Читать книгу: «Lessons in Love», страница 3
Marcus huffed, hands clasped in his lap. Far from the polite and confident look he carried this morning, he’d now shown me an entirely different person. I stepped into the corridor, took a steadying breath and thought about tearing back in there and giving him a piece of my mind. But what would that prove? I decided to get on with my day. It was day one, something like this was bound to happen. Attitude clashes were the stumbling block of any new job, and he appeared to be a Lego in the middle of the night.
I shuffled back to my office to find a password tacked to the top of the computer screen. That was nice. Exactly where was I supposed to begin? I imagined my inbox would be backing up quicker than a toilet stuffed with paper and cherry bombs. I pushed my planner to the side for a moment to try and tidy the room.
As I moved about, familiarising myself with everything, my brain threw out questions. Was I supposed to fire up the borrowing system and run a report for overdue books? Maybe I needed to do a complete stocktake before doing that, just in case. But school wasn’t back yet, so it was kind of pointless. I thought back to what I’d done previously and decided I would do that tomorrow, once students were back and the school was alive again. Curriculum first, got it.
It was amazing how quickly things began snapping back into shape. Still, with each email I deleted, ten more popped up in their place. I almost wanted to kiss Grace when it turned out her four o’clock email was nothing more than a ladies’ lunch invite because, by that time, I’d started to reconsider every life choice that had brought me here.
I reached for Cathy’s reference guide and paced the office while I read. I scribbled notes and re-stuck Post-it notes, jammed a pen behind my ear, and repeated things aloud as if that would jog my memory. And that was how I spent the few hours I had left, quietly on my own – and not changing the library roster.
* * *
‘Okay, I’ll admit it.’ I pulled the last of the steak from the barbecue and slapped it down on Penny’s plate. ‘I’m curious.’
All the way home, I could smell the last of the school holiday barbecues. The only way to stop my mouth watering was to have my own cook-up. It was never going to be as elaborate as the ones we had on the beach as kids, around a hastily fashioned driftwood fire where everyone brought a plate, but with a supermarket coleslaw and pasta salad, we had Prosecco tastes on a Passion Pop budget.
Penny popped her last two bottles of beer and slid one across the outdoor table to me. Leaning back, she peered at me curiously, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. ‘About? Boys? Sex? Women? You should definitely try women.’
‘Marcus,’ I said. ‘What’s his story?’
She took a swig and gave her head a delighted shake. ‘He doesn’t really have one. He’s just one of those impossibly lovely people.’
‘You’re not giving me a lot to run on.’ I peered down my nose at her as I tipped my head back. ‘He can’t be all sunshine, rainbows and kittens.’
‘All I know is he keeps to himself a lot. He’s not a bragger, he’s super passionate about his job, and is delightful to look at.’ She peered at me through narrowed eyes and an accusatory look.
I mimicked her look and gave my head a little shake. ‘Not really.’
‘He’s kind of that …’ she flourished her hands ‘… he’s a bit of an everyman. Men want to be him; women want to be with him.’
‘And I suppose you’re of that opinion, too?’ I asked.
I’d stayed back at work later than Penny. There were just too many loose ends for me to leave, and I didn’t want to risk the dreaded 3 a.m. wake up, eyes pinging open like a dancer at a rave while my brain worked overtime to process the list of what I hadn’t done. Just as I was packing up for the evening, blinds pulled low in the office, and lights switched off, a small dusting of women appeared from Marcus’s office. I’m sure he was somewhere in the middle of the cloud, his name held aloft on a palanquin.
She shrugged in defence. ‘I would not kick him out of bed.’
‘You sound like Nanna.’
‘And she was a smart lady.’ Penny pointed at me with her fork. ‘I loved her wardrobe.’
‘Anyway.’ I shook my head, savouring my steak-melting-in-mouth moment. ‘Like I said, just curious.’
‘He’s definitely gorgeous.’
‘More like a painful reminder,’ I said, scraping the last of the garlic butter from the tray. ‘With his suit and tie and the “I’m such a wonderful businessman” demeanour.’
‘No, Ellie.’ Her face fell. ‘If he was a dick, I would tell you. You know I would.’
I glanced at her quickly, silently.
‘Just give him a chance,’ she sighed. ‘It was your first day and, you being you, you’re probably running around with a chip on your shoulder, anyway.’
‘What?’ I scoffed. ‘That’s not true.’
‘The only way it could be truer would be if you crumbled like that rock-biting creature in The NeverEnding Story.’ She fixed me with a sardonic look. ‘What was his name?’
