I snorted with laughter. ‘I think Richard’s husband might have something to say about that.’
‘A minor detail,’ Jess said, batting her hand in front of her face. ‘Take it from me, Chloe, your set design’s going to make Neurosis one of this theatre’s most talked-about productions ever; the critics are going to love it.’
‘Hmm, let’s not count our Olivier awards just yet,’ I said, staring hard at the model box on my desk. ‘I still don’t know if I can turn this pile of cardboard and polystyrene into a reality.’
‘Oh, come on; you’re not seriously doubting yourself, are you?’
I chewed on my bottom lip. ‘I must admit I put on a good show in Richard’s office, but deep down I was shitting myself. The technical requirements of this set are enormous. Maybe Bryan’s right, maybe my concept is too ambitious. But I know one thing . . . I’m going to die before I prove him right.’
Jess grinned. ‘And I’m going to do everything I can to help you.’
‘Good, you can start by setting up a meeting with the tech crew so I can run my idea for the revolving mirror past them. It’s absolutely critical to the design; if we can’t get the mirror right, we may as well give up now. Check my calendar first. I know I haven’t got much availability this week . . . or next week, come to think of it.’
As Jess pecked at her keyboard, I began rifling through my overflowing in-tray, frowning as I came across a quotation for a pair of custom-built French windows that was way more than I had been expecting. I made a mental note to contact the supplier later and see if I could renegotiate the price. Failing that, I would have to lower the spec on the windows. The theatre was a business, at the end of the day, and it was imperative I kept a close eye on the bottom line, even though it didn’t come naturally to me. I rubbed my temples, thinking of all the tasks I still had to do that week. I knew I had to keep on top of things, because when I get stressed, a kind of fog descends on my brain – the kind that inhibits logical thought and robs me of energy. Pushing the in-tray away, I switched on my computer and started going through my lengthy list of emails.
The rest of the day passed in a whirl of activity. I had a drawn-out meeting with the theatre’s head mechanist to discuss an elaborate cable system he had devised to accommodate complicated scenery changes for an upcoming musical. Afterwards, I paid a visit to the scenic artists to check on the progress of some painted backdrops I had designed for the same show. Lunch was a salad bowl at my desk while I trawled through eBay for retro fabric I needed for a mood board I was working on. The rest of the day was given over to sitting in on a final dress rehearsal for the theatre’s current production, before I had to stay late to oversee some last-minute tweaks to the set.
By the time I left work, I was utterly exhausted. As I trudged home from the station, I was looking forward to catching up with Megan and telling her all about my small victory over Bryan. It wasn’t until I arrived home to find the house dark and empty that I remembered she was working a late shift at the hospital. A hastily scribbled note on the kitchen table, meanwhile, revealed Sammi was at a launch party for a new range of jewellery and wouldn’t be back till late. Irritated that I would be spending the evening alone and too tired to cook, I threw together some cheese and crackers and ate them in front of the TV. By ten o’clock, my eyelids were already drooping and so I headed upstairs for a quick shower before falling into bed. As I drifted off to sleep, my mind was still buzzing with ideas for the new production.
It felt as if the air was being slowly sucked out of my lungs. My mouth gaped as I scrabbled for breath, my hands clawing at the smothering duvet. Around me, the room lay in shadow, but I could feel the black smoke curling around my nostrils. I could hear the crackle of flames as they licked at the panels of my bedroom door. My heart spiralled up into my throat. I was confused, disorientated, unsure of what was happening. Only one thing was clear – I had to escape, no matter what. I threw off the duvet and rolled out of bed. Around me the room pitched and swayed like a rolling ship, making me feel dizzy. I knew instinctively I would never make it down the stairs, so I turned instead towards the window, where the soft glow of distant street lights was guiding me to safety. As I staggered towards the light, I was aware of the breathless knocking of my heart that seemed to come from somewhere outside me, as if someone were rapping at the door. Suddenly, I stumbled on something lying on the floor and my legs almost gave way, but I flung out a hand and managed to steady myself on the nearest piece of furniture. I kept moving doggedly towards the window, driven on by the roar of the flames and the sound of my own ragged breathing. It seemed to take an age, but once I got there, it was an easy matter to part the thin voile and heave the sash open. Hitching up my nightie, I threw one leg over the windowsill and braced myself for the long drop to the garden . . .
