Bex nodded. Her throat had sealed shut, making it impossible to speak.
‘And Labs are hardy dogs,’ Keith offered, his eyes still locked on the road. ‘She’s a good strong one, that one. She’ll be fine. Absolutely fine.’
‘Here, have some water.’ Carrie handed Bex a bottle, and though she struggled with the first couple of sips, soon she was glugging thirstily, the cooling effects steadying her breathing as they lowered her temperature back down.
‘I’m okay,’ she said, as much to herself as to the others. ‘Thank you. I’m okay now.’
It was thirty minutes later, when they were just coming off the dual carriageway, when Bex’s phone rang. Her heart flipped. It couldn’t be good news, could it? Not that quickly. No, there was no chance.
‘Do you want me to get it?’ Carrie asked, apparently having the same thoughts as Bex. ‘I can speak to her?’
Bex contemplated the offer but shook her head. Whatever had happened, she needed to hear it firsthand. Watching Carrie’s face as Lorna relayed the bad news to her would only make matters worse. Closing her eyes, she sucked in a stuttering breath and pulled out her phone, only to find it wasn’t Lorna’s name on the screen. It was Nigel’s. Her stomach plummeted. Somehow, the last ten minutes had pushed all thoughts of London and what she’d meant to be doing out of her mind. Now they were very much back.
‘Hi, Rebecca, I just wanted to check you’d landed. I’ve sent a car to pick you up.’
A hollowness flooded through her.
‘Nigel…’
‘The driver’ll be waiting for you in arrivals.’
‘Yeah… about that…’
Carrie glanced over her shoulder and caught Bex’s eyes before offering a reassuring nod. It was an entirely unspoken exchange and somehow Bex knew exactly what Carrie wanted to say. This wasn’t something to panic about. This was something she had control over. Truly.
‘Nigel, I know you’ve always been a great boss to me. Truly. You’ve always seen how capable I am, and I really appreciate that.’
‘Of course, Rebecca. You know I value your work, and I’m sorry that?—’
‘I’m not done yet,’ she said, cutting her boss off mid-flow. ‘You’ve always valued what I do. But if we’re honest, the company hasn’t.’
‘I’m sorry?—’
‘Take you offering me that corner office, for example. You and I both know I should’ve had it a year ago. If not two.’
‘Rebecca, I don’t control all the promotions. Not at this level. You know that. If?—’
‘Still not done,’ Bex repeated. ‘It should have been mine a year ago. But it wasn’t. And I’m not even going to mention how I was sent up to work in Scotland, even though there were far more people in a less senior position who could have done the job. But you chose me, just because I didn’t have a family.’
A slight pause infiltrated the conversation, which Nigel took to mean it was his turn to speak. It wasn’t. ‘Well?—’
‘But despite that, I did the job, came back and I carried on working my backside off, anyway. Doing every job asked of me. Putting my life, my relationships, second. And what for? So that the first time, the first time in over a decade of working for you, a complaint comes in, and I’m supposed to drop everything to defend myself. I shouldn’t have to defend myself.’
‘Well, umm…’ Nigel cleared his throat. ‘These are pretty big accusations, Rebecca.’
‘Yes. And they’ve come out of nowhere. Absolutely nowhere. Don’t you think if I was the type of person who embezzled that there’d have been some sign of it before now? Just one complaint about my work? My attitude? One concern over how I’ve handled money? But there’s been nothing. Nothing at all. So how about, instead of asking me to defend myself, you ask these people to come up with one scrap of evidence that what they’re saying is true? One tiny scrap of evidence that it might even be close to true. Because I reckon there hasn’t been, has there? They’ve not given you any evidence, because there isn’t any. But if you ask them, and they do actually give you something believable, some plausible proof, then, and only then, I might be up for having a conversation.’
It felt as though a massive weight had lifted from her shoulders. That was what she’d wanted to say when Nigel had first rung her to tell her of the accusation, she realised. Not that she was sorry, and would kowtow to whatever they said. Prove it. That was what she’d wanted to say. And they couldn’t. Because there was nothing to prove. She was 100 per cent innocent.
Silence followed.
‘What are you saying?’ Nigel asked, finally finding his voice. ‘That you’re not coming back tonight?’
‘No,’ she said, surprised at how steady her pulse was, and how there wasn’t even a hint of shallowness in her breaths. ‘That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying… I won’t be coming back at all. You’ve been a great boss, Nigel. Honestly. But take this as my resignation.’
Then, without another word, she hung up the phone.
39
