head. He scribbles on his pad again and pushes it towards me.
‘That’ll be twelve monthly payments.’
I brace myself before glancing down at the page. Jesus. It’s almost as much as my car loan payments. The floor sways beneath me. I steady myself against the counter.
‘Looks like I don’t have a choice,’ I say, feeling sick and momentarily wondering what would happen if I reached across, grabbed the necklace and legged it as fast as I could. But it’s a ridiculous thought; I’m simply too exhausted even to reach across the desk, let alone run at any kind of speed.
‘Maybe you could get a bank loan,’ he offers, pretending to be helpful.
‘No, I have to have the necklace back today,’ I say, sharply, shuddering at the thought of what will happen to me if I don’t hand it over. So instead I grimace and bear it while he busies himself with the paperwork for the ludicrously extortionate loan, which is probably illegal anyway, but I just don’t have the time to argue with him.
*
After weaving through the traffic on my way to Brighton, I make it into the fast lane of the motorway and push down hard on the accelerator. My head flings back against the headrest, my heart is racing and I can’t seem to stop panicking. The dialogue in my head is driving me mad, over and over, there’s just no let-up. I might have cleared the arrears and missed-payment markers from my credit file, but my mountain of debt is even bigger now. Maybe I could sell the car, but then I remember the outstanding finance figure … it’s at least two grand more than the car is worth, I can’t even afford to do that. My hands are trembling on the steering wheel now and my chest is getting tight. I feel totally overwhelmed, as if everything is going to cave in on me. Tears sting in my eyes, I bite my bottom lip and take a deep breath, desperate for air, but it’s no use, I feel consumed with panic and I don’t feel safe.
The ghastly image of my car careering into the crash barrier flashes before me, so I quickly indicate left and get myself over into the slow lane, before flicking the air con onto maximum. The icy cold breeze fans me, but my skin is still burning with trepidation. And Malikov must have got the necklace back by now. I can barely bring myself to contemplate what he will do to me. He’s bound to think I’ve double-crossed him. See it as a sign of indifference. I just don’t know any more, I can’t get a grip on reality.
I pull over into a lay-by and, after switching off the engine, I glance around the car’s interior. Creamy-coloured soft leather with tan piping. The dashboard with chrome detailing, complete with matching steering wheel, just as I specified. At the time I thought it would make me feel happy, plug the gap left by losing Mum, and then Dad disappearing … but what use is it to me now? I feel trapped. Hot angry tears trickle down my face, slow at first, but fast now, and they won’t stop. My chest heaves, up and down, until I’m sobbing hysterically. I think of Dad and what he did to us, the similarities between his behaviour and mine recently. I should talk to him. Desperation changes people; I can see that now – maybe that’s why he did it. He never really explained, but then I never asked. I vow to call him at the first opportunity.
Eventually, I manage to calm down, and after touching up my make-up, I force myself to get a grip. I make my way off the motorway and out into the countryside, and as green fields replace the hard urban concrete, the tension starts to ease slightly.
*
As I drag my wheelie suitcase across the car park towards the magnificent Regency-style beachfront hotel, I realise there’s nothing I can do right now to change anything, so I might as well try to enjoy the team-building event and put all my worries out of my head, if only for a little while. I’m in danger of driving myself insane otherwise.
I walk through the grand entrance door and take a look around the hotel reception area. On every one of the surrounding armchairs and sofas there’s a Carrington’s employee. There must be about thirty people crammed into the room, some standing, the others elbow-to-elbow on the three padded window seats. Mrs Grace is sitting in a wing chair next to the real log fire, her knitting needles click-clacking away. Lauren is hovering by the bay window saying, ‘Mummy will see you tomorrow, now be a good boy for grandma’ into her mobile, and Betty is fanning herself with a drinks menu and mumbling something about ‘flaming hot flushes’. A couple of girls from Bedding turn up, closely followed by Suzanne from the cash office, looking fabulous in a midnight-blue maxi dress and chunky silver lace-up flatforms, with pregnant Emma from Stationery sipping from an Evian bottle while being all glowy and radiant.
I spot Eddie perched on the edge of a corner unit sipping a can of Red Bull, and let out a small sigh of relief. I make my way over. He looks wired and his eyes are like saucers, flitting around the room.
‘Good to see you, Georgie Girl.’ It’s Ciaran, and he’s standing in the centre of the room, simulating a ‘lock and load’ action with an imaginary machine gun. A passing waitress throws him a look of disgust, so he drops to one knee to apologise profusely to her. I’ve not seen Ciaran as gregarious as this before. Eddie rolls his eyes, before moving along to let me sit down.
‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ I say, turning towards him.
‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ he replies sarcastically, before looking away.
‘Eddie, what is it?’ I ask, wondering why he’s acting strangely. It’s unlike him to be so cold. He turns his face to mine and studies me for a moment, as if he can’t make his mind up whether to say anything. I wait for him to tell me, but he just shrugs instead.
‘Oh, it’s nothing.’
‘There is something, isn’t there?’ I ask, feeling uneasy.
‘No, honestly … I’m just thinking this is going to be a long weekend.’ He glares in Ciaran’s direction, but I’m not convinced. Oh God, maybe he knows something. Of course. He’s working for The Heff and Maxine now. He’s bound to know what she has in store for the ground floor.
‘Eddie, if you know anything, you would tell me, wouldn’t you … even if it was bad news?’ I ask, in a low voice.
‘Sure … but I don’t – stop being so paranoid.’ I manage a smile, but inside the feeling of unease is picking up speed again. I try to shove the worry from my head, but instead it just sits there gnawing away.
I can feel Eddie’s thigh twitching against mine.
‘Are you sure everything’s OK?’ I turn to face Eddie, and he bites his lip.
‘Yes, fine,’ he snaps. ‘I need another drink.’ He jumps up and stalks off towards the bar. My heart sinks.
‘What’s going on with him?’ Ciaran throws himself down next to me.
‘I don’t know, but Eddie is really uptight, and it’s not like him,’ I reply. He must know something, I feel sure. The uneasy feeling threatens again.
‘Maybe the stress of working for that ballbuster Maxine is really getting to him,’ Ciaran says, sounding concerned.
‘Maybe,’ I reply, distractedly. I think about work … and James. God, I wish he was here, and then I feel an overwhelming sense of sadness that our friendship has been ruined by a romance that barely got off the starting blocks. Maybe there’s a chance to fix it when I get back. I cling on to this thought as Melissa the self-appointed organiser takes to the floor.
‘Now, if you could all