I woke with a numbness cauterising my left arm from shoulder to elbow, as if an invisible body had been pressing against it all night. I sat up, strangely feeling even more tired than when I went to bed. A soft light was filtering through the gap in the curtains and around me, the room lay in disarray. The chintz stool had been knocked over and various items from the dressing table – my hairspray, a box of tissues and all my make-up brushes – were scattered across the floor. The first thought that hurtled across my mind was that we’d been burgled. Then a movement caught my eye – the voile billowing in the breeze from the open window. Although I had only the foggiest recollection of the previous night’s events, a mixture of fear and disgust, bordering on nausea, rose in my throat. I shivered with certainty. I knew what this meant: it was starting all over again.
9
Ever so carefully I unfold the top of the paper bag, remembering that it must be used another six times before it can be thrown away. It’s funny, but every time I open the bag I find myself wondering what’s inside. The reason it’s so funny is because every single day since I started at St Swithun’s, I’ve had the exact same thing for lunch. Two cheese and pickle sandwiches on white bread and an apple.
It’s not that I don’t like cheese and pickle, it’s just that it would be nice to have something else for a change. Even if the sandwiches were just cut into triangles, instead of rectangles. Or if I had a pretty pink lunchbox with Disney characters on the front and a matching flask, then at least my sandwiches wouldn’t get squished inside my satchel. But I mustn’t grumble because there are babies in Africa who don’t get any lunch at all; at least that’s what Mum says.
The afternoon is warm and sunny, so I’m sitting under the big oak tree on the playing field. Usually I have lunch with Liam, who has the whitest skin I’ve ever seen and really bad eczema (sometimes he scratches it so hard it bleeds – ewww!). But Liam’s off sick today, so I’m on my own. I don’t really mind; Liam’s not that much fun. He’s a bit of a baby and he never wants to do the things I want to do, like skipping and making daisy chains. Unfortunately, I’ll have to make do with him until something better comes along.
After lunch, it’s English, which is one of my favourite lessons. I’m the best reader in the whole class, that’s what Miss Pickering says. Miss Pickering is very kind and pretty. Once, she lent me her hankie when my nose started running and I didn’t have a hankie of my own. It was a lovely hankie with a frilly edge and her initials in one corner: HJP. I asked her what the initials stood for and she told me: ‘Harriet Jane Pickering’. I took the hankie home with me by accident and Miss Pickering never asked for it back. I keep it in the biscuit tin under my bed with all my other treasures.
We’re reading The Secret Garden at the moment. Miss Pickering goes round the room so we all have a turn at reading out loud. I’ve read The Secret Garden already, but I don’t mind reading it again because it’s one of my favourites. I wish I had a secret place I could go where nobody would ever find me, but I guess I’ve got more chance of having egg mayo in my sandwiches tomorrow!
When the bell goes at three o’clock, I jump up quickly and run to the coat pegs on the wall before an
yone else can get there. I only live a fifteen-minute walk from school, but Mum gets cross if I’m late home. As I unhook my satchel, Miss Pickering calls my name and says she needs to have a quick word. I don’t know it yet, but what she tells me will change my life forever.
The next morning, I’m so excited to get to school I run the whole way there! As I sit down at my desk, I’m feeling very big and important because I’m the only kid in the classroom who knows what’s about to happen. When Miss Pickering walks in with the register tucked under her arm as usual, she’s not alone. Holding her hand is a girl a little bit shorter than me with a heart-shaped face and fiery hair. She isn’t in school uniform like the rest of us. Instead she’s wearing a navy blue and white striped dress, the bottom half of which is gathered so it poufs out; it looks as if it cost a lot of money. Instead of a satchel she’s carrying a drawstring bag with her name on it in fat, stitched-on letters: ANOUK. Her blue eyes are big and round as she stares around the classroom. There are twenty-six of us and only one of her, so I expect she’s feeling quite scared.
