by J. S Ellis
‘We should move,’ I said.
He looked at me surprised. ‘Move where?’
‘We’ll find a place in the country like you always wanted.’
‘But you love the city.’
‘I’ve been living here most of my life, I won’t miss it... we’ll move to Cornwall, it’s beautiful there. We can buy a cottage.’
He coughed. ‘What about your job?’
‘I can quit my job. With my qualifications, I could get a job anywhere. I’m thinking about teaching.’
‘Really?’
‘What do you think?’
‘You’ve never mentioned teaching before or moving, what’s this all about?’
‘I’ve told you already,’ I said.
‘There must be more to it. I mean, why now after all this time?’
‘Because it’s time. I’m ready.’
‘What’s wrong, Sophie?’
‘Nothing’s wrong,’
‘Are you in some sort of trouble?’
I wanted to cry, crawl on my hands and knees, and beg for his forgiveness, but somehow I remained composed. Why must this keep dragging on? Why can’t he just spit it out? It’s my fault. I’m the one who started this. If only I didn’t go out at all that night.
‘No, Richard, I’m not in trouble.’
‘Then why are you always fucking drinking?’
‘Oh Richard.’
‘Don’t, oh Richard me, now you want to move. No Sophie, we are not moving, we’re staying here.’
Richard got up and went to his office, and slammed the door.
‘Everything is fucking no with you!’ I shouted at the top of my lungs.
It’s my fault. I played along with Michael. In the club, he didn’t say a word. How shy and demure he was. The signs were there. How well he orchestrated everything. My drinking was his opportunity.
15th July
Midnight
Diary,
Sylvie is here in the apartment to keep an eye on me. I don’t know where Richard is. I woke up in the shower with water cascading onto my clothes. Sylvie was in front of me smoking, I opened my mouth to speak, but she shook her head to stop me.
‘Don’t talk. Don’t think about anything. It’s been a shocking day,’ she whispered.
‘Where’s Richard?’
‘He was here, but he left’
‘What do you mean was and left, where is he?’
She sighed without giving me a reply.
‘Is he angry?’
‘Angry is mild compared to how he’s feeling. Let’s not worry about that.’
And then what happened came back to me like a wave. ‘Oh god.’ I burst into tears.
‘Come, let me help you up and take you to bed.’
She wrapped a large, fluffy blanket around me. ‘Why are you here?’
‘Richard called me.’
‘Oh...Where’s Richard?’ I asked again.
‘He’s not here,’ she said taking out my pajamas from the top drawer, ‘Everything will be explained, but not tonight.’
I burst into tears. She frowned and got up. ‘I’ll be in the other bedroom if you need anything.’
This is what happened...
‘How are you on the Wilson accounts?’ Charles asked me.
‘It will be ready by Friday,’ I said.
‘Would it be possible to finish them by tomorrow?’ Charles asked, peering at me beneath his thick glasses.
‘I’ll do my best.’
Charles smiled, or more like his lips stretched. I’d have to pay him to smile, the pompous ass.
‘Sophie?’ Charles said.
‘Yes?’
‘Work on Wilson starts right away.’ He said fiddling with his papers.
‘But I have other—‘
‘This one is more important.’
‘Right, of course.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
I thought it was strange why he asked.
‘Yes, why?’
‘You seem rather... preoccupied this week, that’s all.’’
I left the boardroom. My heart pounded against my chest. As I walked through the corridor, I heard whispering. ‘Is this supposed to be a joke?’ People looked up at me from over their desks and computer screens and looked away. And then came more whispers, ‘oh my god!’ and ‘no way.’ and ‘what the f-’
The intern covered her mouth with her hands and looked at her computer screen. Wendy took her eyes away from her screen and looked at me, lips pressed together. I closed the door to my office and leaned against it. I could hardly breathe. I reached for the plastic bottle in my bag and took a swig of gin. The office phone rang, I picked it up. ‘Yes?’
‘Sophie, I want you to come to my office right away,’ Charles said.
He sounded angry and hassled.
I thought it was odd, Wendy always connected me to Charles. He never called me directly. I presumed it was about the Wilson accounts again.
‘Charles, I’m going to start the Wilson accounts right now,’ I said.
‘This is not about Wilson accounts.’
‘What is this about?’
‘You know what this is about.’
The line went dead, how was I supposed to know what he wanted to talk to me about? I opened the door, and all heads turned in my direction. As I paced through the corridor, I heard more whispering and giggling too. Everything rushed through my mind.
‘There she is.’
‘She’s coming, shhh.’
I marched to Charles’s assistant’s desk.
‘Charles wants to see me,’ I said to her
She pointed at his door, and didn’t say a word.
I knocked and opened the door. Charles stood beside his desk with his hand in his trousers pocket.
‘Shut the door,’ he said, without offering me to sit down.
His face was red, almost purple. ‘Why would you do something like this?’
Did I lose someone’s file again? Did I do the trial balance wrong? Couldn’t he tell me instead of leaving me in suspense? How was I supposed to answer his questions when I didn’t know what I’d done?
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I said.
