Chapter 19
19
Drew shoved Barry into his office and pulled down the blinds.
It was as though he had been simultaneously kicked in the balls and taken a baseball bat to the stomach. Air rushed from Drew’s lungs, his legs quivering beneath him.
‘Barry,’ Drew hissed, barely able to make the two syllables. ‘Tell me you’re not talking about what I think you’re talking about?’ A tightening around his guts combined with a sudden chill. Barry wasn’t the only one who was wringing his hands out or sweating. From feeling like he had been standing in an icebox only seconds ago, Drew now felt like he had been locked in a sauna on full heat.
‘I don’t understand. What did you send? Exactly what did you send? And to who?’
Barry had paled even more than usual. ‘I got confused. Sometimes the arrow button means close.’
‘When? When does the arrow button ever mean close, Barry? The cross is close, Barry. The cross has always been close. Since the beginning of freaking computers. The cross has meant close. When has the arrow ever meant close? ’
He switched on his computer and waited for it to start up. Of course, it was taking forever. Why wouldn’t it? The whirr of the fan barely made a dent in the sound his heart was making as it used his rib cage as a percussion kit. Finally, the start screen flashed open. He pulled open his emails and clicked on the sent file.
‘Bloody hell, Barry.’
Dragging his hands down the side of his face, Drew stared at the nuclear meltdown that was now his life. Barry had sent it to everyone. Everyone. Sarah’s attachment was now in the work inbox of every person in the company, from the pickers in the warehouses, to the chair of the board. Every one of them had Sarah’s chapter on their computer. Their personal exchange out in the open.
‘I’ll tell them. I’ll say it was all me.’ Barry’s swallowing reflex had now reached the extent that his Adam’s apple looked like it was attached to the end of a miniature bungee cord. ‘They’ll believe it. I always mess up like this. They’ll believe it was me.’
Unable to stay seated any longer, Drew moved to the window. Using a finger, he pulled down one of the slats on the blind. Heidi and Andy were now out of their seats, with all eyes directed towards him. He recoiled back towards the desk. Maybe the important people wouldn’t see it. Maybe people like Casper Horton got too many emails each day to bother reading something that came from a lowly junior supervisor. Maybe the worst he’d get was Trisha, the junior director having a brief gander. And she had a sense of humour; she had to, the way she made everyone suffer through her karaoke renditions at every staff night out. Maybe if he just got to her first, it would all be okay.
Still considering which way, if any, to move, the shrill sound of his desk phone caused Drew to jump back and smack his knee against the desk.
‘Crap!’ he shouted.
The single word faded into the continued trilling of the phone. ‘Who rings the desk phone?’ Barry said in a whisper, his voice quivering. ‘I didn’t think anyone rang the desk phones apart from the big bosses.’
‘They don’t.’
On average, Drew visited Casper Horton’s office twice a year. Once to discuss professional development, and once after Christmas to receive a pat on the back for such a sterling job. Some years, when he had had interviews and promotions, he had been up there more. Never had he been called to the twelfth floor unexpectedly.
‘I’ll come with you.’ Barry continued to wheeze as Drew took in a steadying breath and clasped his hand around the door handle. ‘I’ll explain. I will.’
Twisting the handle, Drew prepared himself a little more.
‘Barry, it’s fine. Let me deal with this.’
‘But what are you going to say? Are you going to say it was me?’
‘Just let me think for a minute, Barry.’
Lowering his head and pinching the bridge of his nose, Drew stepped out onto the floor. Then, keeping his head down – and refusing to acknowledge the dozens of eyes he knew would be boring into him – he hot-footed his way to the elevator.
The fact was, he didn’t know what he was going to say. Barry was right. Drew probably could pass the blame easily enough; it wasn’t like Barry had an outstanding reputation, after all. The cat photo was all the evidence Drew needed that he’d done something like this before. But could he really do that? Dump his friend in a position where he would almost certainly get fired? Besides, it wasn’t even that clear cut. Barry was in admin. If it came out that Drew had been letting him use his computer unsupervised, it would lead to all sorts of questions. Either way, the outcome would probably be the same.
