Chapter One
On the Thursday before She came, I took two pieces of fish out of the freezer before remembering: Sean went straight from work to football on Thursdays. I popped one piece back in, then, jacket on, bag over shoulder, I took a quick look round…nearly forgot…
The picture needed turning. My own invention, a reversible picture. On one side was a scenic landscape, copied from a postcard; on the other a rather racy image I had conjured up of Sean and I in the throes of passion. I don’t tend to leave that one on display—just in case of unexpected visitors.
I glanced outside into the garden where the guinea pigs were buried in their hutch, checking they were out of sight, out of mind: away from the prying eyes of nosy neighbors.
Then a final look around to make sure everything was shipshape, a peaceful and harmonious haven to come back to in the evening.
When all was well, I headed out to the office.
On the train I gazed out of the window at the mountains around our town and thought how lovely it would be to walk up them one weekend.
I imagined Sean and I cresting the top and standing hand in hand, slightly breathless, looking down at the track winding along to Cardiff.
Not a care, none of the worries of the day to day.
But if we tried, we would probably find ourselves lost. We are city people, after all.
The office was a ten-minute walk from the train station. On that early autumn day, with the sun high in the sky, birds singing and people out in their summer clothes for perhaps the last time that year, the walk was a pleasure.
I passed the security guard at reception and showed him my ID, even though he saw me every day. He grunted and continued his conversation with the receptionist. I caught the lift and headed up to the seventh floor.
I turned right from the lift. I skipped around the bend, through another door then—breath held—there he was.
The office was open plan, with desks on either side of an aisle. The desks were in groups—“pods,” they called them—and each pod contained four people, who sat, backs to each other, looking out at the rest of the office.
The decor was muted: the walls a purplish gray, the carpet dark gray, medium gray chairs, the desks were some kind of cheap wood, often with snags that caught your clothes, and stainless steel cabinets stood against the walls.
The only color was added by the odd staff member who opted for a bright top instead of the standard white shirts and blouses.
The atmosphere, on the other hand, was upbeat with the hectic sound of people on a mission: heated conversations as we discussed the day’s work.
From time to time members of our own team nipped across the aisle to confer with their counterparts in the neighboring department. It really was a busy hive.
Sean was frowning slightly as he peered at his PC monitor. Probably another tricky case.
“Morning, Sean!” I trilled as I approached him.
“Eh?” He was deep in concentration. He looked around for where the voice was coming from and saw me. “Morning, Julie,” he said.
“Good night, last night?” I asked.
“Yeah, not bad. So-so. You know. Wednesday night.”
“Yeah, yeah, Wednesday night. Football tonight, is it?” I said.
“I’m not going. It’s the Pink concert tonight.”
My heart nearly stopped beating in my chest. I’d thought that was next week! I’d only taken out one piece of fish!
“Didn’t think that’d be your kind of thing,” said one of The Lads, Dave, giving me time to recover myself.
“Hey-ho, it’s give and take, isn’t it,” Sean replied. “My sister’s friend dropped out. Pink and Drink, I’m calling it.”
“What will you do for your tea?” I asked, still a little panicky.
“I don’t know. Probably get a burger or something, if there’s time,” he said. “Why?”
“I just thought you perhaps wouldn’t want to be drinking on an empty stomach.”
“I’ve survived it before. I wouldn’t lose too much sleep over it, if I were you,” he said.
“No, no. I won’t be losing any sleep!”
“Catch you later, then,” he said. “I’m up to my neck in this.”
“Catch you later,” I said.
I went to my desk, turned my computer on, and watched as, a minute later, Sean followed another of The Lads, Mike, to the coffee machine. They stood by it, talking and laughing about something, Sean throwing his head back in that carefree way of his.
Sean wasn’t good-looking in the Hollywood sense of the word. He wasn’t particularly tall, he was slightly chubby, his eyes were a bit close together and now, in his midtwenties, his hair was already starting to thin.
Yet he had a way of drawing everyone to him, a magnetism that pulled people in and held them there.
“He hangs on your every word when you’re talking to him,” Jayne from the mailroom once said. “You feel like you’re the most important person in the world.”
