2. Chapter 2
2
‘ I ’m sooo sorry, babes,’ purred the voice down the phone. ‘It’s picking up a bit now, but I can’t slack off, you know that. The market is too slow. If I don’t make time for things like evening and weekend viewings, you can bet some other agent is waiting in the wings to snatch the client out from under me.’
Tom sighed and idly tidied a pen away into a drawer. The voice continued.
‘Look, it’s not forever. And we’ve talked about getting away this year, having a real holiday, haven’t we?’ the voice wheedled. ‘Getting a decent commission will help us holiday in style!’
‘Uh huh,’ Tom replied, frustrated and not in the mood for an argument, but feeling like these, ‘I can’t make it, I’m sorry,’ conversations made up most of their relationship these days.
There was a male voice in the background, a giggle, and then, ‘Sorry babes, I’ve got to go. It’s madness here today! Talk later!’
She made a kissing noise down the phone and she was gone.
He looked at the blank phone screen as he slowly laid it on his desk. The thing was, he thought, for what felt like the hundredth time, all these evening viewings didn’t seem to have led to an increase in sales. But when he had asked her about it when he’d gone over to see her at the weekend, she had shrugged it off and said that, sales take time to complete, and things are in the pipeline. When he had pressed her about what exactly was in the pipeline and when could she return to more normal working hours, she had made vague comments about the tricky housing market and inflation and mortgage rates and property chain collapses.
Tom had a feeling he was being managed, but he didn’t feel ready to call her out on it. He really had nothing to go on but some longer working hours that didn’t seem to lead to any sales, and a feeling that he was slowly drifting down the list of her priorities.
And as he stood in her kitchen turning questions over in his mind, she waltzed up to him, blonde hair swinging, and nestled herself into him, brushing her lips against his. It was just a busy blip, she said, sliding her arms about him. There was nothing to worry about. It would pass. And then she took his hand and led him towards the stairs. He watched her Lycra-clad bottom swaying in front of him as they climbed, and he temporarily forgot all about his concerns.
Now, without any distractions, he wondered again when these long hours might pay off. Either the houses she was trying to shift were haunted and sending buyers screaming into the streets, or she was terrible at her job. Or… something else.
There was a knock at his office door. Brian, his overly friendly boss, stuck his head in, a grin on his broad, ruddy face. ‘Hallo there, Tommy. How’s it going?’
Tom smiled politely and swallowed down a groan, concentrating on stopping his face from matching his thoughts. ‘Yep, all good, I think. I’ve finished with the Dogswood accounts and Martin has asked me to look over some queries with the Rice&Taylor annual accounts, but they—’
‘Good, good,’ Brian interrupted, swinging open the door, his stout figure filling the frame. ‘All on course, then.’ He clapped his hands and strode into the room. ‘Maybe we’re not working you hard enough, is that it? Might need to find more for you to do!’
Brian grinned and sat down heavily in the chair across the desk from Tom, looping one ankle over his knee. His trousers rode up to reveal brightly coloured socks with pictures of cartoon ducks on them. Along the top of the socks, above the ducks, were the words, ‘What the…’
If only Brian were as funny as his socks, Tom mused.
Brian saw him looking at the socks and misread his thoughts. ‘Like ’em, do you?’ he laughed.
‘I’ve got a great pair at home for when I’ve got my feet up watching the match. This one,’ he lunged forwards, reaching over his belly to grab his left foot, ‘says Do not disturb on the bottom, and this one,’ he pointed at his right foot and was already laughing before he could finish getting the words out, ‘says, I’m watching the footie!’
He howled with laughter and slapped the arm of the chair. Tom’s heart went out to Brian’s wife.
As time went by, it was increasingly unclear to Tom exactly what Brian’s job was. He had a job title, Senior Accounts Manager, but seemed to spend most of his time hanging out in his subordinates’ offices, hindering their ability to do their jobs.
