‘Do you have to keep staring at me?’
‘Sorry.’ He blinked, looked away, then turned his back. ‘Do you want me to leave?’
‘Too late for that, isn’t it?’ she snapped, marching to her wardrobe.
‘Oh, here we go,’ he said, politeness leaving his voice. The door banged and he followed her into the bedroom.
‘I’m not dressed yet.’
‘Do you know what, Kitty, I’ve seen it all before and I really couldn’t care less.’ He didn’t glance at her as he rooted in her drawers.
‘What are you looking for?’
‘None of your business.’
‘It’s my flat, of course it’s my business.’
‘And I’ve paid my half of this month’s rent, so technically it’s mine too.’
‘If you tell me what it is, I can help,’ she said, watching him root. ‘Because I’d really like for you to take your hands off my knickers.’
He finally retrieved a watch from her underwear drawer and strapped it around his wrist.
‘How long has that been there?’
‘Always.’
‘Oh.’
How much more hadn’t she known about him? That’s what they were both thinking: how much more didn’t they know about each other? They were silent for a moment, and then he looked around the room again, more gently this time, placing shoes, CDs and other miscellaneous items he’d left behind into a black bin liner. Kitty couldn’t watch and went to sit at the kitchen table again.
‘Thanks for telling me you were leaving,’ she said as he passed her and made his way around the kitchen. He took the oven gloves, the oven gloves. ‘It was very gentlemanly of you.’
‘You knew that I was leaving.’
‘How the hell did I know that?’
‘How many arguments did we have, Kitty? How many times did I tell you exactly how I felt? How many more arguments did you want to have?’
‘None, of course.’
‘Exactly!’
‘But this wasn’t quite the outcome I was hoping for.’
He seemed surprised. ‘I thought you weren’t happy. You said you weren’t happy.’
‘I wasn’t having a happy time. I didn’t think that … anyway, it doesn’t matter now, does it?’ She was surprised to feel hope in her heart, hope that he would say, of course it matters, let’s fix this … but instead he left a long silence.
‘Why aren’t you at work?’
‘I decided to work from home.’
‘Did the magazine fire you?’ he asked, disbelieving her.
‘No,’ she snapped, tired of being second-guessed. ‘They didn’t fire me. It may surprise you to know that some people still believe in me.’ Which wasn’t entirely true with the way Pete was treating her.
Glen sighed, then walked to the door, bin liner over his shoulder. She looked back down at the directory. Her eyes jumped from one name to the next, unable to concentrate while he was there.
‘Sorry to hear about Constance.’
Emotion flooded her and she couldn’t speak.
‘I was at the funeral, in case you hadn’t heard.’
‘Sally told me.’ She wiped her eyes roughly, annoyed that she was crying.
‘Are you okay?’
Kitty blocked her face with her hands. It was too humiliating to have him stand there while she cried, when before he would have comforted her. She cried about that and she cried for Constance. And she cried about everything else in between. ‘Please go,’ she sobbed.
She heard the door softly close.
With dry eyes Kitty started afresh. She went to the first name on the list, Sarah McGowan. She turned to the McGowan pages in the directory. There were hundreds of McGowans in total. Eighty Mr and Mrs McGowans, twenty S McGowans, eight Sarah McGowans, which meant she would at least have to attempt to call them all if the twenty-eight specific S’s didn’t work out for her.
She began by ringing the Sarahs. The first call was answered immediately.
‘Hello, can I please speak to Sarah McGowan?’
‘This is she.’
‘My name is Katherine Logan and I’m calling from Etcetera magazine.’
She left a pause to see if there was any recognition.
‘I don’t want to take part in any surveys, thank you.’
‘No, no, this isn’t about a survey. I’m calling on behalf of our editor, Constance Dubois. I believe she may have been in contact with you regarding a story.’
She hadn’t been. Nor had she been with six other S’s she had contacted, while two calls rang out and she left a message for another two. Kitty started on the other McGowans in the directory, hoping Sarah was listed as a Mrs Somebody Else McGowan. Ten calls weren’t answered and she made a note to call them back. There were no Sarahs in the first eight Mr and Mrs’ homes she called; on the ninth there was, but at three months old baby Sarah was not the subject of Constance’s story, Kitty quickly learned. Twenty McGowans left, not to mention ninety-nine other names on the list with at least one hundred of each name to call. A possible ten thousand more phonecalls awaited her, unless she began with the more obscure names. Kitty didn’t doubt that she could do it – nothing bored her about research – but there were two factors working against her: time and money. She simply couldn’t afford to make all of these calls.
She abandoned her work-from-home strategy and returned to the office at lunchtime. It was busy with everyone working flat out to meet their new deadline for Constance’s tribute section as well as researching and writing stories for future issues.
Rebecca, the art director, came out of Pete’s office pulling a face. ‘He’s in a mood today. Good luck.’
An unfamiliar woman was sitting in Kitty’s usual desk, which wasn’t all that rare as they had many freelance writers in the editorial section who came and went from the office. Kitty stood in the centre of the room looking for a free desk and when that proved fruitless she looked for a free phone. Pete opened the door and called her into his office.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked.
‘Looking for a desk. I have a mountain of calls to make, do you think you could get somebody’s phone for me for the day? And who is that lady at my desk?’
‘You