‘Children, I’d like you to meet a new member of the class,’ Miss Pickering says. ‘This is Anouk, would everybody like to say good morning to her?’
‘Good morning, Ann-oook,’ we sing together.
‘’Allo,’ Anouk says in such a cute voice it makes me want to cry.
‘I know term began last week, but Anouk has come all the way from France; that’s why she’s a little bit late,’ Miss Pickering tells us. Then she turns towards me. I make myself really tall by sitting up straight and sticking my chin out like a chicken . . . this is it, my big moment!
‘I thought it would be a good idea if I gave one of you the very special job of looking after Anouk, just until she finds her feet.’ Miss Pickering smiles at me and asks me to come to the front of the class. Out of the corner of my eye I catch Eleanor Hardy glaring at me all squinty-eyed, like a cat watching a bird; I bet she’d gobble me up if she could. I’m glad she’s jealous; she’s mean to me all the time. Once, she stuck strawberry Hubba Bubba in my hair on purpose and Mum had to cut it out with scissors. And she said I smelled funny. Miss Pickering heard her and made her say sorry; she wasn’t very happy about THAT!
Miss Pickering takes Anouk’s hand and puts it into my hand. It feels small and slightly damp. As I lead Anouk back to my table, I’m loving the way everyone’s watching us. I point to the empty chair next to mine that Miss Pickering must have put there before she went home last night. ‘Don’t be scared,’ I whisper to Anouk as she sits down and smooths her pretty dress over her lap. ‘I’ll take care of you.’
10
Megan
I felt a little frisson of excitement – or possibly just plain lust – when I spied his email in my inbox. From: Peter Chambers. Subject: Ethics Committee. Pete’s an orthopaedic surgeon; I met him four months ago on my first day at the hospital when he visited the pharmacy with a query about an anticoagulant he’d prescribed. Our conversation was brief, but he made quite an impression on me.
Pete wasn’t conventionally handsome; his features were too uneven for that. But he had a muscular physique and his eyes radiated creases all the way to his ears, which made him look as if he were smiling even when he wasn’t. He had this amazing charisma too, an aura of omnipotence that I found incredibly sexy. Apparently lots of surgeons have it, although I haven’t met enough of them to confirm or refute this hypothesis. After that first day in the pharmacy, we kept bumping into each other in and around the hospital. Pete always seemed rather pleased to see me – slightly flirtatious even – but the platinum band on his wedding finger was enough to kill off any romantic designs I might have had on him. I may be a prolific dater, but I also have a strict moral code – and married men are definitely off limits.
Pete and I both sat on the hospital’s Ethics Committee – a multidisciplinary forum for the discussion of ethical issues affecting the delivery of patient care; in fact, Pete was the acting chair. They put out an appeal for new members soon after I joined the hospital and I thought it would be a good way to mix with colleagues from other departments, as well as forming an impressive addition to my CV. The Committee met quarterly and that afternoon I was scheduled to attend my inaugural meeting.
I clicked on the email and it sprung open.
Hi Megan,
Just checking to make sure you’re coming to the meeting today. We don’t have a pharmacist on the Committee, so your input will be most useful. I’m not sure what time you’re going off shift, but some of the members usually go for a quick drink afterwards and you’re more than welcome to join us.
Pete
I hit reply.
Really looking forward to this afternoon and happy to contribute in any way I can. The drink sounds great btw
Megan
The meeting was much more interesting than I’d anticipated. The Committee debated the eligibility of patients for renal transplants, as well as concern among hospital staff that the setting of priorities in surgical waiting lists was being influenced by pressure from the local media. I didn’t have a chance to speak to Pete beforehand – he was too busy talking with one of the senior clinicians – but at the start of the meeting he made a point of welcoming me to the group and he seemed fascinated by what I had to say about toxicology in patients with chronic kidney disease. The meeting ended around five and most people rushed off straight away, leaving just a few stragglers chatting among themselves. As I returned my coffee mug to the tray, I wondered if perhaps people weren’t going for drinks after all, but then Pete appeared at my elbow.
