The Forgetting(17)
‘Great. I really am thrilled you’re coming back as planned. Because I’ve got some news of my own.’ Aisha paused, like a judge on a TV talent show. ‘I’m leaving.’
The revelation stuttered in Livvy’s head. ‘What? Why?’
‘Stewart and I are going to work for an NGO in Namibia for a couple of years. We’ve always wanted to work overseas, and now the kids have flown the nest, we just felt it was the right time.’
Livvy let the news sink in. Along with Christian, Aisha had been one of the founders of the think tank fifteen years ago and had been its Policy Director ever since. She’d been Livvy’s boss for the past six years and the thought of her leaving just as Livvy was returning from maternity leave was disconcerting. ‘When are you going? And who’ll replace you? Not that you are replaceable, as far as I’m concerned.’ In the buggy beside her, Leo stirred, snuffled, rolled his head from one side to the other, and Livvy silently implored him to stay sleeping for another twenty minutes, just long enough for her to finish the meeting.
‘Well, that’s the reason I’m pleased you’re coming back. Christian and I have been talking, and we think you should step up into my role, if you’re keen. I’m leaving in three months, but Christian’s agreed to have a short hiatus until you return. It’ll only leave him without a Policy Director for a month, and he agrees that’s manageable.’
The words swam in Livvy’s head like darting minnows. She’d always imagined that if she ever wanted to get promoted, she’d have to leave this organisation, find a role elsewhere, start again with a new set of colleagues. She’d always assumed Aisha would be in post until she retired.
‘What do you think? Can I tell Christian you’re interested? You don’t have to decide for certain right now. It’s a lot to take in, I know.’
‘Of course I’m interested. It’s just . . . I wasn’t expecting to have this conversation. And the thought of you leaving . . .’ Livvy took a deep breath. ‘Sorry, it’s just a bit of a shock. You’ve been such an incredible mentor to me. I can’t imagine this place without you.’
Aisha reached across the table, placed a hand on Livvy’s arm. ‘That’s kind of you to say. I’m going to miss working with you too. But I’ll still be on the board, so you don’t get rid of me altogether. And I do think it’s the right time for you. You’d be brilliant.’
Livvy allowed herself a moment’s pause, thought about her feelings arriving here today, worrying whether she would still be perceived as ambitious and committed now that she was a mother.
‘So, shall I tell Christian you’re interested? Being completely honest with you, he was initially a bit sceptical about being without a Policy Director for a month. You know how closely he and I work, and he’ll have to take on a fair amount more in the interim. But we talked it through and he knows you’re perfect for the role, so he’s prepared to suck it up for a few weeks. It would be good to let him know soonest if you’re keen. Why don’t the three of us have lunch next week and we can talk it through?’
Livvy nodded, tried to catch her breath. ‘That would be great. I’m definitely interested. Thank you, so much.’
In the buggy beside her, Leo awoke, and Livvy lifted him out, held him in her arms, resolved to call the nursery as soon as she got home. Because it was only now, being back in the office, that she realised quite how much she had missed it, and how keen she was to return.
ANNA
LONDON
The house is preternaturally quiet. Since Stephen left for work this morning, I have realised how his voice has filled the space between us since I arrived home yesterday lunchtime.
Popping two painkillers from their foil pouch, I pour a glass of water and gulp down the tablets as though the ferocity with which I take them might expedite their effect. Pressing my fingers to my temples, I rub in concentric circles, try to prise the throbbing pain from my head, but the persistent hammering continues.
Propped up against the kettle is a piece of paper on which Stephen has written his mobile number, told me to call any time I need him. There is a landline telephone in the sitting room, a black handset standing upright in its cradle like a sentry on duty, but I cannot think what circumstances would cause me to interrupt his day. I already feel enough of a burden, and he has phoned twice so far today, to check I am okay.
Last night, I lay awake in bed next to Stephen, listening to him sleep, trying to hypnotise myself with the steady rhythm of his breaths. But the intimacy felt so unnatural – the heat of his limbs under the shared duvet, the breeze of his exhalation on my cheek – that I watched the digits on the bedside alarm clock click by with unforgiving lethargy. The last time I looked, it had just gone four a.m., and when the alarm on Stephen’s phone vibrated three hours later, my head felt sluggish with fatigue.
Lowering myself into one of the armchairs in the sitting room, I curl my feet beneath me. On the coffee table is a trio of paperbacks Stephen has left out for me to read: Dickens, Hardy, Charlotte Bront? – my favourite authors, he has told me, though I remember nothing about the plots of their books. Picking up the copy of Jane Eyre, I scan the synopsis, try to ignore the feeling that my brain is trapped in a vice. Turning to the first page, I begin to read the opening lines, but pain smarts behind my eyes. The language feels arcane and I cannot immerse myself in the rhythm of the prose. I put the book down, stare at its cover, try to locate the version of myself for whom it is a favourite novel, but she is elusive, hiding, and I do not know how to entice her out.