’t it? But the words need to be perfect. I’ve got a feeling about this tune. It could be a biggie.’
; ‘If you get the words.’
‘Yes.’
He isn’t his normal, calm self. She can sense a kind of vulnerability about him that’s disturbing. She would like to probe, but Jonno comes back in, asking, ‘Any biscuits, Dad? Where has Mum hidden them?’ and the moment is lost.
‘In the flour tin,’ Archie grins. ‘I came across them this morning.’
‘You mean, you were frantically hunting for them,’ Jon laughs.
The fondness Jon and Archie share for Susie’s home-baked Melting Moments is a standing joke in the house. Years ago, her mother started to look for ever more inventive places to hide the latest batch so that they wouldn’t disappear in ten minutes flat, and the habit has continued. In the Wallace household they call the biscuits ‘Melting Nanoseconds’.
‘Here.’ Archie opens the flour tin and hands the cookies round. Then, ‘See you later,’ he says, and he’s out of the door with his tea before Mannie can stop him.
‘He looks tired,’ she observes through a mouthful of crumbs. ‘Is he all right?’
Jonno scrapes a chair back and flops down onto it. ‘Not really. It’s pretty crap here at the moment, to be honest.’
‘He’s not still sleeping out there, is he?’
‘’Fraid so.’
‘That’s pants. What’s eating them?’
‘Still this thing about Dad not telling her about the adoption, I guess. And she’s been busy. There’s a load of stuff going on at the Parliament.’
‘But there’s always loads going on at the Parliament. It’s never made her like this before. And I’m sure Dad meant it for the best. Not telling her, I mean.’
‘Sure. Anyway.’ Jonno shrugs away all discussion of emotion and takes another biscuit. ‘Cal not with you?’
‘He’s tied up with his cricket.’
Mannie is struggling with the weight of her secret. She hesitates. Jonno might be crap at feelings, but he can usually be relied on to be discreet. It’d be nice to be able to talk to someone about Brian.
‘Jonno,’ she says slowly.
‘Yeah?’
‘If I tell you something, will you promise to keep it secret?’
‘Depends.’ He grins. ‘If it’s got sale value, I know a journalist who—’
‘Beast! Promise?’
‘Hmm. Go on, tell.’
‘There’s this man.’
‘What man?’
‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you, idiot. There was this man who came by our stand at the trade fair.’
‘Who?’
‘Just a businessman.’
‘What about him?’
‘Just shut up and listen, will you?’ She clears her throat. ‘I’ve got feelings for him.’ Her brother is staring at her as though she’s barking. ‘What I mean is, I’ve fallen for him. I’m crazy about him, Jonno. It’s driving me nuts.’
‘What, you’ve split up with Cal? You met a guy at a trade fair and you’ve fallen in love with him and finished with Cal?’
‘No! Well, yes, maybe. I don’t know. I don’t want to finish with Cal but when I told him about this he ... well, he just walked out,’ she finishes lamely.
‘Well honestly, Sis, can you blame him?’
She shakes her head numbly. ‘Not really.’
‘What does he do?’
‘He runs a business,’ she says vaguely.
‘What kind of business?’
‘Not sure exactly,’ she lies. ‘It’s in Stirling, I think.’
‘So how long have you been seeing this guy?’
‘I’m not really seeing him. I had coffee with him, but that was an accident, I was waiting for Mum. And I had dinner with him. He’s like ... he’s married.’
‘Married? You’ve ditched Cal and started an affair with a married man?’ Jonno is incredulous.
‘I’m not having an affair with him. He’s loads older than me and I’ve only seen him once since then. He’s not even answering my texts right now.’
‘I don’t get it.’
‘No.’ Mannie wells up. ‘Neither do I. I just adore him. It’s a mess, Jonno. A complete mess.’
Behind them there’s a flurry of movement and a rustle. Prince barks softly and lumbers to his feet. Mannie looks round to see her mother standing in the doorway, her face concerned. ‘What’s a mess?’ she asks.
‘Nothing.’ Mannie dashes the back of her hand across her face and runs to her mother, opening her arms for a hug.
‘Mannie says she’s—’ Jonno begins.
Mannie cuts across him quickly. ‘Jonno, no! You promised not to say anything!’
‘I had my fingers crossed.’
‘Shut up!’
‘Children, children,’ Susie says, amused. ‘This is just like the old days. Calm down.’
There’s a silence, then Jonno says, ‘Sorry, Mannie, but I think Mum ought to know.’
‘Know what?’
‘No!’
‘It’s Mannie. She’s—’
‘Tell tale tit, your tongue will split!’
‘Children!’ Susie says again, laughing.
Jonno ignores them both. ‘She’s only gone and dumped Cal, Mum – the soundest guy she’s ever gone out with. And she’s started an affair with a married man.’
‘I have not!’
‘What? Mannie? You haven’t finished with Callum have you?’
