‘I spoke to a woman on the tube today who lost her son. He was seven. He died of meningitis.’
Ward is about to speak; he says nothing.
‘At the end of the day,’ I continue, ‘all we do is sell houses. We are not saving the world.’
There’s a long painful silence. ‘I’m sorry,’ is all he says, before leaving our office. Lucie, Graham and Nadine keep their heads down as he pushes past them. Nadine’s confidence is shattered. I untie Spud’s lead from the leg of my chair and leave, unsure if I ever want to go back.
19
The following afternoon I’m back in the office. I can’t afford not to be. I can’t lose my job.
Yesterday, after taking a virtually empty tube back home, Spud and I went for a walk in Chiswick Park. I needed to clear my head. I felt like my mum, playing truant. I thought a lot about her yesterday. My grandparents more than filled the void of losing my parents, but there will always be a small wound that remains, a cut that will never quite heal. Would we have been close? Enjoyed shopping trips and met in cafes to put the world to rights? Would my father have read stories to Lucas and me? Taught us to ride a bike? Would he have been as good a doctor to Lucas and me as he was to his patients? How I would have loved to talk to him about Isla’s CP. Would I have watched Dad shave on a Sunday morning? I remember Grandad’s round wooden box of shaving soap with his old-fashioned brush. I loved to kiss Grandad after he’d shaved; his skin was as soft as silk.
After lunch (I’d watchedNeighboursbut didn’t recognise half the cast) I’d called Ruki to let her know I’d taken the day off work and would pick Isla up at school. Seeing Isla’s face light up in surprise when she saw me waiting behind the school gates, with Spud and her purple scooter, was the highlight of my day. We went for a swim and Isla did her homework at the kitchen table while I cooked spaghetti. When she mentioned that Dan and Fiona want to buy her an iPad for big school this autumn, I felt a twinge of irritation, perhaps jealousy, that I tried to disguise.
Lizzie came round straight after work and joined us for supper. When Isla went to bed, we opened a bottle of wine.
‘Of course, you go back tomorrow,’ she said, after I’d explained the day’s events, ‘and let Ward do the talking, Jan. Aren’t you fascinated to know what’s going on behind closed doors, because believe me, there’s a story.’ And, of course, I agreed with her. His reaction went way beyond losing a pitch; any fool could see that.
At the end of the evening Lizzie told me she’d met someone. His name is Dave. ‘A right old bachelor,’ she said. They met when he became a client. She’d visited his dark cluttered flat in Islington and over the following month had helped him to get his life back together. ‘He works in risk management, or something like that. He’s lovely, J, funny, eccentric – you know me, I need someone a bit eccentric.’ I’m so happy for her. We talked about the forthcoming summer holidays. Lizzie wants Isla and me to visit her in Paxos. She’s working out there for a month and could get me a cheap deal on flights and accommodation. ‘And how about throwing in a Greek god?’ I’d asked.
I pick up the telephone, the atmosphere in the office is subdued. I’m relieved Ward is visiting the Winchester and Salisbury offices today. I look over at Lucie and Graham; both of them are quiet. We don’t take part in the Friday afternoon online general knowledge quiz, as we often do. Nadine doesn’t sing down the telephone or stick her head round the door to take any lunch orders, nor does she sneak in any choccy bics. I talked to her this morning, over a coffee across the road. I filled her in on Spencer and how he’d stolen a pitch from us by reading one of our letters. ‘He may well have done it before too, Nadine. Perhaps we’ve all been gullible, Jeremy included.’ She told me that after I had left, Ward kept on asking where I was and if I was coming back.
Nadine’s desk is adorned with a vase of pale-pink roses, an apology gift from Ward.
When five thirty comes, everyone packs up to leave for the weekend, keen to scarper just in case Ward returns to the office. If only Jeremy could see us now. We might be getting more business, but our morale is at rock bottom. My mobile rings. I pick up.
‘That’s so weird,’ I say. ‘I was just thinking about you.’
‘I hope nice thoughts,’ Jeremy says. ‘I’m coming to London next week, Jan, and wondered if I could take you out to lunch.’
‘I’d love that.’ We settle for next Wednesday.
‘How’s it going?’ he asks.
‘You’ve left a monster in charge.’
‘What?’
I hesitate, unsure whether to tell Jeremy about Ward’s behaviouryesterday. But then out it all comes, every single detail, even down to how I’d brought up the woman losing her son.
‘January, go easy on him. Sometimes things aren’t so black and white.’
‘Meaning?’
Silence.
‘Is there something I should know?’
‘No.’
Jeremy can’t lie.
‘Jeremy?’
‘I can’t tell you.’
‘Please.’
