22 | Be kinder to yourself
22 | be kinder to yourself
WILLIAM
The distant murmur of the city had faded into a forgotten whisper, overwhelmed by the intensity of my concentration. The blinds were drawn, shutting out the bright afternoon sun and casting the study in a cool, muted light. I sat at my antique desk, the edges worn smooth from years of use, my desktop computer glowing in front of me. A cup of tepid English Breakfast tea remained neglected at my elbow, its steam long since faded into the air.
Before me lay the fruits of my clandestine labour – a file thick with the weight of implication, damning evidence against Gastronomy Group. Every detail meticulously documented, every piece of evidence scrutinised and cross-referenced. Robert’s revelations had been the linchpin, transforming my suspicions into hard, irrefutable facts – a solid case. Without his insider perspective, I might have struggled to substantiate the claims. I made a mental note to update him later and to thank him once again.
Now, it was time to take the next step: submitting a formal complaint to the Competition and Markets Authority. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, the cursor blinking expectantly in the email draft. Within it, the summary of evidence lay like a coiled snake, waiting to strike.
‘Right, Will,’ I muttered to myself and leaned forward in my chair, the leather creaking in protest. ‘This is it.’
I attached the dossier to the email, the progress bar inching forward. As it completed, I reviewed the email one final time, ensuring every detail was exact, every accusation precise. Satisfied, I hovered the cursor over the Send button, my heart thudding a quick, heavy beat.
In that suspended moment, memories of the past weeks flooded back: the long days and late nights, the drama with Francesca and Cara, and the constant pressure of building this case amidst the demands of my actual job. Bal ancing this pro bono effort with my professional obligations and personal turmoil had been a merciless ordeal. Yet, through it all, a single thread of purpose had guided me – a desire to see justice served, to protect the small and vulnerable from the rapacious claws of corporate greed.
With a decisive click, I sent the email, watching it vanish into the ether. There was no turning back now. I sank into my chair, exhaling a breath I hadn’t realised I was holding. The deed was done. The wheels of bureaucracy would begin their slow, grinding turn, and I could only hope they would crush Gastronomy Group in their path.
I reached for the forgotten cup of tea, its cold bitterness a symbol of my relentless pursuit. The battle against Gastronomy Group was far from over, but this was a significant step forward. I allowed myself a moment of satisfaction; I had struck a blow for justice, and that was enough. The quiet of the flat wrapped around me, and I relished the temporary peace. Whatever lay ahead, I was ready to face it.
I glanced at my watch, its polished face glinting dully in the muted light. The hands pointed to three o’clock. Time had slipped away in the fervour of my work, and I needed to start on dinner. It was poker night; Jason, Andy, and Alex were coming over, and I had promised a good meal before the cards were dealt.
I would be serving them chicken biryani, Cara’s favourite dish. The thought brought a faint, wistful smile to my lips. I wasn’t making it purely out of culinary enthusiasm; I had a plan. There would be more than enough for everyone, and I intended to send some home with Jason for Cara. A small token of care – a way to look after her and keep her close, even from a distance.
I stood up, the leather chair groaning in relief, and stretched the stiffness from my limbs. The task ahead was a welcome distraction from the weight of the case.
In the kitchen, I set about gathering the ingredients. As I measured the spices, the aroma wafting up, memories from the past week swirled in my mind. It had been exactly one week since Cara learned about Francesca’s pregnancy. Seven days of unbearable tension and fragile conversations, each laden with the uncertainty that now loomed between us.
Last Sunday, her world had tilted on its axis. I still saw the stricken look in her eyes, the way her hands trembled as she absorbed the news. That image haunted me, as did the painful knowledge that she hadn’t reciprocated my feelings. I deeply regretted choosing that moment to declare my love for her, allowing something meant to be pure to be sullied by the mire of our situation. But I had been desperate, driven by a blind, foolish hope that my words might anchor her, might convince her to stay. Yet it hadn’t been enough. Her misgivings were palpable.
