by Toby Faber
‘This’ was a retrospective holiday form for the previous day. Linda handed it over with some words of advice. ‘You should have just called in sick. Less paperwork, as long as it’s for no more than three days. No one’s going to mind. It’s not like you’re going to make a habit of it.’
‘Thanks.’
Laurie took the form and would have turned back to her computer, but Linda clearly had more to say. ‘In fact, I haven’t had lunch yet. Do you fancy joining me?’
Laurie looked across at Michael, who continued to ignore her in the way he had all morning, then back up at Linda. ‘Sure,’ she replied. ‘That would be fun.’
Over a pizza, Laurie learnt about Linda’s life, about how things were a bit easier now the kids were at school. She got the train in at seven-thirty, but Steve was able to drop them off at breakfast club before going to his own job for the council. Then they went into homework club after school. That ended at six-thirty, so she always left the office at half five on the dot so she could be there to pick them up. If her train was delayed she had to call Steve; then he had to make up the time another day. She missed out on overtime, of course, and Laurie didn’t need to be told that was where the real money was, but she was still earning more than enough from the job to justify the commute. She’d been there five years by now – only six people in the office had been there longer.
‘But the kids aren’t at school now, are they? How do you manage?’
‘Tell me about it: six weeks. It’s lovely to see more of them, and they need the break, poor loves, but it’s murder organising it all. My mum helps out a bit. Steve and I each take some time off separately. Then we’re all having one week off together in Spain. I can’t wait.’
‘So how did you meet Steve?’ Laurie hoped the question wasn’t crossing an unacceptable line towards overfamiliarity.
‘Salsa classes!’ Linda laughed. ‘You know, if I was single now I’d probably try internet dating, but ten years ago I don’t think I’d even heard of it. I was working for BarCap then, team assistant in corporate finance, earning good money. I could do the overtime then, of course. Most evenings I wasn’t getting home until after nine. I still lived with Mum and Dad. Anyway, I wasn’t meeting anyone. The boys in the bank weren’t interested. Or they were, but only in one thing, if you know what I mean. I soon realised that was a mug’s game; stopped before I got a reputation. So I went to salsa classes to meet people. First lesson – there was Steve. He’s never been much cop at dancing, I’ll tell you that for free. He was there for the same reason. We got chatting. One thing led to another. Never went back for the second lesson. Never even paid for the course, either.’ Linda laughed again. ‘So, you got a boyfriend, partner, whatever?’
‘No … well, perhaps. That is to say, I don’t know.’ Laurie could feel the heat prickling her scalp as her reply petered out. It was her own fault, she knew, for bringing up the subject.
Linda, however, was contrite, if only briefly. ‘I’m sorry – personal question, none of my business. I think it’s good the way you keep yourself to yourself at the office. I wasn’t a woman of mystery at your age, I can tell you.’
Laurie looked at Linda. Was she teasing her? Should she just play along? There was no sign of guile in the friendly, if speculative, look the older woman was giving her.
‘It’s just, well, I don’t make friends easily, or haven’t done since I moved to London. I go back to Somerset to see my Dad most weekends. Perhaps I should try salsa classes.’ Laurie smiled, happy to have taken the edge off her confession with a joke.
‘It’s a big place.’ Linda nodded. ‘Not that I’ve ever lived here, of course. I’d certainly never dare cycle. It’s pretty impressive the way you seem to know your way around. How long have you been here? Less than a year?’
Laurie nodded.
‘Well, sounds to me like you’ve got nothing to worry about. Besides – and I’m not prying – if you have got a boyfriend, that’s as good as way as any to get your social life going. You don’t need salsa classes. Call him up! Take him clubbing!’
Back in the office, Laurie thought about what Linda had said. Should she phone Paul there and then? The idea was deeply appealing: she’d better think about it first. Besides, Michael was still opposite her, tapping away. However much he might be avoiding her eye at the moment, he’d still hardly be able to avoid overhearing her. Anyway, she was just starting to get somewhere with her Excel macros. In a couple of hours, with a following wind, she might have something to show him.
