Chapter 24
CHLOE
Oh shit. I can’t breathe. I seriously can’t catch a breath. It’s like his words have punctured a lung, crushing me internally. It feels like all that elation from earlier today has completely gone and I’ve landed back into my real life with the cruellest and harshest of bumps.
I’m not sure when you started making the rules around here and judging your colleagues like this. We are a team and I can’t accept this level of professional conduct. Consider this notice of your dismissal.
I clutch my phone and exhale slowly, standing by the kitchen counter and swaying slightly like I’m at sea.
I always knew Julian was an abominable human being but he just reached a new low with his mock-indignant rage.
And for all those times where I was taken advantage of, low-key embarrassed by the watercooler, working all hours and giving my soul to his practice, I have nothing now.
I took that all on the chin for the sake of my professional integrity.
I’m an excellent architect but none of it was enough to save me.
How utterly shaming that I let him do that to me.
‘Chloe,’ Ben whispers. I can’t actually look at him.
I can’t blame him for any of this, can I?
He was only ever full of wisdom, kindness.
Maybe I’m just ashamed, completely. I turn to run up the stairs and go to my room.
I don’t know what to do. Do I pack a bag and leave and try and fix this?
Do I call back? Maybe I can do some work and prove my worth to him?
I can’t focus. I’m incredibly stressed, verging on nausea.
I don’t know how to organise any of these feelings, how to understand what’s happening.
Why did I come here in the first place? To escape that feeling.
But in this moment, I feel the furthest away from myself I’ve ever been.
Panic washes over me that I’m thousands of miles away from feeling safe, from being at home.
I go over to the bed and sit there, staring into space.
Slowly, I lay my head on the mattress, tears streaming along my nose and around the curves of my cheeks.
I don’t know how long I lie there for, or how long my tears flow but soon there’s a light knock on the door and it slowly opens, Ben’s face peers around it.
He doesn’t say a word but he puts a tray of things on the desk and then he comes over to me.
He sits on the floor, next to the bed, and looks me in the eye.
He puts a hand to my hair and wipes away my tears.
Then he gets up and pulls my arms so I’m standing in front of him.
I still can’t look at him but he takes my hand, pulls it to his mouth and kisses it.
‘Come with me,’ he whispers. Are we going to watch the rest of the film?
I don’t think I can bear to see the others or manage to talk or explain.
But I don’t know how to say this so I follow him willingly.
I don’t think sex will heal this either.
But we go to the nearby bathroom and he opens the door.
Inside, he’s filled the rolltop copper bath with bubbles, and there’s a strong scent of vanilla and lavender from the candles that illuminate the room.
The lights are low, not glaring; some peaceful, lo-fi music plays in the background.
He stands me in the middle of the room and peels my dress off gently so it falls to the floor.
He strokes my head again and then rolls down my knickers slowly.
I feel too emotionally numb to worry that I’m standing here naked.
In front of a man I still barely know. He looks me straight in the eye, holding my gaze.
The sincerity of it all kills me. He gestures to show me that the bath is mine and I smile, nodding, stepping over the edge, putting my hands on the side and lowering my body in.
The water is warm, like a hug, and I let it envelop me, warm me up.
But I don’t or can’t relax. I don’t lie back but sit upright clutching my knees, still deep in thought.
‘Can I?’ Ben asks.
At first, I think he wants to come in the bath with me but he remains fully clothed and holds a jug in his hand.
I nod slowly and tip my head back as he pours the water through my hair.
He places his hands gently on my head and softly lathers up my hair, from the underside of my head to the top of my roots, rubbing my scalp lightly.
I close my eyes as he does it, feeling his touch, taking comfort from it.
He tips more water over my head and then he applies conditioner to the ends, combs it out and rinses it again.
I don’t think I even do this for myself at home.
I never savour a shower or a bath like this.
I don’t use it to restore. I simply clean myself and move on to the rest of my day.
There’s so much pleasure in just sitting here and letting the water and bubbles kiss my skin gently.
Ben leans forward and kisses my bare shoulder.
He doesn’t say a word about any of it, he doesn’t try and fix, he doesn’t talk, but he stays with me as I realise I need to cry and wash all this stress away.
