And that’s my final offer.’ He goes to scribble on the paper again but I beat him to it by placing my hand down. I swallow and think of the credit report. The sleepless nights. Maxine’s modernising makeover. Keeping my job. My lack of qualifications. And how I’ve made fifteen online applications for other jobs so far, ranging from data entry clerk to receptionist, and I haven’t even managed to get an interview. Even though I can’t bear the thought of leaving Carrington’s, I figured I should have a backup plan. And with Maxine’s warning to have everything in order, there’s no other way – even the car and the flat are worth less than their outstanding finance, so I can’t just sell them and save money that way.
But Mrs Grace said that fate would see me right and it has, sort of … Malikov didn’t have to give me the necklace and nobody at work knows about it. It’s enough to pay off all three credit cards plus the store card. And Malikov is bound to be offended if I return the necklace now; he’ll think I’ve deliberately double-crossed him. I can’t risk upsetting him, not after James told me not to, and not if there’s a chance of him buying the Chiavacci bags. I swallow again, and a twitch starts up at the corner of my right eyelid.
‘OK.’ Blood pounds in my ears.
He nods, and then instructs me to follow him through to the office. ‘Take a seat.’ I do as I’m told and he leaves the room. My heart is racing. Fate will see me right, I say inside my head, over and over, until I’ve convinced myself that it’s meant to be.
The door flings open and the jeweller returns with several cloth bank bags and a paper invoice that he hands to me. I quickly shove it into my bag. My mouth feels dry as he dumps the cloth bags down on the table and starts ripping the paper bands from each of the bundles of cash. He then runs each wad through the money counter before placing them into envelopes. Once he’s finished counting, he pushes the pile of envelopes towards me before offering his hand. We shake on the deal and he makes his way to the door.
Just as he reaches it, he turns back to me. ‘I’ll leave you for a few minutes to get organised.’ Organised? What does he mean? I feel confused. I stare at him. ‘The money.’ He motions to the table. ‘You might want to put it away,’ he adds, looking at me as though I’m stupid. And maybe he has a point. Perhaps I am stupid. But I can’t back out now.
‘Oh, yes, of course. I was just wondering 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
