I look at him, flabbergasted. I know he’s the CE, but surely he could have fetched it himself, or organised someone else to. ‘Couldn’t someone have asked one of the admin assistants to goand collect it?’ I enquire, pushing my chair huffily back from my desk.
‘I left a note on Zoe’s desk.’ His response is almost apologetic. ‘I suspect she might have missed it.’
‘Right.’ I plaster a smile in place and heave myself to my feet. ‘Well, I suppose I’d better go and sort it out then,’ I say, heading for the door. As per usual. What is it with this place? Does everyone have an ‘it’s not my job’attitude? If I’d had that over the years I’ve worked here, the bloody wheels would have dropped off long ago.
‘While you’re at it, do you think you could check to see where we are with the minutes of the board meeting I need typed up?’ John ventures. ‘I’d quite like to get those sent out today, if at all possible.’
Yes, of course, why not? And I’ll make the tea and sweep the floor on the way, I think, peeved – and then stop. I don’t remember having had the audio tape for the minutes, let alone distributing that one specifically to be typed up. But I must have done. Though I was distracted, that being the day my father had called suggesting I check Jason’s laptop, I distinctly remember gathering up the various files and audio tapes from my out tray and dropping them off before I left.
Was that one there? The truth is, I can’t concentrate on anything but the hurt gnawing away at me. I can’t think straight. Closing my eyes, I take a breath, gather myself and push through the admin assistants’ office door, where there is an immediate lull in the conversation as three surprised faces look up from PCs to me. I haven’t knocked, I realise, which I always normally do out of respect.Tough. I’mthe office manager. I’m here to make sure the housing association runs efficiently, not pussyfoot around, being careful of people’s feelings. ‘Did it not occur to anyone to collect the post?’ I demand, my expression hopefully communicating how unimpressed I am.
Now there are definitely surprised faces. They’re not used to me actually exerting my authority.
‘No.’ Zoe, the senior secretary, speaks up. ‘We’ve all got piles to do. If someone had asked us, we’d have—’
‘You shouldn’t need asking, Zoe. If I’m not here, then it should have occurred to you. Using your initiative is a requirement of the job,’ I snap, unfamiliar anger rising inside me. I don’t get angry with the girls. A little despairing, sometimes, when there’s more gossiping going on than work, but never murderously angry, like this.
‘Well, excuseme,’ Zoe says indignantly. ‘I didn’t realise we were supposed to cover everyone else’s—’
‘And being disrespectful to your superiors isnot,’ I point out.
Zoe and Yasmin exchange disgruntled glances. I can almost feel the daggers going in, as I march further into the room. ‘Who’s typing up the minutes from the board meeting?’ I ask, unable to quash the agitation I’m feeling, despite my conscience tugging at me.
Zoe furrows her brow. ‘What minutes? I don’t remember seeing any.’
‘I put the audio tape in Lucy’s in tray when I was last in,’ I say, and wait while more glances are exchanged – worried glances, this time.
‘I didn’t see it.’ Lucy looks flustered and stands up to go through her tray.
‘I see,’ I say, as she then searches her desk, growing more flustered by the second. ‘Perhaps you should consider tidying your desk, Lucy,’ I suggest, a cattiness to my voice I don’t like. ‘Your organisational skills are clearly somewhat lacking.’
‘I’ll help you look,’ Yasmin says, rising from her desk to walk across to Lucy’s, casting me a disdainful glance as she goes.
‘Let me know when you find it,’ I say, marching back to the door before I’m tempted to say more. I’m two steps away from my own office along the corridor when Lucy flies past me towards the ladies’ loo.
She’s in tears, I realise, my anger immediately evaporating to give way to immense guilt.
‘Nice going, Karla. She’s just split up with her boyfriend,’ Zoe says hostilely, moving past me. ‘Nice make-up, too, by the way,’ she throws over her shoulder. ‘I’m not sure what your problem is, but if this is the new you, you might want to tone it down a bit.’
My guilt intensifies, wedging itself like a cannonball in my chest. I’m doing exactly what my father does, I realise, aghast, bullying people, caring nothing for their feelings, what they might have going on in their lives. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say weakly, but there’s no one to hear me. Zoe has disappeared into the toilets after Lucy.
In one fell swoop I have soured my relationships with three people. Broken the trust of the people I work with. They will hate me now, with good reason. Who is this vile person I seem to have become?
Swallowing hard, I go into my office, close the door behind me and lean against it. Is this something that Jason sees in me? This nastiness I didn’t even know I was capable of? Why am I doing it? Lashing out. Hurting people because I’m hurting. My colleagues. My children. Holly, my beautiful baby girl. I’m hurting her. Josh, my puzzled, scrawny, sensitive little boy – he’s hurting. Jason – he’s obviously been hurting for a long time. It has emanated palpably from him at times, when my father has so denigrated him. Yet still, I wouldn’t accept that he wanted nothing to do with him. I bullied him, despite hating that trait in my father. Perhaps the blame for the breakdown of my marriage is all mine? Would anyone want to stay in a relationship where they felt they didn’t have choices? A voice? Jason told me, over and over, he didn’t want to be beholden to my father. I wasn’t listening.
Do I really believe that though? Wasn’t I only trying to find a way that Jason wouldn’t see himself as a failure? To support him? I don’tknow. I gulp in a breath, try to suppress the tears, but they come anyway, hot and salty, tears of bewilderment, guilt and grief streaming down my cheeks.I’m sorry.Feeling as if the hard lump in my throat might choke me, I repeat it silently. I’m not even sure who I’m saying sorry to any more. Sarah, the constant reminder of my disloyalty? My children? Jason?
I glance at the ceiling. I don’t think I can bear it. My heart is so raw, I feel as if it’s tearing apart inside me. Everything that was solid in my life, the very ground beneath my feet, is slipping away from me. I’m falling. And there is no one to catch me.
Twenty-Six
DIANA
Recognising the ringtone she’d set to play when Karla called, Diana abandoned her task of cleaning the fridge to take the call. Karla had been in a terrible state after discovering what Jason had been doing in his office, rather than going home to her. Diana was glad she’d been there, babysitting Holly and Josh, when her daughter had arrived back home. She’d been able to persuade her to take a breath and a step back. Screaming at him and demanding explanations, she’d managed to convince her, would only make him defensive, possibly driving something that might actually have no traction.
Diana prayed it didn’t. She was still struggling to believe it. Jason seemed to care so deeply for Karla. It had been clear to Diana how much he’d loved her from outset. There was no mistaking a man’s love for a woman, and Jason’s feelings for Karla had been obvious. He’d fought so hard for her, despite Robert’s determination to split them up, which Diana had never condoned. As far as Diana was concerned, fate had brought them together. They’d created a child. After all Karla had already lost, how cruel would it have been for her to lose the man she loved too? It was possible that Jason had grown weary with the battle, she supposed, this constant war between him and Robert, the arguments he and Karla were having, more and more lately, and his fight to save his failing business. Even so, for him to have made the decision to cheat on Karla in such a cold, calculating way… That was more Robert’s domain than Jason’s.
‘Damn.’ Missing the call as she struggled to remove her rubber gloves, Diana cursed her obsessive need to always be busy while Robert was off doing what she knew very well he was, and then selected Karla’s number and called her straight back.