That night, I have the worst dreams. I’m eighteen again and I’m in Paris, and for some reason, I think wearing a beret is a good idea but the French people laugh at me.
The men flirt a fair bit but I keep them at arm’s length.
I’m a serious architect but they look down on me.
I’m trying to make the Eiffel Tower out of LEGO and all the sizes are wrong.
So I swear in French and return to my sketch pad.
Go away, architecture is life! It is my passion! Go shag a croissant!
I kept waking up, sweaty, confused, consumed by the repercussions of my firing.
A bath was the perfect thing to calm down my nervous system and give me a moment with my thoughts, but it didn’t erase my worries.
Now, in the bright light of a new day, they stay with me: the lack of finances, the probable lack of references if I try and find a new job, the complete stalling of climbing up the ladder.
My career is everything to me, I’ve invested so much time and energy into it.
And now? Now there’s a huge space that I can’t see past.
‘Hun.’ There’s a knock and Zara peers around the door. ‘I’ve got a cup of coffee for you, some juice,’ she says, carrying a tray across the room which holds various cups and glasses. She places it down next to me. ‘It’s beautiful outside if you want to come and sit on the patio.’
I don’t move. I know it’s nice outside; I’ve been focusing on the golden slivers of light shining through my shutters for the last hour, drooling into my pillow. When I first came here, this was the dream: stay in bed, stare at walls, rest these weary bones. ‘What time is it?’ I ask her.
‘Nearly eleven,’ she says. She perches next to me and puts a hand to my head in a sort of parental reflex, as though she’s checking to see if I have a fever. I don’t. I’m strangely lukewarm inside though. ‘Ben told us what happened.’
Ben, the kindest and most comforting of souls.
He brought me drinks and chocolates when I got out of that bath.
He combed out my hair; he dried it. He offered me a bowl of mashed potato.
I refused but I appreciated the gesture.
He found me something to wear and he did the strangest thing which no one has ever done for me before.
He moisturised me. Even though that sounds vaguely sexual, it was nothing of the sort.
It wasn’t a massage. He took my arms in his hands and rubbed lotion into them, smoothed over my ashy elbows and rubbed cream into my shoulders because I needed it, nothing more.
After that, he sat there; he didn’t lie with me, he let me cry a few more tears, he waited until I must have fallen asleep.
The thought of him warms me for a moment: the thought that he did all of that.
For me. I roll over to look at Zara. ‘Sorry to bring a downer on the day with my shitty news.’ I push myself up and sit against the headboard.
‘I’m just lying here trying to make sense of it. ’
‘Well, sounds like a shitty hairy boss if you ask me, the firing, the ridiculous expectations. I did make Ben tell us everything,’ she says, looking down at the used tissues next to my bed.
‘Here, have a drink, hun.’ She puts a protective hand to my hair and studies my face.
‘Their loss, you know. I think Ben feels a bit crap about it all too. He encouraged you to take a break from your work.’
‘It wasn’t his fault,’ I intervene. ‘It was a toxic working situation and I should have had the guts to leave. I’m just worried about the future, what waits for me when I get back.’
Zara pouts and hands me a cup of coffee.
I add some brown sugar crystals to it, watching them melt off the spoon.
There’s a satisfying, glossy viscosity to this coffee as it slides down my throat.
I think about how I usually drink my morning flat white, served to me in a paper cup after someone impatiently screams my name in a crowded coffee shop.
This is slow coffee, dripping into my soul, rousing me back into the room.
‘I get that. It probably feels like a proper shot to the guts,’ she says. ‘But I don’t want to see you upset, here of all places. Don’t let that shitty boss take away your holiday, which is supposed to be a happy, restful time for you. Worry about all of that when we get back to real life, right?’
I shrug my shoulders and smile.
‘I don’t like how this has dimmed all your light. Let’s get up.’ Zara stands up and opens the curtains to let the sun stream through.
‘OK, Mum,’ I say in a pained teenage voice.
She swings around. ‘If I was your mum, I’d have thrown your laptop in the pool,’ she says, laughing.
I sit up and finish my coffee. ‘So, what’s on the agenda for today?’ I ask.
