Unfollow Me

by Charlotte Duckworth

  Seeing her name in my inbox that day brought back all the memories again: all the things I liked about her. Her unpredictability. The way she once left me notes on my desk at work, dragged me into empty meeting rooms. It was all such good fun, until it wasn’t anymore.

  I replied straight away.

  Hello, stranger. Why not? Don’t do a runner on me this time. 12 at Mayfair House? Hx

  It wasn’t cheating. I justified it to myself. My wife was having lunch with people all the time. Not just women, but men, husbands of her female entourage who were involved in her campaigns. I admired them on the one hand, but couldn’t help wondering why they weren’t busier. Doing a proper job, providing for the family.

  I was my father’s son, after all.

  The email from Yvonne lifted my spirits and I was uncharacteristically cheerful all morning. So much so that my PA, Pippa, asked if I’d got lucky last night. I’d made some joke about having two kids and a newborn, what did she think? She smiled and made some sarcastic comment about how hard it must be for me.

  Sometimes it felt like women were starting to hate men a little bit more every day. And my wife was at the fucking forefront of it all.

  I got to Mayfair House early and found my favorite table free. Yvonne came in a few minutes later. She must be forty now, but she doesn’t seem to age, that woman. Her hair was slightly shorter than before. Even though it was October, and cold outside, she was wearing a tight black dress, with black tights and a black leather jacket. There was a silk scarf in her hair, like a kind of hairband. I thought back to Violet that morning as I’d left her, in her grey t-shirt and those godawful dungarees, and then told myself I was an arsehole.

  “Hi,” Yvonne said, and she was different this time. Smiley.

  “You slapped me,” I said. “Last time we met.”

  “Yes,” she said, her eyes wide. “But you deserved it.”

  I shrugged. Couldn’t argue with that.

  “What are you drinking?” I asked, handing her a menu. “Still teetotal?”

  “Yes,” she replied, but she was relaxed this time. As she sat down I noticed something else too, on her left hand. A square diamond in a platinum band, exactly the same as the one I bought Violet, just smaller. And underneath it, a wedding ring.

  “I see congratulations are in order,” I said, the words like a reflex. I pointed at her hand. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

  “He’s called Simon,” she said, holding her hand up to her face, letting the ring sparkle in the light. “He’s a personal trainer.”

  I pulled myself more upright in my seat.

  “Well done,” I said. “Bet conversations around the dinner table are thrilling.” As soon as I said the words I regretted them. The transparency of it all. My petty jealousy. The thought of some other man, probably younger and most definitely fitter than me, having what I once had. What I once threw away.

  “He’s head of the PT team at Peter Daunt, actually,” Yvonne said, smiling up at the waiter who arrived to take our drinks orders. “I’ll have a Perrier, thanks.”

  “Glass of house red,” I said, barely looking at the waiter. “No, fuck it. I’ll have the same. Just some fizzy water.”

  The waiter nodded and wandered off.

  “Well,” I said, trying to recover myself. “That’s great. Congrats. Sounds like you’ve got yourself a good one.”

  “Do you want to see a picture?” she said, but before I had the chance to reply, she was pulling out her phone and waving it in my face. I squinted, not wanting to admit that my long-distance vision was going.

  He was handsome, in a very bland way, but as I looked more closely, I realised he looked familiar.

  “Which Peter Daunt?”

  “Chiswick,” Yvonne replied, her voice sharp.

  “Very happy for you,” I said, eventually, handing the phone back. But something was making me uneasy. If she had a plan, she wasn’t letting me in on it.

  We ordered lunch, making small talk over it like two polite strangers. She asked me about the magazine, her face remaining impressively impassive as I talked about my promotion earlier this year.

  I never plucked up the courage to ask about the emails.

  I regretted not ordering the wine. As the plates were cleared away, I wondered what the purpose of this lunch was. Her way of showing me she’d moved on? That she’d found someone literally bigger and better?

