She explained that Dave had started taking on some work, which meant putting Zac into nursery against her wishes and that asking her boss if she could work from home had not been well received.
‘There’s one bright spot, though: Zac absolutely loves nursery and he was so shattered when he came home that he slept through for ten hours straight.’
‘Wow,’ said Jo, chinking her wine glass against Sarah’s water. ‘I bet you and Dave didn’t know what to do with yourselves.’
‘We did actually,’ said Sarah, going pink. ‘Has everyone finished? Who’d like fruit salad?’
Jo laughed and clinked her glass against Sarah’s.
‘So tell us about this celebration dinner with Shaw’s,’ said Carrie, watching a still blushing Sarah serve the fruit salad.
‘Oh,’ groaned Jo. ‘The restaurant was practically in the clouds and of course our table had to be outside on a glass-fronted balcony.’
‘Ah,’ said Sarah, handing Jo a bowl and a spoon. ‘I think I know the one. I take it you didn’t feel comfortable, then?’
‘I thought I was going to faint and ended up in Patrick’s arms, telling him all about my fear of heights. I felt such an idiot!’ Jo shuddered.
‘It’s the best thing to do, though,’ said Carrie, accepting some fruit salad from Sarah and refusing the offer of cream. ‘The book I read says you should enlist the help of friends.’
‘Patrick’s not a friend,’ muttered Jo. ‘Although he was good. He ran after the Shaws and pretended that he suffered with really bad hay fever and asked if we could sit inside. He then proceeded to sniff and sneeze.’ She began to chuckle. ‘It was quite funny, actually, I mean, hayfever, four floors up! I think Lisa Shaw thought he was mad.’
‘What a gentleman.’ Sarah smirked.
‘He must really care about you to act like that,’ agreed Carrie. ‘I mean, he must have looked a bit pathetic, not wanting to sit outside.’
‘A gentleman?’ stuttered Jo. ‘Care about me? He’s just resigned, remember!’ She shook her head sadly. ‘I thought he would always be part of my life, I mean, of Gold’s.’
‘Maybe resigning is his way of showing he cares too. Think about it. Not having to pay his salary is bound to have an impact on the profit margin. And as you said yourself, if you don’t make a profit, you have to plan for redundancies. Perhaps Patrick wanted to help?’
Jo sighed and pushed her bowl on to the table.
‘But without Patrick, I—’ She clamped her mouth shut before opening it again in a yawn.
‘We should go,’ said Carrie, collecting the empty bowls. ‘You’re tired.’
‘Me too,’ said Sarah, beginning to yawn herself. ‘But listen, Jo. If I can help, let me know, even if you just want to talk through your options.’
Jo showed them to the door and kissed them both goodnight. ‘Thanks for tonight. I’m not much of a one for girlie bonding and I’m a rubbish hostess, but I’m so glad you came over.’
Carrie was glad too. She didn’t feel like she had helped much but at least she had been there for her friend.
As she and Sarah set off along the corridor towards the stairs, a thought struck her and she turned back. ‘Jo, why is all your stuff still in boxes?’
Jo shrugged. ‘I’ve just never got round to unpacking. Homemaking’s not my thing, I guess.’
She smiled and Carrie detected a touch of wistfulness in her eyes, which made her wonder whether her bachelor-girl lifestyle was, in fact, all part of an elaborate defence mechanism.
Chapter 17
Sarah had had misgivings about attending the networking lunch with Eleanor. Partly because she had so much to do at the office and partly because she was going with Eleanor. The stern dressing-down she was receiving from her boss in the car on the way wasn’t helping matters.
‘Your vintage look is all well and good for weekends, but not the office,’ said Eleanor, giving Sarah’s outfit the sort of scrutiny she hadn’t had since leaving school. ‘And those clumpy lace-ups are really more building site than boardroom.’
Sarah took exception to the comment about her Doc Martens. Every other woman at Finch’s was virtually crippled by five o’clock, stumping round in ridiculous heels. She, on the other hand, was walking on cushioned air.