Friday, 31 July – 6 p.m.
‘Right,’ said Michael. ‘I’ve just emailed the model to Henry, so it will be in his inbox when he lands. I imagine he’ll want to talk to us about it on Monday. In the meantime, we’ve done all we can. Thanks for your help, Laurie. I really appreciate it. Now, I’m going home. I suggest you do the same. It’s been a long week.’
Laurie stopped fiddling around with the sensitivity tables on their spreadsheet – that was how she’d come to think of it over the past few days – and checked the clock on her computer: just coming up to six-thirty. She looked up in time to see Michael give a final wave from the door of the office. She’d never been here to see him do that before. The desks around her were practically deserted. There was no point in hanging around. But what should she do?
Jess was unlikely to be at the flat this evening; Laurie remembered their brief encounter in the hallway earlier in the week: long enough for Jess to give her a hug, explain that she’d met this ‘amazing man’ at an exhibition opening and ask if everything was OK, but not long enough for Laurie to answer the question. Jess had been carrying a holdall; she obviously wasn’t planning on returning any time soon. Josh and Lizzie were going out with some other couples from their NCT group. They’d already been excited at the prospect when Laurie saw them a week ago. On any previous Friday the obvious answer would have been to go home; Dad wouldn’t mind the late notice. Today, however, there was no doubt about what she wanted: to see Paul.
Well, now Laurie could do what she’d been promising herself all week. She would call him, and this time, she would leave a message.
Even after hearing it so many times during the week, Laurie still found her heart racing at the sound of Paul’s voice as he told her he wasn’t there. Nevertheless, she did not let it put her off what she had prepared herself to say. ‘Hi Paul. It’s Laurie. Hope you’ve had a good week. My news is that I’ve found the locker for that key. Give me a call. I’ll tell you about it.’
It was nearly seven by the time Laurie got home. She always took the ride more slowly on the way back and this time she’d been even less inclined to push herself than usual, as she kept an ear out for a telephone call that might summon her back to town. She dumped her pannier and checked the phone. No, she hadn’t missed a beep. Her message really had produced no response – at least, not yet. It was pointless hanging around waiting for a call that might never arrive: time for an evening run.
Was it the memory of Paul that led Laurie’s feet towards the Heath? It seemed natural to take a right and jog in that direction. Coming in by the tennis courts, Laurie lengthened her stride and set off northwards, powering past dog walkers and reeling in other runners. For a while she kept pace with an illegal cyclist before darting off between two ponds. It was all new to her and she liked the idea of being an explorer, of losing herself in a city of millions. Crossing a road, she arrived in a part of the Heath that she had no idea even existed. Only the backs of houses, visible through the trees, and the omnipresent background roar of traffic were an indication that she was not in some piece of ancient woodland. A pond, green with duckweed, exuded stillness. The evening sun slanted down through the canopy.
Laurie had found the solitude she sought, but it was accompanied by a pronounced sense of menace. She remembered the stories she had heard about what happened at twilight in some parts of the Heath; the back of her neck prickled with fear. Was that a human shadow she could see? The trees themselves se
emed to form a tunnel, stopping the light, bringing back memories of the Underground. Laurie picked up her speed and ran on, crossing back to the main section of the Heath. Here she rejoined a thoroughfare, level enough for sprinting and with a slight downhill gradient that flattered her tiring muscles. It took her down an avenue of beech and oak, over a viaduct, past rabbits startled in the middle of their evening feed and back to a field where a group of frisbee throwers defied the lengthening shadows. Now she slowed back down to a jog, sucking in breaths that had somehow seemed unnecessary while she was pushing her legs to their limit. One more gentle trot to the brow of the hill, and she could coast down, back towards the ponds and the comfort of the crowds.
Laurie was just turning into her street when a shout rang out – ‘Oi!’ How could one word contain so much aggression? Back on edge, Laurie began to walk faster, hoping the shout wasn’t directed at her. The light had almost gone. This was no time to attract unwelcome attention.