‘Damn it.’ He thumped a closed fist against his head. Four weeks before Christmas. Four weeks. How the hell was he going to explain this to Sarah? Maybe Casper would accept a demotion instead of outright firing him. Maybe Drew could offer to work as a picker in one of the warehouses. They were almost certainly still short-staffed. At least that would get him and Sarah through the holidays. Through the next arrival and one more mortgage payment. After that, he would have to work something out. He had a baby on the way, for crying out loud.
With his fist still closed, he repeated the thumping movement, this time against his knee.
‘Drew, are?—?’
‘For God’s sake, Barry. Haven’t you done enough?’
He spun around. A momentary vision of grabbing Barry by the throat and slamming him into the wall flashed through him. But even if Drew had been the type of person to slam someone against the wall, there would have been zero point to him seeing through his vision, given it wasn’t Barry currently facing him. It was Polly.
‘Polly?’ He shrank back, shaking his head. He hadn’t even noticed she was in the elevator. ‘Look, I’m… sorry… I, I —’
‘Drew?’ Polly’s forehead crinkled with concern. ‘Are you okay? Is everything okay?’
His temperature was now up past a sauna and onto a furnace as the collar of his shirt struggled to soak up the rapid excess of sweat. His eyes went from Polly to the floor indicator. Floor twelve. The elevator door pinged open. With one last deep breath, he turned around from his colleague and stepped out of the lift. This was it then. It was all going to end right here.
For a pleasant change to the boring old humdrum routine, George had been the source of all the morning’s mayhem. It had started with him squeezing toothpaste all down his school uniform while Sarah was changing Eva’s nappy. Then, in an attempt to be helpful, he had pulled the T-shirt off himself and managed to coat his head in bright blue, fluoride-free, strawberry-flavoured toothpaste. It was in trying to remove said toothpaste from his hair that Sarah noticed the little flecks of brown scuttling across his scalp.
‘Nits? Really?’ She rolled her eyes and sighed. ‘This is just what I needed.’
Banishing him onto the landing, she got to work on Eva. After thoroughly scouring every inch of her daughter’s head and finding nothing, Sarah wasn’t taking any risks. Shampooing George would be bad enough. Trying the lotion on Eva was likely to induce an early labour.
‘Sit there,’ she said to George, plonking him in front of the television. ‘And do not go near your sister. Do you understand?’ She shifted him a little farther down the edge of the sofa and headed back upstairs. Digging around in the back of the bathroom cupboard, she finally found what she was looking for between a box of tampons she didn’t know she had and an old eyeliner brush that had started to grow mould. Throwing the brush in the bin and leaving the tampons where they were – they weren’t going to be needed for a good few months, she reminded herself – she pulled the item out of the dust-encrusted box and gave it a quick once over. The thing had to be at least six years old – dating back from a time when she and Drew could still afford to do exciting things like stay at cheap hotels that gave you such luxury items. But it looked like it would still be in working order.
There was no denying that Sarah was impressed with her own ingenuity as she pushed Eva’s buggy into the chemist. Beside her, George held her hand and scowled, the plastic shower cap covering every last strand of his hair. It was pretty gross, Sarah had thought as she pushed his ears and stray fringe pieces under the plastic lip. Like she had created some kind of bio-dome for head lice. Still, if it meant that he wasn’t going to pass them on to the rest of the family, that was fine. She had rung the school and informed them that he was going to be late. He would still be going to school, though. All she needed was long enough to grab the shampoo, stink the house out with its toxic fumes, and rinse the little buggers down the plughole. Then George would need to go to school so she could get on with changing the sheets and washing all his hats and scarves. Goddamn kids.
Like always, the pharmacy was busy, and while Sarah had never been opposed to queuing – as long as it happened in an ordered and structured way and woe betide anyone who tried to queue jump on her watch – today, she wasn’t in the mood.