Zara stands by the window and beckons me over. I walk over, clutching my mug, and look down at Jess whose face is the colour of a light-green turtle. Ben has his back to us and is leant over Jess’s hands which are outstretched on a small table with a cushion on top. I smile.
‘When we went down for breakfast, Ben had cooked. Obviously. But he’d also made homemade face masks for us, all natural. He’d cut up cucumber slices for our eyes too. He laid out towels and he’s given me a manicure,’ she says, holding up her perfectly pink nails.
I grab Zara’s hands in mine in disbelief. ‘He did that? That’s decent. Cuticles and everything?’
‘Ben likens it to decorating cakes. He’s got a steady hand. He did my feet before too. You should have seen the dry skin that came off them. It was like he was grating Parmesan,’ she says, grimacing.
‘He’s a man of many hidden talents,’ I mumble, watching him from the window.
‘If I might be so bold to say so: he does care, you know? He’s spent a lot of this morning looking up to your balcony to see signs of movement. Smiling when we mention your name.’
‘Really?’ I ask. ‘Do you know what he did last night? He ran me a bath and looked after me. He stayed here until I fell asleep and held my hand.’ I think back to sitting next to Ben on that bean bag outside, enjoying the romance and magic of an outdoor film.
A night of being swept up in twinkling lights and having him near, gently tracing his fingers against mine as a reminder he was close, that he was thinking of what had transpired earlier that day.
What a day of absolute fucking contrasts.
‘That’s because he’s a big bloody sweetheart, isn’t he?
’ Zara says. ‘I’m glad he was there for you.
I think this morning’s impromptu spa treatments are so he can make amends, make you feel better.
I don’t know what’s in the face mask but my cheeks are as smooth as a baby’s booty.
’ She makes me stroke her glowing complexion before she gets my robe from the chair in the corner of the room.
‘Come on, kiddo. Let’s get some sun on your face and make this all feel better.
’ She puts the robe over my shoulders and hands me a pair of sunglasses and some towelling slippers.
‘I have a feeling he may have stolen these from a hotel but they complete the look.’
Zara threads her arm through mine and walks me down the stairs, out into the light and warmth of the patio. I flinch at the brightness of it all.
‘I have another customer for you, Ben. She’s in desperate need of a mani,’ Zara announces.
I glance down at my half-bitten nails. I don’t usually go for any pampering, mainly because I’m scared of nail bars and sometimes I wonder how people with super-long acrylics wipe their own bums. I look at Ben who stands there with a towel across his arm, smiling to see me.
‘CHLOE!’ Jess says, trying not to move her face too much because of the face mask in situ. ‘You’re up!’
Ben walks up to us. ‘Hi, welcome to my nail shop. Take a seat. Would madame like a hot drink or a magazine while she waits?’
I notice a pile of magazines next to the tables, along with some lit incense sticks, and I smile at the cuteness of what he’s trying to achieve.
I don’t answer but I’m mildly amused that he’s wearing a white T-shirt and shorts, and that he bows slightly to welcome me on to the patio.
He’s only a hat away from looking quite nautical.
I manage a grin. ‘I was told there were face masks,’ I say.
‘There are. No one’s tried the turmeric and honey one yet if you’d like to be the first? Take a pew and I’ll bring it over.’
Zara returns to her sun lounger leaving Ben and me standing alone for a moment.
‘Good morning. Are you OK?’
He smiles, but I can also see the concern in his face.
I never blamed him for any of it, and I feel bad that last night was punctuated with so much silence that would have made him worry.
‘It is what it is. Thank you for last night.’ For yesterday, for all of it.
Can we hug? Do we hug? Because you give excellent hugs.
But I think this might be against the spa rules.
‘You’re welcome. Give me a moment. While you wait, maybe you’d like to choose a colour for your manicure?’ He hands me a case: there are only five colours and I grin.
Ben, although it weighs heavily into the stereotype, this is why we thought you were gay. I run my fingers over the bottles inside.
‘If I can be so bold,’ he says. ‘I like the yellow. It’s bright, it would suit you. The lady deserves some sunshine.’ He reaches over and squeezes my hand without saying a word. I run my thumb along the inside of his palm and squeeze back.