‘Rockbiter.’ I rolled my eyes and, though our beloved grandmother would be mortified, spoke with my mouth full. ‘What, so be nice to him because he’s a smug idiot who thinks people are just there to do his bidding?’
‘No, just let people into that gravelly little chest cavity of yours.’
‘A, it’s not gravelly, that was just a chest infection. And B, I’m not here for that.’
Of all the things I could be accused of, not having a heart was not one of them. It stung a little that it was the first thing Penny thought of. I reached for the pasta salad and dessert spoon, so I could stuff those feelings down with glue-tasting mayonnaise and carbohydrates.
‘Then why are you here? It can’t be just for my good looks and tropical tastes.’
‘It really can be,’ I said.
‘But it’s not, otherwise you would have done more about visiting while you were busy being a rich Melbournian.’
I winced.
Ouch.
That one hurt.
Chapter 4
People seem to have this idea that living by the beach is sun, surf and sand on constant rotation. They were joined by lifesavers with washboard abs and swim caps, ready to save the day at a second’s notice. Not so much this morning, though. It was the first day of school, and the weather was putting on a performance matched only by my stomach.
Grey skies rolled in over a fog-covered bay, light drizzle threatening a heavy downpour. If it was anything like the weather of my youth, it’d hang around until about nine o’clock. The sun would then come out, drying up everything in sight, leaving everyone to think they’d perhaps imagined this morning’s need for a thick coat. As for me, I ducked under the awning of the local bakery and stepped inside.
It was pure, yeasty warmth. The smell of sticky strawberry iced doughnuts mingled with the burned crusts of a raisin loaf that looked like it was going to be our breakfast for the next week. But, again, there were so many varieties of bread lining the racks now that I wanted to take them all home. I plucked a sample of apple scroll from the plastic box on the counter and let the cinnamon warmth come alive in my mouth.
‘That’s so good,’ I groaned in appreciation.
‘Seriously, this place is just amazing,’ commented the woman next to me. She was about my age, with rusty-red hair, and the toddler on her hip was preoccupied shoving a Vegemite scroll in his mouth. We exchanged pleasant smiles, until her face dropped. ‘Wait …’
‘Yes?’ I said slowly. I hoped like hell I wasn’t wearing half of the little apple scroll portion.
‘Eleanor Manning?’ Her smile was broad and bright.
My smile was a little slower to form. I could not place this woman standing in front of me, as many memories as I tried to recall. You’d think redheads would be hard to forget, but this woman did not register at all.
‘That’s me,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry, I just can’t …’
‘Sally Fairburn.’ Her only empty hand outstretched in something that might have been excitement. ‘I remember you so well. Mick Buckley’s Grade Six class.’
Her name triggered all kinds of memories. Sally Fairburn was part of our primary school posse that sat together at lunchtimes. We had our favourite spot picked out, under a teetering pink and grey gumtree in the far corner of the playground. She was one of two Sallys in our year level. Dad had nicknamed them Burnt Sally (Fairburn), and Long Tall Sally (Winters). After she ran into our front door, Dad changed her name to Blind Sally.
Excitement popped my mouth. ‘Sally!’
‘That’s me!’ she tittered, moving in for a bone-crushing hug. ‘This is wonderful. I heard you’d moved away. Are you just visiting?’
‘Nope.’ I shook my head. ‘Moved back here.’
‘Bring your husband with you? Surely, you’ve got kids now, yeah?’
I shook my head, smiled politely, and ordered a loaf of raisin bread. Ah, I thought, those lovely societal expectations of women in their mid-thirties. ‘Just me.’
‘Oh.’ Sally followed me out of the bakery and onto the sidewalk. Her curly-haired child buried himself in her neck. I didn’t blame him, that wind was awful. ‘So, what brings you back?’
‘I’m actually teaching,’ I said. ‘Term starts today at our old school, so there’s that. I’m really looking forward to it. How about you? I can see you’ve got your hands full.’
She jiggled her toddler about and smiled wistfully at him like he was the third coming of Christ. ‘Well, as for me, three kids. Barrel of laughs and fun. I married Ben Finlay.’
‘Really?’ I asked. ‘Ben, wow. That’s a name I haven’t heard in a while. Used to play football?’
‘Still does.’ She clucked her tongue. ‘Makes for a busy weekend between the kids’ swimming and his sports, but we do what we have to do, right?’