‘You don’t know what I’m talking about!’ he turned his laptop to face me, pressed a button, and a slide show started with a series of photos.
My feet were paralyzed. I couldn’t move, the world blurred. ‘I don’t know what that is.’
‘You don’t? Take a closer look.’
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. At first, I thought it was a joke, a cruel prank someone had done for a laugh - a woman who looked like me, posing in a set of photographs. But it was me, in a series of discriminating images. I felt hot all over. I stared at the screen as the pictures slid past one by one. I couldn’t watch any more. ‘It’s all over for you, you know that?’ Charles asked.
‘It’s not me,’ I said, with tears streaming down my face.
‘Not you!’ Charles shouted, pausing the photo of me in all fours ‘I’m sure as hell it is you!’
I covered my mouth, I wanted to be sick. Tears fell down my cheeks, imagining who had sent the photos. It was his bedroom. His face wasn’t showing, although in one photo there was a mess of blond hair. Did he record each meeting? Did he set up a timer to take pictures of me at my most vulnerable?
I felt myself shrinking, getting smaller, and smaller, consumed with shame. I wanted the floor to swallow me up and take me away. How could Michael do this to me? Did he want to destroy my marriage? This was between him and me, and now the affair is everyone’s business.
‘It’s all over...’ Charles said.
‘W-w-w-who sent them?’ I whispered, staring back at the screen.
‘Who sent it? You did,’ Charles said.
I was horrified, ‘I didn’t send them.’
‘No?’
He pressed a button on the keyboard. His email browser came on. ‘Look! Tha
t is your fucking email! You sent them to everybody, everybody in the whole office, to our clients! To your husband, and his company, to everyone!’
I shook my head in disbelief. ‘My email has been hacked.’
‘I don’t care! This is out of my hands, the directors are going to be in touch with you soon.’
The room spun. ‘It wasn’t me! I swear it wasn’t me!’
‘I don’t care, maybe you were drunk when you sent them. How the fuck would I know. Now get out of my office, this is the last thing I need right now.’
I tearfully slipped out of the office. Everyone stared at me.
‘Who is this?’
‘Are those real?’
‘It looks like her.’
Michael sent this to everyone at work, and to Richard. The humiliation Richard must have gone through, searching for an explanation, unable to believe his wife would do something like this.
Everyone was looking at me like I was a piece of meat, a whore. I was no longer a professional. I heard a woman laughing at me, as I rushed to the bathroom. I shut the cubicle door and threw up. I vomited all over the toilet seat. What did I tell Michael? Richard doesn’t tolerate any form of scandal.
Everything I told Michael, everything I shared, he’s going to use it against me. My price for my honesty.
On the way back to my office, I went past the kitchen and overheard a few of the men talking about me as they made their coffees.
‘She’s a stunner,’ said one.
‘Depends what your definition of stunning is. Her face is weird, but boy has she got great legs and arse. I’d fuck her,’ said another.
‘She’s filthy.’
‘I wonder who the lucky guy is.’
‘Who cares who it is? Whoever he is, he’s the man!’
‘I feel sorry for her husband.’
‘Her parents must be so proud.’
The men laughed and high-fived one another. Their laughter faded when they saw me. They dropped their heads and proceeded with their coffee. I hurried into my office and slammed the door shut behind me. I grabbed the plastic bottle filled with gin and drowned half of it. My heart was beating so fast, I thought I was going to have a heart attack. I checked my phone, and there were several text messages and missed calls from my mother, father, and Sylvie. Bastard! He sent the photos to my family and Sylvie as well! As if this is not devastating enough. How am I going to explain this to my parents?
My father-What is going on?
My mother-Are you alright?
My Mother-Is this a joke?
Sylvie- Were you having an affair? Isn’t that Mike?
My Mother-How Dare You!
My Father-What have you done!
Sylvie- Answer me!
My father- How could you! Your mother is in bed crying! Answer the bloody phone!
None from Richard.
I dropped the phone on the floor. What if he sent these photos all over the internet? What if he has already? I considered what legal action I could take, and let out a cry of despair, pushing everything off my desk. Wendy opened the door and frowned at the broken laptop and papers strewn across the floor.
‘Err... Mr. Williams wants to see you.’ She said and shut the door.
Mr. Williams is the CEO of the firm. I stomped out of my office, taking deep breaths. Everything is slipping away, I’m finished. My marriage and career over. My reputation ruined. Everyone was judging me, as though nobody fucked in there. Everyone was a saint, except me, the drunken whore. After they get on with their day, they head to the pub, have a pint or two, and then afterward, behind closed doors, they fuck. Everyone fucks, it’s natural. But, not everyone has photos taken without their consent for the whole world to see and has an affair, that’s the difference. I breathed heavily as I marched back into the corridor.
‘Here she comes,’ someone said as I made my way to Mr. Williams’s office.
He was speaking to someone on the phone.
‘Yes, she’s here, I call you later,’ he said, and hung up, ‘please sit down.’
‘I’d rather stand,’ I said, walking towards the window.
‘The email you sent from the company’s account, is disgusting.’ he began.
‘You have no idea what I’m going through,’ I said to him.