Tom wondered how long it would take him to shake Brian off this time. Brian had been known to take up residence in someone’s office for hours at a time, holding long, rambling conversations on topics from golf to collectible spider man figurines to his personal critique of the exhibitors at the Chelsea Flower Show. Tom had once found Mark, one of the other accountants at the firm, in the bathroom wild-eyed and splashing his face with cold water after Brian had imposed on him for over ninety minutes and Mark had been late with a client report. Brian had been with the firm since the get-go and, according to the senior partners, remained invaluable in client relations. Staff relations, however…slightly less valuable.
Tom stood, gathering his files and phone. ‘Well,’ he smiled at Brian, willing him to take the hint. ‘I’d better get over to Martin’s office to look at the Rice&Taylor—’
‘Ah yes!’ Brian smacked his thigh, his foot jiggling, making the little ducks on his ankles bounce. ‘Boss is here. Gotta look like you’ve got your nose to the grindstone!’
Brian wasn’t Tom’s boss, but pointing this out would only prolong the conversation.
Despite Tom standing to indicate he had to go, Brian made no attempt to move, leaning back further in the chair.
Tom hesitated. He didn’t want to leave Brian alone in his office—that felt weird—but he was also sure that unless he physically left the room, Brian wouldn’t budge from the chair. He wondered if he’d get away with using, ‘Would you walk with me? I’d like your advice on something,’ which had worked a couple of times before, when Carly, one of the founding partners, swung the door open.
‘There you are!’ she said to Brian in an exasperated tone. ‘We’ve got a meeting with Chapmans now. They’re waiting in the lobby!’ She glared at him, flicked an apologetic look in Tom’s direction, and stalked off.
‘Oops!’ Brian put his hand to his mouth and hunched his shoulders like a little boy. ‘Consider the whip cracked!’ He nodded his head in the direction Carly had gone. ‘Better go!’ And he heaved himself up and ambled off, his right leg trouser cuff caught in his sock, flashing ducks as he went.
Tom shook his head. Brian might drive half the office nuts, but he wove some sort of magic that kept clients happy. Tom listened as Brian’s guffaws rolled back down the corridor as he greeted the clients. Besides, if his plans for his own business played out as he hoped, he wouldn’t have to navigate Brian every day for much longer.
Tom sat in Martin’s office as Martin walked him through the draft annual accounts and explained what he wanted Tom’s help with. Tom’s mind was drifting. He usually liked things like this when day-to-day accountancy turned into a puzzle to figure out where the numbers had gone wrong or if the client’s records were askew. It was a comfortable sort of detective mystery, and it was satisfying to solve it.
But today, as Martin talked about deferred income and capital gains, Tom’s mind drifted.
Melissa had cancelled or postponed more plans than she had kept to in recent weeks. But when he queried if everything was okay, she told him earnestly that her career was important to her, and she hoped he understood that. She said that if he was the one who had to work late, wouldn’t he expect her to be understanding? He couldn’t argue with that. He never wanted to be the kind of man who stood in the way of his partner’s goals by demanding he be put first. But nor could he ignore the seed of doubt that had planted itself firmly in his gut and taken root. He loosened his tie and blinked his eyes to focus at where on the screen Martin was pointing.
The door opened and Hayley, the young office assistant stuck her head in. ‘Hi Martin,’ she said, smiling. ‘Oh. Hi, Tom.’ She blushed and shrank back behind the door.
Tom swivelled in his chair to face her and smiled. ‘Hi, Hayley, how are you?’
‘I’m very happy…um, I mean, I’m good. Well. I’m fine.’ Her face flaming now, she touched a hand to her cheek. ‘How are you?’
Martin leaned back from the screen, rolled his eyes to the ceiling, and interrupted the awkward exchange. ‘Hi Hayley,’ he smiled. ‘Did you need something?’
‘I was just seeing if you wanted a coffee,’ she said in a mouse-like voice.
‘That’d be great, thank you,’ Martin said, stretching and running a hand through what was left of his hair. ‘Black, one sugar, thanks. Tom, you want one?’
‘Yes, please.’ Tom nodded and turned to Hayley. ‘I’ll have a—’
‘It’s okay,’ came the mousey voice. ‘I know how you take it.’
Face still puce, Hayley slipped back into the corridor and the door snicked closed behind her.
Martin shook his head and grinned. ‘Oh, to have it as easy as you do, mate. Never have to make an effort, do you? Women just fall at your feet.’
