Hell Hath No Fury

by Michelle Morgan

  My job-sharer looks over her shoulder and grimaces. She’s always been a bit of a wimp, but this is ridiculous. Is she the one who is setting me up? It wouldn’t be so far-fetched to imagine that she could steal the money and plant that and the exam papers in my bag. As much as she denies it, I bet she’s really enjoying being the main receptionist on duty. It gets her closer to Margaret as well, which has always been important to her.

  It’s an interesting thought…

  ‘Look, all you need to do is put the visitors’ book out here on this shelf. It should be out here anyway, because if you don’t, and someone gets into the building without signing in, you’re going to get yourself into trouble.’

  Trouble will be the last thing Amy wants, and so she grabs the book, swooshes open the glass partition and throws it onto the shelf.

  ‘Here! Now I’m going to go over to the filing cabinets, and by the time I get back, you need to be gone.’

  ‘What about the CCTV?’

  ‘No! I’ll be fired if I let you watch that. What is this all about anyway?’

  I flick though the pages of the visitors’ book, while Amy glares at me.

  ‘For God’s sake, Amy, I’m not asking you to hack the school’s mainframe or bring down the website. All I’m asking is for you to look and see if the camera has picked up any strangers, coming into reception during the past two weeks. If I can show that an uninvited guest has been in here, I could be halfway to proving my innocence… It’s surely not that hard for you to help!’

  ‘For someone who needs my assistance, you sure know how to put me off doing it.’

  Amy stands with her hands on her slim hips. What size is she? A zero? A two at the most. I feel a twang of jealousy, as I don’t think I’ve been that size since I was twelve. But that’s not important right now.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I snap. ‘Just get to your filing cabinets, and leave me to it.’

  Amy sighs and wanders over to the other side of the room. No, I don’t think she could have set me up. She’s too prim and proper for that.

  I take the book and crouch down underneath the counter, just in case Margaret comes out of the office, and I flick through each page, starting with the day the fifty quid decided to jump itself into my bag. There is a visiting author, the yoga teacher, the football coach, a man who brings exotic pets to show off in assembly, and various parents, coming in for meetings and reading sessions.

  Not one of these people would ever find themselves in my office, and even if they did, they’d have no reason to set me up.

  It’s a dead end. A stupid, infuriating dead end.

  ‘It’s someone in the building then. That teacher who hates you? The one who always tells you off for leaving your desk… Hair-slide Woman!’

  I laugh. I’ve never heard her called that before, but it’s fitting.

  ‘That’s Linda Turner. I don’t think she hates me. She just thinks I’m incompetent.’

  Zach shrugs and pours Sauvignon Blanc into two gigantic glasses.

  ‘Same difference. If you worked in journalism, you’d suspect her straight away. There’s always some bastard out to stab you in the back in my office. Cheers.’

  ‘Cheers.’

  We clink glasses, but I’m not feeling very cheerful. It’s a school night, and yet here I am, drinking wine to dull my pain. That can’t be healthy, can it? I take a gulp, and the smooth, sweet liquid rolls down my throat. I don’t care if it’s not healthy. I need it.

  ‘What about that other receptionist then? Out to get your job, maybe?’

  ‘I wondered about her this morning, but no. As annoying as she is, she’s not that kind of person. Besides, she would never have the guts to do something like that, just in case she got caught.’

  I push a stray strand of hair out of Zach’s eye, and he stares at me. I’ve seen this look many times over the past few years, and I know where it will lead. I don’t care. I need this. I need to feel a body on top of mine.

  ‘Are you sure Tom’s out all night?’ Zach’s lips brush mine, and I feel it deep in my stomach.

  ‘He’s not out, out. He’s at his grandparents. Yes, all night. Won’t be back until tomorrow, after school.’

  Those are the last words I utter, and moments later, I grab at Zach’s shirt, trying to unbutton it while his lips reach my ears, my neck, my shoulder. He unclips my bra with one move, and his hands are under my T-shirt, cupping my breasts… I want this… I want this more than anything in this moment…

  Bang! Bang!

