The First Mistake(66)

She checks her reflection in her compact mirror and wipes the merest hint of under-eye smudging away. Her bright-red lipstick, that matches her blouse, still stands the test of time.

‘You look gorgeous,’ says Nathan, taking hold of her hand and giving it a squeeze.

By the time they reach the lawyer’s office, on the twenty-fourth floor of one of the skyscrapers Alice had seen from the Olympic site, her carefully applied mask of confidence is on the wane.

‘Don’t desert me now,’ says Nathan, noticing. ‘We can do this.’

She runs her tongue around the top of her teeth, the dryness in her mouth threatening to stick her lips to her gums.

‘Mr Nathan,’ says a petite Japanese woman through a face mask. ‘A pleasure to meet with you. Mr Yahamoto is here. Please come this way.’

They’re ushered into a corner room where its occupant is pacing the floor with his phone at his ear. He offers the merest of smiles before signalling for them to sit down at the glass boardroom table.

Feeling like a child playing in an adult’s world, Alice forces herself to inhale, long and slow. She shifts her stance, sitting taller and pushing her shoulders back, hoping that the gesture will give her more of a presence.

‘Hai. Hai,’ says the man in front of them, in a clipped tone, before abruptly ending the call.

‘Ah, Mr Nathan,’ he says whilst bowing, ‘a pleasure to meet with you finally. And this must be Miss Alice.’

Alice smiles and offers as much of a bow as she can from a sitting position.

‘How are you enjoying Tokyo?’ he says, handing them both handleless cups. ‘Please – some green tea.’ Nathan eyes the murky liquid dubiously, whilst Alice accepts gratefully.

‘So, is everything good to go?’ asks Nathan. ‘Are we ready to exchange?’

‘Yes, I have notification that we are almost there,’ says the lawyer.

Nathan taps his hand against the side of his chair impatiently – Alice can hear his wedding ring knocking the metal arm.

His obvious agitation is making Alice even more nervous than she is already. She tries to bat away the uncomfortable sensation rising within her, the creeping tentacles that are snaking up from her stomach and into her chest. Can we just get this over and done with before I change my mind? she says silently.

‘Ah-ha,’ says Mr Yahamoto in answer, making her jump. ‘The email is in. We’re ready to go.’

The printer in the corner of the room spews into action and he goes to it, retrieving the document he was waiting on.

‘So, here we have the papers for you to sign,’ he says, carefully lining them up in order as he presents them to Alice.

‘As I understand it, you are the sole owner of AT Designs?’

‘Yes,’ she says croakily, before clearing her throat. ‘Yes.’

‘And Mr Nathan has explained everything to you regarding the covenant?’

Alice looks to her husband beside her, who nods and puts his hand on hers.

‘Excellent. So, I need you to sign here, here and here,’ says Mr Yahamoto, demonstrating with a pen, before he offers it to her. She declines and reaches into her bag on the floor for her ‘lucky pen’, the one Tom had given her to celebrate signing the contracts on their first house. It was the one she’d used for anything important since, superstitiously believing that it would bring her joy and luck. Her fingers clasp around its embossed silver case, feeling the weight as she lifts it out.

‘Could I borrow your pen after all?’ she says to Mr Yahamoto, apologetically. She places her pen on the table, watching it wobble as it finds its place.

‘Of course,’ he says, handing her his bog-standard biro.

She scrawls her signature wherever a pencilled cross is marked.

‘So, this signifies that you have now exchanged, and ten per cent will be transferred to the vendor.’

Alice smiles tightly, still toying with the cheap biro in her hand. How significant, she thinks, that the most monumental of decisions for Alice and Tom Designs has been signed off with a pen other than the one Tom gave me.

‘Completion will take place next week, but we have all the papers we need to do that, so I do not anticipate there being any problems.’

‘It’s been a pleasure,’ says Alice, standing up from the table and offering an outstretched hand.

‘The pleasure is all mine.’ The lawyer bows, then holds the door open for them. ‘Ah, Miss Alice,’ he calls out, just as she steps into the lift. ‘Your pen. You forgot your pen.’

‘Keep it,’ she says as the doors close.





32


The champagne has gone to Alice’s head. She didn’t feel it before, but now that she’s sitting on the toilet, its seat heated, she’s finding it difficult to focus. She’s trying to concentrate on the back of the door, but it’s moving, as if she’s on board a storm-tossed boat. She reaches out for the toilet paper, but it’s not quite where she thought it was – her hand a few centimetres short.

‘Shit,’ she says out loud, wondering how many drinks she’s had and wishing she’d had just one less. She likes the way alcohol numbs her nerve endings, which normally happens sometime between glasses three and four. But she feels like she’s had a bottle, and some.

Then she remembers the tablets she took to calm her nerves on the plane, not thinking for a second that the double dosage would do anything other than send her to sleep, which they had. But now she can’t help but wonder if it was a good idea to drink with them in her system.