One Small Mistake(21)

He studies me.

‘Richard, please,’ I start because I’m not above begging. ‘I’m serious. This is my income.’

The only thing I have going for me is my independence. If I can’t pay my rent, I have nothing. I can’t add ‘homeless’ to my list of failings.

‘Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you called in sick.’ His tone is all condescending middle-management. ‘Now, if you want the money from today’s shift, I suggest you leave my office and get to work.’

I do as he says because I need each precious penny from each pitiful minute I work here. Defeat hangs from my body like an ill-fitting dress. Strange, it should be snug now, I am so used to its company. For once, Hannah gives me a wide berth. I serve coffee and clean the machines and cut slices of carrot cake.

When Hannah goes on her break, I stuff a handful of biscotti into my apron pocket.

George looks up from his crossword as I approach. ‘Nine-letter word meaning risky or indecent.’

‘Starting letter?’

‘S.’

I think a moment, arranging and rearranging the letters in my mind until they take on a definite shape. ‘Salacious?’

George glances at the page, then nods. ‘Spot on, young lady. Spot on.’

As he takes his biro and fills in the spaces, I notice the network of individual veins running beneath his skin, like tiny inky rivers.

I slide one of the biscotti from my apron pocket and lay it beside his mug. George shakes his head. When he grins up at me, I think he was probably a bit of a heartthrob when he was young. ‘I really shouldn’t.’

‘Two can keep a secret.’

He unwraps it, snaps it in half and hands me a piece. I know I should go back to work, but I can’t make my feet move in the direction of the counter.

‘Elodie, are you alright?’ George’s words are gentle. Kind. I want to crawl into his lap and weep.

‘I’ll be fine,’ I lie.

‘You know,’ he says, ‘there’s always someone worse off, that’s what my father used to say.’

I look down at the biscotti in my hand because I hate that saying. How is knowing there’s someone worse off supposed to make you feel better? As though it’s socially acceptable to take a little bit of comfort in the knowledge that there’s someone out there suffering more than you are right now.

George clears his throat. ‘But my father was a drunk. Most of what he said came out on the back of a whisky.’ He waves a dismissive hand. ‘Terrible advisor, my father.’

I manage a wan smile.

‘You’re a very intelligent girl, Elodie. Brighter than that oik you work for.’ His eyes glitter mischievously, and he rests a cool hand on mine. ‘Whatever’s happened, I know you’ll come up with a creative solution.’

Since I’m not going to be around anymore, I slip the handful of biscotti into his satchel when he isn’t looking. A parting gift.

On the way home, anxiety churning in my stomach, I call Arabella’s office. After I left ACH, she reached out on more than one occasion to persuade me to come back. Maybe I could pick up some part-time work from her for a while.

I’m sick with nerves as I wait for the receptionist to put me through. I’m just cutting across the children’s park through a group of shrieking kids when Arabella’s familiar, coppery voice glitters down the line. ‘Elodie, darling, this is a surprise. How are you?’

I can’t tell her the tragedy my life has become; I don’t want to guilt her into helping me. ‘Fine,’ I say, forcing myself to sound casual and light. ‘How’s ACH?’

‘Busy, busy, you know, late nights, early mornings. I don’t even remember what my husband looks like.’ She laughs.

‘Great,’ I say, ‘that’s great.’ I take a breath. My heart slams against my ribs. I’m nervous and desperate and lightheaded. ‘So, I’ve had a think and I’d love some freelance work. I mean, if there is anything, I’d really like to get stuck in—’

‘Elodie, darling,’ she trills, cutting me off kindly. ‘I’m afraid we don’t have any freelance work. All our staff are inhouse now.’

My heart slides to my ankles. ‘Okay,’ I say, ‘maybe I could come back full-time but work from home?’ Obviously, I won’t be able to write as much as I do now unless I get up super early and write before sunrise like some authors do. It could work. For a while. Working every hour of the day until I figure out a permanent solution is, well, it’s my only option, isn’t it? ‘I know you don’t usually do that but I’m good at my job and I’ll—’

‘Elodie, listen, you weren’t just good at your job, you were amazing at it but … we simply don’t have any openings right now. We’re working with a skeleton staff and it’s not in the budget to hire more people.’ Remorse is thick in her voice. ‘If I want this company to thrive, costs have to be kept low …’ She pauses. ‘I wish you’d called sooner.’

‘Oh,’ I say, the word rolling out of my mouth, fat with disappointment. I swallow. ‘If something comes up, will you …’

‘You’ll be the first person I call but, Elodie, I don’t want you to hold your breath on this one. Unless someone leaves, I can’t hire anyone else. But I can give you a glowing reference.’