Tom laughed and shook his head, but Melissa popped into his mind.
‘Doesn’t seem to matter in the end, does it? You’ve been happily married for what? Fifteen years now?’ He nodded at the collection of family photographs and children’s drawings and brightly coloured rosettes that took up half of Martin’s desk. ‘While I’m still not quite settled down yet.’
Martin pulled his hands down his face.
‘Hmm, ask me if it seems so great when I am dragging myself out of bed at 07:00 on a Saturday to take Michael to another tennis lesson.’ His voice lowered as if he feared someone might be listening. ‘He’s not even that good. Seems like a waste of time and bloody money, but Gemma says it’s good for him, so,’ he sighed, ‘seven am on a Saturday it is.’
He blew a kiss to a photo of his wife, then swivelled back to face Tom.
‘Anyway, I thought things were moving on with Melissa now? Last time you came round for dinner, you told me and Gemma you were thinking of asking her to move in with you.’
Tom stared down at the accounts on his knees, the numbers blurring together. He let out a heavy sigh. ‘I spoke to you and Gemma about us moving in together.’ He raised his eyes. ‘Haven’t managed to actually have that conversation with Melissa yet.’
‘Oh.’ Martin looked nonplussed. ‘Not found the right moment?’
Tom shook his head. ‘Not really found any moment, to be honest. She seems… distracted.’ He didn’t want to be unfair, so added. ‘I think she has a lot on with work.’
‘Oh, well. That happens. Must make it hard to find time together. Especially with you moonlighting some evenings to set up your own practice.’
Tom nodded dully, hesitated for a moment, then, ‘Martin, can I ask you something?’
‘Sure.’ Martin grinned and spread his hands wide. ‘Ask away!’
Tom stalled, unsure how to phrase what he wanted to ask. ‘The thing is,’ he began, lifting the pile of papers off his knee and putting them on the corner of Martin’s desk. ‘I feel like…’ He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. ‘Something is off. And I can’t put my finger on it. We seem to be fine when we see each other. We just don’t see that much of each other anymore. She seems to always be putting me off. She says it’s work, and she’s just busy, and I don’t expect her not to treat her job as important, it’s just that…’
He sighed as he trailed off, feeling awkward.
He didn’t want to be the guy who didn’t give his partner space to do what she needed to do and pressured her to prioritise him. Nor did he want to overreact and assume something was in fact wrong, jump the gun, and ruin a promising relationship.
Martin prompted him. ‘It’s just that…what?’ Then he shifted in his chair, turning to face Tom. ‘Do you mean like…before?’
The words hung heavy between them for a moment as Tom studied the blue office carpet tiles, the fingers of his right hand drumming on his knee, his left hand pulling at the hair curling behind his ear.
‘Something feels wrong,’ he said at last. ‘That’s all I know. I can’t tell you what,’ he added quickly as Martin opened his mouth again. ‘I think maybe there’s another reason, more than what she’s telling me. Maybe it’s just not working for her anymore. Or maybe there’s another person. Maybe it is like…last time.’
He didn’t realise that Hayley had come back in as they spoke, clutching two steaming hot mugs of coffee. She looked a little shocked as she approached them, passing Martin his coffee and blushing as she stretched out her arm to hand Tom his mug.
‘She’d be an idiot,’ she breathed as she handed Tom his coffee.
‘Sorry?’ Tom looked up in surprise.
Martin, who had just taken a sip of scalding coffee, slapped one hand to his mouth to smother a choking laugh as he banged the mug down awkwardly on the desk, coffee slopping over the top and onto a set of fresh print outs. He grabbed them and moved them out of the way, dabbing at the coffee slops with a paper napkin left over from lunch.
‘Thanks for the drinks, Hayley,’ Martin managed, trying to restore order to his desk. ‘Can you close the door on your way out, please?’ He smiled at her.
Hayley, face flushed, nodded without looking at Martin and backed out of the room.
Martin raised his eyebrows at Tom as she disappeared behind the door. ‘She’s not wrong,’ he said, inclining his head towards the door. ‘Melissa would be an idiot to be playing away.’
