Miles Apart

by A. L. Brooks

  “So who else is coming down?” she asked Edward.

  He leaned in so she could hear properly. “The guys from Finance said they’d be down as soon as they’d wrapped up, and a couple of legal peeps too.”

  “Great! The more, the merrier. It seems like it’s ages since we all went out.”

  “True.” He raised his glass to clink against hers. “Cheers, boss.”

  She grimaced in mock outrage. “I told you not to all me that.”

  He laughed. “Sorry, boss.”

  She glared at him, then laughed as he winked. He was on fine form tonight, and she wasn’t slow about joining him in the fun zone. She took another healthy gulp of her drink and turned to involve herself in the conversation the rest of the team were sharing.

  Two hours passed in a blur of fun, joking, and more gin. Alex was vaguely aware she was getting drunk. Not in a vomit-over-someone’s-shoes way, but nicely buzzed, where everything was just fun, and she smiled a lot and wanted to dish out hugs and praise to everyone.

  She wasn’t the only one. Miranda, from Legal, was definitely in the same boat, and they leaned against each other slightly as they compared—bizarrely—breakup stories. Miranda was going through divorce number three, and although Alex hadn’t advertised her newly single status that loudly at work, like all good office gossip, everyone knew.

  “You totally did the right thing, babes,” Miranda said, her drink sloshing in her glass as she waved the hand holding it to emphasise her point. “After Husband Number Two shagged that woman on our couch, there was no way I was going to stay with him.” This time a large portion of her drink landed on the floor. They both stared at the puddle, giggling. “So, hooked up with anyone else yet?”

  “Nah.” Alex was drunk, but just enough common sense remained to hold her back from speaking about Justine. No one needed to know about her. Even Danielle and Beth didn’t quite get it, and they’d known Alex for years. So she was absolutely not going to share that side of her life with someone from work. She hunted around in her brain for a change of subject, only to be saved by the director of corporate finance latching on to Miranda from her other side and hauling her into whatever conversation his group was having.

  Alex stepped back for a moment, clutching her drink, vaguely aware her head was more than a little woozy. And it wasn’t just from the gin, although she was surprised how only three had got her to this point already. The wooziness also came from thinking about Justine again—the minute she did, her brain turned to mush. Alex had done an excellent job of pushing her to the back of her mind since their call a few hours before. But now Justine was there again, front and centre in her mind’s eye.

  She sipped her drink. It was so unfair. Life and all its stupid fucked-up little twists and turns. Why couldn’t anything be simple? Why couldn’t she get hold of that bloody time machine? Another sip. So Justine lived three thousand miles away—so what? Modern technology was amazing. Even if there weren’t time machines yet. A couple more sips. They could do that face-call thingy. And sexting. That sounded fun. She could just tell her and deal with the consequences later. She finished her drink. Just tell her, because really, who wouldn’t want to hear that they were wanted? They were grown-ups, for crying out loud. Grown-ups could handle this sort of thing. No problem.

  Resolute, and smiling to herself at her new-found confidence, Alex found a spot to deposit her empty glass and surreptitiously crept backwards away from the group around her. When no one called her back, she smiled triumphantly and walked rapidly, albeit not quite in a straight line, to the exit.

  Glancing at the clock on her screen, Justine exhaled a long breath. Nearly four, when she had one last meeting for the day and could make her escape after that. Today had frazzled her. She had three tough projects on the go, including Alex’s. And, of course, that phone call between them earlier had thrown her for a loop too.

  The annoying buzz of the phone had her jumping in her seat. Probably Jacques, who had already complained twice today about her timeline for his project. She picked up without looking at the caller display.

  “Justine North.”

  “Hey, Justine.” It was Alex’s voice, but it didn’t sound quite like Alex.

  “Alex?”

  “Yep.” Alex let out a little giggle.

  Looking at the clock again, Justine did the math. “Alex, are you…drunk?”

  “Maybe just a little bit. Tiny. Miniscule. Oh, what’s the word? The French one? Soupçon!” she cried, triumphant.

  Justine laughed, despite her discomfort at having a drunk Alex call her at work. “Alex, what are you doing? Shouldn’t you be heading home?”

  “Aw, don’t make me. Just wanted to talk to you.”

  “Well, now you have. So now you can go home.”

  “Don’t you like me anymore?” On the one hand Alex spoke pathetically, as only someone drunk could do. But something else was there, underneath the drunk outer wrapping.

  “Of course I like you, Alex. I just… You should go home. Don’t you think?” God, how did she get her off the phone?

  “No.” Petulant. “Want to talk to you. Need to tell you something, and then I can use the time machine to make you forget.”

  Oh shit. Alex was seriously drunk. “Alex, I really think—”

  “I really like you, Justine,” Alex blurted out, her words slurring even more with the speed at which she spoke. “I mean really, really like you. I want… I want to be with you, Justine.”

  For a moment, Justine’s heart faltered, then righted itself and she could breathe again. “Alex, I think—”

  “Don’t you want that too?”