‘Pub?’ he said, arching his eyebrows.
I nodded. ‘Lead the way.’
It was only when we were walking down the corridor that I noticed no one was following us.
‘Are the others going to meet us there?’ I asked him.
Pete held open the door that led out into the car park and gallantly stood aside to let me go first. Our bodies brushed as I passed him and I caught the scent of a citrusy aftershave.
‘It’s just us, I’m afraid. I didn’t realise everyone else had other commitments. I hope you’re not too disappointed.’
‘Absolutely not,’ I replied, suppressing a smile.
We didn’t go to the Mitre, which was the nearest watering hole and a regular hangout for hospital staff. Instead, Pete took me to the Three Kings, an upmarket gastro pub, a ten-minute walk away. Being Friday, it was fairly busy, but Pete found us a table on the mezzanine level, away from the main hubbub, where we could actually hear each other speak. He got the first round in and we exchanged hospital chitchat for a while, discussing how we thought the meeting had gone and gossiping about the new Head of Oncology, who seemed to be ruffling a few feathers.
‘So how are you enjoying the job?’ he asked when we were on our second round of drinks, which he had also insisted on paying for. ‘This is your first hospital post, isn’t it?’
I nodded. ‘I’m absolutely loving it, although I am finding the shift work more demanding than I thought I would.’
‘Yeah, it plays havoc with your body clock and your social life, but you’re young enough – you’ll get used to it,’ he said, his blue eyes crinkling attractively. He ran his thumb over the rim of his pint glass. ‘Does your other half work in medicine?’
I shook my head. ‘Actually, I’m single.’
‘Really? I’m surprised to hear that.’
I felt a blush blooming on my cheeks. ‘I guess I just haven’t met the right person. How about you? Is your wife a doctor too?’
‘No, she’s a solicitor.’ His jaw tightened. ‘But the way things are going, she won’t be my wife for much longer.’
His frank admission took me by surprise. Pete and I weren’t exactly friends; we hadn’t known each other long enough for that, and it seemed strange that he would be taking me into his confidence, unless . . . All at once I got a fluttering sensation in my chest as if a butterfly were trapped behind my ribcage. ‘Really?’ I said, uns
ure of the correct response.
He smiled sadly. ‘Fiona and I have been leading separate lives for quite a while now. We did think at one point we’d be able to work things out, but we’ve both realised now that we’re fighting a lost cause.’
‘I’m very sorry to hear that.’
‘Don’t be.’ He looked at me and our eyes locked together. I could feel the heat emanating from his thigh where it almost touched mine.
I cleared my throat. ‘Do you and Fiona have children?’
‘Two – a boy and a girl; they’re both at boarding school.’
‘Don’t you miss them?’
‘Desperately. I’d much rather have them at home with us, but Fiona doesn’t think it’s practical with the long hours we both work. The kids love it, though, and they’re both doing incredibly well academically. To be honest, it’s no bad thing that they’re out of the way right now when things are so tense at home between Fiona and me.’ He laid both hands on the table, palms down. ‘Anyway, I have no intention of boring you to death with tales of the woeful state of my marriage. Tell me more about you. Are you from London originally?’
‘No, I grew up in Reigate in Surrey, mainly because it’s commuting distance from Gatwick. Dad used to be a pilot for one of the big airlines and Mum was cabin crew – at least, she was until I came along. After that, she worked in a travel agent’s.’ I paused as I conjured up a mental image of my parents. ‘Even after forty years of marriage, they’re still really in love; they actually hold hands when they’re out shopping together, would you believe?’
Pete smiled. ‘I think that’s wonderful. What about brothers and sisters?’
‘One brother, younger than me; he’s a pilot too.’
‘So why did you decide to break with family tradition and pursue a career in pharmacy?’
‘I was good at sciences and I wanted a career that involved helping people. I knew I’d never stick ten years of medical training, so pharmacy seemed like the next best thing.’
The Housemate Page 5