All morning, the bump had been performing pirouettes in her belly, with each perfectly timed turn landing squarely on her bladder. With George, those issues had been fine. With Eva, she had managed to maintain some control, but at this stage, with bump number three, she could have replaced her pelvic floor muscles for two of Eva’s broken hair ties for all the good they did. If she didn’t get out of there fast, she was going to be in hot water. So to speak.
‘Sarah, how funny seeing you here.’
She felt her whole being sink. Slowing turning around, Sarah’s cheekbones resisted as she tried to force them up into a smile.
‘Justine,’ she said.
Today, the colour scheme was mustard yellow. A long-sleeved dress and simple pumps that would have looked like vomit if worn against Sarah’s complexion, but somehow made Justine glow like some long-legged sunflower. This was humiliation at its absolute optimum.
‘Oh…’ Justine’s lips formed the perfect letter O as her eyes lowered to the shower cap on George’s head. ‘Ouch, that’s never fun. Not from what I’ve heard. We’ve been lucky with ours. Have you informed the school?’ she said.
‘Sorry?’
‘The school. You know you have to inform them if your child… you know? You have to inform them if your child gets… you know… infested .’ She said the last word in a strange imitation of a horror movie trailer voiceover. George looked at his mother with a look of genuine concern. ‘Oh, Georgie, it’s fine, I’m kidding. I’m just kidding.’ Then back to Sarah. ‘But seriously, have you told the school?’
The less-than-subtle criticism turned to bile in Sarah’s throat. There was no way Justine was going to manage to twist this one around on her. She was the victim here. She was the one who would have to suffer the asthma-inducing fumes and wrestle as she tried to drag the nit comb through her son’s hair, despite the fact that every sane adult on the planet knew it was impossible to get a nit comb through hair no matter how much conditioner you covered it in.
‘Told them what?’ she said innocently.
Justine’s unfeasibly smooth forehead crinkled. ‘Have you told them about George? It is… I mean, is it, has he got?—?’
‘Psoriasis,’ Sarah finished for her.
Justine’s eyes pinged open even wider.
‘Psoriasis?’
‘Of the scalp. Yes. Poor thing.’ Sarah moved her hand to her son’s shoulder. ‘He suffers with it quite a bit.’
‘I… I didn’t know that.’
‘No,’ Sarah proffered her best smile. ‘Usually you can’t tell, the creams do such a marvellous job of keeping it under control, but we’ve just had a bit of a flare-up, that’s all. Haven’t we, dear?’ She looked to George before turning to Justine and lifting her hand up to her mouth in mock surprise. ‘Oh, you didn’t think… nits?’ Sarah shook her head and laughed. ‘Oh, no. I mean, we use this wonderful organic shampoo. Works like a dream. We’ve never had a case actually. Anyway, it turns out they’re out of stock of the psoriasis cream that we need, so we’re just going to have to get Daddy to pick some up, aren’t we, darling?’ And then, without waiting for any further response from Justine, she swivelled the pushchair back towards the door.
‘Toodle-oo,’ she called back to Justine with a grin.
Later on, after she had finished laughing at Justine’s face, combined with the fact that she had actually used toodle-oo as a way to bid a grown adult farewell, Sarah began to regret her decision not to at least head back to the pharmacy and get some nit lotion. At least that way, she could have sent George to school. As it was, at 6p.m. he was still wearing the shower cap, sitting at the end of the sofa watching cartoons, the same position he had been in for most of the day. But it was worth it, just to see Justine’s face. Really, why should she have to inform the school? School was obviously where he had caught them. They should be the one ringing her and explaining where they had come from.
With the kids merrily munching away at their TV dinners, Sarah swiped across the screen of her phone. It had been almost four hours since she had sent Drew a message asking him to pick up a bottle of nit lotion before he came home. He never usually went that long without replying. Something niggled inside her. With the little one’s arrival getting closer each day, immediate replying was something she insisted on. Even now, with a month to spare, the thought of not being able to get hold of Drew when the time came caused her stomach to coil and constrict. She just hoped everything was all right.