They stopped at a red light. Eleanor quickly whipped out a lipstick and reapplied it without even needing a mirror.
‘You might want to rethink your image.’
That was plain rude. Sarah shot her a sideways glance.
‘I thought my image was rather distinctive.’ Besides, who wanted to blend in and look like another corporate sheep?
‘We like to present a professional front at Finch and Partners. Not that you aren’t professional,’ Eleanor was at pains to add.
Well, that was something at least. Perhaps this was Eleanor’s way of grooming her for promotion. In which case perhaps she ought to sit up and listen.
‘But sometimes your choice of clothing singles you out.’
‘And that’s bad?’ Sarah frowned.
‘Correct.’
Eleanor accelerated away from the traffic lights and Sarah was forced back against her seat. She stole a glance at the speedometer. Fifty in a forty zone. Naughty. Eleanor did everything fast: work, speak, drive and cut her staff down to size.
‘I’ve finished the tax investigation for Bertie’s,’ said Sarah in an attempt to show herself in a better light for once.
‘Good.’ Eleanor nodded. She even nodded fast. ‘How many hours?’
‘Um, off the top of my head … Can’t remember. Quite a few, though. But I had to be thorough.’ Sarah tried a conspiratorial laugh. ‘You can’t rush HMRC.’
‘Rubbish,’ scoffed Eleanor. ‘Anyway, I happen to know you logged forty hours. Will you invoice the client forty times your hourly rate?’
‘Oh gosh no! That’s far too much …’ Her voice faded away and she could feel her face getting hot. Point taken. Eleanor’s lips were tightly puckered. Sarah pressed her cheek against the cool glass and prayed they were nearly there.
‘In future, I’ll try to do a thorough job without being quite so … thorough,’ she said.
Eleanor did her are-you-taking-this-seriously face and put her foot down on the pedal again.
Things improved considerably over lunch. Sarah’s marketing skills were on fire; she handed out all her business cards, though unfortunately she seemed to have only brought four with her, and made appointments for a tattoo artist and a cupcake maker to come into the office to talk to her. The best bit was that both of them had approached her to compliment her on her dress. Sarah only wished Eleanor had been within earshot at the time.
The session ended with a round of applause for the motivational speaker, who had urged all the women to ‘be who they want to be’. Sarah clapped loudly. It was as if the speaker were talking directly to her. That was exactly what she was trying to do.
She beamed at Eleanor and excused herself to go to the ladies.
She shut herself into a cubicle and tried to remember all the skills listed on that job advertisement she had found months ago.
Apart from the unfortunate ‘working from home’ conversation that she now regretted bitterly, Sarah thought she had a good chance of making partner when Mr Buxton retired. She had marketing skills and people skills and, as even Eleanor had to admit, she was professional.
Making a profit was still a bit of an issue. But she could work on that. And she did have business acumen. She’d proved that the other week by pointing out to Jo that maybe by handing in his resignation, Patrick was helping her out. The loss of his salary, being one of the largest at Gold’s, was bound to improve the profit margin. Patrick might be falling on his sword to save the company.
Jo still didn’t seem very happy about losing Patrick, but sometimes people were too close to their own problems to see the obvious solution.
Sarah flushed the loo and unlocked the door. She washed her hands, dried them and out of habit,
applied a squirt of antibacterial gel. She glanced up at the mirror and her reflection took her by surprise. For the first time in months, she looked like her old self: confident, smiling and not tired. Even her curls were behaving themselves for once.
I’m back, Sarah Hudson is back in business.
A wave of happiness washed over her. She looked around for someone to share it with and grinned inanely at the next person who walked in.
Life was beginning to feel normal again, it was a new normal, but whatever, it was welcome and long overdue.
She went back into the meeting room and located Eleanor at the networking table, pilfering marketing literature from two other accountancy firms.
‘Research,’ hissed Eleanor, secreting all the rivals’ brochures in her briefcase and replacing it with Finch and Partners’ material.
‘Well done today.’ She looked at Sarah with genuine praise in her eyes. ‘I’m impressed.’
