Faye frowns at me.
‘You’re in a good mood,’ she says suspiciously, tilting her head as if I could be wearing a mask that she’s ready to rip off.
‘Am I?’ I say lightly.
I wrote Nathan another letter last night. I gave it to Joy this morning, and I haven’t been able to shake the feeling that I’m floating.
It’s almost like Nathan’s letter is a safety blanket, wrapped around my body. The creature can’t get to me today. I feel safe.
‘Yeah,’ Faye says slowly, ‘what is it? Have you met someone?’
She moves her head to look at my screen and I quickly shake my mouse to break my swirling screensaver.
Okay, I need to shut this down. Regardless of how happy I am with Nathan’s letter, the last thing I want is for Faye to start spreading rumours about me.
‘I’m just in a good mood,’ I say. ‘How are you?’
Faye flicks her hair off her shoulders. Today she has sculpted half of her hair above her head, wound into a bun, with the rest of it shimmering down her back like a sheet of ice.
‘I’m good,’ she says, looking up as Jemima walks past. ‘Oh!’ she says, jumping back to her feet. ‘Jemima!’
I sag in my seat as an email from Angela pings on to my screen.
Duncan wants meeting with you now.
I blink down at the email.
I glance over at Angela in the hope of gaining a glimmer of more information, but her head is firmly clasped in her hands, her fingers clawing into her scalp.
I pick up my notebook and slowly walk towards Duncan’s office.
He’s way ahead of schedule for his four o’clock ‘quote of the day’ inspirational chat. Maybe he’s going to ask me to spell something really huge and is giving me a whole day to prepare.
I reach Duncan’s office and knock on the door. I never go into Duncan’s office – I never need to, he’s hardly ever in it. He spends the majority of the day marching around the office like the Town Crier.
‘Come in!’
I walk in and see Duncan, seated behind his small desk. He has a large computer and four coffee mugs marooned amongst a sea of several pens and sweet wrappers. He smiles and gestures to the sofa at the other end of his boxy office.
Why does he have a sofa?
I perch awkwardly, my back poker straight, unsure of how to sit. A sofa feels far too casual to have in an office.
Is that a pillow?
‘How are you doing?’ he beams, his fat teeth glistening at me.
I feel myself smile back at him. It’s impossible not to smile at Duncan, he’s like a puppy. Very unpredictable, but ultimately harmless.
‘Yeah, fine, thank you,’ I say, my back already aching at the stiffness of my posture. ‘You?’
Duncan nods and starts lining up his pencils.
‘All good!’ he chortles. ‘Now, I want you to know that your hard work hasn’t gone unnoticed.’
I nod, feeling my cheeks pinch slightly.
‘Thank you,’ I mumble.
‘And when I saw you here early the other day, I just thought it was about time you were given your own story to work on.’
I look up, feeling a flicker of hope.
Is he going to let me run my story?
‘Really?’ I say.
Duncan nods, his chuffed face beaming.
‘Of course!’ he says. ‘And I have the story that is perfect for you. I really think you could nail it. And it’s about the community, which is what you wanted, isn’t it?’
I look back at him, my heart lifting.
Oh my God, he actually listened to me!
‘Yes,’ I say, ‘thank you so much, that’s so exciting.’
Maybe it will be a fashion show, or a fun run, or a big campaign to do with saving a local business. I could interview everyone involved and we could raise loads of money for a really important cause.
Duncan grins. ‘Do you want to know what it is?’
*
‘So, you’re the girl with the newsworthy beaver.’
My head jerks up as Faye swans over to my desk, her eyebrows curled into a sceptical formation as she looks down at me.
I shoot her a look and she flounces away.
Great.
It turns out that Duncan did have a story for me to run, about the local community. He said it was something I could really ‘get my teeth into’, a story that could ‘grip the hearts of Middlesex’.
About a beaver. About a local beaver who has returned home after escaping his . . .
His what? His lake? His dam?
Who cares?
He wants me to write a ‘heart-warming’ piece and run a phone interview with the owners who thought they had lost their prized beaver for ever.
