The Girl I Used to Be(14)

Just then Philip Doyle started to introduce the day’s events. I couldn’t concentrate on what he was saying; it was like trying to think through fog. I drank more water, then tried to eat a biscuit that was on the coffee cup’s saucer, but as soon as I felt the dry sweet crumbs in my mouth, I had to leap up and run for the nearest cloakroom.



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LATER, AT EUSTON station, I took one look at the crowds of people waiting for the train back to Chester and upgraded my ticket to first class, where it was quiet. I spoke to the attendant just before the train pulled out and told her that I wasn’t well and needed to sleep. She put me at the far end of the carriage, away from the other passengers, and gave me a blanket to wrap around myself. I slept all the way home.

Joe and Rory picked me up at the station.

“Mummy!” Rory shrieked, running toward me and leaping into my arms. “I’ve missed you!”

I kissed his head, smelling the fresh scent of his apple shampoo. Just pulling him to me made me feel better.

“I’ve missed you, too,” I said. “So much.”

Joe looked at me oddly. “Are you okay?”

“I’m not well,” I said. I couldn’t bear to tell him I’d had too much to drink. “I haven’t felt well all day.”

He put his arm around me. “How come, sweetheart? You’re not hungover, are you? I thought you had an early night.”

I remembered then the text I’d sent him that evening, telling him I was in the bath. Worried in case he smelled alcohol on me, I said, “I had a couple of drinks in my room. It’s probably just that. I drank them too fast and went to sleep. I’m so tired, though.”

“You’ll be fine,” he said. “Have another early night. I’m out with Mike, remember?”

That had been our arrangement when Joe agreed to stay at home with Rory, that he’d have the chance to see his friends every week. Mike was a guy that Joe used to work with. He lived half a mile from us and often they’d go out for a run or a drink. I’d understood that; I spent all day with other adults and I knew he needed to see his friends. I’d forgotten, though, that he was planning to go out that night.

Rory leaped up and down, pulling at my arm. “Just you and me, Mum! And you promised you’d play swing ball with me before I went to bed!”

My head thumped at the thought of that. I looked up at Joe, hoping against hope that he would offer to stay home, but his eyes were fixed ahead. He knew exactly what I wanted, but he knew I wouldn’t ask, either. It was our agreement, after all.

“Swing ball it is,” I said weakly, planning already that the moment Rory got into his bed, I would get into mine.





NINE


Friday, July 21

I WAS IN the office a month later when the post came through. We had the same postman every day and of course Sophie had a crush on him. I don’t think I’d seen any guy under twenty-five that she hadn’t had a crush on. Fair enough with this one, though; he was tall and tanned, with a surfer-dude look about him, despite being quite a way from any waves. She’d been anticipating his visit all morning, and I’d noticed the surreptitious smudge of lipstick and the smell of her new perfume. She bounced up as he entered the office and passed me the mail. The day was hot already and a soft breeze came through the open doorway.

There were no clients in the office. Rachel was working at her computer and Sophie fetched the postman a bottle of water from our fridge. She held on to it while she chatted to him, a ploy to stop him from leaving. It was just an ordinary day.

I glanced through the mail. There were a couple of letters from solicitors confirming that they were acting for clients. There was another letter from a solicitor confirming completion on a sale. A vendor had returned a signed and approved set of property details. Mostly, though, as usual, it was junk mail and takeaway menus.

“Coffee?” asked Rachel.

“Great, thanks.”

I was just gathering together the junk mail, ready to throw it out, when I saw there was another envelope underneath it. I checked that it was for me, then opened it just as Rachel came over to my desk with a mug of coffee. “Biscuit?” she asked, and put the tin on the desk beside my coffee.

“No, thanks,” I said. In the envelope was a sheet of paper, folded in half. I opened it up, thinking it was a flyer, but it was a photocopy of a receipt. I looked inside the envelope again to see if there was a compliment slip, but there was nothing.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I said slowly. “It’s a receipt for something.” I squinted at the logo. “Oh, it’s from the Shaftesbury Hotel.”

“The Shaftesbury Hotel?” she said. “That’s not around here, is it?”

I shook my head. “No, it’s the hotel I stayed in when I was in London.”

She picked it up and looked at it closely. “It’s from the restaurant. Steak. Barolo. Two bottles? Very nice.”

I took it back from her, exasperated. There was never any privacy at work. Everyone always wanted to know exactly what was going on.

The postman had left now and Sophie was back with us. She tried to look at the receipt, too, but I turned it away from her. She said, “I thought you were going to have room service and an early night?”