than five minutes. Bruce wants a copy of the response document ready for him to review tonight.’
Grabbing the handrail with her free hand, Beth backed down another couple of risers, wanting to put some distance between herself and the whole bloody mess. ‘But Marco’s already sent him a copy of the draft …’
Her team leader’s face drained to an unpleasant shade she could only equate to the colour of lard. ‘He did what?’
Beth shrugged. ‘Maybe I got the wrong end of the stick, but I’m sure that’s what he just told me.’
‘Christ!’ Darren spun on his heel, holding the door wide as he did so. ‘Come on, come on. We need to get this sorted out.’
A strange sense of calm settled over her as Beth stood her ground. ‘Did you promise Marco the supervisor’s position?’
Her boss glanced back over his shoulder. ‘I haven’t got time for that now, we need to get this cock-up sorted out before Bruce sees that draft.’ His lack of denial told her everything she needed to know. Stroking the edge of the envelope in her pocket, Beth took a deep breath as the full significance of her conversation with Mr Symonds sank into her exhausted brain. She had choices; options.
Freedom.
Releasing the handrail, she trotted back up the stairs to a visible smile of relief from Darren. ‘Good girl. Go and grab your laptop and meet me in my office. I’ll try and head Bruce off at the pass.’
Beth watched him jog towards the tiny walled-off space in the corner before returning to her desk. She undocked the laptop, flicked off the monitor and tugged open her top drawer. A jumble of Cup-a-Soups, pens and sticky notes stared back at her and she slid it closed again then bent to collect her handbag. She’d come straight from the station, so her suitcase stood next to the window. Bag over her shoulder, laptop under her arm and the handle of her case in the opposite hand, she smiled across the partition at Ravi. ‘I’ll call you later.’
‘Ooo-kay. You sure you’re all right, mate?’
‘Never better, I promise.’
Conscious of the stares following her, Beth marched towards Darren’s office. Leaving her case outside, she approached his desk to dump her laptop on a pile of folders. She unhooked the ID card from around her neck and let the lanyard slither through her fingers.
‘I’ve managed to intercept Marco’s email, though I owe Janice a large G&T.’ He glanced up from his screen. ‘Well, pull up a chair then.’
‘No.’
It took a few seconds for her refusal to register, and Beth could actually see the moment it dawned upon him. ‘What did you say?’
‘I said no. Nope. Pass. Uh-uh. Forget it. Not happening.’ She couldn’t stop the flush of heat surging over her skin, but she held her head high.
Darren rocked back in his chair, a flinty hardness settling in his eyes. ‘Is this some kind of joke?’
‘Working my arse off for an idiot like you for the past two years in the futile hope I’d one day earn a fraction of the respect you dish out to your drinking buddies and sycophants? Oh yes, it’s a huge joke. A bloody laugh riot, and all at my expense. Well, no more. I quit.’
There was burning bridges, and there was dumping a gallon of petrol and aiming a flamethrower at it. Throwing up on his desk would only spoil the dramatic effect of her announcement so she gulped hard against the wave of panicked nausea.
His shiny face turned so red, she wondered for a moment if his head might pop under the pressure building beneath the skin. ‘You can’t fucking quit. If you take one step towards that door, I’ll sack you.’
The panic melted away and, smiling, she took a deliberate pace backwards. ‘Perfect. At least now I won’t have to serve my notice. See ya.’
She made it across the office, the echoes of Darren’s ineffectual bellowing ringing in her ears, down in the lift, across the lobby and halfway down the street before the first tear dripped hot upon her cheek.
1st January
My dearest Beth,
I’m sitting in the window seat as I write this, listening to the waves on the shingle below. Thankfully, the Lavender Bay fireworks display was much less impressive than that malarkey on the telly, so it’s silent as the grave now. Funny how we use phrases like that without a second’s thought to their true meaning, isn’t it?
I know what you’re thinking, and yes, I’m properly wrapped up, Miss Fusspot. I’ve got that beautiful, soft throw you sent me for Christmas tucked around me and I’m snug as a bug. You shouldn’t have bothered, you know, but I’m glad you did none the less. You should be saving your pennies, not wasting them on me. And it will be a waste because I’ll not get much use from it … but enough of that for now.
It won’t be midnight yet where you are, will it? Here am I shivering in my slippers and I bet you’ve been cooking yourself on the beach all day. I hope you’re having a lovely time in Florida with your mum. Whatever her faults, she always tried to do right by you so I’m trying not to resent her too much for stealing you away from me this once.
Our lovely Libby popped around to see me earlier. She’s such a darling girl, even with that mad hair of hers. Honestly, Beth, you should see her—it’s as scarlet as Santa’s suit. Poor Mick, she does drive him to distraction with her appearance. I wonder if he understands it’s all a front and beneath that hard shell she’s more soft and vulnerable than either you or Eliza. I know you see it too, so you must promise to take good care of her when I’m gone.
And so I find myself coming back to the point again, no matter how hard I try to avoid it, because if you’re reading this then it means my time is up. Hopefully, you won’t be reading this letter any time soon, and I’ve just got a silly case of the new year blues, but there are things I want you to know, things I should have explained to you, but have never quite got around to.
Dr Walsh keeps telling me to slow down, but what’s the point in that? We’ve been managing my angina for the past couple of years, and though the pills don’t work like they used to, there’s life in this old dog yet! He wants to me have surgery, but I can’t abide the idea of being cut open like that, and there are lots of people more deserving of the over-stretched resources of our lovely NHS than an old biddy like me.
It’s all right though, I’m quite ready. Oh, I shall miss you like the devil, and this place I’ve been lucky enough to call home for the past eighty-odd years, but I think I’m just about done.
I know you’ll be sad, my darling, and I wish more than anything I could be there with you now to give you a hug. You’ve brought so much joy to my life, I bless God every day for bringing you into this world. I’ve missed you, and I don’t say that to make you feel guilty, but it’s the truth. I can’t help but worry about you, Beth, because I know something’s happened and I wish you would talk to me about it.
Libby let slip about Charlie, but I don’t want to force you to talk about it, so we keep having those silly conversations when you tell me everything is fine, and I pretend to believe you. It’s
