Cross Her Heart(2)

My heart thrums in my chest, a bird trapped against glass. I don’t move an inch; this isn’t fight or flight, but a cold dread. The car’s engine is turned off and there is someone behind the wheel. Thickset. It’s too far away to see his face. Is he looking at me? There’s a sound like buzzing flies in my head and I try to catch my breath. As my panic threatens to overwhelm me, a man, still pulling on a suit jacket while trying to wave at the driver, comes down his front path. The engine starts. Only as it moves do I see the small strip down one side. EezyCabs.

The flood of relief makes me almost laugh. Almost.

You’re safe, I tell myself as the taxi drives by, no one inside glancing my way. You’re safe and Ava’s safe. You have to relax.

Of course it’s easier said than done. I’ve learned that over the years. The fear never truly leaves me. I’ve had lulls where I can almost let go of the past, but then a random moment like this triggers a panic and I realise it will always be there, like hot tar glued to the lining of my stomach. And recently, I’ve had this feeling, an unsettled disquiet, as if there’s something off-kilter I should see but I don’t. Maybe it’s me. My age. Hormones. Ava growing up. Maybe it’s nothing. But still …

‘Penny for them?’

I gasp and flinch and then laugh in the way everyone does when goosed, even though the shock isn’t funny. My hand is at my chest as I turn to see Mrs Goldman standing at her front door.

‘Are you all right?’ she asks. ‘I didn’t mean to make you jump.’

‘Yes, sorry,’ I say. ‘Lost in the day ahead. You know how it is.’ I walk back down towards my own front door. I’m not sure Mrs Goldman does know how it is. She’s careful as she bends to pick up the single milk bottle from the step and I see her flinch. What does her day hold? Daytime TV? Countdown? Pointless? Her sons haven’t visited for a while either.

‘I think there’s going to be a thunderstorm later. Do you want me to grab anything for you from the shops? I’ve got to get some more bread and bits anyway. Although I won’t be back until quite late because I’m taking Ava for pizza after work. It’s her birthday.’ I don’t need bread but neither do I like the thought of Mrs Goldman having to go out in the rain. Her hips are bad and the roads can be slippery.

‘Oh, if it’s no bother,’ she says, and I can hear the relief in her voice. ‘You are lovely.’

‘It’s fine.’ I smile and I feel an awful ache I don’t fully understand. A kind of empathy for someone’s fragility. For everything people hold inside. Something like that anyway. I listen as she gives me her small list of items. Everything just enough for one. I’ll add some Battenberg to it. A little gift. I should try to pop in for a cup of tea with her at the weekend too. Her days must be long and it’s so easy not to notice the lonely people in this world. I should know. I was lonely for a long time. In some ways, I still am. I try to be kind to lonely people now. I’ve learned that kindness is important. What else is there, really?

Since PKR opened a second branch, we’ve been moved to a smaller but more stylish office and even though it’s a while until Simon Manning is due to come in, when I get there at eight I feel slightly sick with nerves and my hands are twitchy and trembling. I tell myself it’s just about the presentation, but that’s rubbish. It’s also about Simon Manning. Simon has moved into some strange limbo between potential new company client and something other. A flirtation. An attraction. The way he looks at me has changed. I don’t know how to deal with it. It’s a low-voltage hum in my head.

‘This is for you.’

I look up from checking through my presentation pages and see Marilyn holding up a pack of three Ferrero Rocher chocolates. ‘For good luck. And this,’ she takes her other hand from behind her back to reveal a single glass bottle of bubbly, ‘is for when you’ve nailed it.’

I grin at her, flooding with warmth. Thank God for Marilyn. ‘If I nail it. I know he’s been speaking to other recruiters.’

‘Oh, don’t worry, I’ve got vodka in the drawer for if you fuck it up.’

‘Gee, thanks.’

‘What are best friends for?’

The great thing about this new open-plan office is that my desk and Marilyn’s are facing each other’s, a little island of two. Marilyn designed the whole layout and it works well. She’s got an eye for spaces. Maybe comes from being married to a builder for so long.

‘Look at Toby,’ she says, nodding across the room. ‘He’s like a pig in shit with these new girls.’

She’s right. We lean against her desk and watch as he preens himself. The new women all look under twenty-five, and at thirty Toby probably seems like a sophisticated older man. He’s certainly playing up to it. Breathless nervous giggling wafts over as he says something obviously hugely entertaining while explaining the photocopier.

‘They’ll learn,’ I say. It’ll be entertainment for us for a while at any rate. It’s good to be at work, under the bright strip-lighting and with the uniformity of desks and red office chairs and smart clothing. It makes my momentary unease from this morning fade like the remnants of a bad dream.

At nine, Penny, our glorious leader and the PK in PK Recruitment, calls us all together. We gather in a semi-circle around her office door and Marilyn and I hang a little bit back, like sheep herders perhaps, or nannies. I like Penny. She’s brisk and efficient and doesn’t feel the need to be too familiar with her staff. I’ve worked here for over ten years and I don’t think we’ve ever socialised personally, only the two of us. Marilyn finds it odd, but not me. Even though Penny’s about my age, she’s my boss. I don’t want her trying to be my friend. It would make me uncomfortable.