On Monday, she worked from home, needing space to process the chaos. Tuesday saw her return to the office, a shadow of her usual self. She was more impersonal, more reserved. The warmth that used to fill our interactions was replaced by a cautious formality. Whenever I sought reassurance, she gave what she could, but it was apparent she was still grappling with her emotions; she struggled to be physically intimate, each attempt at closeness met with a perfunctory kiss or a turned cheek. She was clearly drawing a line, reminding me that she was still undecided, that she needed time and space to think.
The week crawled by, each day a mirror of the last. We hadn’t gone on any dates; the evenings we once spent lost in intimate conversation were now replaced by uncomfortable silence. Yet, amidst the painful distance, I could see her effort to bridge the gap; the lunches we shared were her way of not completely shutting me out. I clung to those moments, even if they were tinged with melancholy. With Violet, Ellie, and Andy as constant companions, there was no space for the raw, honest talk we needed. We danced around it instead, clinging to the illusion of normalcy even as it crumbled beneath us. I watched her, my heart breaking a little more each day, knowing she was slipping further and further away.
Sighing, I moved to the hob and heated oil in a large pot. The sizzle of onions hitting the pan was an oddly soothing, almost meditative sound, a brief respite from the tumult of my thoughts. I added the spices and the rice, followed by the marinated chicken, and covered the pot, letting it simmer.
As the rich aroma filled the kitchen, the thought of Cara overwhelmed me. Her absence felt like a wound that refused to heal, a persistent whisper of potential permanence. I could almost see her standing there, deep-blue eyes lighting up as she inhaled the scent of her favourite dish. Her laughter would dance through the room, mingling with the sizzling of spices, and her touch would awaken a fire that no one else could spark, a flame that would forever belong to her.
I imagined her taking the first bite, her eyes closing in delight, a soft moan of satisfaction escaping her lips. ‘Will, this is amazing,’ she would say, a smile breaking across her face, her approval filling me with triumph.
But then, the memory of her stricken face intruded, the tremble in her hands as she sat on the bed, my phone in her grasp. I wished I could erase the hurt, turn back time, and spare her the pain. But I couldn’t. All I could do was hope, and I loathed the powerlessness it laid bare within me.
Perhaps tonight, in the company of friends and the comfort of familiar traditions, I could find a measure of solace.
§ § §
The scent of chicken biryani lingered in the air as the lads and I sat at the square dining table. Over dinner, the conversation had flowed easily, the lads delicately avoiding any mention of Francesca and Cara. Their tact did not go unnoticed, and I was quietly grateful for it. The constant turmoil of my personal life had been a relentless shadow, and any reprieve, however brief, was a welcome relief.
Jason shuffled the cards expertly, the pristine deck gliding smoothly between his fingers. To his immediate left, Andy leaned back in his chair, patting his belly with a hint of a smile playing at his lips.
‘Will, that was top class,’ he said, releasing a satisfied sigh. ‘Chloe won’t want to kiss me later, but it was well worth it.’
‘Absolutely,’ Alex chimed in, stacking his chips into neat piles, ever meticulous. ‘You outdid yourself tonight.’
I smiled, a glimmer of satisfaction mingling with my fatigue. ‘Glad you liked it.’
Jason, ever the observer, eyed me closely. ‘You look knackered, though. Have you slept at all?’
I scratched my cheek, shrugging. ‘Caught a few hours. It’s been a long week, though. Just sent off a formal complaint to the CMA about Gastronomy Group.’
‘Did you?’ Andy’s eyebrows arched. ‘Well done.’
‘Must’ve been intense,’ Alex murmured, casting me a worried look. ‘Juggling that and everything else.’
‘It is – it’s not over yet,’ I replied, nodding faintly. ‘But that’s life, I suppose.’
Jason placed a hand on my shoulder, his features creasing with deep concern. ‘You ought to slow down a bit, Will, or you’ll burn out.’
I shot him a sceptical glance. He knew full well that working was a form of self-preservation for me. It was a sanctuary, a place where I could escape the suffocating grip of my personal demons. Immersing myself in it was an act of desperation, a means to drown out the noise of my troubled heart and restless mind. It was the only way I knew to numb the persistent ache.
‘I am resting, in a way.’ I reached for my glass of red and took a sip.
‘Seriously, Will,’ Alex said, fixing me with a firm, stern look. ‘When was the last time you took a holiday? Christmas doesn’t count.’