‘Oi!’ There it was again. ‘Do you see what your fucking dog’s just done?’ Laurie began to relax. It was nothing to do with her. She stole a glance across the road at the source of the voice.
The man looked about fifty, dressed in a filthy t-shirt and nylon trousers whose shine spoke of years of wear. He was shouting at a woman who was so well turned out, the contrast was almost comical: their only point of commonality was that they might have been the same age. Her hair had that just-set look and her summer coat was a beautiful swirl of colours, including an emerald green picked out by her sandals and handbag. Now, however, she was doing her best to be inconspicuous; head down, she ignored both the shouts and the Border terrier trotting off the lead behind her.
‘Oi!’ cried the man again. ‘Fucking pile of fucking ess-aitch-one-tee right in the middle of the fucking pavement. You going to clear it up, or what?’
The woman’s answer came through a quickening of her step. What would the man do now? Chase after her? Pull her back? Intercept the dog and kidnap it until she performed her civic duty? The possibility of violence hung in the air. The man turned and caught Laurie’s eye; she looked away quickly, unwilling to get involved. Then, with a heavy sigh and much muttering to himself, he pulled a small green bag out of his pocket, and, with one surprisingly dextrous movement, used it to pick up the pile that the terrier had left behind and deposit it in a nearby bin.
This was not, after all, a violent man. The very fact he had one of those bags marked him out as a dog owner, angry with his less-responsible counterpart for giving their kind a bad name. Laurie felt slightly ashamed of the unworthiness of her suspicion, based on – what? – grubby clothes and an aggressive tone of voice. But even that wasn’t true, she realised. It was just that he swore a lot.
Within two minutes, Laurie was back inside her front door. It was nearly ten. She knew she should have a shower, but it was all she could do to brush her teeth, strip off clothes from which the sweat had dried, and crawl into an empty bed.
Saturday, 1 August – 10 a.m.
One advantage of Jess not being around was that it gave Laurie licence to wallow in the bath without any sense that she was getting in her cousin’s way. She’d just topped up with hot water for the third time when she heard the doorbell.
‘Shit!’ Laurie lay in the bath, willing whoever it was to go away.
Another ring. Most likely it was Jess, having forgotten her keys. Laurie rose out of the water, wrapped a towel around herself to catch the worst of the drips and went through to the hallway, leaving a trail of footprints behind her. More in hope than expectation, she put the entryphone to her ear: silence. The line was dead as it had ever been. Jess still hadn’t got around to fixing it. Well, this would be an opportunity to remind her.
Laurie was about to press the button to release the latch below when a draught caught the back of her wet neck. The shiver made her pause: she didn’t know this was Jess; perhaps it was time to be sensible. She went back into the living room and stuck her head out of the window to view the street below before calling, ‘Jess?’
A figure in a cycle helmet stepped back from the front door and looked up at her. No, this was not Jess. It was Paul. He held a paper bag in his right hand. ‘I’m sorry. I should have called first, but I got your message and thought I’d just come round. Fancy a croissant?’
Only Laurie’s head was visible. Paul couldn’t know she was wearing no more than a towel, could he? Why did she suddenly feel so exposed? She took a moment to reply. ‘Yes, you should have called first. And I’m not sure croissants really make up for it. But thanks for coming. Give me a minute and I’ll buzz you in.’
Laurie made the coffee. She had left Paul waiting outside while she pulled on some clothes, but she was still acutely conscious of his eyes on her from where he sat at the kitchen table. She was proud of her milk-frothing talents. They were wasted on the espresso-drinking Paul, but choosing a cappuccino for herself at least meant she had something to keep herself occupied while she concentrated on small talk. ‘I’ve realised I still don’t know where you live. Is it near here?’
‘Not far, I suppose,’ Paul replied. ‘Out beyond Finsbury Park. Not as nice as round here – one effect of the divorce, I’m afraid.’
Ah yes, that opened up lots of possibilities. Laurie seized on one of them gratefully as she brought the coffees over and sat opposite him. ‘So how are the kids? Have you seen any more of them?’
