I See You(16)

‘That would be most welcome, thank you. Did you have a good weekend?’

‘Not bad.’ I don’t offer any detail, and he doesn’t ask. I keep my personal life to myself, nowadays. When Simon and I first got together, Graham dared to suggest it was inappropriate for me to date someone I’d met through work, even though it had been months since he’d come into the office, enquiring about commercial rental rates for a piece he was writing.

‘But it wouldn’t have been inappropriate for me to date my boss?’ I responded, folding my arms and looking him straight in the eye. Because six weeks after I’d found out about Matt’s affair, when I was a quivering mess and didn’t know which way was up, Graham Hallow had asked me out, and I’d said no.

‘I felt sorry for you,’ he said, when I challenged him all those years later. ‘I thought you needed cheering up.’

‘Right. Thanks.’

‘Maybe that’s what this new bloke thinks, too.’

I didn’t take the bait. I knew Simon didn’t feel sorry for me. He adored me. He bought me flowers, took me to nice restaurants, and kissed me in a way that made my knees buckle. We’d only been seeing each other for a few weeks, but I knew. I just knew. Maybe Graham had felt sorry for me, but he never quite forgave me for turning him down. No more letting me leave early if the kids were unwell, or cutting me some slack if the trains were late. From that moment he played by the book, and I needed the job too much to risk breaking the rules.

Graham drinks his coffee, then puts on his coat and disappears. There’s nothing in the diary, but he mutters something about seeing a man about a dog, and frankly I’m just glad to be on my own. The office is unusually quiet for a Monday, so I start a long overdue spring clean, feeding papers through the shredder and moving ancient spider plants to dust behind them.

My phone beeps, and I pick up a text from Matt.

KT okay?





He shortens everyone’s names like that. Katie is KT, Justin Jus, and I’m only ever Zoe when we’re arguing.

I suppose Simon would be Si, if they had that sort of relationship.

Haven’t heard from her, I reply. Not sure if that’s a good sign or not!

Did she feel confident?





I think for a second. Optimistic, I put.

How about you? x





I register the kiss and ignore it. I leave the conversation hanging, carrying on with my dusting, and a few minutes later he phones.

‘You did it again, didn’t you?’

‘Did what?’ I say, knowing full well what he means.

‘You put a downer on her audition.’ His consonants are muffled and I know it’s because he’s put a cigarette between his lips. Sure enough, I hear the metallic snap of a lighter, and he takes a long drag. It’s been almost twenty years since I smoked, but I feel a physical pull as he inhales.

‘I didn’t,’ I start, but Matt knows me too well. ‘I didn’t mean to, anyway.’

‘What did you say?’

‘I just mentioned that secretarial course I told you about.’

‘Zo …’

‘What? You said yourself it would be perfect for her.’ I hear the sound of traffic in the background, and know that Matt is parked at a rank, leaning against the cab.

‘You’ve got to go gentle with her. Push her too hard in one direction and she’ll only run faster the other way.’

‘Acting isn’t a proper job,’ I say, because disagreeing with Matt is a habit that’s hard to break. ‘She needs something to fall back on.’

‘She’ll find that out herself soon enough. And when she does, we’ll be there.’

I finish dusting the main room, and move on to Graham’s office. His desk is twice the size of mine, but almost as neat. It’s one of the few things we have in common. A calendar sits parallel to the edge of the desk, today’s motivational quote urging me to do something today my future self will thank me for. On the opposite side of the desk are three in-trays, stacked on top of each other and labelled incoming; pending; post. In front of them is a stack of newspapers. Today’s London Gazette is on top.

Nothing unusual in that. You’d be hard pressed to find an office in London without a copy of the Gazette knocking about. I pick up the first issue, telling myself I’m still tidying, and see the paper beneath it is the London Gazette, too. As is the one beneath that; and the one beneath that. A dozen or more copies, neatly stacked. I glance at the door then sit down in Graham’s leather chair and pick up the top copy. I scan the first couple of pages, but I can’t stop myself from turning to the classifieds.

And then I feel a tightening around my chest, and the palms of my hands grow damp. Because on the last page of the newspaper in my hand – a newspaper dated several days previously is a woman I’ve seen before.





We are all creatures of habit.

Even you.

You reach for the same coat each day; leave home at the same time every morning. You have a favourite seat on the bus or the train; you know precisely which escalator moves the fastest, which ticket barrier to use, which kiosk has the shortest queue.

You know these things: and I know them, too.

I know you buy the same paper from the same shop; your milk at the same time each week. I know the way you walk the children to school; the shortcut you take on your way home from Zumba class. I know the street where you part ways with your friends, after a Friday night in the pub; and I know that you walk the rest of the way home alone. I know the 5 km circuit you run on a Sunday morning, and the precise place you stop to stretch.