  We left the bar—I paid, and she didn’t object—and headed for the stairs. It was busy now, the lunchtime media crowd pushing past us to get to their “meetings.” We were halfway down the stairs when a fat man barged through, and pushed Yvonne slightly. She stumbled against me, the weight of her body falling against mine. I caught her by the arm, and our eyes met. Time seemed to stand still for a second. I wanted to lunge at her, but then I remembered last time.

  Seconds later, she was leading me to the toilets. She didn’t speak, and I didn’t either. Once we were locked in a cubicle, her mouth was on mine, and her hands were everywhere, and within seconds I had hoisted her up against the wall, and I was fucking her with everything I had, thinking even though this was how the trouble started in the first place, how inevitable it had all been, how inevitable it always was, and how somehow, that made it OK.

  Unfinished business, a voice in my head said. That’s all it is.

  LILY

  After dropping Archie at Anna’s, I walk to the Tube station, wishing I had enough data left to check my emails, even though it’s far too early in the day for there to be anything of interest in my inbox. Waiting to hear back after a job application is absolute agony.

  I remember the last time I was in this position, earlier this year.

  I had spent ages perfecting my application for Violet’s assistant position, feeling sure I’d get an email the next day. But the email never came. No matter how many times I refreshed my emails, nothing ever came. It was a week later, one Saturday afternoon when I was idly scrolling while pushing Archie on the swings, that I first saw Mandy’s smiling face on Violet’s Instagram feed.

  I read the caption, trying hard not to throw up.

  Meet my new assistant! Mandy, 22, social media grad, karaoke queen and bright as a button. The children love her, I love her and I’m only slightly concerned how much my husband will love her too … Hands off @henryblake she’s mine. You’re far too old for her anyway. HAHA. So happy to have this fresh face joining the VIB gang. Lots of fun in store. We’re headed off to Regent’s Park this afternoon for a proper inauguration. Please welcome her with open arms, peeps! Xxx

  Even remembering it now makes me feel sick.

  What was wrong with me? Why did no one I loved ever love me back? First my own mother, then James, now Violet.

  Why did I misread all the signs every time?

  I was so angry. I left the playground in a rage, pushing Archie like a woman possessed to the Underground. I got on the next train that arrived, and headed to Regent’s Park. It took me a while to find them all but there they were: Violet, Skye, Lula and Mandy. Laughing in the winter sun. Lula was pushing her dolly in a pram. Skye was on her scooter. Mandy and Violet were arm in arm, trailing behind the children. One big happy group.

  A group I had so desperately wanted to join, but one it would appear I wasn’t welcome in.

  I had never felt so alone.

  * * *

  Susie and I are in the office kitchen when my mobile rings. It’s so rare for anyone to call me that I half jump-back in surprise, worried it’s Anna telling me something’s wrong with Archie. But it’s a number I don’t recognise. My heart lifts a little, daring to hope.

  Five minutes later, I’m squealing in Susie’s ear like a four-year-old.

  “I got it!” I say. “I got the job. The charity one. She said they were overwhelmed by my clear passion for the charity’s work. I can’t believe it!”

  “Oh, that’s amazing. Congratulations!” Susie hugs me, then stands back, turning her mouth down at the corners. “Alt
hough selfishly, I have to say that it’s utterly rubbish for me. I can’t believe you’re going to leave me here. So, tell me more, when do you start?”

  “January, but it depends if Ben will let me off my notice period. Hopefully he’ll be thrilled to see the back of me.”

  “When are you going to tell him?” Susie says.

  “Right now,” I say. Susie squeezes me again and pats me on the shoulder. I feel a pang of sadness at the thought of not working with her anymore. She’s the first person I’ve met since it all went wrong who’s felt like a true friend. She needs me. I must remember to stay in touch with her.

  The door to Ben’s office is open, and he’s frowning at his laptop. He looks up as I approach, a split second of stress passing across his face before he smiles awkwardly and gestures for me to come in.

  “Hi,” I say, “sorry to disturb you.”

  “It’s fine,” he says. His voice is thick, almost as though he’s a bit drunk. “Just finalising the marketing budget for Q1. You’re a welcome distraction.”

