whether my bag would be big enough,’ I say, nervously patting my shopper, and feeling out of my depth. I wait for the click of the door before reaching out to the money. My hands are shaking, and my blood feels as though it might pump right out through my eye sockets as I lean over the table and start thrusting the envelopes into my bag.
Back at home, I run into the kitchen and grab the scissors from the drawer. I frantically cut my store cards into tiny pieces. Then I reach for the credit cards. My right hand is trembling and I feel scared. I’ve never felt so alone. Not even after Mum died and the social worker collected me from the hospital to take me to Nanny Jean’s house – at least the buck didn’t stop with me when it came to paying for everything. What if there’s an emergency? I waver and then relinquish myself to the feeling of panic at not having my safety net to fall back on. I only manage to cut up one of the credit cards.
I walk into the lounge, and stand in front of the bookcase, and after squeezing my eyes tight shut I reach out to grab a book. Then I quickly ram the other credit card in between the pages, before pushing it back onto the shelf, feeling with my fingertips until it’s safely back in place. I count to ten before I let myself open my eyes. Then I gather together all of my card statements and shove them into my bag. First thing tomorrow morning I’m going to pay them off. The surge of relief is overwhelming. I’ll finally be able to sleep at night. I can’t wait.
But there’s one card left, the gold card, and I know the perfect place for that.
14
It’s seven o’clock on Thursday evening, late-night shopping, and I feel sick. I’m on a break and I’ve already eaten two mini-tubes of sour cream and onion Pringles, half a family bag of Haribo Favourites and, in a vain attempt to ease the guilt at having eaten so many E numbers, I polish off the last of a tub of fruit salad. The canteen is empty, but as I chase a slice of kiwi around the bottom of the plastic container, James appears.
‘I thought I was the only one in here,’ I say, feeling uncomfortable as we haven’t actually discussed the competition yet, or how he snapped at me on the phone. But before I can ask him about it he says,
‘Georgie, I want to apologise for the way I spoke to you the other day. It was totally unforgivable.’ He drops his eyes.
‘Oh forget it. As long as you’re OK,’ I smile.
He hesitates before replying.
‘I’m fine, just a bit stressed. Friends again?’ he grins, and I smile back.
‘Friends,’ I agree.
‘How’s it going?’ He perches down on the bench seat, just a few centimetres from me.
‘So-so …’ I start, but it’s no use. ‘Actually, that’s not true. This is awful, I feel so guilty after you employed me in the first place and now we’re having to compete.’ He looks at me with sparkly enquiring eyes.
‘Don’t be, these are tough times and we all have to do what we need to.’
I can’t believe he’s being so decent about it.
‘Look, I’ll live, let’s just see what happens.’ He grins at me and I grin back at him and try to shove the feeling of guilt aside. He holds his gaze on me and I shift uncomfortably.
‘James, I didn’t tell you what happened with Malikov. He only went an—’ But he holds a hand up as a signal for me to be quiet.
‘I think we should stop talking about work. And seeing as I’m not your boss any more, why don’t we go and grab a bite to eat later?’ he says, enthusiastically.
‘I’d love to but I’m fit to burst. I’ve just eaten my way through enough food to feed a small principality.’ I instantly wish that I hadn’t given him quite so much information. But James just laughs and follows it with, ‘Georgie, it doesn’t have to be dinner … you know a drink would suffice. Anyway, you have to come out with me, if only because you feel sorry for me.’ I study him carefully. Is he actually asking me out? I’m not sure. It feels like he is, but after hearing about him and Maxine, not to mention the fact he’s married, it’s as if I don’t know him any more – maybe I never really did. But then he didn’t have to put a note on my file to make sure my personal business was never mentioned, and he’s hot. It’s been ages since I lived dangerously.
‘Come on … a quick drink.’ He nudges me, and a giddy excitement suddenly bubbles through me. He flashes me a grin. I tell myself one drink won’t hurt.
*
As we step through the low door of the intimate candlelit bar, James heads straight over to one of the booths.
‘More privacy here,’ he says, gesturing for me to take a seat. ‘What can I get you?’
‘A rosé, please,’ I say, pondering on what he means by ‘more privacy’ while he heads over to the bar. I can’t believe I’m actually alone in a bar with him. Earlier on it seemed a daring adventure, but now it feels weird, a little sordid even. What about his wife? I glance around to check there isn’t anyone from work in here and then quickly bring myself back down to earth … it’s just a drink with a work friend, that’s all. But when he reappears and his fingers brush mine as he hands me the glass of wine, I know that I’m kidding myself. Maybe I should try and probe him a little, find out what he’s playing at. I try the thought on for size, wishing I could just seize the moment and enjoy being alone with him. Maybe James does like me, and more than just as a colleague … or maybe he has a habit of having affairs with women at work. My head feels as if it might burst, it’s so full of possibilities, so I take a sip of wine and ponder on what I can say to find out. I open my mouth to speak at precisely the same time as his mobile rings.
‘Mind if I just get this?’ he whispers, gently touching my arm, and then quickly pulling his hand away before taking the call.
‘Of course,’ I reply, feeling tingly from his touch. He’s definitely being flirty … I know I’m not mistaken but I’m not sure I like it. I watch him for a moment as he wanders towards the bar, pushing his hand through his hair, his shoulders relaxed. I enjoy being with him, but not like this, not in secretive booths skulking around bars praying his wife doesn’t spot us. Mulberry-On-Sea can be such a small place sometimes. I’m not sure I could do that.
I quickly finish my wine and motion to him that I have to go.
‘Hold on a second,’ he says into the phone, and then to me, ‘Please … don’t go, I won’t be long.’ He covers the phone with his free hand and pulls a disappointed face.
‘Sorry James, I have to be up early,’ I say with a wry grin, before glancing at my watch to emphasise how late it is.
‘Sure, another time perhaps?’ he asks, his face scanning mine as I pull on my coat.
‘Maybe.’ I head off, wishing I knew what was going on and vowing to definitely find out … if there is another time. And part of me can’t help secretly hoping there is, even though I know I really shouldn’t.
15
On turning the corner of the street on my way into work for the red-eye meeting with Maxine, I see her pulling into the car park in a brand-spanking-new Audi TT. As I’m
