I snort out a laugh. I just bet they would, I think, momentarily distracted by the idea. All kinds of delicious possibilities come to mind.
‘When are you going back anyway?’ she asks, sipping her drink.
‘Well, technically, it was yesterday. But then we found out about Moira, and it just didn’t feel like the right time to abandon ship, you know? So I asked for a bit more time.’
She nods, and seems to be expecting more. In truth, there is more, but I don’t especially want to share it. I haven’t even told Rory.
The email I received from HR a few days ago wasn’t me getting the sack at all – it was the complete opposite in fact. It seems that me being away, and also finally standing up for myself, had a strange effect on my boss, John Marshall. Maybe he realised he couldn’t cope without me, or that he’d completely taken advantage for way too long. Whatever the reason, the company was now offering me a promotion, with a hefty pay rise. I won’t just be Chief Project Manager (UK), I’ll be Chief Global Project Manager (International).
It’s good news, I know it is. But even the job titles fill me with dread. Yes, there will be more money, plus the opportunity to travel to our offices in Tokyo, New York and Singapore. Beth is growing up, she’ll be seventeen in September and doesn’t need me around 24/7. In fact she’d undoubtedly prefer it if I wasn’t. I should be happy. I should be over the moon.
I am not. I shrug, and say to Kate: ‘They were fine with me taking another week if I wanted.’
They’d actually told me to make sure I took the three weeks’ leave I’m owed, because if I don’t, I’ll lose it. I’m not at all sure what I’m going to do with those three weeks. Beth is gone for most of them, so I could stay here. I could continue to live this strange and unexpected idyll with Rory. I could continue to be woken up by his kisses against my neck, the touch of his body pressed against mine. I could continue to fall asleep in his arms, limp from sex, cocooned and safe and satiated in every possible way. I could continue to let this dream linger on.
Why not? What have I got to lose? Pretty much everything that matters, I suspect. If I let myself slide too deep into this thing, then I am putting myself at risk. Losing him the first time around shattered me, almost irreparably, and I am terrified of going through that again. While this is still a holiday, still a temporary arrangement that means nothing to either of us, I can fool myself that I’m not in so much danger.
I sigh, and put down my glass. I’m driving, and I’m also suddenly feeling melancholy. Nobody likes a miserable drunk.
‘Are you all right?’ Kate asks, reaching out and patting my hand. ‘You look suddenly… deflated.’
‘I suppose I am. It’s probably just a bit of an anti-climax, all of the work we’ve put into preparing for today and now it’s over. I probably just need a long bath and an even longer sleep.’
She nods, not convinced but letting it rest. ‘Fair enough. I need to make a move anyhow, get back to Alice. Brody’s daughter, Shannon, is visiting soon, did I tell you?’
‘No. From Chicago?’
‘She’s a student at Oxford, and managed to find a boyfriend from Inverness just around the corner. All roads lead to Bonnie Bay, it seems! When we met, that was one of his biggest concerns, obviously – how she’d feel about her dad shacking up with someone new. I guess I understand that a lot better now, being a mum. And in your situation, Beth’s still at school…’
I nod. What is she getting at here? ‘Yes. She’ll be starting A-levels in September.’
‘Or, you know,’ she says, arching her eyebrows, ‘her Highers. That’s what they call them here. At the many excellent educational establishments in the area… just thought I’d leave that out there.’
I roll my eyes. ‘You’re as bad as Moira,’ I tell her. ‘You’re an apprentice interfering old biddy!’
‘I like to think of it as being romantic. Hopeful. Believing in destiny.’
Of course she does – because she found her happy ending. I’m not sure I even believe in them. Anyway, what would Beth think about that idea? She liked it here, she made friends and had fun, but that’s not the same as relocating, is it? It’s not real life – although she hasn’t mentioned Lily or her old school for ages now. I know she wasn’t especially happy there. Still, it’s a lot. Too much for now.
‘Go on, Kate, get yourself home,’ I tell her. ‘I’ll finish the tidying and lock up if you like.’
‘Thank God!’ she replies, grinning. ‘I was hoping you’d say that! Don’t worry too much about the tidying though. Joanne’s bobbing by tomorrow with her broomstick. Note I saidwithher broomstick, and notonit…’
She winks at me, and I have a fleeting image of Moira’s dour-faced sister flying through the night sky in a pointy hat, silhouetted against a full moon. My imagination has been on overdrive since I arrived here. Everything feels brighter and sillier and more extraordinary. Maybe this is me, living the rainbow in my own expanding mind.
Kate leaves, and I feel guiltily relieved to be alone. I love the smell of this place, I think, as I wash up our glasses and wander the shelves, picking up random books and inspecting them. The smell of Ginny’s candles, and the wood of the cases, and theunmistakable scent of books. It’s comforting and reassuring, somehow feeling incredibly permanent. I know that if I’d turned up here this time last year, I’d have been met with a very different sight – the bookshop abandoned, the building nearing dereliction, its heart trampled and defeated. But now, looking around, it’s hard to imagine Bonnie Bay without this place in it.
My phone rings, and I smile when I see that it’s Beth. I accept the video call, and enjoy hearing her tales from the Big Apple. She’s loving being with her dad, Valerie, and Ollie, and I don’t even feel the expected slight boot in the gut of jealousy. I probably would if I’d been stuck at home on my own in Watford, and I realise that isn’t fair to her – that I need to improve my own quality of life to avoid ever feeling like that again.
We chat about how the grant visit went, and I fill her in on my news from work. She looks less than thrilled, and sarcastically says: ‘Wow. Chief Global Project Manager – open brackets International close brackets? Is that the full title?’
‘Yes,’ I reply, slightly offended. ‘It’s good!’
‘I’m sure it is, Mum. And I’m not an idiot, I do know that it’s your boring job that pays for my less boring life – Rory made me think about that the first night we stayed at his. But still… doesn’t that new job just mean that people will be giving you shit in a million different languages now? That you’ll travel to do your boring work in boring offices in different places?’
She’s absolutely right, but I feel the weird urge to defend it. To defend myself, I suppose, as it’s been part of my identity for over a decade. ‘Okay. Well. I was pleased. Thanks for your support.’
I sound like a sulky teenager, and she sighs like a long-suffering parent. When did this new dynamic kick in, and why didn’t anybody tell me we were going allFreaky Friday?