I mean, what? Is this my life now?
Faye is furious about the whole thing and keeps making snide comments, and Jemima asked me very loudly earlier how it felt to ‘have my hands on the most famous beaver in town’ – which is not a rumour I want circulating the office.
I prod my phone and peer down as the screen fills with light. I glare at the Florrie Nannoo Instagram page with its two pictures of me holding mugs of tea. My face is hidden by a book, and there is a glimpse of one bare shoulder as I look out of a window intently.
Priya said it looked ‘really authentic’, which made me question her sanity. Who uploads pictures of themselves looking out of windows?
I did text Emma my frustrations in the hope of her siding with me and forcing Priya to delete the page, but she just sent a non-committal reply and said that she’d be out with Margot and would see me later.
I reluctantly look away from my phone as an email from Duncan appears on my screen. I click on it irritably.
Right on cue, Duncan’s daily round-robin email of rubbish.
Hey DREAM TEAM!
Just wanted to send an email to keep rockin’!! Also pleased to announce that brainiac Bea has taken on her first solo story with some BEAVER FEVER.
I freeze as my eyes lock on that terrible sentence.
Beaver fever?
Remember, in the words of Tony: thou who shall prosper shall deliver.
I glance over at Angela whose face is screwed up into a frown.
Tony? Who is Tony?
Duncan makes up his own inspirational gibberish every day and always insists on claiming they are pearls of wisdom straight from the mind of some random bloke he met in the pub. My phone vibrates next to me as a string of messages from Priya topple into my phone like a digital game of dominos.
I feel my eyes roll before I’ve even read one.
I don’t even want to know what these messages are going to say.
Oh my God. Have stalked Joanna and she’s been with Josh ALL DAY. He’s not even at work!!!
I read the message slowly.
She is going insane.
He must have called in sick, I’m going to call his work and tell them he’s skiving.
I grab my phone and quickly punch a reply.
Don’t do that.
This is a terrible idea. I never should have let her create this stupid Instagram page.
I’m going to report her.
I stare at the phone at Priya’s latest message.
Just stop looking, I type back wearily, get off your phone and focus on something else.
The two little ticks next to my message flicker blue almost immediately and Priya starts typing a message with such force I can almost hear her.
She’s probably trying to curse me over WhatsApp for not offering to report Josh to the police for some crime that I will never understand.
Another message from Priya appears
Josh has blocked me.
I feel myself sigh.
Good. Thank God one of them has got some sense. He saw through our Florrie Nannoo ruse, then. How unpredictable.
Oh, I reply.
Priya starts jabbing a message straight away but I get there first.
Pri, I’ll talk to you l
ater. I’ve got a massive beaver to report on.
I hit send and stare at my phone in dismay.
Well, there’s a sentence I never thought I’d type.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘Okay,’ I stare down at my perfectly organised shopping list, ‘so we’ve got cereal, milk and butter. We now need pasta.’ I steer the shopping trolley down the next aisle and try to control the smile spreading across my face.
I look down at my shopping list, pinned to the top of my trolley. I take out my pencil and draw a neat line through ‘butter’ and try to stop myself from ruffling up like a chicken ready to roost.
God, I love doing the weekly food shop.
Or I usually do. When I don’t have Priya huffing next to me, glued to her phone like it’s sending her the only source of oxygen.
I forced Priya to come. I came home to find her four years deep on Joanna’s Instagram page and shoehorned her out of the house. Needless to say, she didn’t appreciate my shopping list, or my offer to buy us both a treat to cheer her up. She muttered something about empty calories and has been stomping alongside me like a moody elephant. I mean, she is fresh off a night shift so is highly sleep deprived. But still, I offered to buy her doughnuts.
‘Okay,’ I say, as we reach the pasta aisle, ‘I think I’m going to get this sauce.’ I glance at her to see if she’s even listening to my narration. ‘Do you want any?’
I wait for a response. Her scowling face is glaring at her phone.
Christ! Was I ever this unbearable as a teenager?
She’s not even a teenager, she’s twenty-four! How have I suddenly turned into her mum? I feel like I’ve moved in with Tracy Beaker.
