Chapter 14 #2
‘Well, yes . . . I’m really sorry but, you see, they need me to start immediately.’
She was about to explain to Dave just how busy Georgina had been but gagged herself in time. This was awful, even worse than she’d expected.
‘Look, I can work Saturdays. And help Evelyn in the mornings from six to eight.’
Even as she heard herself blurting this out, she knew it was crazy. Still, anything was better than the overpowering sense of guilt she was feeling.
‘I can’t hold you, Ally. I can’t offer you a full salary. But what about upstairs? Would that make any difference? Sure, the bulk of most people’s income goes on housing these days.’
‘It’s not just the money,’ she admitted.
It was, mainly. But not all.
‘It’s that my sister got me the job in a friend’s law firm.’
The minute the words were out, she could’ve kicked herself. Dave’s face closed in.
‘It’s OK, I get it. It’s the whole thing. It’s the professional environment. I get it.’
There was no answer to that. But that wasn’t how she truly felt at all. She took a step back in confusion and crashed into somebody. Pete had been standing behind her for at least part of the time. His face was unreadable.
‘I’m sorry, I’m going to have to go,’ said Dave. ‘I’ve to get in to see Fia and the baby. I can’t think about this now. Don’t bother coming in at six tomorrow – Evelyn has the prep covered.’
As soon as the door closed behind him, she felt Pete’s presence.
‘Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?’
She swung around and felt a jolt in her stomach at the blend of Tom Ford aftershave and something . . . Not sweat, exactly, but a trace of something that was so . . . him. She tried to steady her jagged breathing and look calm while wiping her sweaty palms on her jeans.
‘I didn’t exactly get the chance, as you may have noticed, and now Dave is really upset with me.’
‘What is it, Ally? Where do we stand? Don’t mess me around, please, I’ve had enough of that.’
Oh God, was she the sort of woman that messed men around?
The type she and Rosemarie were scornful of in their conversations?
God no, that wasn’t her intention at all.
She didn’t feel powerful or manipulative, or like she had him wrapped round her little finger.
That couldn’t be further from the truth.
In reality all she felt was confusion and anxiety.
‘I can’t talk here. Can we meet somewhere else?’ The café had cleared out and Evelyn had gone home, so they were the only two people left.
‘No, I have you here and you’re not slipping away. Please, tell me now.’
‘It’s your whole situation. It’s not that I expect you not to have a past . . . Hell, we’ve all got a past . . . And it’s not about the boys, because, believe me, I respect that . . .’
She was babbling and she knew it.
‘It’s OK, Ally, I know you’re not a . . . mean bitch. Just tell me.’
‘What am I trying to say? It’s your ex. The fact that she can just snap her fingers and . . . it’s almost like you’re gone . . . like you turn into somebody else.’
She hadn’t realised it before the words came out, but that was exactly how she’d felt that Sunday morning. Like he’d already left while still sitting in her flat.
He was studying her carefully while rubbing his fingers through his stubble. Oh God, I hope he’s not going to get angry, she thought, but instead he just turned to study the floor.
‘Somebody else? Like who?’
‘I don’t know, just somebody different.’
What she actually wanted to say was like a little boy.
He made a huffing sound and scraped at a mark on the floor with his foot. ‘Hmm. Yeah, you could be right.’
‘I really didn’t intend to be mean or offend you. I’m actually not a manipulative person.’
What she really wanted to explain was that she feared the effect he had on her.
She was afraid of being chewed up and spat out in whatever drama was still going on between him and that mysterious woman who seemed to be playing by different rules.
Rules that Ally couldn’t compete with: tough as hell, prepared to use his money for whatever she wanted .
. . lip jobs, nose jobs, bum jobs – able to get her way regardless of the cost to him.
Ding!
The café door swung open and two guys in fleeces and lanyards bustled in, talking intensely while swinging laptop bags. They had clearly just come out of a business meeting and were starving, so didn’t take a blind bit of notice of the drama they’d interrupted.
‘Two spicy chicken club sandwiches, an order of sweet fries and two large cappuccinos, thanks,’ called one of the guys, as the pair arranged themselves at a table without missing a beat.
Damn. This was a complicated order literally ten minutes before they closed.
She was on the verge of telling them the kitchen was closed but the image of Dave and Fia sitting in the Coombe maternity hospital beside their tiny baby, fighting for his life in the incubator, brought tears to her eyes.
God, she owed it to them to do anything in her power to help.
‘Sure, no problem.’ She smiled.
Pete raised an eyebrow.
‘Ally, you don’t have to . . . Dave wouldn’t—’
‘I know but I want to, it’s OK,’ she muttered while switching back on the deep fat fryer and unpacking a load of boxes from the fridge. He took two mugs from the stack and passed them to her, and then leaned against the counter as she deftly prepared the two cappuccinos.
‘So, Ally, will I look for somebody else for upstairs?’
The words stabbed her heart, as she thought of somebody else moving into that place, but what could she say? On the other hand, could he be jibing her, trying to get a reaction? Suddenly, she felt tired.
‘Look, Pete, that’s between you and Dave.
I’ve just been offered a permanent job .
. . and I feel horribly torn, believe me, but I just can’t afford not to take it.
I’m really sorry but things have changed.
I’ll be able to keep on my flat. But . .
. I’ll still be in on Saturdays, if Dave’ll have me, that is.
’ Whatever way she put it, the words sounded like a rejection.
He smiled ruefully and shook his head.
‘Don’t worry – with Dave’s staff management skills, if you were missing a head, he’d still take you back. Well, I’d better go, see you around.’
There was no mistaking the sting in his tone as he disappeared into the storeroom.
* * *
‘Darling, there you are, what a stroke of luck!’