‘Speaking of things we have to do.’ I drew my sleeve back. ‘I really oughta get going. Don’t want to be late.’
‘Oh, no, no, don’t let me hold you up.’ Sally rubbed at my upper arm before reaching for her phone. ‘I tell you what. Let me get your number. We should catch up. There are so many of us old girls still around. They’d love to see you.’
‘Sure, of course, yes, that’d be great,’ I enthused. I could see that as a very fun way to spend the afternoon. Memories, a few drinks, and old friends. What could be better?
With little more than a nervous wave to see us off, we swapped numbers, promised each other we’d catch up soon and got on with our mornings. Me, with an extra spring in my step, and I suspect Sally had one, too. Her first text message came through just as I walked into the administration block at school.
‘Where’d you disappear to this morning?’ I rounded Penny’s desk and made a beeline for my pigeonhole. Already on autopilot, my brain was screaming at me for breakfast, if only I could get all my chores done first. ‘I came looking for you as I left, but you were already gone.’
‘Mission from God.’ She unrolled a coffee scroll like a snail, dangling it above her mouth. ‘Want some?’
‘No, thanks, I’ve got breakfast right here.’ I held my bag aloft. ‘Toast.’
‘Butter’s in the fridge in my pineapple tray!’ she called after me. I was already halfway to the staffroom.
With toast dripping with butter and coffee strong enough to perm my hair, I egg-and-spoon raced myself to my office, which was already lit up and waiting for me to jump into the day. My computer whirred away as I sank into my chair and took my first desperate bite of toast.
After the whirlwind that was yesterday, I don’t think I’d registered just how much of a mess my office was in. The best thing I could do for myself, I thought, was to clean and start at the top of the list. I was already behind thanks to a lack of PC access for most of yesterday, but with a list to work through, I pulled a chair up to my desk and began.
‘Let’s do this.’ I clapped and rubbed my hands together.
I didn’t look up again until I heard the first book being dropped through the returns chute. Those were the magic books that had been found during school holidays. They’d either been buried at the bottom of a backpack along with old permission slips and squashed sandwiches or hidden in the darkness under a bed. If I didn’t have to wipe mouldy banana from the insides of Dear Zoo again, I’d happily take whichever books were being offered this morning.
Like popcorn in a microwave, the closer we got to nine o’clock, the more books appeared. One at a time, and then all at once. Clap, clap, clap went the steel door on the returns chute, and I took that as my cue to get up and head outside for assembly.
Holiday exhausted children were filing into the grounds, uniforms freshly pressed and stain-free. Parents dawdled in behind them. Though they yawned through gossip, their eyes said they were secretly ecstatic that their bundles of joy were now someone else’s problem between the hours of nine and three-thirty, and that they could now enjoy their coffee while still hot.
‘Eleanor!’ Phil had appeared from the admin block, dragging a lectern along behind him like a dead body. He yanked at the cord trailing behind him, and the buzz from the public address system died. ‘What do you know about these damn things?’
What did I know about lecterns? I knew that I set them up about four times a week at the city library, in cases of public talks and author visits. Some people just loved to hear themselves speak, but my small collection of autographed books was proof that some people made sense when placed in front of a microphone.
‘We got this last term,’ he admitted. ‘At least I don’t look like Letterman delivering a monologue anymore.’
I grinned. Phil was far too nervy to ever be Letterman, but a boy could dream. I plugged in the power, swapped a cable over, and stood back as he tapped at the end of the microphone. The sound of tapping fingers echoed loudly. Success.
‘Good morning, everyone,’ his voice boomed across the school from a series of speakers dotted around buildings and grounds. Like the Pied Piper, more children raced into the quadrangle. Parents dotted themselves on seats around the edges, and teachers tried to herd their students, though it was quite like watching them try to herd cats.
I stood back on the sidelines and enjoyed the fact I didn’t have a designated class of my own.
‘Mr Blair, what did you do on your holidays?’ a voice came from behind me.
‘Well, they weren’t really holidays,’ Marcus explained. ‘I marked all of your assignments, got some new work ready for you, and then I worked for my friend Patrick.’
‘The builder?’ asked another. A small crowd of students had gathered around him, each of them eager for a sliver of his spotlight. It was a tiny push and pull, give and take of attention as they swarmed him like moths to a lamp, barely feet away from me. After yesterday, he could stay in his corner.
Marcus sat on a bench seat as his audience closed in, some of them jostling for the prime real estate of space either side of him.
‘That’s him,’ Marcus said. ‘Good memory.’
