as she hung up.
‘Will lovely Thomas survive that long without you?’
‘He’ll manage.’ She scrunched her face up in a smile.
‘He really is lovely, isn’t he?’
‘I think he is. I know it’s early days—’
‘Not such early days, Ell, when you consider that you’ve known him, non-biblically, for years. You’d have a pretty good idea by now if he was a knob.’
‘Who’d have thought I’d get together with someone from work?’ she said. ‘At the Christmas party no less?’
‘You’re a walking cliché.’ I stuck my arm over her shoulder and hugged. ‘In the best possible way. I really am so happy for you.’ Ellie was the kind of woman you wanted nice things to happen to.
‘Mmm, I suppose,’ she said, glancing sideways.
‘Ellie, I’ve warned you. Don’t overthink things. You know how he feels about you. He’s told you. And he shows it all the time. You’ve got to forget about her.’
‘That’s easy for you to say. Your boyfriend doesn’t have a crush on his colleague.’
‘Christ, Ellie, he never should have told you. It was a crush. Was. All the way back when they were in school together. You’ve got nothing to worry about. It’s not a big deal but you’re going to make it one if you keep dwelling.’ I stopped, and made her stop too. ‘You know I’m right. You’ve got to relax about this. Don’t make problems where there aren’t any.’
She nodded. ‘I know, but I can’t help how I feel. I hate her.’
‘You can’t hate someone who’s never done anything to you. That’s silly. She doesn’t even know that he liked her, does she? They’re just mates.’
‘No, but what if she finds out about his feelings and decides she likes him too? Then what’ll happen?’
‘Well, let’s see. Maybe he’ll shag her on the desk during his lunch break. And while we’re in the world of “maybes”, maybe the Queen will abdicate in favour of Prince Charles, and the bee population will recover and Wayne Rooney will grow an afro. All of those things are possible, but are you really going to worry about the possibility that they might happen at some point in the future?’
‘I’m not going out with Prince Charles or Wayne Rooney, and I’m allergic to bees.’
‘You’re being purposely obtuse. Honeybun, lovely Thomas is nuts about you. He’s going out with you and you’re happy together. If you don’t dial up the crazy, that’ll continue to be the case. Believe me, I know about crazy.’
‘You don’t still blame yourself for Alex, do you? Anybody would have misunderstood the situation. That was totally not your fault.’
Maybe not, but my face burned just thinking about the Christmas party.
Everyone had looked forward to it. Our company, Nutritious, always put on a fantastic party whether it was a record year or a terrible one. Ostensibly it started after work at the pub on the corner, but most of us went out for a very long lunch beforehand. By the time I saw Alex sitting alone at the table, it was latish and the room was a bit spinny.
He looked amazing. But then he always looked amazing to me. An unbiased observer might have noted that his shirt was untucked and he was wearing that fixed smile he got when trying to look sober. I’d seen it enough over the years. It never put me off. He’d have to soil himself unrepentantly to fall in my estimation. And even then I’m sure I’d find an excuse to love him again.
I’d had Rory-like feelings for Alex for years. They started nearly the first time we spoke, a few weeks after Nutritious hired me. When he asked me out to lunch I could barely eat (proof of my feelings if ever there was any). But I sussed pretty quickly that it wasn’t a date. As the company’s finance director, he was also on the board of directors. They took it in turns to welcome the new recruits with lunch. It was simply the luck of the draw that I got Alex instead of our balding middle-aged CEO.
Alex wasn’t balding or middle aged. He was thirty-six (birthday November 4th), from a middle-class family in Surrey (only child), and had a two-bedroom flat in Pimlico where he lived alone (the address of which I knew by heart). To me he was perfection on legs. Tall, but not too tall, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. His strong jawline suited the stubble he usually wore. He had swoon-making thick dark eyelashes that framed his vivid blue eyes. His skin was sun-kissed even in February thanks to his skiing obsession, and his big straight teeth were practically American. I fantasised about getting my hands into his thick, straight, flaxen hair. I’d never tire of looking at him.
So when I noticed him sitting in that booth, alone as the rest of our colleagues danced and drank, naturally I went over to say hello.
He smiled when he saw me, and patted the bench beside him. ‘Katie. Katie Katie Katie. Happy Christmas,’ he slurred. ‘It’s not been a bad year, eh, considering? Still a lot of work to do though, tough nuts to crack and all that.’
I laughed, thinking of my problem client, Jenny. ‘I will get Philips Pharmacy on board next year,’ I declared. ‘In fact I called Jenny before lunch.’ I didn’t need to tell him who Jenny was. She was a company legend.
‘Hoping for some last-minute Christmas cheer?’ he said.
‘False hope. She told me not to stuff my face full of mince pies because the extra pounds would be hard to shift come January.’ In other words, a typical conversation with Jenny.
‘Ouch. Still, at least you know it’s not personal. She’s never met any of us.’ He leaned forward. ‘So all you want for Christmas is a deal with Jenny. I wonder what else Father Christmas will put in your stocking this year, eh? Have you been a good girl?’
Was he actually flirting with me? I could barely breathe. Maybe my support pants were too tight. We sat awkwardly facing each other in the booth.
‘I’ve been pretty good,’ I said, leaving room for interpretation.
‘Oh? Have you been a little bit bad, too?’ He leaned closer.
I wasn’t sure where he was going with his line of questioning, but tonight, I was going to find out. I took a deep breath and raised the stakes. ‘I’m so bad that I’m sometimes very good.’
He smiled. It was a filthy smile, full of the kind of promises I dreamed about. He leaned still closer. He closed his eyes. I closed mine too, leaning in to meet him. Our lips met. His were warm, soft and as perfect as I imagined. We stayed like that for a second, two, three … five, six … ten. He didn’t move. I peeked. His eyes were still closed. Slowly I broke our kiss. He remained motionless. Then, slowly, he leaned forward until his head rested on the edge of the table.
Frantically I looked around to see if anyone had spotted us. But they were too drunk. As was Alex, apparently. He slept peacefully on the table. With humiliation flaming my cheeks, I fled the party. I could only hope he really had been too drunk to remember anything.
‘Do