  I smile, sitting in the chair opposite him.

  “Hopefully I will be,” I say, sipping my tea. “I just wanted to let you know that I’ve accepted another job.” I pause, waiting for his reaction.

  His head shakes momentarily, his eyebrows rising.

  “Oh, congratulations,” he says. “I hope you didn’t … I mean, I don’t want you to think I pushed you out.”

  “It was for the best,” I say. “You did push me, but in a good way. I was treading water here, we both know; the new job is something I feel so excited about. It’s a small company, but they’ve just had some amazing funding, so there’s plenty to get my teeth stuck in to.” At the end of this little speech I’m slightly out of breath.

  “That’s great,” Ben says. “I’m really pleased for you.”

  “There’s just one thing…” I say, suddenly panicked that he’ll be annoyed, or say no. “They want me to start in January. The first week back after New Year. Which means that if I resign today, I’m only giving you two weeks’ notice … and the office is closed for Christmas from Friday, which means tomorrow would be my last day…”

  “It’s not a problem,” Ben says, waving his hand in the air as though I’m a fly that’s hovering over his lunch. “You don’t need to work your notice. Congratulations, Lily.”

  I stand up, pressing my fingers around my mug.

  “Thank you,” I say. There are deep grooves under Ben’s eyes, tinged with purple. I think of Susie, of his wife Abigail, the mess his business is in.

  “Thank you for helping me out,” I say. “You really helped me get back on my feet. I don’t know what I would have done. I know we didn’t always see eye to eye but … I will always be grateful for that.”

  Ben’s mouth twitches into an embarrassed smile as our eyes lock together. He gives a little shrug and I turn to leave the room.

  * * *

  It’s 6.30pm and I’m trying to get Archie into the bath. He’s running round the flat, giggling with glee as I chase him and tackle him to the ground for tickles. We’re both laughing like crazy when the doorbell rings.

  “Oh who’s that now!” I say, but my usual irritation at our routine being interrupted is a million miles away. Since I found out I got the job it’s like I’ve been painted again, in brighter colors. Everything feels easier, lighter than before. I don’t even want a drink.

  I grab the intercom phone by the door.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s me,” Luke says. “Er … surprise?!”

  I press the button to release the front door, then turn my attention back to Archie, who is peering at me from round the corner of my bedroom door.

  “Archie, I can see you!” I say, and he dissolves into giggles again.

  I open the front door and Luke comes in, shopping bag in hand with a very obvious bottle of champagne poking out of the top of it. My hair has been wrenched from my bun, half of it hanging in strands in front of my face.

  He’s here. He’s come to celebrate with me. I can’t stop my face from grinning.

  “What was that noise I could hear halfway down the stairs?” Luke says, handing me the bottle of champagne.

  Archie starts giggling hysterically again.

  “It was Mummy!” he squeaks, pointing a small finger at me. “Mummy was a great big monster! She was chasing me!”

  “Was she indeed?” Luke says, taking off his coat and hanging it on the handle of my living room door. “What a naughty mummy.”

  “OK, Arch,” I say, still panting slightly. “You win. But now it’s time for your bath.”

  “Ohhh,” he says, his tiny forehead wrinkling into a frown. “But I want to show Luke my dinosaurs.”

  “Next time,” I say, firmly.

  “How about I read you a story after your bath, mate?” Luke says, bending down to Archie’s level. “Would that be any good?”

  Archie nods, slowly, thinking about it.

  “Lucky you, Arch,” I say. “I hear Luke is very good at voices.”

  “Oh yes!” Archie says, punching the air with the utter over-the-top enthusiasm only a three-year-old can have. The perfection of this evening is overwhelming. A huge weight has been lifted financially, I have a cosy night in with a man I adore, a new, exciting job on the horizon and a son who loves my new boyfriend.

  Who needs Violet after all?

  3 June 2017

  From: gottheblues@hotmail.com

  To: violet@violetisblue.com

  I have to tell you something about today, Violet. It’s important.

