Chapter 23
23
Had it not been for the darkening room, as daylight gradually faded, Fiona wouldn’t have realised how much time had passed listening to Rory, more relaxed than she had felt in days. The home-brewed kombucha had helped. (She hadn’t realised what she was drinking until after she’d finished the first glass and, by that time, she’d got a taste for it.) More probably it was the effect of being with someone who had no expectations of her.
‘So, what do you think?’ he’d asked, after they’d finished their meal. They’d had a burger with their salad, followed by a peach cobbler, served with home-made ice cream – made from surplus milk.
‘Of the food?’
‘Of everything. From what I remember, you were pretty dubious the first time you came to the café.’
‘You don’t remember that.’
‘Really?’ His eyebrows rose. ‘Cappuccino with milk milk. No food. You were pretty hard to forget.’
‘God, I must have sounded like an idiot.’
‘Yeah, you did.’ Sitting back in his chair, his eyes narrowed. ‘So, come on then.’
‘Come on what?’ she asked.
‘What about you? You’ve listened to me talk for hours. Literally. And you’ve said absolutely nothing about yourself.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘It is. Other than the fact that you’d never had kombucha before which, to be honest, I could have guessed. So, what is it? There’s obviously something going on. Something about you I should know.’
Avoiding his gaze, she fiddled with the tablecloth.
‘Why do you say that? Perhaps I’m just the type of person who likes to listen.’
‘No, you’re not.’ He smiled wryly.
‘Okay, well, maybe I’m the type of person who is trying to be the type of person who likes listening.’
He angled his head to the side. ‘Well, my intuition is usually pretty good. And I would say you’re deliberately avoiding talking about yourself because you feel vulnerable.’
‘Is that so?’
‘Now if I were to hazard a guess, I would say that maybe it has something to do with your husband or perhaps with whatever I said about that whale.’
‘Martha,’ she replied reflexively. ‘Her name was Martha.’
‘Right. So whale trumps husband, does it? Interesting.’
She ran her tongue against her top teeth. As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. For the last couple of hours, since she’d arrived at Rory’s, Stephen hadn’t entered her thoughts.
‘My husband and I are having difficulties,’ she said, deciding to divulge what she was coming to realise was an understatement.
‘But it’s not over?’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Well, you’re still wearing your rings.’
She glanced down at her hand, as if surprised to find them there.
‘The engagement ring was my mother’s,’ she told him. ‘I wouldn’t take it off because of him.’
‘And the wedding ring?’
Pausing, she held the white-gold band between her fingers and twisted it around. There was nothing special about it, except for a dent, where she’d once caught it, painfully, on a door handle. She’d probably have a hard time telling it apart from any other of the same size and colour. But it meant something. It had meant everything. It meant that he had said forever.
‘Sorry.’ Rory stretched over and took her plate. ‘I didn’t mean to get so personal. Forget I said anything. You don’t have to tell me anything.’
‘It’s not that I don’t want to…’ she surprised herself by saying. ‘It’s just… I don’t know.’
He nodded understandingly. ‘I get it,’ he said. ‘And the whale, is it too soon to talk about that too?’
She nodded. ‘Like you said, whale trumps husband.’
They moved to the sofa for coffee and their conversation took a small detour through travel experiences and film culture. He had been to India, thus allowing her to feel vindicated in her earlier thoughts about tie-dyed blankets and batiks.
Just before nine, he stood up and picked up the cups.
‘I don’t want to appear rude,’ he said. ‘But I’ve got to be up at four.’
‘Four? Why?’
‘Supermarkets. Have to be there before any refuse trucks arrive, remember?’
‘And that means getting up at four?’
‘It does. Of course, you’re welcome to join me if you’d like to?’
She cocked her head. ‘Maybe another time.’
He smiled. ‘Another time then.’
He fetched her coat and opened the door. There was no goodbye kiss, or lingering hug, merely a peck on the cheek, one side only.
She was two steps down the stairs when he called after her.