There was a slight hesitation from him. ‘You’re right, I don’t know.’
‘So we are clear, I did not send that email. He hacked my account.’
‘The he, you’re referring to is the blond one in the photos?’
‘Yes.’
‘Mrs. Knight, what you do in your personal life is none of my business, but those photos were sent to your clients. Your clients have been calling, asking why their accountant sent them those photos. Can you imagine our embarrassment? You represent us!’
‘So, you’re firing me!’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘No, you’re not sorry. I’ll go and get my things.’
I’m sorry, but Mrs. Knight is out of the office, I’ll put you through with...’
So, the word had already come out. I no longer worked there before it got to me first. The energy was sucked out of me. I could hardly breathe, it was like someone had their hands on my throat, gripping tighter, and tighter. Everything went dark.
When I came back around, faces stared down at me.
‘Easy there, you fainted for a minute,’ Charles said.
‘Shall we get a doctor?’ someone asked.
‘No! No doctors, I’m fine,’ I said, placing my hand on my forehead.
‘Call her a cab to escort her home,’ Charles ordered to someone.
‘Leave me be. You don’t give a damn about me.’
Charles lifted his hands as if to surrender. Someone offered a hand, but I slapped it away.
‘Get away from me!’ I shouted.
In the office, I put my broken laptop in a box, emptied my drawers of personal items, and, left my documents and workings behind. I picked up my phone from the floor. There were more text messages and missed calls from my parents and Sylvie. I didn’t read any of them. Nothing from Richard. I collected the box and bag into my arms and walked out of my office, trying to be as composed as possible. Heads turned as I clomped out. Don’t look at anyone I said to myself don’t look, ignore them, let them wonder. I could almost hear Michael’s victory, addressing the city.
Once outside, people hurried past me. At least out there, I didn’t have to put up with people staring and making remarks. Out there, nobody knew about my humiliation. What I had done. Everyone had their problems, a meeting, a divorce, holidays to book, shopping that needs attention, a lover to meet. I hobbled two blocks, dropped the box on the pavement, and slammed my hands on the brick wall.
‘Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!’ my spit flew onto the wall, saliva dripping from my mouth.
A few people stopped to look at the corporate woman with a box by her feet losing her cool, swearing like an insane person. I flipped my hair, picked the box up, and stomped down the street.
I didn’t go home right away, knowing what waited for me there. I didn’t want to face it, not yet. I wondered what Richard was doing, what my parents must have thought. Their confusion, their hearts ripped apart seeing their daughter in such fashion. Mum and Dad raised me to be well behaved, to be kind to people, disciplined, and grateful for what I have. Those photos are the opposite of what they taught me. There I was, their little girl with a much younger man.
I need to call a lawyer and see what legal actions I could take, but I don’t want to deal with it right now. It’s a devastating shock. In a matter of mere minutes, Michael has ruined my life. How did he manage to take those photos? He must have hidden a camera somewhere, set up a timer, and installed an app to capture our intimate moments. Who knows? What a despicable thing to do.
I went into the first pub I spotted and ordered a large house gin. I sat in the corner with the box by my side. I drained the gin, ordered another, and told the barman to keep them coming. I di
dn’t know how long I stayed there, but it must have been for hours. The rush hour crowd gathered on the street, and in the pub. People going for a drink after work. I got a text from Sylvie.
Where are you?
I switched off my mobile and sipped on my drink. The room spun, and my vision blurred. That’s all I remember.
16th July
Afternoon,
Diary,
As Sylvie told me, I got blind drunk, caused a scene at the pub, and yelled at the patrons asking them what they were looking at. I was so drunk I didn’t open the door, I walked straight into it, and fell flat on my back. I have no memory of this. I don’t recall Richard coming to pick me up either.
This morning, I checked my mobile and found my inbox bombarded with text messages. I searched the call history, and there it was... Michael’s number. I called Mike! What did I tell him?!
‘Sylvie!’ I shouted.
Sylvie stomped into the bedroom.
What is it?’
‘I called Mike... I called him, why?’
She sighed, trying to be patient with me. Sylvie is as angry and confused as everyone else is, but she’s a friend when in desperate need of one.
‘You’ve really burned your bridges haven’t you?’
‘Oh, what I have done?’
‘It’s when the world comes crumbling in, that’s when we see ourselves as we actually are.’
‘Oh please, tell me, what I did?’
‘The barman told Richard you were shouting at someone on the phone. He said, and I quote: ‘Listen, you son of a bitch...’ was all he heard, you shouting drunken obscenities...’ She ran her hand through her hair in frustration, dropped her hands to her side and glared at me, ‘I can’t believe you would do something like this!’
‘Sylvie, you have to believe me. I did not send those photos.’
‘This isn’t just about the photos! You don’t have any idea the hell I’ve been through these past twenty-four hours. I was at the shop, boxes everywhere, new stock to take out and merchandise. I nipped out for a fag to catch up on my emails. I nearly choked seeing those photos of my best friend rammed by some bloke. If that wasn’t bad enough, I had to face a distraught husband asking me, if I knew about his wife’s infidelity. You put me in a bad position, you must have known about those photos though?’