The Girl I Used to Be(19)

“No luck?” asked Rachel.

I shook my head. “Sightseers.”

She grimaced. “Are they selling, too?”

“They are, but not here. They’re from Nottingham and their son’s up here with his family. I get the feeling this is something they do now and again for a bit of fun.”

“To torment their son, more like.”

“Yes, they took the brochures home to show him and his wife. She’s probably threatening divorce right now.”

We laughed.

“Poor things,” said Lucy.

I made some coffee and sat at my desk. I checked my e-mail, then pulled the tray of mail that had been delivered to the office toward me.

“I’ve dealt with most of that,” called Rachel. “There’s something addressed to you personally, though. Obviously I didn’t open it.”

I picked up a large white envelope. It had a typed label on it addressed to me, with Private written above my name. I ripped open the envelope. Inside was a piece of paper, about four inches by six. It was a photo, glossy and full color: a photo of David kissing me against the door to my hotel room.



* * *



*

MY HAND JERKED and my mug of coffee went flying over the desk. I grabbed the photo and threw it into a drawer as Rachel and Lucy hurried over with paper towels.

“Are you okay?” asked Rachel. “You didn’t burn yourself, did you?”

“No. I’m fine.” I took the paper towels off her. “I’ll do this, thanks.”

“Did it go on your papers?” asked Lucy.

“No, I got them in time.” I sounded curt but I couldn’t help it. I wanted to take the photo out of the drawer and look at it again, but I couldn’t do that while they were here. We only had this one office with a little kitchen behind a partition at the back. There was no privacy at all; this hadn’t been a problem until now, but at that point I would have done anything to have my own room so that I could try to work out what on earth was going on.



* * *



*

THAT AFTERNOON I sat at my desk and answered the phone and spoke to new clients and arranged appointments, all the while aware of the photo that was sitting in the drawer next to me. Who had taken it? Why would they send it to me?

For the last few weeks I hadn’t let myself think about what had happened at the door to my hotel room. It had been both expected and unexpected. If I’d been single, I suppose I would have known he was going to kiss me. It was just the way the conversation was going. We were both drunk, laughing a lot, and very, very relaxed. But he knew I was married. I’d told him about Joe.

I was dying to talk this through with someone. I couldn’t talk to Caitlin. Obviously I couldn’t talk to Joe. My mum would be horrified I’d kissed someone else.

I looked over at Lucy. She was great fun and a good friend. Very understanding, kind and loyal. But I was her boss. Surely there was a limit to what I could tell her? Sometimes we went running together and we joined a yoga class for a while, and although we had the odd moan about our husbands, it was never anything serious. And I worried that my judgment could be off; I imagined walking into the office and realizing that all the others knew about this and had been talking about it while I was out. My stomach knotted at the thought of that.

“Are you okay?” asked Rachel. “Are you feeling all right?”

I forced a smile. “Yes, I’m great, thanks. Just a bit tired.”

“It’s nearly time to go home,” she said. “Not long now.” She’d been to the cloakroom and came back looking as immaculate as she did when she arrived at work. Her hair was always glossy and pinned back, her makeup always fresh.

“You’re looking very nice,” I said. “Are you going out?”

She blushed. “No, just going home. Another night in.”

“Me too.” I thought of going home and holding Rory in my arms. Just the thought of it was enough to lower my blood pressure. That was all I wanted to do, to hold him close, to make him laugh. To kiss him until he screamed for mercy. I relaxed at the thought. I looked at my watch. It was ten minutes to closing time. “Come on, everyone,” I said, “let’s get out of here on time tonight.”

There was a sudden mad dash as everyone cleared their desks and washed up mugs. While they were in the kitchen I grabbed a folder and threw in the photo and the envelope that had arrived in the post.

“Taking work home?” asked Rachel when she saw the folder on my desk. “You’re tired; you should be relaxing tonight.”

“There’s always something to be done.”

She held my bag and folder while I locked the door and pulled down the shutters. The others had walked off in the other direction, and she and I set off to the car park behind our office. In the quiet of the car park I stood next to her as she opened her car door and for one crazy moment I thought, Should I ask her what to do?

Rachel always seemed so capable and sensible. She was quiet; although she’d join in if she was encouraged, she was more likely to sit on the edge of the group. Maybe that meant she’d be less likely to gossip? I desperately needed someone to talk to.

“Rachel?” I said as she got into her car and put her bag on the passenger seat. “Can I have a word?”