Chapter 36
36
Bel had hung two pictures on the wall of the office on Monday morning, clambering on a chair to reach the cobwebbed hooks and canvassing a nonplussed Aaron and Connor’s opinions on whether they were straight.
With these homely touches she was, as Aaron readily told her, lipsticking a pig. On the other hand, given they had to spend many hours of their lives in here, Bel insisted that refusing to improve it was self-defeating.
‘I’ll ask Toby if there’s budget for a jungley floor plant, too,’ Bel said.
‘Aye, you do that, petal,’ Aaron said. ‘But when I said I needed a woman’s touch, I didn’t mean this.’
‘Ta dah!’ Bel said, standing back, once the decoration was deemed spirit level.
One was a modern print with MANCHESTER lettered along the top, in the style of 1920s travel posters. It depicted an imposing Art Deco limestone building on King Street which used to be an HSBC. Its windows were lit and walls shadowed to look like New York at dusk.
‘ Only Murders In The Building ,’ Aaron said. ‘In Manchester, murders outside the building too.’
‘It does look very “Manc-Hattan”,’ Bel agreed.
‘That’s that ponce hotel now, isn’t it?’ Aaron said. ‘Hotel Gotham. Prices to give you the meat sweats.’
Bel and Connor exchanged a momentary sidelong look: he and his brother were there this weekend. They wordlessly agreed it served no purpose to tell Aaron this.
The second artwork was a moody, misty wash of rainy grey-blue, dappled with yellow-white lights, a view of barges on Manchester ship canal in 1912. Romanticised toil and pollution.
‘It’s by a French Impressionist called Pierre Adolphe Valette, he painted a lot of urban, post-industrial Manchester,’ Bel said, to an aghast Aaron.
‘It’s a bit fookin’ gloomy isn’t it?’ Aaron said. ‘We could’ve had a Stanley Chow of Oasis, instead we’ve got miserable girl paintings.’
‘A miserable girl chose ’em, what’s gonna happen?’ said a completely unoffended Bel.
Bel was gradually learning that Aaron, like many reporters of keen instinct who thrived on big breaking news, was a crisis addict. Quiet days saw him pacing his cage, metaphorically. Starting some shit with the other bodies present was Aaron trying to give his brain the dopamine of danger.
‘You “didn’t do much”, at the weekend and nor did Connor, The Refrigerated Intern,’ Aaron said, when he and Bel were alone for an hour, that afternoon.
‘Mmm?’ Bel said, pretending to be only partially paying attention, when in fact she had fully caught Aaron’s snaky innuendo and was playing dumb.
The trouble with reporters was they had a feral intuition. Bel and Connor were no friendlier to each other in the office than they ever had been. Nevertheless, something intangible had shifted, like air pressure in a cabin. Perhaps it was because Bel and Connor pointedly didn’t interact; either way, Aaron’s senses were tingling.
‘Did you do much?’ she asked Aaron.
‘More than you two,’ he said. ‘The didn’t-do-much twins.’
‘What are you suggesting?’ Bel said. ‘We were “didn’t doing” each other?’
‘Woah, why would your mind go THERE?’ Aaron said. It was absolutely where Aaron’s mind was, and where Bel’s was supposed to go. Phase Two of his game: funny how you brought sex into it, isn’t it?
Anthony had seriously reduced Bel’s tolerance for male mind-dickery.
‘Is there a different subtext I’m missing?’
‘I’m just wondering why there’s an echo in here,’ Aaron said, and Bel screwed her face up like: what the hell are you on?
In actual fact, Aaron’s instincts were spot on: Bel and Connor were deterring him with the same blandishments, for the same reason.
For the first time, Bel wondered how Aaron would cope if Bel really was involved with Connor. The fact that that would never happen while there was breath in her body– or Connor’s for that matter– didn’t mean she should discount Aaron’s reaction. If it could manifest in a different time, with a different man, she should nip it in the bud.
Aaron had established an intense bond of loyalty between them, making it clear from the outset that if she needed her back covering with the bosses, he had it. Yet Bel was realising it came with strings. Anthony’s dark shit had further made her allergic to male attitudes of ownership.
If Bel was seen out with Connor and his brother this weekend– and Aaron had many pairs of eyes, in his direct messages– it would quite possibly not go well for her. She didn’t technically need to socialise with his brother, and Connor’s invite was only made offhandedly, by accident. Yet Bel felt compelled to meet this Shaun Adams. Connor had become a riddle she couldn’t satisfactorily solve– she’d long since lost the straightforward peace of mind that came with simply thinking him a condescending wanker.
His stories of leaving the City, his readiness to protect her from threats she’d created, dammit, his love of a dead dog (Amber had tried to ask about him, what was he called, Malcolm? Maurice! And Connor to her amazement had teared up. She thought she might’ve seen Amber fall in love a little) had left Bel without a working Sat Nav for him.
Also, a voice whispered, and she tuned it out: you have thought a lot about the idea he looks at you a certain way.
Bel turned her attentions to a newly arrived email– she’d been on a fishing trip to find out who was on the guest list for Yorkshire Post ’s table at the Northern Media Awards.
Her contact gave her three names, none of them Anthony Barr, but that was no guarantee, of course. Anthony was plenty sly enough to suspect Bel would check and do a last-minute swap-out.
Bel had sternly instructed herself this was a risk she’d have to run in attending. He’d had a disproportionate impact on her life as it was; time to feel the fear and do it anyway.
She listlessly clicked on Instagram to be served a reel of Glenn Bailey judging the best kebabs in the city. Some social media manager had to edit him dunking fries into polystyrene pots to The Lightning Seeds.
Bailey was ‘tellygenic,’ easy in front of a camera, shaking hands with thrilled customers and making new fans wherever he went. He had what was called the common touch.
‘That research, is it?’ Aaron said, and though he was idly ragging on her, Bel quickly clicked away.
‘Trying to avoid the thankless trudge of digging into an onshore wind farm controversy.’
Connor reappeared from a job, rumpled in his blue shirt in the July heat, and Aaron turned his mithering attentions to him.
‘Not to pry, Adams, but is all OK with your beautiful fiancée?’ Aaron said. ‘I notice your photo’s gone. Or do we need to check if the cleaners are on the rob?’
He gestured with his pen at the space on Connor’s desk where his framed portrait of Jennifer once stood.
‘Oh, yes. We split up,’ Connor said. ‘She wasn’t my fiancée.’
‘God. Sorry to hear that,’ Bel said, pleased with herself for responding naturally to information she already had.
‘Thanks. Not a huge deal. It was a mutual decision and we’re both fine with it,’ Connor said, looking directly at Bel.
‘Aye, sorry,’ Aaron said. He paused. ‘So we’re a trio of singles?’
‘Unless you’ve met anyone?’ Bel said, and Aaron regarded her coolly. He knew something was being kept from him. Bel could tell Aaron was on to them. She should warn Connor of this.
Bel needed to not be distracted by office politics tittle-tattle, bigger issues were at hand.
Once both men were on phone calls, she slid her iPhone out.
Bel
Ian, we should meet for a catch-up this week if you can risk it, but also, I’m going to shoot my shot: can I request you bring Erin? Not to apply pressure, I just think it’d really help for us to meet each other.
A reply after fifteen minutes:
Ian
I’ve spoken to Erin and she’s agreed to join. She’s becoming a devotee of your podcast archive. And I think your cameo in Amber’s Instagram made her realise you are both serious about this, and very good at what you do!
Bel
I’m definitely at least one of those things.