‘Did you take your dog for a walk?’ asked another.
‘Daisy went for plenty of walks down by the beach, which meant I had to wash sand out of her coat quite a bit, too.’
‘But she loves the beach.’
Marcus chuckled. ‘She does love the beach. She loves swimming while I run.’
‘Did you get pictures of her in the water?’
‘I got a few.’ Marcus was quiet for a moment. I didn’t dare look at him for fear of being drawn into the conversation. From the cooing that resulted, there were plenty of dog photos being passed around his students, who seemed to multiply in number with each new question that was asked. So did the mothers around him. ‘And that’s … yeah, that’s a house we were painting, just at the end of the main street … and, yep, that’s my mum making a cake.’
‘Did you get a girlfriend over the holidays?’
Marcus laughed. ‘They’re not like a bag of crisps. I can’t just go to the shop and pick one out.’
‘That would be easy,’ said a boy with sandy hair.
‘It would be,’ he agreed with a quick sniff. ‘But, no, I don’t have a girlfriend.’
‘What happened to Lady X?’
I snorted. If anyone was going to refer to his girlfriend as Lady X, it was going to be Marcus.
‘Lady X moved to Adelaide for work, so that’s the end of that.’
‘Very sad,’ chirped another voice. ‘You know, you really should get married, then she can’t move away. Unless she’s like my dad, but Mum says he’s an arse. You have enough suits to get married. You could wear this one, and she would think you’re pretty enough to not leave. And your mum can make the cake. My mum makes all my cakes.’
‘Good morning, Mr Blair,’ a mother chirped as she, and her crowd, began circling his general area.
‘Morning.’ He nodded politely amidst the teasing laughter of his class.
I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing and, despite myself, chanced a look at him. In classic black and white, he could very well have turned up to the church at recess and be married by the first ring of the bell. I was sure any number of the fan club now hovering about his area would line up for the honour.
Weekly school assemblies were a non-negotiable, a rite of passage for teacher and student alike. We mumbled through the national anthem, listened to Phil make rapid-fire announcements and, when my name was announced as a new teacher, a hand from behind propelled me towards the crowd.
When the word ‘Dismissed’ was finally uttered, it was like jamming a pin in an overfull balloon. Sound rose from the floor, a cacophony of shuffling feet and pent-up voices as bodies got lost in the scramble to stay in class groups. The mystery hand springing me forth into the world? That was Penny.
‘You can’t run now,’ she teased. ‘You’ve been officially introduced.’
‘The pet has been named,’ I teased. ‘And once they’ve got a name, they’re not going back.’
Beside Penny, someone laughed. ‘It’s good to see you again, Eleanor.’
Sandy hair in a messy bun, and a beard that hadn’t been trimmed in weeks? It had to be …
‘Jack!’ I exclaimed.
‘Oh, shit, you haven’t been introduced yet, have you?’ Penny bounced excitedly.
‘No.’ I looked at Jack. ‘Yesterday was mayhem, and I didn’t get around to your classroom.’
‘Okay, well, Ellie, Jack, Jack, Ellie.’ Penny waved her hands about. ‘Jack’s going to have a new piano delivered in a few weeks and, yes, he does remember you.’
‘You do? You have?’ I asked. My ears pricked up. ‘A new piano? What brand is it? Can I come and see it? When we’ve both got a free moment, that is.’
For some people, a new mobile phone or widescreen television gets their go-go-gadget fingers tingling. For me, new pianos evoked those feelings. From the tinkle of shining keys, taut strings under a gloss black hood, to the shy reluctance of new pedals, there was nothing I didn’t love about them. I longed for the day I had a place big enough to buy myself a new one.
‘Ah … it’s a Brodmann upright, and absolutely you can,’ he enthused. ‘My door is always open. But we should catch up before then. I think we’re all doing Friday night drinks, if you’re in?’
‘Yes! Friday night,’ Penny chimed in.
‘Okay, that sounds great,’ I enthused. ‘I’d love to catch up.’
We moved slowly with the tide, me towards my library, Jack towards his side of the school.
‘I’ll send you the details!’ he called. ‘It’ll be great!’
Chapter 5
Before I made it anywhere near the other end of a Friday night martini glass, I had to wade through the rest of the week. With only a few days’ grace before I began taking classes of my own, I didn’t have long to get myself in order.