Tom said nothing and stared down into his mug.
‘Tom,’ Martin said, leaning forwards. ‘You really think that’s likely? After everything you went through to patch things up?’
Tom shrugged and took a sip of his coffee.
Sighing, he said, ‘She seems evasive and a bit irritated when I ask her about these extra hours, these evening viewings.’ He made air quotes with one hand as he said evening viewings. ‘It was like that last time. She was cagey, stopped answering calls, and didn’t call me as much. She was…distant. She said she was busy, but it was more than that. It was as though she wasn’t present, even when we were together.’
‘But you were never sure she had done anything,’ Martin reminded him. ‘Not one hundred per cent.’
Tom gave an irritated click of the tongue and shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I never had physical evidence, if that’s what you mean. I never walked in on her in bed with him or found the smoking gun text messages. But that day when I saw them in the restaurant… that was shock and guilt on her face, I know that. They were holding hands,’ his mouth twisted. ‘She had one hand under the table and she was whispering in his ear. When she saw me she shot back from him so fast she nearly upended the table.’
‘But that guy, Terry—’
‘Perry,’ Tom interjected.
‘He was married, wasn’t he?’
‘Since when has that ever stopped anyone?’ Tom snapped. Then he took in Martin’s expression, a little taken aback.
‘Sorry mate,’ he said quietly. ‘I don’t mean it’s like that for every marriage. Just that marriage doesn’t stop those that want to cheat.’
Martin shook his head.
‘Tom, I’m worried that you’ve not really got past this. You talked it through with her back then. You said you believed her it was nothing, it was a silly flirtation that went a bit too far but nothing really happened. You agreed to give it another go.’
‘Yes, I did.’ Tom leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. ‘And now I’m worried that I shouldn’t have. I couldn’t prove that anything happened then, so I talked myself, against my better judgement, into us carrying on, trying again. Even though deep down I really felt like I was right.’
He felt something twist inside him as he acknowledged out loud how he really felt. He pushed his hands into his hair, head still bowed.
‘It was the same then, Martin, just before I saw them that day. Weeks of saying she was too busy to meet up, evening and weekend working, feeling…distant. Like she’s lost interest.’
Martin raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh,’ he said, his voice low and quiet. ‘You’re not kidding. You really think she might be cheating?’
Tom looked pained. ‘We were together a year before I found her cuddled up with Perry,’ he spat the name out, ‘in that cheesy restaurant.’ He looked at Martin. ‘You know it took a lot for me to trust her, to believe that nothing had happened. To give her a second chance.’ His voice was shaky, and he took a deep breath to steady himself. ‘It’s been nearly twelve months since then. It was hard at first, and I kept wondering why I had given her this second chance, but she was putting in a lot of effort and really trying, and then we got to a good place. I stopped thinking about it all the time. We were having fun. I remembered why I’d fallen for her in the first place. I told myself I’d done the right thing, trying again. Now, I can’t shake the feeling that something is up. It’s definitely more than just extra hours at work. Maybe she’s simply getting bored with me or…’ He pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Maybe she is cheating.’
He pushed himself upright and sat back, watching as Martin screwed up the coffee-dampened napkin and tossed it into the bin.
‘Mate, I’m not really in a good position to give advice,’ Martin began, ‘because I’ve never been in your shoes.’
Tom’s eyes landed on the picture of Martin and Gemma on their wedding day, in prime position on Martin’s desk. They had met at university.
‘But maybe you need to go round there. Have it out with her, ask her outright what’s going on.’ Martin swung in his chair and his voice softened. ‘After all, it’s not much of a relationship if you can’t talk things through like this.’
Tom nodded and blew out a breath. ‘I suppose so.’
‘Can you go over tonight?’
‘She’s working late. Again.’
Tom rubbed his face, feeling wearied by it all.
Martin said nothing.
Tom lifted his head.
‘Or maybe she’s not.’ He felt his pulse quicken. ‘Fuck. What if she’s not doing late viewings, she’s with…’ he hesitated. ‘Someone else.’
Martin, looking pained now, said in a quiet voice, ‘My advice still stands.’