I frowned thoughtfully. It must have been two years ago, when I’d gone to the Bahamas with Alex, Andy, and Chloe. That holiday hadn’t been particularly pleasant either, seeing as Henry – Alex’s father – had died of a spontaneous heart attack.
‘A couple of years ago, I think.’
‘Two years without a holiday?’ Andy huffed, shaking his head in disapproval. ‘That’s mental. You need a break, man.’
I chuckled. ‘Well, isn’t that why you’re here?’ I gestured to the table. ‘Let the games begin.’
Jason nodded, shuffling the deck one last time. He had the button for this hand, a small advantage. Andy slid a couple of chips forward to place the small blind, and Alex followed suit, posting the big blind. With a deft flick of his wrist, Jason dealt the first hand. The cards landed smoothly in front of us, and we each picked them up, the room falling into a silence as we studied our hands.
A pair of jacks stared back at me, their bold faces almost daring me to underestimate them. Strong cards, certainly capable of winning a decent pot, but not invincible. I glanced around the table, trying to read the expressions of my friends. Andy’s usual smirk was replaced by a thoughtful frown, Alex’s face was impassive as ever, and Jason’s eyes flickered with the faintest hint of a challenge.
Mentally, I calculated the odds, considering the potential hands that could outdo mine. A queen and king could spell trouble, and any pocket pair higher than jacks would leave me in the dust. I needed to stay cautious yet optimistic, playing the hand with a balance of aggression and restraint.
The first round of betting began, chips clinking as they were tossed into the pot. My heart thudded a steady rhythm, the thrill of the game providing a welcome distraction from the weight of my personal troubles. For a moment, the world outside the room faded, and all that mattered were the cards, the chips, and the camaraderie of old friends.
‘So, Jase,’ Andy said, his tone light and laced with amusement. ‘Rumour has it a blonde angel blessed you with a great time last week.’
Jason’s eyes met mine, his lips curling into a smug smile. I returned his gaze with a smirk, feeling a swell of pride that he had managed to captivate Olivia. She was a lovely, complex woman, their pairing a beautiful dance of compatible traits. From Cara’s accounts, Olivia was the quintessential hopeless romantic, perpetually giving people the benefit of the doubt, often to her own detriment.
Cara, ever the realist, found Olivia’s capacity for forgiveness exasperating, particularly in the case of Colin, Olivia’s unfaithful ex. Despite his repeated betrayals, Olivia’s heart had remained open, her leniency unyielding until Colin, remarkably, was the one to end things. It was a bitter irony, a testament to the tragic beauty of Olivia’s character. Her patience, her empathy – these were qualities that could either elevate or destroy her, depending on the beholder. But, in Jason, I saw a kindred spirit to Olivia’s flawed romanticism, a man who could flourish in the light of her unwavering loyalty and understanding.
‘Yes,’ Jason said, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as his gaze flitted to Andy’s. ‘It was a heavenly experience without a doubt.’
Andy chuckled, reaching for his glass of red. ‘Good for you, man. About time.’ He raised the glass to Jason, then took a sip.
‘Yeah. Worth the wait, though.’
‘I’m sure,’ Alex said, a weary sigh escaping as he matched Andy’s bet. I glanced at him, recognising in that sigh the deep frustration he felt over Ivy.
‘Don’t know why you’re sighing, mate,’ Andy said to Alex, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. ‘You must have got a shit hand, because as far as I’m aware, you got Ivy to come to the charity gala with you next week.’
Alex’s dark eyebrows furrowed. ‘She’s attending as my PA, not my date.’
‘Could be worse,’ I murmured, watching Jason consider whether to call, raise, or fold. ‘I might be going solo.’
‘Solo?’ Jason echoed, his brows knitting as he lifted his gaze to mine. ‘What about Cara?’
‘I’m not sure she wants to go anymore.’ I studied him intently, searching for any sign that might reveal Cara’s current state of mind. It troubled me to rely on Jason for insights, but with Cara and I barely speaking outside of work, he was my best link. I knew she confided in him, yet I couldn’t gauge how much he withheld out of loyalty to her.