The day rumbled on. Cheerful, bouncy Ffion, our representative from HR, came down to announce that new health and safety training was being rolled out across the company.
She handed out leaflets and advised us to acquaint ourselves with the differences between trips and slips because we would be tested.
I hate to fail a test, so I spent what was left of the morning making sure I was in no doubt.
Thursday morning became Thursday afternoon. And, as sure as night follows day, Thursday afternoon became Thursday evening.
Having seen Pink, Sean came into work on Friday looking a bit green. He merely grunted when I said good morning.
By midmorning, he was talking about going home. Marcus, our manager, said he’d have to take it as a half-day holiday; he couldn’t be put down as sick when we all knew he had a hangover. Marcus could be such a killjoy.
I saved the day though, when I said I was going across the street for coffee and offered to get him an espresso. He nodded his gratitude and reached into his pocket for change, but I said it was my treat.
“Thanks, Jools,” he said. “I owe you one.”
Only he calls me Jools. I would only allow it from him. A few minutes later I stood by his desk, watching him stir sugar into his drink, anticipating a few shared moments together. And sure enough:
“What’s the plan of attack for the weekend then, Jools?” he asked.
I giggled; he had quite the turn of phrase.
“Well,” I said. “I’m in tonight. Might do some painting in the garden since the light’s so vivid at the moment.
After that, who knows? The evening’s my own.
I’m not going anywhere. I have a leg of lamb to roast, with veg and roast potatoes.
I have wine in, a really nice Australian red. ”
I’d once heard him describing a wine tasting session and how much he had enjoyed an Australian red.
“I won’t be opening it before nine,” I said. “I’ll probably have a bath first, light some candles, put a film on. I’ll be in all evening. Just a laid-back evening. Just me and…whoever.”
He nodded, his eyes slightly unfocused. “Well, have a good one, then,” he said.
That evening, I followed the routine, exactly as described, but I didn’t hear anything from Sean. He probably went home and straight to sleep. I wouldn’t blame him. In fact, maybe it was my mention of wine that put him off, in his delicate state.
I started watching Jonathan Ross but it was a bit dull. I picked up my phone: no one had called or sent me a text. I skimmed the news headlines: nothing had happened. I checked my emails: no one had emailed me.
On waking that Saturday, I shook off the disappointment of the previous evening. Sean would have had his reasons. Meanwhile, the world was my oyster, having recently subscribed myself to Sky television.
I had already recorded a few romantic comedies, and I set a few more to tape. In the spirit of harmonious living, I added a few action films for you-know-who. Then, having the house to myself, I sat down to watch Little Miss Sunshine.
Halfway through I paused it, fancying a glass of wine.
I don’t really know how the film finished. I watched a couple more, but they were unremarkable. When the last of them was over, I turned my attention to cooking.
And that saw me through the rest of the afternoon: chopping, frying, blanching, beating.
Pouring, tipping, sipping, swallowing…chatting away about this, that, and whatever.
At six on the dot the meal was on the table; I had evolved into the domestic goddess my late sister, Angela, was always expected to become.
The seating arrangements looked out over my garden.
“The roses really were a success this year,” I remarked, thinking as I said so that, success aside, it really was time I cleared away their dead heads. “Dessert? I shouldn’t really, but we all deserve a treat at the end of the working week.”
I cleared away the plates. I was still slightly peckish, so in the kitchen, out of sight of the dining area, I polished off what was left of Sean’s portion, which was pretty much all of it. Except for the mushrooms I’d already pinched from his plate at the table.
I returned with two sundaes I had put together and gobbled mine down.
By the time I’d finished, Sean’s had pretty much melted, so I tipped it away, just picking out the chocolate pieces for myself.
I poured the remains of his wine into my own glass: I had my drinking head on by then and felt I could drink until dawn.
The meal over and the washing-up done, it was time to wind down in the lounge, and Sean had assured me that Pirates of the Caribbean was very good.
It was alright; the plot was a little hard to follow. Eventually the wine took possession of me, and I drifted off to sleep where I sat. I woke at four in the morning with my mouth hanging open and a crick in my neck—the joys of the weekend—and stumbled off to bed.