‘I told you not to invite Jack.’ Her voice is nearly a hiss.
‘Did you?’ I say. ‘I’m so sorry! I thought you told me to invite him. Why wouldn’t you want him here?’
She looks back over her shoulder. ‘I get nervous when I know he’s watching me.’
‘I’m so sorry!’ I say, enjoying the moment, allowing my voice to take on a slightly patronizing edge. I think of all the times she’s patronized me, and I can’t help but relish the opportunity to get my own back. ‘I didn’t think you got nervous. I thought you’d find it supportive.’
She screws her face up, and for a second she looks unattractive. But she changes her mind. She can’t be bothered to confront me here, and the Helena smile returns.
‘Well, it doesn’t matter,’ she says. ‘The speech went well, that’s the main thing.’
‘Oh God,’ I say, and I touch her arm, to show I’m genuinely concerned. ‘I didn’t think! Of course, having David and Jack in the same room . . . stupid me. I didn’t mean to upset you. But don’t worry, you said it was nothing . . .’
‘Christ!’ she hisses, grabbing my arm and pulling me away from Jack and David. ‘Keep your voice down!’
‘Sorry, sorry!’ I gesture at my champagne glass. ‘Too many of these. I got overexcited.’
‘I thought you weren’t drinking. Listen,’ she says, and I don’t know if she believes me, if she even cares any longer, ‘I’ve got a thumping headache. I’m going to go – no one will mind if I slip off.’ She gestures around at the packed room. ‘Everyone’s having a great time. Party’s a success, we did it.’
I did it.
‘Oh, of course!’ I say, doing my concerned face again. ‘You get off home.’
‘Thanks,’ she says, and she tugs at Jack’s sleeve.
He turns to look at her, an unspoken message passes between them, and he sets down his glass on the table behind us and marches off in the direction of the cloakroom.
‘We’re off,’ Helena says, eyeing David. He has a first-class poker face. ‘Jack has an early meeting tomorrow, and I’m feeling a bit under the weather.’
‘Of course,’ David says.
‘Don’t you worry, boss,’ I say to Helena, putting my arm around her and pulling her towards me. ‘I’ll take it from here.’
THEN
Helena
In the taxi on the way home, I try to pluck up the courage to tell Jack my news, but he beats me to it the second we’re in the door.
‘Listen,’ he says, rubbing his eyes with his fingertips as we sit on the sofa together. ‘There’s something I have to tell you. You’re not going to like it.’
I picture his ex-girlfriend, Darcey, her large brown eyes, her neat pointed chin, her crazy ringlet hair. She doesn’t look like me. She isn’t childlike; she’s glamorous. Tall and chic. Thinks it’s your right to stay in touch with your ex, even if he’s married, no matter who it upsets, or how stalkerish it makes you. She must be back again. After all that drama last year: the constant texting, requests for lunch dates, claiming to be ‘just around the corner from his work’ . . . I blame her entirely for my stupid insecurity, the situation with David. Why the hell can’t she leave Jack alone?
‘Oh, Jack . . . please,’ I say, even though I know whatever’s going on, it won’t be his fault. I feel dizzy and light-headed, that dreadful churning feeling getting worse as the evening draws on. ‘Not Darcey again?’
‘No! God, no.’ He won’t meet my eye. He scratches his forehead. ‘Nothing like that. It’s just . . .’
‘Tell me,’ I say, after some time. ‘Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s not that bad.’
He takes a deep intake of breath, as though he’s preparing to shout, and the words follow.
‘I lost my job.’
‘What?’
‘Two months ago.’
‘Two months ago?!’
‘I was fired under the pretence of being made redundant. One of the guys had an epic fuck-up, and I refused to go along with the cover-up. It’s a long story . . . I was talking to a lawyer about it, but they convinced me to take the money and slink off. But . . . it’s going to be hard for me to find another job in the City. I’ve been trying – that’s where I’ve been going every day – meetings with recruitment agents, lunches with old colleagues, interviews . . . But no one wants to know. Word gets around. You know I never fitted in there—’ His words have tumbled out in a rush, and he stops suddenly and breathes deeply again, as though he’s run out of air. ‘I’ve thought about it long and hard, and I’m trying to see it as a blessing.’