‘Thanks for inviting me, Eleanor.’ Sarah smiled calmly. Inside she was air-punching and hi-fiving herself. ‘I’ve really enjoyed it. And I picked up some new business leads.’
Eleanor linked an arm through Sarah’s, drew her away from the scene of her crime and checked her watch.
‘Look, it’s after three. By the time we get back to the office it’ll be four o’clock. I think we both deserve an early finish, don’t you?’
‘That’s very generous of you,’ replied Sarah carefully, not wanting to fall into any traps.
‘I’m sure there’ll be plenty of emails and so on you can be getting on with at home.’
‘Absolutely,’ Sarah replied graciously, thinking that she was more likely to catch up on playing peekaboo with Zac.
‘And you’ll be all right getting the bus from here, won’t you?’
‘Of course.’ She supressed a sigh. At this rate she’d barely be home any earlier than normal. Never mind. It was the thought that counted.
It was Zac’s teatime when Sarah finally let herself into the house ninety minutes later. Dave had the radio on in the kitchen.
‘Surprise! I’m home early, well, earlier!’
She dropped her bag and jacket in the hall and frowned as she caught snatches of the latest news report coming from the radio in the kitchen. Two elderly pensioners have suffered a vicious attack … Sarah burst into the room and switched it off.
‘How long has he been listening to that?’ She glared at Dave and dropped a kiss on to Zac’s sticky cheek, checking his face for emotional damage.
Dave stared at her, a mixture of fear and confusion on his face. ‘What?’
The feeding spoon in his hand hovered in the air a fraction too long. Zac seized his opportunity and flicked it from his father’s grasp, covering them both in cheesy pasta.
‘Oh, hell.’ Dave set down the bowl, stood and reached for the cloth. Sarah spied it first and picked it up between two fingers. It was grey, smelly and dripping with brown liquid.
‘Yuck.’ She wrinkled her nose and threw it straight in the bin. ‘Did you know that a dishcloth is one of the most germ-ridden things inside the home?’
‘You may have mentioned it before,’ he said flatly as she passed him a new cloth from the bumper pack under the kitchen sink.
She picked up the surface cleaner and started spraying around the kitchen sink. It bothered her that it claimed to only kill 99.9 per cent of all known germs. That meant that the other 0.1 per cent were free to multiply by the millions in their house and live the life of Riley. And what about the unknown germs, parading round, scot-free like invisible escaped convicts smearing themselves all over Zac’s vulnerable little face?
She could feel herself starting to panic and forced herself to take deep breaths. Zac was singing and waving his arms. He was healthy and smiling and absolutely fine.
‘Why did you turn the radio off?’ Dave looked warily at her. He was dressed in his football kit and had cheese sauce running down his shin. Sarah’s hand twitched around the spray gun and she fought the urge to spritz his leg. She held herself back; he already looked annoyed.
‘He’s too young to hear the news, it’ll traumatize him. The reporter was talking about violent crime.’
‘Sarah, he’s eleven months old—’
‘Exactly, I don’t want Zac worried about the world he’s growing up in.’
‘All he’s bothered about right now is finishing his dinner.’
Dave shook his head, switched the radio back on and sat down opposite Zac.
‘I am a man, you know, I have needs,’ he said, frowning up at her.
‘Dave!’ She jerked her head towards Zac.
He rolled his eyes. ‘I mean, I can’t listen to Peppa Pig all day.’
‘Whoops, sorry,’ she giggled. ‘But we parents have to make sacrifices, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh yeah? Haven’t noticed you making many,’ he muttered under his breath.
Her chest tightened with frustration. ‘I’m working hard so you can swan around all day at home, actually.’
She could kick herself; that wasn’t fair. Dave’s face told her that she had gone too far. If she could have taken the words back she would. Where were her excellent people skills now? Dave curled his lip and stared at her so hard that the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. He shoved his chair back and handed her Zac’s bowl.
