I See You(47)

I jump as the door opens and the bell above the frame jangles. Graham looks at me strangely.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Fine. Where have you been? There’s nothing in the diary.’

‘There’s nothing in the office diary,’ he corrects, taking off his coat and hanging it on the stand in the corner. ‘There’s always something in my diary.’ He smoothes his suit jacket over his belly. Today’s waistcoat and jacket are green tweed, teamed with red trousers; the ensemble makes him look like a Country Living model gone to seed. ‘A coffee would be nice, Zoe. Have you seen the paper?’

I grit my teeth and head for the kitchen. On my return I find him in his office with his feet on the desk, reading the Telegraph. I don’t know if it’s the adrenaline from this morning, or my annoyance at being the only one at Hallow & Reed who seems to do any work, but I start speaking before I have a chance to filter my words.

‘The London Gazette. You had a huge pile of them – twenty at least – in your office. What were they for?’

Graham ignores me, his raised eyebrows the only indication he’s heard me.

‘Where are they now?’ I demand.

He swings his feet off the desk and sits upright, with a sigh that suggests my outburst is tedious, rather than offensive. ‘Pulped, I would imagine. Isn’t that where the rest of the newspapers go? Destined for the loo-roll shelves at some budget supermarket.’

‘What were you doing with them, though?’ It’s been nagging at me; that small voice in my head reminding me of what I saw, of those newspapers stacked up on his desk. I remember the moment I saw Cathy Tanning’s photo; the moment of recognition as I put a name to the face.

Graham sighs. ‘We’re a property firm, Zoe. We sell and rent properties. Offices, shopping malls, industrial units. How do you think people hear about our properties?’

I assume it’s a rhetorical question, but he waits expectantly. Not content with patronising me, he’s going to make a fool of me, too.

‘In the newspaper,’ I say, and the words come out staccato, silent full-stops between each one.

‘In which newspaper?’

I clench my fists by my side. ‘In the Gazette.’

‘And where do you think our competitors advertise?’

‘Okay, you’ve made your point.’

‘Have I, Zoe? I’m a little concerned that you don’t seem to know how this business works. Because if you’re finding it hard to understand, I’m sure I could find another office manager with bookkeeping skills.’

Checkmate.

‘I do understand it, Graham.’

His lips stretch into a smile. I can’t afford to lose my job, and he knows it.

I buy a magazine on my way home from work, determined not to even pick up a copy of the Gazette. The station is rammed; winter coats making everyone seem twice the size. I push my way along the platform to my usual spot, the extra effort worth it for the time I will gain when I change for the Overground. Beneath my feet I feel the bumpy surface installed to help blind people; my shoes protrude just beyond the yellow line and I shuffle back as far as the swell of commuters will allow. I look at the cover of my magazine, filled with increasingly impossible headlines.

MEET THE GRANDMOTHER WHO CHEATED DEATH – THREE TIMES!

I MARRIED MY SON’S WIFE!

MY TEN-MONTH-OLD BABY TRIED TO KILL ME!

I feel the rush of warm air on my face that tells me the train is seconds away. A deep rumble builds from within the tunnel and my hair blows across my face. I put up a hand to brush it aside, apologising as my arm makes contact with the woman next to me. Another raft of commuters push their way on to the platform; the bodies around me move more tightly together. I take a single step forward, less by choice than by necessity.

The front of the train fills the tunnel and I roll up my magazine into my hand. I’m trying to slot it into my handbag when I lose my balance; falling fast towards the edge of the platform. I register a solid shape between my shoulder blades; an elbow, a briefcase, a hand. I feel the bumps beneath my feet as I trip forward; the movement of dirt from beneath the tracks caused by the draught from the oncoming train. I feel a sensation of weightlessness, as my centre of gravity tips forward, my feet no longer anchored firmly on the ground. I see, coming into sharp focus, the train driver, and I register the horror on his face. We’re surely both thinking the same thing.

There’s no way he can stop in time.

Someone screams. A man shouts. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut. There’s a screech of metal on metal and a roaring in my ears. I feel a sharp pain as my shoulder is wrenched back and my body twists round.

‘Are you okay?’

I open my eyes. There’s a cluster of concern around me, but the train doors are open and commuters are in a hurry. They melt away, and the train completes its exchange of passengers and begins to move.

Again, more urgent this time. ‘Are you okay?’

The man in front of me has thick grey hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He is tall enough for me to see the speck of congealed blood to the left of his Adam’s apple. I take an involuntary step backwards and he grabs hold of my arm.

‘Steady – I’m not sure I can handle two rescues in one day.’

‘Rescue?’ I’m trying to process what just happened.