The Girl I Used to Be(20)

She looked up at me, startled. “What, now?”

Then common sense prevailed. I couldn’t talk to her about David. She was too young and I was her boss.

I shook my head. “It’s okay. Nothing that won’t last until tomorrow.”

She looked relieved and I realized I wasn’t the only one who wanted to get home early. I waved good-bye and got into my own car.





THIRTEEN


ALTHOUGH I’D INTENDED to go straight home, I found myself driving in the opposite direction, down toward the River Dee. The car parks there were emptying now and I found a quiet spot to park in the castle car park. I needed to see the photo on my own.

I pulled it from the folder and looked at it again.

At the bottom of the photograph was the time and date it was taken: June 23 at 22:45. That was the Friday night I was in London. I remembered it had been so hot and humid when I arrived at the hotel that I’d showered and washed my hair before going down to the bar. My hair was gleaming, my makeup still in place. My eyeliner swept my eyes in a smooth line, untouched by the night, but my face was pink and had a sheen that I hoped wasn’t normally there. It was easy to tell I’d been drinking.

My eyes were nearly closed and my face was upturned. I was being kissed by a man with dark hair who was touching my face as though we were lovers. His face was in shadow; unrecognizable.

I knew who it was, though. It was David.

And I thought: What would Joe do if he saw that photo? Would he leave me?

At the thought of that conversation, of living alone for half the week, of not being able to see Rory every day or to speak to Joe whenever I wanted to, I felt panic course through my body. I could lose everything over this.



* * *



*

I LEANED MY head against the car seat and closed my eyes. What was going on? Why would anyone take a photo of me that night and why would they send it to me?

A band tightened around my forehead at the thought of Joe seeing that photo. And he’d never believe me if I told him I couldn’t remember doing it. He thought I was in bed, asleep, at that time. I’d told him I was! And I’d told him by text, too, so I couldn’t even deny it. My heart thumped as I thought: What happened that night? What happened after we kissed? I was so frustrated. I couldn’t remember anything. Had we slept together? Surely not! How would I not remember that? I was furious with myself for drinking so much; I should have learned my lesson by now, but every time I thought of Joe seeing the photo, of hearing what happened that night, I felt sick.

And then I knew I needed to get hold of David and ask him what the hell was going on.

Within minutes I was back at the office. I opened the shutters, unlocked the door, and turned on my computer.

It was nearly six P.M. and I’d told Joe I’d be home early that night. Quickly I logged into the database we kept of all our clients and searched for David Sanderson. I clicked on his name. I pulled my mobile out of my bag and saw I had three missed calls from Joe. I felt a stab of guilt and dialed David’s number.

I held my breath as it rang out. I counted eight rings and then it cut dead. It didn’t go to voice mail. I tried it again and then again. Why wasn’t he answering? Was he monitoring his calls?

Quickly I called from the office phone and withheld the number, so that he wouldn’t know it was me. Again it rang out. No reply.

On the database was the e-mail address, and I opened my work e-mail and sent him a quick note.


Hi David, this is Gemma from Chester Homes. Please can you get in touch asap? I need a quick word. Thanks.

I looked at his e-mail address again. It was a Gmail account. What if he didn’t see it? I sent him a text with the same message, just in case. I needed to speak to him.



* * *



*

JOE WAS WAITING at the front door when I arrived home.

“You said you’d be back early!” He pushed past me and grabbed his kit bag from the cloakroom. “I’m late for football.”

“I’m so sorry. I’ve been at work. You’ll be in time if you run now.”

“I called you there and there was no answer!”

“I was halfway home and realized I’d forgotten something,” I said. “I had to go back. I’m sorry. I forgot about football.”

He snatched my car keys from my hand. “You’ve blocked me in. I’ll take your car.”

With a bang of the front door he’d gone. It was only when I was bathing Rory that I realized I’d left the folder with the photo of David kissing me on the front seat of my car.



* * *



*

THAT NIGHT JOE came back late, long after I was in bed. I guessed he’d gone to the pub with his friends after playing football. I couldn’t sleep when he was out; I always struggled to relax if I knew I’d be woken up.

That night, though, there was no chance of sleep. I lay for hours, rigid with worry. I hadn’t expected him to take my car and couldn’t remember whether I’d put everything back into the folder, or whether the photo and envelope were just underneath it. Would he see it? Would he come storming in, demanding to know what was going on?

I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard the front door open. There was a clink as he put my car keys in the bowl on the hall table, then the soft creak of the stairs as he came up to bed. He looked in on Rory first, and by the time he came into our room I realized of course he hadn’t found anything. He never looked at my files at home unless I asked him to. He wasn’t very tidy and wouldn’t even move them out of the way if I’d left them on the coffee table or pick them up if they were on the floor. There was no way he’d bother to look at them when he was in a hurry to get to football.