‘Well, now you’re home, you can swan around while I’m at football.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.’ She sprang up, stood on her tiptoes and threw her arms round his neck. The baby food tipped out of the bowl on to the floor and Zac shrieked and pointed. ‘I’m a neurotic, OCD control freak and I don’t know why you put up with me.’
Dave tugged distractedly at his left eyebrow. Sarah recognized the signs. He always pulled his eyebrow hairs out when he was agitated. A couple of years ago, he removed an entire eyebrow when Nottingham Forest lost 5– 1 to Burnley. It didn’t start growing back until they’d had a 2– 0 win against Middlesbrough three weeks later. What was she doing to her lovely man?
‘Dave?’
He stared at her for a long moment and her heart nearly thumped its way out of her chest. She reached up and kissed his lips, brushing her fingers through the short soft hair at the nape of his neck.
‘I’m sorry too,’ he said, returning her kiss.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured. ‘You get ready for football and I’ll clear up.’
‘Thanks. Paul will be picking me up in five minutes.’
It was only five-a-side, but at least he got some exercise and some male company for a couple of hours. Bless him, he deserved it.
He took the milk out of the fridge, poured himself a glass and placed the empty carton by the back door for recycling.
‘Oh no,’ she groaned.
Dave sighed and checked his watch. ‘Now what?’
‘You’ve finished the milk!’
He looked at her incredulously. ‘I always have milk before football.’
He opened the fridge again. There was no new carton. ‘It was just milk.’
‘It wasn’t just milk,’ said Sarah. They had only made up a moment ago, she didn’t want another row, especially in front of Zac, but she was so mad with him. Why didn’t he notice anything?
Dave’s eyes scanned hers as if looking for the answer to a trick question. He held his arms out. ‘I give up. What was it then?’
‘It was organic milk and it was the milk for my morning cup of tea, the milk for my cereal, and now it’s gone.’
It was only a small thing. But sometimes, it was the small things that really mattered. Especially after a day of being made to feel as though she was permanently in the wrong: wrong clothes, wrong work ethic, wrong parenting values … A wave of frustration welled up inside her.
‘Come here.’ Dave put his arms around her and she leaned against him wearily.
‘And because we live in this stupid village, miles from civilization, we can’t pop to the shop and buy any more.’
Dave l
ifted her chin so he could see into her eyes. ‘Is that how you feel about living here?’
‘Yes,’ she said in a small voice. ‘No. I don’t know.’
Her shoulders drooped. Everything was so confusing. She didn’t know who she was half the time, let alone what she wanted.
‘I’ll get some on the way back from football,’ he promised.
‘Organic?’
‘I’ll try.’
‘Because there was an advert on TV that said if you only switch to one organic thing it should be milk.’
A beat passed between them before he spoke.
‘I won’t come home until I have found organic milk, OK? And Sarah?’
She smiled at him, much calmer now the milk crisis was averted.
‘I can’t put up with you like this for much longer.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Her stomach plummeted. ‘Dave?’
A car horn sounded outside. Dave slipped on his hoodie, his eyes not meeting hers. And then he was gone. Five minutes later Sarah realized she was shaking. She forced herself to smile as she freed Zac from his high chair and let him play on the floor in the spilled food, for once not worrying about the mess or the germs.
This time she might have pushed her mild-mannered husband too far.
Chapter 18
House check complete, Jo stepped from the cool of Abi’s hall to the warmth of the pavement. Abi seemed to have fallen on her feet with her Monday to Friday tenant. A businessman, apparently, who disappeared somewhere up the motorway at weekends. Shame. She would have quite liked to have met him; he’d left Abi’s house and garden looking immaculate so was house-trained and obviously not averse to a bit of gardening either. Probably married. She locked the front door, inhaled the lavender scent from two terracotta pots flanking the step and pulled her sunglasses back down over her eyes.
She turned to face her car and pressed a hand to her shoulder. The early June sun was already turning her pale skin pink. She was urgently in need of a bit of colour. It would have to be a spray tan, though; there was no chance of a holiday at the moment. She was working longer hours than ever and getting more desperate for a solution to the company’s cash flow problem.
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