  Her mouth started to form one response, only for another to override it at the last moment. “Yes,” she whispered. Alex sighed. “Now will you go home?”

  “Justine—”

  “No, Alex. Go home. You’re gonna feel bad tomorrow morning—” and not just from the drink, Justine surmised “—and the sooner you get some sleep, the better for you, okay? Try and drink some water, take some painkillers or something.”

  “I like how you care for me.”

  “I do,” she said quietly. “Promise me you’ll get a cab, yes?”

  “Okay. Justine?”

  “Yes?”

  “I can’t stop thinking about you. About that night.”

  Oh, God.

  “I know, Alex.” She sighed, wondering why she was doing this. Possibly because she thought Alex wouldn’t remember in the morning. “Me neither.” Alex hiccupped. “Alex,” Justine pleaded, “go home. Please.”

  “Okay. I will. Thanks for telling me.”

  “Sure. Be safe, Alex.”

  The dial tone was her only answer.

  Chapter 23

  Something was worryingly wrong with her head. For one thing, it was pounding so hard, she feared her eardrums would burst. For another, she couldn’t seem to lift it off the pillow, which she needed to do because, oh God, did she need some ibuprofen right now. Alex whimpered as she made one last attempt to push herself upright, and at that point her lower regions joined the party.

  Cramps.

  Oh, deep joy. As if dealing with a hangover wasn’t enough, her period had launched a surprise attack and announced itself three days earlier than scheduled.

  Fuck you, universe.

  Staggering into the bathroom, not daring to put on the light in case the sudden influx of illumination split her head in two, she found the ibuprofen and stumbled back to the bedroom for the glass of water she had miraculously managed to put by the bed the night before. Swallowing the tablets, her eyes adjusting to the pale light granted by the moon outside her window, she gazed at the trail of devastation beside the bed. Coat, suit, shoes, handbag. What looked like an empty packet of crisps and a taxi receipt rubbed shoulders with h
er open purse. A quick fumble confirmed her cards were still present, thankfully. Another search told her the cash was all gone. But, given she’d got a taxi back from the West End to home, that was probably understandable.

  She groaned as she clutched her belly with one hand and her head with the other. How was this fair? And it was still only five a.m. Allegedly two hours until she had to get up for work, but right now that concept was distinctly unappealing. Maybe if she got back to sleep and let the ibuprofen do their best while she was comatose. She lay back down, rubbing her belly as if her own touch would magic away the pains.

  Still, at least the appearance of her period explained to her woolly mind how only three gins had left her in this state. She’d learned over the years never to add alcohol to whatever happened to her body on the day she got her period. Of course, that was when she bothered to look at a calendar to check when she was due. Although, that didn’t help in this case, given the bastard thing had turned up so early.

  She lay quietly, willing her pains to dull to the point where she’d be able to sleep through them. At least she’d got home in one piece. That was always a bonus. Not that she’d been that drunk in ages. Not since long before she’d split up with Terri. And it was nice of Justine to insist on her taking a cab, making sure she’d be safely hom—oh God!

  Bolt upright, she groaned in more than physical agony as the memory surfaced.

  Oh. God.

  Justine.

  It all came crashing back in one horrific vision. She’d bloody drunk-called Justine last night. Oh holy mother of all things crap.

  What had she said? How bad was the damage? Desperately racking her brain, she tried to piece together everything that had happened after she’d escaped the pub. She remembered tottering back to the silent offices and shutting herself in her own office. And she remembered smiling as she dialled Justine’s number, desperate to hear her voice, to tell her—

  Oh. God.

  She’d told her.

  She’d fucking told her.

  Alex flopped back against the pillow, her hands thrown over her face. Where was a time machine when you needed one? Forty-seven bloody years old and you drunk-called someone? How embarrassing.

  But wait. Remnants were still returning to her fogged mind. When she’d told Justine, what did Justine say? Was she annoyed? Then it came back to her as clear as day.

  Justine hadn’t run screaming from the call.

  Justine had said she wanted Alex too.

  Hi, Alex,

  Just wanted to check you’re okay, that you got home safely.

  Justine

  Justine had sent the e-mail around nine the night before, right after Alex’s drunken confession. Alex stared at it for a few moments, wondering how to respond. Did she need to read anything into the fact that Justine had made no reference to the call itself? Was Justine simply being professional, given she’d sent this to a work e-mail address?

  She wondered what Justine had done for the rest of her day after having to deal with Alex’s bomb. She laughed—probably went out and got pissed. That’s what I would have done. She was still trying to fathom out if Justine’s confession had been genuine. Or had she just said she’d been thinking of Alex too in order to placate Alex, to get her off the phone?

  Gathering her courage, knowing she’d never know unless she actually asked, she typed her response.

  Hi, Justine,

  I did, thank you. Thanks for insisting I get a cab.

  I would like to talk to you away from work. Here is my personal e-mail address. Please would you contact me? I really hope to hear from you.