‘No, last week was my lot for a while. One telephone call a couple of days ago and that’s all. It’s been a bit crazy at work. You remember how I had to run off on Monday?’
Laurie could only nod. Of course she remembered!
‘Well,’ Paul continued, ‘there was a flood at the gym. I spent the whole week moving equipment, sourcing replacements, dealing with clients, writing insurance reports. It’s been mad.’
Paul drank his coffee while he spoke. Elegant though they were, his hands were large enough to make the cup look tiny, like something that wouldn’t be out of place in a doll’s house. Laurie ripped open the paper bag that sat on the table between them. ‘Let’s see what you’ve brought.’
‘Well, I thought it was too early for brownies, but I did get a pain au chocolat in case that’s your thing. My favourite is the almond croissant, but they’re really filling. I’ll split that with you if you like. Then there’s the plain croissant as a sort of fallback.’
They agreed to share the almond croissant. Paul got a knife and halved it with such accuracy that his ‘I’ll divide, you choose’ was entirely unnecessary. He clearly knew where to buy his pastries; it was delicious.
‘So how’s your week been?’ Paul was speaking again. ‘You said something in your message about finding out where that key came from?’
‘Yes,’ Laurie began. Then she stopped. There was a flake of pastry at the corner of Paul’s mouth. He hadn’t noticed it. Rather than point it out, she leaned forward to brush it away with her thumb, her hand lingering at his jawline, feeling the contrast between the softness of his lips and the faint roughness of the skin around his mouth. Paul smiled, brought up his hand to hold hers, pulled her towards him and kissed her.
Laurie thrust her tongue between Paul’s lips and gripped him tightly. She made no objection as he lifted her up, cradled her in his arms and carried her through to the bed next door. There was a brief moment of separation while each tore off their shirt and fumbled with their trousers. Then they came together again, skin on skin, her arms around his neck, tasting his sweat.
Later, they lay on their sides underneath the duvet, facing each other, barely an inch between their bodies. Paul was the first to speak. ‘Penny for your thoughts?’
‘So do you always carry condoms with you?’
‘Yes, but not because I’m always having sex. It’s just – well – one less thing to think about, I suppose. Do you mind?’
‘No of course not. It’s thoughtful.’
‘Anyway, thanks for not being annoyed with me for not calling this week.�
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‘Who says I’m not annoyed?’ countered Laurie. ‘It’s too late for you to find out what I’d do if I wasn’t.’
‘Well, either way, you’re also wonderful. Anyway, tell me about the key.’
‘Later.’ Laurie said firmly, rolling over to face him and smiling.
Laurie let Paul go ahead of her. The towpath was really too narrow for two to cycle abreast safely, and although she was the nominal leader of the expedition – showing Paul a part of London he’d never seen before – it was not as though he could take a wrong turning. She liked watching him from behind, weaving around oncoming traffic, overtaking surprised pedestrians, his legs pumping with easy economy. In a couple of bridges she would take over, lead him on to the British Library, show him the match with the key she’d slipped into her pannier, share both her triumph and disappointment. It was still only three o’clock; a weekend together stretched out before them. What would they do that evening? Would Jess have returned? Laurie hoped not; she liked the idea of being back in the flat, alone with Paul.
They were approaching Granary Square now; there would be crowds there, gathered around the development at the old gasholders, no doubt about it. Here, however, for a short stretch, they were alone. Paul had stopped. He smiled and pointed to a family of moorhens – three smaller ones following what could only be their mother – crossing the path in front of them. Laurie pulled up beside him, ready to breathe in the joy of it all.
Why did she answer her mobile? She was to ask herself that question many times over the next few hours. And each time she could only come up with the same half-hearted attempt at self-consolation: they’d have tracked me down eventually.
‘Hello Laurie, it’s Michael.’ The weariness that washed down the line was unmistakable. ‘I’m in the office. Henry wants to make a few tweaks to the model. He’s authorised your overtime. Do you think you could come in?’