The Girl I Used to Be(12)

“You’re in sales, aren’t you?” I asked.

“Yeah. It’s not for everyone, but I’m happy in that kind of environment. As long as the company’s reputable. You’ve got to believe in the products.”

“And Barford’s is a good company?”

“They’ve been great. Sent me all over the place. I love that.”

“I wish I’d worked abroad in my twenties,” I said. “I don’t think I realized when I was child-free that I should have done as much traveling as I could then.”

“It can be hard work, moving around, though. You lose touch with your old friends and you can be moved on at any time. It’s hard to fit in, sometimes.”

“I suppose so.”

“Still, you’re in a great position now. You have a family and it looks like your business is going well.”

I hesitated, not wanting to admit that in this economy people were avoiding buying right then. Of course in any climate people wanted to buy low and sell high, but I was noticing it now more than ever. In the end, he was a potential client, so I just said, “Yes, it’s going well. I’m very lucky.”

“You look tired. Busy week?”

I nodded. “Always.”

“Why not forget about work for a while? Have a night off.” He picked up the wine we’d ordered. “Fancy another?”

I looked at the bottle and then back at David. I already had a buzz on and could feel my skin tingling. I’d reached my limit with the drinks I’d already had; I knew better than to drink more but suddenly the lure of another couple of glasses and some carefree conversation with another adult—okay, another man—was too great.

I pushed my glass toward him. “Why not?”



* * *



*

WE STAYED IN the restaurant for a few hours, enjoying our meal and a few drinks. He was great company, talking about his life overseas and living in London as a student. I felt completely at ease with him; he was entertaining and funny and I felt sure he’d come back to the office in the next couple of weeks to see some more properties. I made a mental note to get everyone at work onto looking for a suitable place; after talking to him I had a good idea of the sort of lifestyle he wanted.

It took a while at the end of the night for our bill to arrive, and then when it did, the waiter stayed at the other side of the restaurant chatting with a waitress and, despite my waves, didn’t meet my eye. I sighed and went over to him to ask him to bring the card machine. When I got back to our table, David was pouring the last of the wine into our glasses.

“Thanks for the meal,” said David. He picked up his glass. “Cheers!”

Automatically I raised my glass to his. “You’re welcome,” I said, and drank the wine. I looked at my watch. “I have to go; I’ve got an early start tomorrow.” I felt unsteady when I stood. “Gosh, I’ve drunk far too much!” I looked down at the table and frowned. Two bottles of wine were empty—I didn’t think I’d had much more than a couple of glasses. “Did we drink all that?”

He laughed. “I’m afraid so. But it’s Friday night, time to let our hair down,” he said. “It’s my fault, I think. I drank far more than you did.”

I blinked hard. “Ugh, I’m going to have such a hangover.”

“Make sure you drink lots of water,” he said. “Do you have any painkillers? Perhaps take a couple before you go to sleep.”

I nodded. “I will.”

We walked over to the lift. There were still crowds of people in the bar, and just one elderly couple was waiting for the lift.

David stood next to the lift buttons. “Which floor would you like?” he asked the couple. He pressed a button for them, then said to me, “How about you?”

For a moment I couldn’t remember, and searched in my bag for the little envelope containing my key card.

He glanced at it and said, “The ninth? I’m on the tenth.”

The couple got out at their floor, and David and I stood in silence. In the few seconds it took for the lift to take us up to the ninth floor, I felt as though I could sleep for a week. I wondered what would happen if I didn’t go to the training. Would it matter? I could hardly remember the name of the training event at that point. Was it in this hotel?

When the doors opened onto the ninth floor, I stumbled out. David grabbed my arm.

“Steady!” he said, laughing. “Steady on, sweetheart.”

I stared at him, confused.

“What’s your room number?” he asked.

I couldn’t answer. I tried, I tried to say something but I couldn’t think straight and my tongue felt thick and swollen in my mouth.

He took the key card envelope out of my hand. “912,” he said. He laughed again. “You’ve really had too much to drink, haven’t you?”

I tried to smile but I couldn’t. All I could think about was getting into bed.

He stopped abruptly outside one of the hotel doors. I lurched into him. I tried to apologize but nothing came out.

My back was to the door and he reached out and touched my hair. “Time for bed,” he said, and suddenly the atmosphere seemed to change.

He leaned forward. I twisted my head away and saw a woman standing at the far end of the corridor. She reached out her hand to press the button on the wall to call the lift. I tried to move away from David, to keep the distance between us, but I bumped against the door and then his hand moved to the side of my face and he turned my head toward him. I couldn’t take my eyes off him.