Mum managed to get the words out before the bell had time to jangle. How did she even manage that?
‘By the way, who was that yummy-looking man? I only saw his back but . . . there’s a pair of shoulders you don’t often see outside of a rugby pitch.’
Jesus wept, had she not had enough emotional turmoil for one day?
‘Oh, he’s just a guy who works for the owner,’ Ally muttered under her breath in the hope of shutting her mum down. ‘So, what exactly brings you here?’
She was trying not to be rude, but today everything she said seemed to be upsetting somebody.
‘Well, lovely to see you too. I just dropped in for a takeaway coffee and a portion of that lovely tart your little woman makes. You see, Allegra Carmichel was having a follow-up visit with her gallbladder man, and . . . this is strictly between us, promise?’
As though Ally could be arsed telling anyone about Allegra Carmichel’s gallbladder, even if it were the last organ on earth.
‘He does a bit of Botox on the side for his regulars. All totally legal, of course. I mean, he’s a doctor.
In fact, I was thinking I might get a bit on my forehead and what he calls the nasolabial folds – who knew we had such things?
Here and here. I’m quite excited, actually, but don’t tell Daddy .
. . he wouldn’t let me, though he’ll never notice if nobody tells him.
Anyway, it was Allegra who suggested you might like to get some done yourself. ’
‘Me? Why on earth does Allegra Carmichel think I need Botox?’
‘Now, now, now, she was just being kind. It’s not what you need right this minute, it’s preventative. Time is only going one direction, sweetheart. You’re not in your twenties, so no point lolling around.’
Actually, once Ally got past her indignation, it did strike her as not being the world’s worst piece of advice.
‘Anyway, I’m so happy you’re starting at Hogget’s tomorrow – I can stop worrying about you at last. Oh, is that the teeniest bit of smoke I see?’
‘Shit.’ Ally just managed to rescue the guy’s fried chicken in time and made up their sandwiches while Mum rattled on.
‘Oh, look at you, able to multitask . . . Remember you used to panic if someone said hello while you were trying to chop a tomato?’
‘That was when I was ten.’ Why was she even letting herself get pulled into this?
With a superhuman effort, she managed to serve up the thankfully pre-charred chicken sandwiches, sweet potato fries and a second round of cappuccinos. And then she moved on to the tea and tart. Mum was enchanted.
‘Oh scrummy! Look at you doing all of that. I used to have a fantasy about being a café girl. I still fancy myself back there.’
Yes, but not stressed and covered in goo, she thought grimly. Mum seemed to have always got away with playing at life.
‘Anyhow, darling, I’m proud of you. You’ve shown me you can turn your hand to anything . . . now must dash – Allegra is waiting for me in the car with the flashers on. We don’t want her to get towed away. Ciao, bella, as my darling mother-in-law used to say. Hah!’
She gave a tinkling laugh and sailed out of the café, leaving a waft of Baccarat Rouge in her wake.
The Owl’s Nest felt terribly empty after the door swung closed, despite the two guys chatting away by the wall.
Damp evening fog had penetrated indoors and the pendulum lights gave the atmosphere a yellowish tinge, as though the air itself was dense.
Ally cleared up the kitchen, disinfecting every surface, mopping the floor and hanging up all the implements in perfect order, before allowing herself a glimpse outside in the alley.
The van was gone. A pang of loneliness filled her, but she pushed it down.
This was her choice after all . . . even if it didn’t feel that way.
* * *
That evening she sat on the floor in her apartment, her back against the sofa, watching Harry and Sally waft about as she sipped from an oversized mug with a picture of God on it, saying You are all disappointments – a present from Rosemarie.
She was munching through two slices of the homemade blue cheese, spinach and honey pizza while the fish were having their usual supper.
Ally felt a little guilty – did they ever get bored and have a yearning for a treat, like plankton or something?
Anyhow, where was she going to get plankton at this hour?
Just then her phone pinged. She jumped on it and saw that it was a text from William, which was . . . good.
Hey, would you be free Tuesday? I’ve booked us a session on the climbing wall. Wear comfortable clothes! Wx
OK, this was everything she’d hoped for: a new job and a date with William. She was living the dream. Great.
Speaking of which, she’d better lay out her clothes for the morning – Hogget and Simpson seemed to have fairly demanding standards.
From what she’d seen, the dress code was .
. . expensive. No, she reminded herself, that was just Georgina.
Everybody knew senior solicitors had pots of money for clothes.
Although from what she’d seen, it was hard-earned.
Nevertheless, there was something about getting back into the type of clothes she’d been wearing for so many years that felt suffocating.
The past month had changed her in ways she didn’t yet fully understand, and maybe she hadn’t transformed altogether, but she couldn’t go back to Celtic Concrete Ally, bland and beige.
In the end there was only one solution: she pulled out a dark navy tailored jacket, but how to style it?
Look smart but not intimidating. So she chose a pair of grey wool pleated trousers, a belt, a white top and heels.
She looked appropriate – nobody could fault her – but . . . she didn’t feel quite like herself.
That was the thing about The Owl’s Nest – dressed in her favourite jeans and dangly earrings, she’d grown to recognise and like the person who left for work every day.
If she’d met that Ally, she’d have liked her, felt happy to chat or exchange a little joke, whereas this person .
. . No way, it would’ve been strictly business.
But wasn’t that exactly the point? she chided herself.
It was a job, duh! You weren’t paid to be your bloody self.
And maybe there was a lot to be said for dressing the part – here she was, leaving the slightly chaotic, overemotional Ally at home and pitching up for work looking efficient and professional.
What was wrong with that? Her head agreed heartily, but in her heart, sadness lodged like a sheltering bird.