For most of the week, I was pent up in my office. New folders, printouts, an overheated shredder, and an overabundance of spray cleaner and kitchen towel. So far, I’d torn down streamers, football posters, and artwork. A co-worker once remarked to me that a clean desk meant an empty mind, though I was sure that was just an excuse for his desk looking like a junk sale diorama.
I spent evenings working through curriculum and coming up with class plans. Late-night emails were distributed to teachers and, amongst the ones that bounced back telling me to go home, they were approved.
All of this happened in the shadow of catching up with Sally. Now that we’d swapped numbers, the text messages came thick and fast. We swapped stories of school and everything after, laughed at shared memories of boys and high school, and my inbox was soon filling up with photos of her happy family. It tickled me to know that she’d found her spot in the world and was thriving with a bustling household.
By four o’clock Friday afternoon, I’d found my groove. From my stool at the returns counter, I could survey my lands – a little like Simba in The Lion King. The courtyard, which earlier had tornadoes of rubbish, was clean. Weeds were gone, pavers swept, and rubbish removed. There were no books wandering about on return trolleys; everything was in its place. I’d discovered my borrowing computer, with the bash of a key and my tongue held right, sent overdue emails to parents. Once upon a time, I’d have been sending letters through the mail, so this was a nice step up in the world. In the corner, my little office was sparkling clean with windows yet to be covered in smeary, snotty fingers.
Everything was coming up Ellie.
Behind me, the library door crept open with a tired yawn.
‘Or, maybe not,’ I grumbled, spinning on my stool and tucking a flyaway lock of dark hair behind my ear. ‘Hello.’
Marcus came close to filling the doorway, at least with his height. He shifted from foot to foot and slid his hands deep into his pockets. ‘Hello.’
‘Hello,’ I echoed. ‘Can I help you?’
‘I hope so.’ Something on my desk caught his attention. ‘I just spoke to Grace over in the Prep unit.’
The paper in front of me had been the victim of an hour’s mindless doodling. It was covered in musical notes, clefs, quavers, book titles, and my own name a hundred different ways. I reached for it quickly, screwed it up and tossed it into the waste paper basket by my feet. My breath caught nervously.
‘Okay.’
‘She said we could swap classes depending on what I could give her in return.’ He grinned.
‘You do realise that this is not life threatening, don’t you?’ I launched myself from the stool and landed with a little thud on the floor. Marcus followed as I rounded the desk and walked back to my office. His stride was slow, purposeful, and a little too sure of himself. ‘Nobody is going to die if you don’t get a precious afternoon session. I don’t understand what this obsession is. Are you just doing it to upset me? To try and assert some, “I’ve been here longer than you” type of authority?’ I waved my hands about. ‘Why can’t you just wait the year out?’
‘So, what you’re saying is that, even though I’ve met your conditions, you’re still not going to help me?’
‘What I’m saying is exactly what I said the other day. I’ve been here barely a week. I would appreciate being allowed to settle in before I go changing things. I’m sure you can last another few weeks on a Friday afternoon.’ I reached for my PC, listening to it burp and whir as it woke up. ‘And what’s so bad about you getting to start your weekend early? I would’ve thought someone like you would love an early start to the weekend.’
‘Right.’ He nodded curtly. ‘Thank you.’
As I watched him leave, my mobile phone began rattling across the benchtop. It stopped, then started again. Without looking, I picked it up and pressed it to my ear.
‘Eleanor speaking.’ I tapped a pile of papers against my desk and slipped them into the in-tray. I could worry about them tomorrow.
‘Eleanor!’ A wine-soaked voice puttered down the line.
My stomach tightened. ‘Mum.’
‘Don’t sound so excited,’ she clipped.
‘No, it’s not that,’ I lied, doing a very quick emotional stocktake and chirping up. ‘I’m just at work, that’s all.’
‘How is that all going?’ she asked. ‘Your father told me you’d started a new job.’
‘He did?’ I asked, surprised. Since when were my parents talking to each other? It was news to me. ‘When did he tell you this? What are you, like, pen pals now? He’s sending you postcards from the edge?’
‘Not quite,’ she said, the smile in her voice evident from the next state. ‘Facebook.’
‘What?’ I blurted.
How did it happen that my parents, who barely spoke to each other throughout my childhood, and who refused to be in the same room together, were now having regular catch-ups online? Had I missed something? If they told me they were planning on having dinner next week, I was going to start developing an oxygen sensitivity.
Also, how come I hadn’t had a friend request?
‘You deleted my request,’ Mum deadpanned, though I was sure I hadn’t voiced that thought aloud.
I scoffed. ‘I did not.’