‘She does,’ Jason said. ‘She’s going shopping for a dress with Livy on Thursday.’
I stiffened, my eyes widening with disbelief. ‘Really?’
Jason nodded, giving me a faint smile. ‘Yeah.’
I leaned back, trying to digest this unexpected piece of information. If Cara was going dress shopping, then she clearly hadn’t abandoned hope. It was a sign, however tentative, that she was taking steps toward me, not away. For the first time in a week, I felt a sense of cautious optimism stirring within me.
I resolved to arrange for a dress first thing in the morning and have it sent to her. She would oppose the idea, not wanting me to spend money on her, but the thought of her bearing the cost for an event I was dragging her to – it bothered me.
I wouldn’t give her the chance to object. The dress would arrive before she could purchase one herself, leaving her no room to refuse.
The image of her opening the package, perhaps irritated at first, but then maybe, just maybe, softened by the gesture, brought a fleeting warmth to my chest. It was a small thing, but in our current strained state, small things mattered.
‘Thanks for the heads-up,’ I said, my mind already racing ahead, planning the details. A red dress, without question – the colour that mirrored her fiery spirit. Silk or satin, the only fabrics worthy of her grace.
Jason’s smile widened slightly, his eyes reflecting a tacit understanding. ‘Be kinder to yourself, yeah? Stop expecting the worst all the time.’
I acknowledged his advice with a nod, then gestured to his chips. ‘Are you going to fold?’
A sudden gleam of challenge lit up his eyes. ‘I’m calling,’ he said, tossing a few chips into the pot.
Andy shifted in his seat, his eyes darting between me and the pot. ‘Speaking of expecting,’ he said, his voice measured and careful, ‘didn’t you say Francesca would be back in London today?’
The fleeting warmth of my earlier optimism vanished at the mere mention of her name. I felt my jaw tighten, my teeth gnashing together as a slow simmer of loathing crept through my veins. Monday’s conversation with Francesca replayed in my mind, a sour memory. I had rung her to confirm the details of her return, needing to set up the clinic appointment. Her casual question about who had answered my phone the day before – when Cara had picked up – had left me momentarily stunned. That she could so carelessly divulge intimate details about me, oblivious to who was listening, was nothing short of detestable.
Spite had driven my response. I told her it was my girlfriend she had spoken to, and her reaction had been immediate. She started crying, softly, discreetly. Yet, not a shred of mercy stirred within me. My anger erupted, uncontrollable. I was furious at her for so many things: for the entanglement we found ourselves in, for my own folly in ever sharing a bed with her, and most of all, for revealing the truth to Cara before I could do it myself.
‘Yes, she lands in London tonight,’ I replied, my tone clipped.
Andy held my gaze, his own eyes shadowed with unease, his posture tense as the unspoken question hung in the air.
‘We’re scheduled at the clinic on Wednesday,’ I continued. ‘It was the first appointment I could get. The result should be in by Monday.’
Jason drained his glass. ‘Fingers crossed,’ he said, exhaling loudly. Then he dealt the flop, revealing the first three community cards: a ten of spades, a queen of clubs, and a three of diamonds. The game progressed, each of us carefully gauging our chances and placing our bets accordingly.
Andy and Alex folded early, leaving just Jason and me in the hand. Jason’s eyes flicked up to meet mine, a steely determination in his gaze. I tossed in a few more chips, and he called without hesitation.
The turn card was a jack of hearts, giving me three of a kind. I forced myself to remain composed, keeping my features neutral. I glanced at Jason, his expression inscrutable.
‘I’ll raise,’ I said, pushing a stack of chips into the pot.
Jason smirked, matching my bet. ‘Call.’ With a dramatic flourish, he flipped over his cards, revealing a pair of tens. He had three of a kind, but my jacks held the upper hand. The river card was a two of spades, changing nothing.
I laid down my cards with quiet satisfaction. ‘Three of a kind, jacks.’
Jason let out a low whistle, shaking his head with a wry grin. ‘Well played, Will.’
‘Good game,’ I said, raking in the chips.
‘If only you could play your life’s hand as well as you played this one,’ Andy quipped.
‘Rest assured, Andy,’ I met his gaze with resolve, ‘I will. ’