  Zach and I spring apart, like teenagers hearing parents coming upstairs.

  ‘What was that?’ Zach stares at me, my lipstick all over his lips.

  Bang! Bang!

  The noise vibrates through the wall and it’s then that I realise – it’s the front door.

  ‘Someone’s outside.’

  ‘Just ignore it. They’ll go away.’

  I dive off the couch, and adjust my clothes.

  ‘I can’t. It might be Tom.’

  I dart to the door, open it without looking through the peephole, and there in all his glory is Simon.

  ‘Hey, I haven’t come at a bad time, have I?’

  ‘No,’ I say, but I am aware that my bra is still undone, and my breath smells of wine.

  ‘So, can I come in?’

  I stand back from the door, and he steps into the hall, brushing his feet on the mat with a dramatic flair that only he could get away with.

  ‘I saw this book about golf when I was out this morning, and thought that Tom might like it. Don’t worry, it wasn’t expensive. It was actually in a charity shop in town…’ He strides into the living room – uninvited – and his voice tails off, as he sees Zach lounging on my sofa.

  ‘Oh, hello. Sorry, I didn’t know you had company. I’m Simon. Tom’s dad.’

  My throat contracts to hear him introduce himself like that. He reaches over, and Zach takes his hand.

  ‘Zach. I live next door.’

  ‘Nice to meet you.’ Simon smiles in my friend’s direction, but his eyes are on the coffee table. The same coffee table that has two half-full glasses, and two bottles of wine – one almost finished.

  ‘Friday already? I was sure it was only Thursday.’ He grins, but I know he isn’t joking. My heart sinks into my stomach. Although I shouldn’t care, I want Simon to know that I’m a good mother, but this doesn’t bode well for me. A man in rumpled clothes on the sofa; alcohol on a school night; smeared lipstick and my bra unfastened… What is he supposed to think?

  ‘It’s my birthday,’ Zach lies. ‘I popped round for a quick one… I mean a quick drink.’

  ‘Happy Birthday! Hey, is Tom around? I’d love to see his face when I give him this book.’

  I point towards the clock.

  ‘It’s nearly 9pm. He’d be off to bed even if he was here, but no. He’s… he’s on a sleepover.’ I’m hesitant to tell Simon that my son is at his grandparents’ house, for fear that he’ll march over there and take him away.

  Stupid thought, I know, but a thought nonetheless.

  ‘Ahh right. Yes, of course. It’s a bit late. I’m just on my way home from the office. Got a lot of work on at the moment.’

  ‘What do you do?’

  Zach sits upright, as though talking to the headmaster. Why is he asking Simon about his job, when he knows already? Why is he prolonging this agony?

  ‘I run a marketing firm,’ Simon says. ‘We’ve got an office in Northampton, and another in London. You?’

  Zach looks from Simon to me, and back again.

  ‘I’m a journalist at the local paper, nothing fancy. Just school fetes, golden weddings, that kind of thing.’

  Simon licks his lips. That revelation will have pleased him. God forbid if my possible love interest has a better job than he does.

  ‘Great. And hey, you’re still young. There’s plenty of time to make it on a national newspaper. I have a few contacts in London, if you want me to put a word in for you?’r />
  What is Simon doing? He met Zach about ninety seconds ago, and already he’s offering – or pretending to offer – to help him get a better job. Thank goodness my friend isn’t that shallow.

  ‘It’s okay, I’m happy where I am.’

  ‘Well, if you change your mind, you can get in touch.’ Simon hands Zach a business card, which he stares at and drops onto the table. ‘Nice to meet you.’

  Simon goes back into the hall, and I follow him to make sure he leaves.

  ‘So, where’s Tom’s sleepover?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He stands with his hand hovering over the catch on the front door. My head begs him to unlatch it and just disappear. Just disappear from our lives forever.

  ‘Is it a friend? Someone he knows well? Have you met the parents?’

  No! No, I’m not doing this.

  ‘Are you seriously asking this question?’

  He throws his hands in the air.

  ‘Just wondered, that’s all.’