Then again, maybe I did. Yeah, probably.
Explaining my relationship with my mother makes for prickly skin, especially in a world where we’re taught that Mother Is All because, sometimes, she just isn’t. The knowledge that she’d packed up and left before I was six months old had always sat in the back of my mind as a warning. We weren’t the stuff of Hallmark movies or cheesy greeting cards.
While Dad insisted that I saw her as often as possible when I was younger, which still wasn’t very often, it was still a whole lot of awkward. Visiting her often felt like that scene in Austin Powers where he’d got the jeep stuck in the middle of a three-point turn. That she kept me at arm’s length and shoved me in the corner with a colouring book or novel while fawning over my stepfather just added to the issues.
‘Anyway.’ She interrupted my train of thought. ‘What do you think?’
‘Sorry, about what?’ I stuffed my water bottle into my bag, retied my hair, and pulled my office door shut behind me, all with my phone wedged between shoulder and ear.
‘Spending some time together, silly,’ she laughed, while continuing a conversation with someone named Floss in the background.
‘I mean, I can, but can you give me a few weeks to settle in first?’ I asked. ‘I’ve barely unpacked my belongings.’
‘Okay, do you want to send me details of your flight when you book them?’ she asked.
‘No,’ I laughed. I didn’t mean to, it just kind of burst forth in the same way a broken pipe might split asphalt. One minute, everything is quiet; the next, there’s a raging torrent springing up from the street. ‘I don’t quite have the money for a last-minute flight. I could drive up, but it’s ten hours either way, so I’d be turning up for dinner and leaving early the next morning. It’s doable, but you’d want to be serving me up caviar and Dom Perignon for dinner, followed by five courses with a private chef and a lap dance from Paul Rudd … or Idris Elba. You know, either one I’d be fine with’
‘Who’re they? Do you have their numbers? Why don’t we do that for your birthday?’ she enthused. ‘What a great idea, Ella!’
Me and my big mouth. I pinched the bridge of my nose as she prattled on about hiring a yacht for the day. Twelve months ago, when that kind of lifestyle was the norm for me, I would have frothed with delight at that idea. Even with my mother at the helm, I would have considered it. Now, it just felt all kinds of pretentious, like something worse was hiding just below the surface. I walked into the staffroom and made a beeline for the coffee. Hopefully it would clear out the throbbing that was starting to wrap its way around my head.
From the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Jack. He smiled and offered me that little close to the body wave he’d always had. I motioned for the bottle of milk in his hand. Instead of passing it, he poured, and put it back in the refrigerator.
‘What was that?’ I turned my attention back to my phone call. ‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t you think?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know, what am I thinking?’ I asked.
‘I said I should come down for the weekend, while your father is still on his trip.’
Ctrl Alt Delete. ‘Sorry, say again?’
‘I could come down, spend the weekend,’ she suggested. ‘Go shopping, have lunch.’
‘Mum, we haven’t seen each other in almost eighteen months,’ I said. ‘And, can I just remind you that was because I came to you. The last time you were supposed to visit, you forgot and never showed. The last three times, in fact.’
My mother had this habit, and I wondered if it wasn’t just a game she quite enjoyed, where she would make plans to visit, and never show up. Her disappearance was always followed up by a quick, apologetic phone call that left me little room to move.
‘Oh, honey, I’m sorry,’ she cooed. ‘Won’t happen again, I promise.’
Just like it wasn’t going to happen last time, or the time before that. Really, my afternoon would have been easier had I just ignored my phone. Voicemail was the great technological filter. Even another round with Marcus was preferable to this.
‘You’re going to have to stay in a hotel. We don’t have room in the apartment,’ I said.
‘You know, I haven’t been back to that blasted town since you were a baby?’ she scoffed as if I was about to jump in and support her.
‘What a surprise.’ I smiled sarcastically.
Yesterday’s lunch box was languishing in the back of the communal fridge, which was kind of an office etiquette red card misdemeanour. Sidelined with side-eye. With nobody looking, I shoved it into my handbag and hoped it hadn’t been noticed. I closed the refrigerator door, screwed the lid on my travel cup, and turned to leave. The sound of laughter echoed up the corridor. As I yanked on the door, someone pushed against it, and I ambled straight into a wall of suit.
Everything slowed. The shuffle, the sidestep, the miss, the clash, and the crescendo of realisation. Caught between the two of us, an innocent coffee cup. Only ten seconds earlier, and it would have been full to the brim. Not so much now though.