‘You lost your job,’ I say, repeating the words in an attempt to assimilate them. Of all the things I could have pictured him saying, this is the least likely.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says, reaching forward and taking my hand. ‘You know I hated it, anyway. I’ve been struggling for a long time. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I just thought . . . what with everything that was going on with your work – you’ve been so busy, so much going on. I didn’t want to stress you out.’
Pieces start slotting into place. The day he turned up at the office, all agitated. The subject line of that email on his phone – Termination of Contract – and me assuming it was him letting someone go, not the other way round. His sudden interest in escaping to the country, the times he’s surprised me by being at home when he’d usually be in the office, the not-so-subtle hints that there’s more to life than work.
‘Is this why you’ve been talking about moving out of London?’
‘You know I’ve always wanted to set up my furniture business,’ he says, looking down at his lap, suddenly shy. ‘I thought if we cashed in the money we’d made on this place, we could actually get something quite decent, and I could give it a go, use my pay-off to get started. I know you and my mum think it’s a stupid idea, but my dad made a good living out of it. I’m so tired of everything being about other people’s money. I want to do something myself, create something of my own.’
‘I don’t know what to say.’ I have so many questions, but so little energy. ‘I . . . the thing is, Jack, I’m knackered. It’s been a long day. It’s been a long . . . week.’
‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before,’ he says again, scratching at his bottom lip. ‘I just didn’t know how you’d react. I was hoping I could find something else . . . I didn’t want to have to rely on you, but seeing as you’re doing so well, the pressure’s off a bit. I know I should have told you straight away but . . .’
‘It’s fine,’ I say, and I realize I genuinely don’t mind. In fact, part of me is relieved. I always felt guilty about how hard he worked at a job he despised. ‘Honestly. I just want you to be happy.’
I stand up, and as I turn to walk towards the kitchen, Jack grabs my arm.
There is something fierce inside both of us, something that has been missing for months now. I kiss him hard, biting into the skin around his mouth, wanting to be lost in it completely. We half stumble through to my bedroom, and I am completely consumed with a strange aggression. It has been so long since we made love like this, with passion rather than familiarity. It’s different from before; it’s a new, raw feeling that somehow tells me we’ll be all right.
Afterwards, I lie there and watch him as he drifts off to sleep. My whole body feels alive and sparkling, as though I am plugged into the mains, lit up like a string of Christmas lights. I want to wake him up and make him do it all over again. In the half-light I watch his chest rise and fall, listening to the softness of his breath. As he sleeps he looks as though he is smiling.
I lean over and kiss him softly on the mouth. As I do so, my hand rests on my stomach as I imagine the baby. Our baby. Him as a dad, throwing him or her up in the air. The smiles on both their faces. Maybe it’s all working out the way it’s meant to. Maybe it won’t be so bad. Maybe David will understand. Maybe I’ll be able to go back to work after three months, like they do in America. The KAMU maternity policy is rubbish, anyway. All I need is s
ome decent childcare. Women all over the world do it, every day, don’t they? This is the twenty-first century, after all.
It will make Jack happy, so happy, and he’s right, I don’t want to be an old mum. Perhaps it’s better now – to get it over with, and get back to the job – before KAMU Boutique grows too much and I feel I can’t tear myself away. At least if Jack is doing his own thing, he’ll be around more to help out, he’ll be flexible. We could even share the childcare – he could do the nursery pickup, so I wouldn’t have to leave early. It doesn’t have to mean the end of everything I love and enjoy. Not if we work as a team.
I put my arm loosely around him, and whisper in his ear. He mumbles slightly, rolls towards me, then opens one eye, sleepily.
‘What did you say?’ he says, his voice foggy.
‘I’m pregnant,’ I say, again.
His eyes, and then his smile, widen fully.
‘Helena!’ he gasps.
I bury my face against his shoulder, breathing in his shock. For the first time, I’m filled with excitement rather than fear.