  She signed her name and added her Gmail address after it, hitting Send as she held her breath. She was giving Justine all the power in this situation, and although it unnerved her, she had no choice. She couldn’t force Justine to talk to her, but she hoped after what they’d said last night that Justine would reach out. If she didn’t—

  No, she didn’t want to think about that.

  Justine burrowed under the sheets until only her eyes and nose were above the covers. The dream had shaken her, but at the same time she wasn’t ready to leave the comfort of her bed. It was still early, and she hadn’t allowed herself the luxury of a lazy Saturday morning in a while.

  She stretched out her legs, easing out a little stiffness in one knee. When she’d woken, suddenly, from the dream, one leg had been hanging off the edge of the bed at an awkward angle, and her arms were thrown over her head. It was a pose of abandon, and it mirrored her demeanour in the dream: spread-eagled, waiting with bated breath for Alex’s tongue to finish its journey down her body to her clit… As much as the dream had turned her on, it had left her breathless for other reasons, as it immediately recalled that phone call on Thursday and Alex’s follow-up e-mail from Friday.

  Alex wanted them to talk privately. And who could blame her, after all they had shared on that phone call. The few simple words they’d exchanged had spoken volumes.

  She rolled over, still aware of the dull throb between her legs and the moisture that coated her. She’d gone six months without sex now since that night with Alex. Although, she thought with a wry smile, she hadn’t exactly had sex that night. She’d fucked Alex, that was all. But that made it sound so much more simplistic and crude than it was. The satisfaction she’d gained from doing what she’d done to Alex was intense, right up there with any orgasm she could have experienced herself. Just the thought of it had her groaning and her hand drifting down her body, almost as if on autopilot.

  It didn’t take long. A few swift strokes fuelled by images of Alex, then her hips were thrusting upwards as an almost pained cry shot from her throat. The orgasm was fierce, intense, but tinged with melancholy.

  Suddenly Justine couldn’t bear to be in bed with her maudlin thoughts. She threw off the sheets and strode into the bathroom. She showered as quickly as possible, not wanting her hands to linger long on her skin and torment her even further with fantasies of Alex.

  Dressed in her softest pyjamas, given she had nowhere else to be this morning, she made herself eat some breakfast and drink a coffee. Her appetite was off; the week had unsettled her, and her normal healthy interest in food had escaped her. Now she ate purely because she knew she should. She pottered around the apartment for the next couple of hours, busying herself with chores, anything to try to distract her mind. She was torn between two completely opposing thought processes.

  To her left, the idea that trying to pursue anything with Alex was a road to nowhere, given their history so far and the distance between them.

  To her right, the undeniable connection between them, and their mutual, overwhelming desire to see what that could become, regardless of logistics.

  She hadn’t volunteered the latest developments to Christina and Sylvie; her friends had said all they needed to on the subject, as far as Justine was concerned. Not that she didn’t value their input, but she knew their minds were set—that they believed pursuing anything with Alex was a hopeless cause. For Justine it wasn’t that simple. She’d always followed her heart, or her gut instinct, whatever you wanted to call it. When she discovered Nadia’s deception, she’d reacted instantly, knowing without question that she couldn’t stay a minute more in the relationship. Facing up to reality with Rose had taken a bit longer, but as soon as she had, she’d acted before Rose suffered any more hurt than she had to. Justine’s instincts hadn’t let her down in either of those scenarios, and she truly believed they weren’t disappointing her now either.

  After wiping down the kitchen countertops, she walked over to the high stool at the breakfast bar, where her laptop lay. She opened it and clicked into her e-mail application. She’d already memorised Alex’s Gmail address, even though she hadn’t answered Alex’s e-mail yesterday, nor done anything with the information Alex had given her. She’
d needed time to listen to her heart, to those instincts, and to clear her mind of other peoples’ opinions.

  She opened a new e-mail window and began typing.

  Dear Alex,

  I’m sorry I didn’t reply yesterday. I needed some time to think about what I wanted to say. I hope

  She stopped typing. This already sounded too lame, too apologetic. It wasn’t what she wanted to say, or how. She deleted it all and started again.

  Hi, Alex,

  I think it’s fair to say your call on Thursday was a shock, but I’m glad you did it. I don’t know if you regret it already, but I don’t. I think you and I have been skirting around this for a long time, and it is definitely time to talk. I don’t want to do it via e-mail, though. Can you send me your phone number?

  Justine

  She clicked Send and sat back with satisfaction. The message was as assertive as she was now feeling about this whole situation. It needed talking about, and it needed talking about soon. She still had doubts, clearly. Her hesitation was all about trust, and until they really communicated, she knew with their brief history they wouldn’t have a chance at trusting each other.

  Chapter 24

  “Are you sure?” Sylvie’s concern was evident in her tone and her expression.

  “Yes,” Justine said firmly. “I know you both think this is crazy, but I will always regret it if I don’t at least talk directly with her, get it all out in the open.”

  “I actually think that’s a great idea,” Christina said, and smirked as her partner stared at her in wide-eyed amazement. She gave Sylvie a quick kiss. “Yes, my darling, I disagree with you. You’ll get over it.”