‘Priya?’ I say, using all of my energy to sound carefree and not as if I’m ready to strangle her.
‘Priya?’ I snap.
Priya’s eyes fly up at me. ‘What?’
Oh God, this is a nightmare. Next time, I’m going to lock her under the stairs.
‘Do you want some pasta sauce?’ I say evenly, trying to fight my jaw from locking.
Priya’s dull eyes stare into mine as if I’m speaking Dutch.
‘What?’ she says again.
‘Priya,’ I say, ‘I know you’re upset but you don’t have to take it out on me, I’m only trying to—’
‘Oh my God!’ Priya gasps.
She grabs my body like a human shield and ducks behind it. I stagger about madly.
‘What are you doing?’ I mutter out of the corner of my mouth, trying to ignore the anxious looks of fellow shoppers.
Priya squeals something barely audible behind my shoulder and I crane my neck round to look at her.
‘What?’
‘Josh!’ she cries. ‘He just walked past!’
Her desperate fingers grip my arm and for a terrible moment I fear she’s going to crawl on to my back like a baby gorilla.
I look around. ‘Well,’ I say feebly, ‘he’s gone now.’
She pokes her head up and I feel her grip loosen. She looks down at herself in horror, and then her eyes snap back at me.
‘Swap clothes with me,’ she orders.
I blink back at her.
What?
‘What?’ I say. ‘No. Priya, this isn’t Parent Trap.’
‘Swap clothes with me!’ she hisses, her eyes flashing. ‘I look homeless!’
She gestures down to her baggy top desperately.
I blink at her. She can’t be serious.
I try to push the trolley forward but Priya grabs hold of it.
‘Please!’ she cries. ‘He can’t see me like this. Look at me!’
‘You look fine,’ I say, pretending to look at pasta.
There is no way I am taking off my top in the middle of Tesco. Absolutely not.
‘I don’t want to look fine!’ she wails, trailing after me. ‘I want to look hot! Bea,’ she grabs hold of me, ‘please! Just hide behind here and swap.’
She points at a large tower of baked beans.
Good Lord.
‘I am not hiding behind a mountain of baked beans, Priya,’ I say flatly. ‘I’m not a sausage casserole.’
‘Look,’ she grabs hold of my T-shirt and yanks it up, ‘you’re wearing a top underneath! Nobody would even notice!’
‘That’s my vest!’ I say in alarm, yanking my T-shirt back down. ‘I’m not going to walk around Tesco in my vest.’
‘Bea, please.’ Priya grabs my arm and her eyes stare into mine. ‘I’m begging you.’
I open my mouth to reply indignantly and then feel a pang of guilt. She looks like she’s about to cry.
I look more closely at her jumper. It does look warmer than my T-shirt.
I roll my eyes at her.
‘If I do this, will you stop trying to take pictures of me for that stupid Nannoo page?’
Priya nods desperately, her fingers itching towards the hem of my T-shirt.
I glance around to make sure nobody else is in the aisle.
This will have to be the quickest I’ve ever got changed. Even quicker than the time I was getting dressed and the window cleaner popped up.
‘Fine,’ I say quickly.
Priya pulls her jumper over her head and throws it at me. I scrabble at the sides of my T-shirt and feel Priya’s hands claw it off me.
Oh my God, I hope nobody sees this on CCTV and thinks we’re about to have sex. I don’t want to be banned from Tesco. I’ve memorised all of the aisles.
I pull the jumper over my head and gasp as my face pops out of the top like an anxious Jack-in-the-box.
Priya looks down at my top, which is stretched across her large chest and hanging wonkily on her shoulders.
I turn back to my shopping trolley and start to push it down the aisle.
‘Okay,’ I say, trying to control my erratic breathing as I put a jar of sauce in my trolley. ‘Right. So, tomato and basil.’
Good Lord, that was intense.
‘I don’t know if I can stay,’ Priya gabbles. ‘Are you nearly finished? I might go wait in the car.’
‘I just need to grab some garlic,’ I say, ‘then we can go.’
