Chapter 36
Eve
I have completely given up trying to be still. My mind is a blur of plotting and scheming. I lie awake at night, turning things over in my mind, my phone on the bedside table. Every so often I roll over, unlock it, and take notes.
When I wake up in the morning, I clean again. I clean things that are already clean, and then I work on the garden. All of the crispy plants are gone, replaced by fresh, green foliage that I water twice a day. I’ve scrubbed the patio by hand, and repainted the fencing.
While I clean, I turn my options over in my mind. I’ve taken a two-week holiday from Florina while the investigation is conducted, but have been checking my emails every half an hour, watching and seething as congratulatory messages flood through for Kirsty.
The first Wednesday into my leave, Eleanor has her babies. Two boys, identical. I send Dev a gushing text, which he responds to with what I can tell is a hastily rattled off ‘thanks’.
When I’m forced to stop, because I’m in the shower, or trying to sleep, Will and Jess occupy my thoughts. Their comments, about me being unwilling to be alone, now strike an exposed nerve.
I remember Jess’s words in particular: You don’t have to on guard for every possible threat. But the thing is, I do. The evidence is clear: even when I am prepared, there’s always something that could knock me sideways out of the blue.
I am thinking about this as I hoover under the stairs. The thoughts give me a strange feeling, like worrying at a loose tooth. It hurts, and it’s frustrating.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, muting the sound of the podcast I’m listening to for a couple of seconds. I check it.
Kirsty: Hey. I really think we should meet. 12 in St Peter’s Sq?
I stand up and check the time. I turn off the hoover, disconnect my headphones and slide on my shoes, and leave to catch the tram.
* * *
Kirsty is waiting for me under the library arches. Already I can see the change in her. Her hair, which usually falls around her shoulders, is swept low into a slicked clean-girl bun, and she wears a linen blouse and wide-legged tailored trousers that I’ve never seen before.
As soon as I see her, fury engulfs me. I clench my fists, hard, and then release them, before walking over. I don’t say anything, waiting for her to speak first.
She meets my gaze head-on. ‘Afternoon. Shall we walk?’
She sets off under the arches and I follow, walking parallel to the tram station and heading towards the war memorial. I watch her as she marches one pace ahead of me, and I am suddenly sucked back in time; back to when I was a fresh graduate in my first big meetings, the men seemingly towering over me, steely and at ease with — or oblivious to — everybody around them.
We reach the memorial and she turns, crossing the square and then looping back. We’re like nineteenth-century ladies, taking a turn of the grounds. The air is tight with tension. Neither of us speaks until we’re on our second lap.
‘You must be angry with me,’ she says, staring straight ahead, one hand buried in her trouser pocket.
‘Not at all.’ I keep my head high. ‘You only sabotaged my career — mistakes happen.’
She doesn’t respond. We keep walking, around and around. Each lap takes just a few minutes, and I feel my footsteps get faster as the frustration builds inside me.
‘Did you ask me here for a reason, or did you just want a walking buddy?’ I finally challenge her, when we’ve passed the statue of Emmeline Pankhurst for the fourth time.
‘This needs to stop,’ she says.
‘Does it? Now that you’ve got what you want?’
She sighs, and her eyes flick towards me. She keeps walking. ‘Yes.’
‘I thought we were friends,’ I say, and the patheticness of it makes me cringe. ‘I don’t—’
‘And you were the innocent party, were you?’ she fires back, her nostrils flaring, her pace quickening. ‘You’re the victim?’
‘Yes!’ I stop to turn to her, but she keeps moving, and I hurry to catch up again. ‘You started it, Kirsty.’
‘How?’
‘By applying for the position in the first place! By lying about getting my permission—’ I stop myself, realising what I’ve said.
She stops. ‘How do you know that?’
I hesitate. ‘Dev told me. When we met in my office.’
She doesn’t buy it. She knows I know more; I can tell from the way she looks at me from the corner of her eye, her mouth turned down at the corners. ‘This is what I mean, Eve. I learned from the best.’
Suddenly, the pressure of it all builds inside me and I can’t keep my mouth shut. ‘You kept a fucking list — you recorded every time I messed up. Kept it to use it against me.’
She stops in her tracks and a pigeon startles, flapping noisily away. She swings around to face me. ‘What?’
‘F Ups?’ I throw it at her, and I realise I’ve been dying to confront her about this since I found it. It was only a matter of time. ‘Every time I emailed you, telling you about something that had gone wrong, you kept it. For two years .’
She stares at me. Swathes of people skirt around us, tutting. ‘You hacked into my computer.’
I shrug. ‘You hacked my presentation.’
‘This is pathetic.’ She almost spits the words at me. ‘That was an insurance policy, Eve. For the both of us. Did you read it carefully, or did you not have time during your covert mission? I kept a record of our mistakes, in case we were ever challenged. It was due diligence. I was the one that called the buyer a Z-list Hugh Grant, wasn’t I? And yes, I hacked your presentation!’ She throws her arms into the air. ‘It’s no more than you would have done in my position.’
She lets her arms drop to her sides, her breathing heavy, glaring at me. ‘How do you get to the top, Eve?’ she continues, her eyes boring into me. An uneasy feeling washes over me.
‘I—’
‘How do you get to the top? You set a goal, and you go for it. That’s what you say, isn’t it? You set a goal, and you get there by whatever means possible. You don’t let anything stand in your way.’
‘Kirsty, that doesn’t mean you can crush your friends in the process—’
‘And you wouldn’t have done the same?’ she challenges me. ‘You haven’t literally been doing the same, these past few weeks?’ People walk and scoot and run past, conversation ebbs and flows around us. Three women drink coffee on a bench a few feet away, their eyes trained on us.
I can’t answer. Would I have? If she hadn’t started this? If I’d been in her position?
‘I applied.’ She fills my silence. ‘I applied, and that was all. You took it to the next level. Sometimes, you have to fight fire with fire, Eve.’ Her eyes finally leave mine, and she stares behind me, toward the Midland Hotel. ‘I did feel guilty about it. I still do. But every time I doubted what I was doing, I remembered how Dev got where he is. How you ’d got where you are.’
I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach. I shake my head. ‘Nothing I do is as calculating as this.’
She raises her eyebrows. ‘Do I need to ask how you got access to my computer?’
I feel sick. ‘What about it?’
She laughs. ‘Don’t tell me you don’t use people, Eve. Don’t tell me you don’t trample all over everybody to get what you want.’
‘The thing between Graham and me is mutual,’ I say, my voice quiet.
She scoffs. ‘When has he ever used you?’
I shake my head, taking a small step back. ‘We sleep together — we both get the same—’
‘Just stop it, Eve, for fuck’s sake.’ She sighs wearily. ‘I’ve got to go. Come and see me when you’re back in the office.’
She turns and walks away. I stand in the middle of St Peter’s Square, the sun beating down on my head, and watch her leave, her head high. My former friend. My manager.