THEN
Ash
My desk phone rings and I snatch it up, jamming it against my ear.
‘He won’t leave,’ Karen says. ‘He’s now insisting he knows you. He’s becoming quite unpleasant.’
‘I told you,’ I hiss into the mouthpiece. ‘I have no idea who he is.’
‘He says he wants to check that the gift he left for you arrived?’ Karen’s voice sounds less frightened and more nosey, suddenly. ‘Is he . . . an ex?’
It was only a matter of time before he turned up here again. Just like when I was nineteen, when he lost me my job at the Co-op. When I refused to steal cigarettes for him, he turned up every day with his meathead friends and hung around outside, scaring off the punters. He was there for three days until the snotty-nosed manager told me my services were no longer required.
He knows how to get to me, how to really hit me where it hurts. The bottle of vodka keeps looking at me from the corner of the desk. His idea of a little joke, probably nicked from the nearest off-licence. Must get rid of it. The note it came with is long gone. I pushed it through our shredding machine, but the vodka isn’t so easy to deal with. Guess I’ll have to take a lunch break and throw it away then. Or give it to the nearest homeless person, perhaps.
‘No,’ I say, fingering the label on the bottle. ‘I promise you, I have no idea who he is. He sounds like some nutcase.’
‘In that case,’ Karen says, disappointed, ‘I’ll have to call the police.’
‘No!’ I say, again, raising my voice. I lower it, keeping my head down. The last thing I need is the rest of the office earwigging on this conversation. Thank God Helena’s upstairs in a budget meeting. ‘I’ll . . . don’t do that. If he really insists he wants to speak to me, then tell him I’ll come down in five. I’ve no idea who he is, but just in case it’s a client I’ve forgotten about. Leave it with me.’
I lean forward and rest my forehead on my palms, but there’s a noise behind me, making me jump. I look up to see Jess, offering me the bag of crisps she’s holding. Her fingers are covered in crumbs.
‘Jesus!’ I say, glaring at her. ‘Don’t creep up on me like that. What do you want?’
‘Nothing,’ she says, pulling the crisp packet back. ‘Just wondered if you were going to come out for lunch. We’re all going to the new café on the corner.’
As she speaks I realize that the rest of the team are standing by their desks, coats on, staring at me. Toby looks away as I meet his eyes. I don’t care if they like me or not, of course, I never have. Helena might be the boss, but she’s far more popular than me – she’s so soft, so concerned with their feelings all the time. She fusses over them when they call in sick, rather than telling them to man up. But here they are, inviting me to lunch.
‘I’ll be staying in today,’ I say – even though, for once, I am actually going to go out. ‘Too much to do.’
‘Sure,’ Jess replies, and her body relaxes slightly. They were just inviting me to be polite. I swallow away the brief sting of hurt. ‘Don’t work too hard!’
And with that, she practically skips towards the rest of them, and they filter out of the room, one by one, small talk filling the air.
I grab the bottle of vodka, stuffing it into my bag, then linger in the stairwell until I hear the team’s inane chatter evaporate. And then I walk slowly down the stairs myself.
I spot him as soon as I enter the reception area. He’s sitting at the same table I sat at on my first day here, right in the far corner. The best vantage point. Like brother like sister. Mum’s needling voice in my head. Always ganging up on poor Mummy. Karen sees me come in and points towards him, giving me an encouraging smile. Nodding my thanks, I take a deep breath and stride up to him, wondering how best to get him back out on the street where he belongs.
‘Well, hello,’ Jason says. ‘Nice place. Again.’
He gestures around the reception area, with its velvet button-back sofas and spherical vases full of lilies.
‘And were they your colleagues?’ His voice is full of sarcasm as he says the word. ‘I think I counted . . . eight worker bees trotting out just then. Impressive. Must be quite a big operation.’
‘Jason . . .’ I begin, but I have no idea what to say to him at all. I can feel Karen’s eyes watching me. Nosey cow.
‘So,’ he says, ‘I need your help . . .’