  I knew that Mandy would be taking Skye and Lula to the park, because she has no imagination, and that’s what she does when you have a meeting to go to.

  I found her straight away. She was sat on a bench right across the other side of the playground, Skye was all over the climbing frame, Lula was doing repeated trips down the slide. Mandy was smoking a cigarette and chatting to one of the other mums or au pairs or nannies or whatevers. She wasn’t even watching them. Skye had a stone in her shoe, was struggling to get it out, so I went over to help her. She was so sweet. I offered to push her on the swings, and we had a lovely chat. She told me all about her mum’s job as a YouTuber, how she was expecting another baby sister soon. How she didn’t mind having another baby in the house, so long as it didn’t wake her or her daddy up with its crying. Apparently her daddy gets “really” grumpy when Lula wakes him up.

  Nice man, that Henry of yours.

  She told me all about Lula’s nightmares, and the fact she was seeing a special doctor to help her with them. A child psychologist at such a young age, Violet? Really?

  Skye was so trusting, bless her. It would have been SO easy to have slipped her little hand in mine, and taken her home with me.

  We chatted for fifteen minutes in total. Mandy didn’t look up once. Anything could have happened.

  How could you leave her with that woman?

  I’m telling you this as a warning, Violet. Because I care.

  * * *

  5 June 2017

  From: gottheblues@hotmail.com

  To: violet@violetisblue.com

  Well done, Violet! You got rid of her. I KNEW she wouldn’t have told you what had happened at the park. You made the right decision. You could never trust her now—I could have been anyone, with any kind of horrible agenda. How could she put Skye at risk like that? I’m so happy you took me seriously. Thank you.

  * * *

  5 June 2017

  From: violet@violetisblue.com

  To: gottheblues@hotmail.com

  If you ever approach my family again, or send me another email, I will call the police.

  YVONNE

  I wake drenched in sweat. Which, given that it’s only two degrees outside, and the heating is off, is impressive. Next to me, Simon is breathing slowly and steadily. Deeply. The sleep of a child, of the innocent.

  I try to remember what the dream was about, but it’s all patchy and muddled,
like a film I have half slept through. Violet was in it though, of course. Those big eyes, staring at me, raw with tears. Asking me how I could have done it, as though it was entirely my fault, as though none of the blame lay with him. I push the memories away. Tell myself I have done nothing wrong. Not really.

  It wasn’t my fault.

  It wasn’t even my idea. I would never have thought of it if it wasn’t for Jade, my “friend” from the forum. Both our partners had poor sperm counts, and we started chatting privately about it. Neither of us could afford more than one round of private IVF. My odds of success were eleven per cent, hers only marginally better at thirteen per cent. She made a flippant comment suggesting we both have a one-night stand with someone random instead.

  They’d never know, she wrote. Cheaper than a sperm donor, and at least you’d get to see who the bloke was.

  I have an ex, I replied, I never really got over him. And a year ago he randomly got back in touch, we met up for a drink and he made a pass at me …

  Is he fertile?

  And the seed had been sown. Quite literally.

  It was more than that though. It was the chance to take back some power. It’s taken this long to realise that one of the reasons I pined after Henry for all those stupid, pointless years was because he had ended things with me, not the other way round. That, and the fact that his chosen life partner paraded herself and their angelic children in front of cameras for everyone to see. It was cruel, so unbelievably painful, given how I’d lost Nathan.

  There wasn’t anything that special about Henry, not in the cold light of day. I just couldn’t stand the thought that he’d thrown us away.

  I creep out of bed and pad downstairs, filling Pushka’s bowl with cat biscuits and opening the fridge. It’s 7.08am. Simon will be up soon: he has the day off, and we’re meant to be going Christmas shopping. I put the heating on, make a cup of chamomile tea and take it through to the living room, curling up on the sofa underneath my faux-fur throw. I sip my tea, staring into space. Our Christmas tree—now moved to the hearth—still looks small and insignificant.

  Today, the guilt is not just about Violet and Lula. It’s about Simon. Simon, who loves me in an entirely simple and wholesome way.