The Girl I Used to Be(27)

“CCTV footage?” asked Brian, who’d just come in and caught the tail end of the conversation. “What’s up? Has there been a burglary?”

All of them stared at me. I could have kicked myself. Kicked Michael, too. Why did he have to talk about it to my staff?

“There wasn’t any sign of something wrong this morning,” said Rachel. “What do you want to look at CCTV footage for?”

Frustrated, I looked at Lucy, trying to tell her to shut up without having to say the words aloud. She took absolutely no notice. “He said something about the car park,” she said. “He was busy, though, so couldn’t tell me much. Have you had trouble here?”

I picked up my bag and headed toward the door. “No, no trouble. I thought I saw some teenage boys hanging around my car the other night. I was asking if he’d seen them, too. He hadn’t seen anything, though. It doesn’t matter; I doubt they’ll be back.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for them,” said Brian.

“Me too,” said Rachel. “If anyone touches my car, I want to know about it.”

I said good-bye, then paused in the doorway and said casually, “Oh, and by the way, if anything arrives addressed to me personally, just hold on to it, will you? No need to open it; just put it into my drawer and I’ll deal with it when I get back.” They would never open personal mail, but I couldn’t take any risks. The thought of them seeing anything incriminating gave me a cold sweat. “If it’s got a company mark on it and it’s clearly for a client, then you can open it, otherwise just put it aside for me.” They looked at me, bemused, but I just gave a big smile and said, “Great, thanks!” and left the office.





EIGHTEEN


Tuesday, August 1

I TOOK A couple of days off work, grateful for the rest and the time spent with Rory. He was pretty lethargic and I stayed on the sofa with him, reading him stories, watching films, and lying with him as he slept. Joe made the most of my being at home and went out for runs or to the gym, leaving me plenty of time to worry. All I could think about was the photo of David kissing me and the video I’d seen of myself criticizing Joe. Why had I done that? I must have been so drunk. And yes, everything I said about him was true, but I loved him. I loved our family. I couldn’t bear it if Joe found out what I’d said and done.

My head ached as I wondered who had sent them to me. Was it David? But who had recorded us? How had that happened? I did remember David taking out his phone and checking his messages at one point. Did he film me then? But then I remembered when he was on his phone, I took out my own and sent Joe a message saying I was in bed, ready for sleep. I winced as I thought of that message. Why had I lied to him? When I put my phone away, David had already put his into his pocket. He couldn’t have filmed me then. And he certainly couldn’t have photographed me when he was kissing me.

He was definitely involved, though. He’d lied about everything. It was likely he’d even lied about his name. He might not have photographed me, but I was willing to bet he knew who had.

It was only when Rory woke and Joe came into the living room with a tray of cold drinks in his hands calling, “Room service!” that I realized the significance of the receipt.

I had told Joe that I was going to order in food that night in the hotel. I remembered saying in the week before I went there, “I can’t wait to have an early night. Room service, something on television, and a long sleep. That’s all I want.” I’d been so excited at this little treat that I’d talked about it more than most would, but once I was in London I realized I didn’t want to hide away in a hot bedroom. The clinking glasses on the terrace below had called to me and I’d realized just how long it had been since I’d gone out at night.

That receipt showed I’d lied to Joe. It showed, too, that the sender knew I had.



* * *



*

AS I WAS playing upstairs with Rory on Tuesday afternoon, I heard a text alert ping downstairs and a minute later Joe came into the room holding his phone.

“My mum wants to know if we want to go and stay for a few days.”

“What, now? Did you tell her that Rory’s not well?”

“I’m feeling better,” said Rory.

I looked at him and his skin had certainly lost its earlier clamminess and pallor. “Not well enough to go to Ireland, sweetheart.”

“I reckon by Thursday he’ll be fine. My mum says the weather’s beautiful and Brendan will be there with their boys.” Brendan, Joe’s older brother, lived near Glasgow, and we usually saw him two or three times a year.

“Can we go, Dad?” asked Rory.

Joe laughed and ruffled his head. “I’d love to. Let’s see what Mum says.”

Oh great, make me the miserable one.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I can’t take the time off work just like that. Are Sarah or Caitlin going?”

“No, Caitlin’s going over to see Ben, remember? And Sarah’s got to work. Come on, Gem; it’ll be great.”

Frankly, it wouldn’t be a great holiday at all. Or it would for Joe, but not for me. When we were at their house, I wouldn’t see Rory at all; he’d want to spend every minute with his cousins. I wouldn’t see Joe, either, because he’d be with his dad and his brother. I’d be stuck with his mum, who was very nice, but it meant we’d be cooking and cleaning all day for “her boys.” I think she thought it was an honor to do that for them. If Caitlin or Sarah was going, I’d have someone to talk to and go out with, but with just Joe and Brendan there I’d be at a loss for something to do.