  ‘Good night, Simon,’ I say, as I hurry him out. He turns and opens his mouth, but I close the door before the words have a chance to fill my house with any more paranoia and worry. As I go back into the living room, Zach is peeping through the blinds at the front window.

  ‘Well, he’s a bit of a jerk, isn’t he? Pretending he wanted to help me get a better job, as if the one I have isn’t good enough. Tosser.’

  ‘He’ll be able to see you at the window, you know.’

  Zach steps away and grabs his wine glass.

  ‘Yeah, I know. I just wanted to make sure he leaves.’

  ‘What did you think of him?’

  ‘Shifty.’ Zach picks up the business card, and runs his fingers across the embossed lettering. ‘Simon Travis Market-Me. What kind of a name is that?’

  I shrug, and he tucks the card into his back pocket, drains what’s left of his drink, and then grabs his coat.

  ‘I better be going,’ he says. ‘Up early for work and all that.’

  He kisses me on the top of the head, promises that he’ll call me tomorrow, and then disappears out of the back door before I can say anything else.

  20

  Friday morning, Tom is at school and I’m watching This Morning and wondering what happened to my life. There’s still no word about whether or not I can go back to my job, and the thought that I’ll be left with no income because of somebody’s vicious lies leaves me cold. As Holly Willoughby interviews the star of a new sitcom, the phone rings. It’s Simon.

  ‘Charlotte! I didn’t expect you to be home at this hour. I was going to leave a message.’

  ‘I was owed a couple of days off,’ I lie. ‘I worked overtime a few months back, and didn’t get paid for it.’

  There’s a pause on the other end of the line. I know that Simon will suspect that’s not the truth, but he’s willing to go along with it anyway.

  ‘Okay for some,’ he says. ‘I’m working like a dog.’

  ‘Sorry, the line crackled – did you say working like a dog, or behaving like a dog?’

  He laughs, though I doubt he finds it very funny.

  ‘Could be one or the other, I suppose, but in this case, it was the former.’

  ‘So, what can I do for you?’

  There’s a crinkling of paper, and a pause. As I wait for Simon to respond, I stare out of the window and watch two pigeons chatting to each other on the fence. Their little grey heads bop up and down as they converse, interrupted only by the occasional peck. Gosh, even pigeons have a better social life than I do.

  ‘Yeah, here’s the thing…’ Simon’s voice goes up an octave, and I wonder what’s coming next. ‘Monica and I have been talking about Tom’s birthday.’

  His words hit me straight in the middle of my brain. What does Tom’s birthday have to do with him?

  ‘He’s going to be ten, right?’

  ‘You need to ask?’

  There’s a pause, and then Simon chuckles.

  ‘Yeah, stupid question. More a comment, really. Anyway, his tenth is a huge milestone and we’d like to do something special for him. We were thinking of taking him to see a show in London, the week before his big day.’

  London? My son has never been to London before. Knowing that his dad lived there, I always made a point of declining any invitations to the city, just in case we were to somehow bump into him. That seems like a ridiculous worry in a city of millions, but the world is much smaller than we think. One time my parents flew to Los Angeles, and ended up being in the same hotel as a man my father once worked with. Not only that, but they decided to gossip about their philandering neighbour, only to discover that she was the man’s cousin. So, you see everything is connected in one way of another, and even in the most remote of places, you can still bump into somebody you know.

  ‘Charlotte? Are you still there?’

  ‘Yes. Sorry. To be honest, while I appreciate the invitation, I’m not sure how Tom will get on in London. He’s not very street-smart yet.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Simon says. ‘We’ll take good care of him. We’ll do a bit of sightseeing, have lunch, then a nice trip to the theatre. If you’re up for Tom going, we can stay overnight and come back the next day. There’s this hotel down the road from where we used to live. It’s been renovated… new floors, replacement windows, all new furnishings…’

  The postman waves at me from the street, and I smile back, desperate for him to come down the path and put me out of this misery. He doesn’t, though, and turns into Zach’s garden instead.

