I can’t ever hurt my children again,Angus had said to me, five minutes ago, as he walked me to my office.
‘Holly?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Lauren?’
‘Oh yes, she came.’
‘So is Angel going to train the three of you?’
‘Um. Yes.’
You should have seen the way Sophie looked at me.
‘That’s great. When are you going to start?’
The disappointment in her eyes.
I stare at my inbox, over one hundred emails unread. ‘This Friday.’
‘Let’s do every Monday and Friday, for six weeks, eight o’clock in the park,’ Angel had said, at the end of our session. ‘And let’s set up a WhatsApp group to motivate each other, OK?’
‘Good for you. How much does she charge? Holly?’
‘Sorry?’
‘How much does she charge?’ She waits. ‘Holly?’
‘Yeah. Um, she’s giving us a special deal.’ Angus and I had discussed fees with Angel. We didn’t even have to explain Lauren’s circumstances; Angel simply suggested she contribute what she can, to help her feel invested and independent.
Can we meet up tonight?
I can still see the shock on Lauren’s face. Until this morning, I’m not sure she’d seen Angus and me as anything other than two people who worked at the café, the two oldies nagging her to exercise and dragging her to the doctors. What must she think of us now?
I’d like to explain.
‘Holly?’
‘Yes?’
‘Is everything all right?’
I turn round to face Harriet in my chair, determined to put this morning out of my mind until I’ve spoken to Angus tonight. I don’t want to tell Harriet. Not yet. I don’t want to break his confidence. Besides, I don’t want to think about it again, not until I know more. I need to let the shock settle.
‘Sorry, Harriet, I’m knackered, but it’s all good,’ I say, relieved to have the distraction of work, and even more relieved when Harriet needs to take a call.
16
Angus and I meet in a pub halfway between my office and home, on the Chiswick High Road. He’d called me earlier at work, suggesting we meet somewhere neutral tonight, ‘in case you decide you want nothing more to do with me, you can make a run for it,’ he’d said, his laugh hollow. I sense it’s become habitual for Angus to laugh; it almost sounds as if he’s throwing his feelings away, yet ironically, for me anyway, his laughter often only heightens his sadness and fear.
‘What a day,’ he says, as a waiter brings over some water, along with our non-alcoholic beers.
I glance at the menu. I’m not hungry. I still don’t know how I feel, or what to say to him. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.’ Angus attempts to ease the tension. He’s made an effort tonight, in a clean and ironed white shirt, and he’s definitely washed his hair since this morning. But his body language is as awkward as mine.
I put the menu down. ‘When you had lunch with me the other week, when I asked you what happened?’
‘I guess I was in denial. I felt so ashamed. I still feel ashamed,’ he says, unable to meet my eye. ‘I carry this guilt with me, wherever I go. It doesn’t go away. If anything, it gets worse because Soph can’t forgive me, and I can’t forgive myself.’