Priya coils her arm around mine, her head swivelling around as if we are creeping around a horror maze.
‘Okay,’ she says quietly, ‘garlic. Okay.’
I push the trolley towards the vegetable aisle, when I suddenly spot Josh, crouching over the mushrooms. I turn back to warn Priya, but she’s leapt back into the cereal aisle.
‘Are you okay?’ I mutter, abandoning my trolley and skirting round after her.
Priya nods. ‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘Don’t talk to him,’ she orders.
My head automatically turns in Josh’s direction.
‘But,’ I say feebly, ‘he might say hi to me.’ Priya and Josh were together for three years. ‘He’ll recognise me.’
I don’t want to be rude. I can’t just stalk past a man who has broken the heart of my best friend, like some fabulous older woman.
Priya bites her lip and nods.
‘Okay,’ she mutters into her sleeve. ‘Wait!’ she hisses as I go to return to my trolley. ‘Okay, talk to him. Tell him I’m great. Tell him I’m . . .’ she looks into the air as if all the answers are flying around her, ‘tell him I’m seeing someone new. Someone amazing. Like a body builder. Ask him who Joanna is. Pretend you’ve forgotten his name.’
I blink back at her. That is a lot of orders.
‘Right,’ I say eventually, ‘fine.’
I turn back to my trolley and take a deep breath.
Oh God, this is all going to be horrendous. I can’t act! I am a terrible actor.
I notice Josh and stare determinedly at the floor.
Hopefully, he won’t even notice me and I won’t have to engage in any small talk whatsoever. I can just grab my garlic and leave. Then I can take Priya home and that’ll be the end of this—
‘Bea?’
I pretend to be surprised as I look up at Josh, who is carrying two boxes of vegetables.
>
‘Oh, hi . . .’ I burble madly.
Don’t say Josh, don’t say Josh, don’t say Josh.
‘Julian, is it?’
Julian?
Josh blinks at me. ‘Josh,’ he says slowly, looking at me as if my nose has just fallen off. ‘You okay?’
Okay. Rethink and regroup, Bea. You can do this. Priya needs you.
‘Yeah, fine,’ I say, trying my best to sound aloof and carefree. ‘Everything is great. Gravy, actually. Gravy train. All aboard the gravy train. Choo, choo.’
Urgh, God. What are you doing?
‘Yeah, I’m just here to do some food shopping for Priya. She’s really busy right now, so can’t do it herself.’ I spout the words quickly, before Josh can respond to my unauthorised train impression.
‘Oh really?’ Josh says, his face changing. ‘Is she okay?’
‘Oh yeah!’ I say confidently, waving my arm in the air. ‘God, yeah. She’s fine, never been better actually. She’s following her dream now, at last. I always knew she could do it. She’s planning on climbing Snowdon.’
I flounder.
That’s not impressive! Children climb Snowdon!
‘As a warm-up,’ I blurt, ‘before climbing Kilimanjaro. The mountain, that is. That’s not the name of her new boyfriend. His name is Colin.’
I break off as I finally grab hold of the mad words tumbling out of my mouth.
Okay, great. Priya is now dating a fifty-year-old accountant.
Josh stares at me.
‘She has a new boyfriend?’
‘Yup,’ I say, pretending to look over his shoulder, as if Colin could be prowling around the peppers. ‘Have you got a boyfriend? Girlfriend!’ I correct myself quickly. ‘Or, you know, boyfriend. No judgement, obviously. Whatever tickles your . . . err . . . pickle.’
Arghhhhhh.
What am I saying?
Tickle your pickle? Who says that?
Although it’s quite topical, as I’m in the vegetable aisle.
‘No,’ Josh says flatly, ‘no girlfriend.’
I look back at him as we sink into silence.
‘Well,’ I say, ‘I’d better go. I’ve got to get back to Priya. We’re going . . .’
What’s sexy? What’s sexy?
Say something sexy!
‘Pole dancing,’ I finish.
Pole dancing?
Josh gives a half-smile and nods.
The Accidental Love Letter Page 9