There’s no big black holdall today, and he looks worse than the last time I saw him, his denim jacket stained with what looks like drops of blood down the front, combat trousers spattered with mud. There’s no way Karen will believe he’s a client. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a bag of tobacco and begins to roll a fag.
‘You can’t smoke in here,’ I say. ‘Do you want to get me in trouble again?’
‘Look,’ he says, ‘I’m sorry about the other day. About the . . . mug. It’s just . . . I’ve got myself into a situation. And I need your help. I need enough money to put down a deposit on a flat.’
‘What situation?’
‘It doesn’t matter. I just need to get my shit together.’
We’re agreed on one thing, at least. If I can just get him outside the building and to somewhere where people won’t see us . . . I stand up straight, imagining I’m talking to a complete stranger. Karen mustn’t suspect I know him – she’s got the biggest mouth in the whole building.
‘Come outside,’ I say. ‘And we can talk.’
He stands up grumpily, but follows me out on to the square in front of the office.
I stop walking once we’re behind the double-storey cycle rack round the side of our office. In the distance, I hear the sound of glass bottles falling into the giant recycling bin outside one of the restaurants on Granary Square. All those people out there, living their lives in the sunshine, drinking their lattes, not having to deal with this.
‘Why are you staring at me like that?’ he says, his eyes widening. ‘It’s not too much to ask, is it? Some help from my own sister? Or do you want the whole world to know exactly what Miss Ash-L-E-Y Thompson did when she was fifteen. What’s that website that seems so impressed with you? Bet they’d love some gossip on you.’
‘You’re trying to blackmail me?’ I say, attempting a different tactic. ‘For one thing, I didn’t do anything when I was fifteen. For another, I hardly have any money.’
‘Not what I heard,’ he says. ‘Apparently, you’re really making waves.’
‘Don’t be so stupid, Jason,’ I say, sounding like his big sister all over again. ‘You want to talk? Let’s talk. Tell me what the problem is. Do you owe someone money?’
To my surprise he listens. He leans back against a bike rack, grabbing the roll-up from his pocket.
‘I told you!’ he says, lighting it. ‘It’s nothing like that. I just need some help. I need to find a place. It’s all right for you, all set up in your happy new world, with your posh office and your fancy events. I j
ust want to get myself a roof. Not much to ask, is it?’
‘There’s more to it,’ I say. ‘Tell me what it is, or I won’t help you.’
He won’t meet my eye.
‘You’ll probably find out eventually, anyway,’ he says, after a pause. ‘It’s Lisa. I want to make a go of things, but she’s not interested until I’ve got myself sorted.’
‘Jesus, Jason,’ I say, exhaling. ‘You put her in hospital last year! Seriously? You think she’d have you back?’
‘It wasn’t like that,’ he says, looking down. ‘It was an accident. They forced her to testify. Anyway, it’s none of your business! You should want to help me. I’m trying to get my shit together. That’s what you want, isn’t it? I’m gonna get straight. Lisa said if I can get a place, we can be a family . . .’
I nearly laugh out loud, but then I see something rare in his eyes. He’s telling the truth, and part of me wants to cry. He wants what we all want, even though he does himself no favours. He just wants to be loved, wants someone to give a shit. Underneath all the bravado I can see my little brother, the one who asked if he could call me Mum, because I was a better mother than his real one. On the surface he appears to have gone, but he’s still in there somewhere. I just need to look hard, and then I’ll find him.
‘I’m sure I can help you out, somehow,’ I say, warily. ‘But I can’t just hand over loads of cash. You must understand that. I’ve got my own bills to pay. And turning up like this . . . at my work, it’s not going to help either of us. Trust me.’
‘You owe me,’ he says, beginning to scowl. The smoke from his cigarette billows in my face, making me cough.
‘You’re being very short-sighted,’ I say. It’s like playing a game of chess with a grand master. I have to find the moves to outsmart him but the truth is, he’s always been brighter than me, with less to lose. And I can tell his threat isn’t empty. ‘Me handing over money isn’t going to sort your life out. If you really want to do that, you need to get help. I dunno, see a careers advisor or something. What happened to the dusters and tea towels?’
The Rival Page 16