‘You’re such a pain, Jonno,’ Mannie cries, pushing past her brother angrily and storming out of the kitchen. ‘I’ll never tell you anything again.’
Behind her, as she grabs her case and runs up to the sanctuary of her room, she can hear their voices, discussing her.
She’s furious with them. But she’s even more furious with herself.
Chapter Twenty
The girl appears from nowhere, round the corner of the building, and almost trips face forwards over Jon’s feet as he leans back against the wall, legs extended.
‘Christ Almighty!’ She rights herself quickly. ‘Sorry, I didn’t expect anyone.’
He shoots out his hand and catches her arm. ‘Are you okay? I’m the one who’s sorry. It was my fault. I was just a bit early.’ Jon doesn’t like to admit he’s been waiting for twenty minutes outside Ashley House, home of CommX, short for Communications Excellence: his new employer.
‘I’m fine. Really.’ The girl turns to face him. ‘You’re new.’
She looks so assured that Jon feels ridiculously gawky, like a five-year-old starting school. ‘Jonathan Wallace. Jon. It’s my first day.’
‘Welcome to the bear pit. I’m Alex Townsend.’
She’s tiny, like a little sparrow, brown-haired and dark-eyed, with quick, energetic movements and a chirpy friendliness. She’s wearing dark jeans, rolled up a couple of times to below her knees, flimsy leather pumps and a flowery cotton top in brilliant purples and pinks. Her hair is shoved up at the back with some kind of clip, so that he can’t tell how long it is.
Alex punches a few numbers into a keypad, pushes open the door into Ashley House, where CommX has its home, and halts in the slate-floored entrance lobby. ‘You must be taking over from Mark. Sorry. I’ve been on holiday. I’m a bit out of touch with news.’
‘What happened to Mark? Thrown to the bears?’
She laughs. Her smile is wide and even, and her teeth are pearly against tanned skin. ‘Nothing so sinister. He landed a job with one of the big banks.’
One of the jobs I went for no doubt, Jon thinks. There’s a brief moment of bitterness as he remembers the dozens of applications, the equal number of rejections, the very few interviews, before he recalls, with a small glow, that it doesn’t matter any more, because he’s here now. He has made the impossible leap. He has set out on a career.
Another door. More numbers on a keypad. A big open office, full of desks and computers.
‘I don’t know where they’ll put you. Mark’s desk was over there.’ Alex points to a space near the kitchen area, clearly one of the less desirable locations in the big open-p
lan office where they’re now standing. ‘It’s not too bad,’ she adds quickly, ‘People come and talk to you there.’
‘Where do you sit?’
‘The designers are all in this block.’ She gestures at the area just to the left of the now-no-more Mark’s desk, where dull PCs have been banished and gleaming Macs, huge-screened and elegant, reign supreme. ‘I guess they’ll resurrect Mark’s Mac for you, if it hasn’t been cannibalised for parts already. Just joking,’ she adds, grinning at his despondent face. ‘Listen, want a coffee? Or tea? I need to get started, I just know there’ll be a thousand emails, that’s why I came in early.’
She’s twitching, eager to get going, wanting to be friendly but unwilling to waste time.
‘Why don’t you let me make you something,’ he offers, and sees the glimmer of relief, swiftly hidden.
‘Thanks, cool. Tea please, I don’t do coffee. Milk if there is any that’s not off, otherwise black for now.’
She turns away, settles at a desk by the window, unslings her bag and presses a button on her Mac so that it gives a melodic boom and glows into life. Jon fumbles his way round the small kitchen, finds mugs, tea, a fridge with a half pint of milk that seems acceptably fresh, and has just filled the kettle when voices cut into the room behind him.
‘Morning Alex. How was France?’
‘France? Have I been in France? Seems like I’ve never been out of this damn place.’ Laughter. ‘Catch me up on the goss in a mo, Stu. Just scanning the emails. Oh, there’s a new guy in the kitchen, by the way.’
A face appears, young, round, pleasant, the head completely bald. ‘Hi. I’m Stu. We met when you came in for your interview.’
Hot on Stu’s heels came Rob, Gus, Andrea, Jane, Frank, Eva, and a dozen more. New names, new faces, a blur of new impressions. Within ten minutes, there are fifteen people in the office. He greets them, smiles till it begins to feel mechanical, counts them, sees that the only spare place is, indeed, the desk Alex indicated half an hour ago. Finally, he puts his mug on it. The tea is cold.
‘We have a Monday morning meeting,’ Stu tells him. ‘The Boss is here today, so he’ll cover the weekly business. If he’s not here, Maris does it. Someone will give you an induction. It’s usually Sara,’ he points to a pallid girl with mousey hair and an insipid air. ‘Don’t be fooled,’ Stu grins, seeing Jon’s doubtful look. ‘She’s the most organised person around here, by a million miles. And bossy with it, although you wouldn’t know to look at her.’
Loving Susie: The Heartlands series Page 18