‘Do you want my number?’ he asked. ‘You know, so you can ring me up the next time you’re having a meltdown, rather than coming into my shop and terrifying all my customers.’
‘Now where’s the fun in that?’ she asked. ‘Besides, I know where to find you if I want you.’
The next morning, she awoke with a clear head. Something felt different as she stretched out, only to recoil at the cold, untouched part of the bedclothes. Opening her eyes, she stared at the ceiling until she realised what it was. The television. She must have forgotten to turn it on when she got home last night. Expecting the silence to cause another panic, she kicked off the duvet and made a grab for the remote, only to hesitate. Outside, a bird was chirping. Several birds in fact. It wasn’t the most pleasant song: shrill and high pitched. But still, it was birdsong. She lowered the remote and continued to listen, until the clock in the hall told her it was time to get moving. Heading downstairs, she fixed herself a coffee. It was going to be a good day.
It was not a good day.
Still humming, with an air of optimism, she had barely stepped into the office when she caught sight of Annabel’s ashen complexion.
‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘What’s happened? Is it VertX?’
Annabel shook her head, her glasses wobbling on her nose.
‘No,’ she replied. ‘It’s another one. One of the recruitment agencies.’
‘Shit,’ she said, heading for her desk to check her emails.
It was no surprise. One of Dominic’s closest business associates and, if she remembered correctly, Octavia’s godmother, had bailed. Still, she’d hoped she’d have a little more time. The chance to invite them in, explain her new vision and get them on side before they heard any rumours.
Naturally, there was a range of reasons given, none of which included the exact words, you completely lost your shit with one of London’s most-beloved socialites and for some reason also decided to sabotage your relationship with your biggest client , but she could read between the lines. Instead, the message said things like, taking our business in a different direction and cutting back due to other developments.
‘Wimps,’ she told the computer. ‘The least they could have done was be honest about it.’ Still, it was only one company. She had a dozen more on her books.
By lunchtime, yet another email had arrived, from a second company apparently going in a different direction . She picked up the phone and began making calls.
‘You need to eat something,’ Annabel said when, at 3p.m., Fiona was still busy talking to clients, informing them that while, yes, what they may have heard about the changes she was making was true, she was still there to service all their needs and more; in fact, they had the opportunity to be in at the start of something brilliant. She used all the best lines from her presentation to Dominic, which she honed and refined as she went and, by the fifth call, was even selling it to herself.
‘How do you think it’s going?’ Annabel asked, when Fiona had ignored the question about food. ‘Do you think it’s making a difference?’
‘Well, I definitely don’t think it’s hurting. So that’s got to be good, right?’
‘Right. And food? I was going to go to that noodle place. The one that does the mee goreng you like?’
Stretching her head back and then to the sides, she let out a groan.
‘It’s fine,’ she said. ‘I’m not going to stay here much longer. There’s nothing I can do until I know whether people are staying with me or not.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure. You might as well head off too. I don’t expect tomorrow is going to be any more fun than today.’
Back home, Fiona sat down with a plate of scrambled eggs and went through the figures. She wasn’t going to be immediately destitute. The issue was whether or not she would be pouring money down the drain, fighting to keep the business afloat. In which case, would she be better off just packing up altogether? She had to be realistic. Yes, when Stephen finally pulled his head out of his arse and came back, he would be able to handle all the household bills, and Joseph’s university expenses too, but did she really want to be beholden to him? And did she even know who she would be beholden to? The way he had spoken to her before he left was like he was an entirely different person to the one she had married. Had he really changed that greatly, and if so, why hadn’t she seen it happening? There were too many questions she simply didn’t have the answers to and so pushing thoughts of Stephen out of her head, Fiona returned to mulling over the numbers in front of her.
At the end of the calculations, she came to the decision that she could just about afford to lose one more company from her list. That was what it came down to. If she lost more than one – or maybe two of the smaller ones – she wouldn’t be able to keep her head above water, which would necessitate having to let Annabel go, too. She had to make sure that didn’t happen.