  ‘Simon, is there a point to this story, or are you auditioning for a role in Homes Under the Hammer?’

  He laughs.

  ‘Watching daytime TV while you’re off, are you?’

  ‘Simon!’

  ‘I’m just joking.’

  The idea of Simon and Monica taking my son to London fills me with horror. He’s been in touch with them for such a small amount of time, and I don’t think he knows them well enough yet. And vice versa. What if Tom misses me? What if he forgets to take his giraffe, cries and gets told off for being silly?

  What if…

  What if…

  What if…

  Besides, it should be me who is organising my son’s birthday celebrations. It’s been my job for the past ten years after all. But then again, how am I going to pay for it, with the threat of being fired looming over my head. My brain throbs at the very thought of it.

  ‘Y’know what, Simon? As I told you when you said you wanted more of an input into Tom’s life, I don’t think we’re at that place yet. It’s fine for you to see him on occasional weekends, but I’m not ready for you to organise an overnight trip to London. After ten years of silence, it’s too much.’

  Simon sighs on the other end of the phone.

  ‘I knew you’d say that,’ he says. ‘But yes, I get what you mean. Okay, we’ll forget London, but would you mind if we at least buy him a nice gift?’

  ‘I don’t mind you buying a gift. So long as it isn’t a pony, or a race car.’

  ‘I think we can manage that,’ Simon says, and I can hear the disappointment in his voice, that he isn’t getting his own way regards London. For a moment I feel sorry for him, but that soon passes. I say goodbye, and then pick up a photograph of Tom aged eleven months. His hair was strawberry-blond from the very beginning, and his eyes were huge and enquiring. He loved nothing more than watching Peppa Pig (though he would deny that now), and playing with his trucks. How can my baby be heading towards ten already? Soon he’ll be off to secondary school, and who knows what will happen after that. Time marches on too quickly for my liking. Why can’t it stand still for a while? Why can’t I hold him close forever? Why did I let Simon Travis into our lives?

  I have no answer to any of those questions, and doubt I ever will.

  ‘Aww, it would have been nice for Tom to have a little get-together with his dad.’ My mum stares at me from behind her copy of The People’s Friend magazine. ‘Wh
y did you say no? He’d have enjoyed that.’

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

  ‘You’re joking?! Up until a couple of weeks ago, you didn’t think Tom should have any kind of contact with Simon at all! Dad even threatened to punch him if he were to ever lay eyes on him. Now you both act as though he’s your new best friend.’

  My mum lowers her magazine, rolls her eyes, and tuts.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. We’ve only seen him a few times, and as we already told you, we made contact with him for Tom’s sake. Besides, I’ve always thought Tom and Simon should have some kind of connection. I just didn’t mention it to you, that’s all.’

  My dad strides into the room with the teapot.

  ‘Any more tea?’

  I shake my head, and he pops it onto the coffee table.

  ‘Dad, can you believe that Mum thinks Simon should be able to organise a birthday celebration for Tom?’

  He hesitates, grabs a biscuit from the tray, and plonks himself onto the sofa.

  ‘Yes, I heard from the kitchen. Do you think you’ll say no?’

  ‘I’ve already said no! And can we please keep our voices down. Tom’s in the garden, and could be in any minute. I don’t want him to know about any of this.’

  Mum goes to the window and waves at Tom, who is busy battering a football off the wall. That will please the neighbours.

  ‘It’s a shame though,’ she says, as she sits back down. ‘He’d have loved to go to London, and it’s not as if it’s on his actual birthday anyway. It would be the week before, as I understand it.’

  ‘Wait! Who said anything about location? Or the date, come to that! I said that Simon wanted to celebrate Tom’s birthday, but I’m pretty sure I mentioned nothing about what he wanted to do. Who told you about London?’

  My mum and dad exchange glances, but remain mute.

  ‘I’m waiting.’

  Dad swallows his biscuit, and grabs Mum’s hand.

  ‘We heard it from Simon,’ he says. ‘He had just bought a new office chair, and wondered if we’d like his old one for the study. We did, so he popped it round.’