Chapter 26
26
E arly the next morning, Cally had left Logan asleep and crept out of bed after a very unsettled night of tossing and turning this way and that. After finding herself awake in the early hours, she’d grabbed her pile of clothes from the chair by the door, padded down the hallway to one of the main bathrooms, and locked the door behind her. The same as in the en-suite guest bathroom, in the main bathroom there’d been no lack of high-end toiletries to see Cally through. She’d showered, pumped a ridiculous amount of posh shower gel onto her skin, washed her hair, done the same with the conditioner, rinsed off, dried herself with the plumpest towels she’d ever got close to in her life, and then tiptoed down the stairs to what the family referred to as the “drawing room” at the front of the house.
The room, the same as everything else in the house, was comfortably luxurious and quietly opulent. For a second, Cally just stood in the doorway looking at it all: a huge old fireplace and mantel, thick, heavy curtains perfectly aligned in beautiful folds pulled back over floor-to-ceiling shutters, lamps nearly as big as her on highly polished tables, two oversized, overly plush sofas, so many expensive cushions the dents in their tops just so. Strolling over a beautiful rug with plaited edges that topped a herringbone floor, Cally sat in one of two wingback chairs by a wide, deep window nook looking out over the square. A soft pitter-patter of rain doused the window panes in tiny speckles of light, and a swish of cars passing around the square filled the air. Cally looked past two exquisitely manicured bay trees on the marble front steps and watched as the rain fell onto the pavement. A heavy sky full of grey clouds draped the whole scene in a muted wash of faded colours in perfect sync with what was going on in the house.
Cally pulled her MacBook Air onto her lap, flipped up the lid, pressed the button in the top right-hand corner, and checked into the chatbot portal to make sure her shifts were covered for the rest of the week. Then, resting her chin on her hand on the arm of the chair, she idly watched the rain and thought about how long she’d worked on the chatbot. She’d found the jobs years before on a job board and had made the application along with hundreds of others. She remembered the ghastliness of the online video assessment via a pre-recorded woman from some remote HR department. Then came ridiculous multiple-choice questions in the next round. After that had involved role playing, again via a pre-recorded session of videos. Finally, at the end of the tests she’d had a video call with a human in a call centre in Ireland and eventually a job offer in her inbox.
She shook her head as she watched a woman with an umbrella and a little girl in a yellow raincoat and pink wellies stroll to the gate of the garden opposite in the middle of the square, open the gate with a key and walk in. Here she was in a very posh house, logging into the portal and looking at her shifts just as she had done for a long time. Albeit in very different circumstances and by way of a fancy MacBook Air, she was still there with the chatbot in her life. Sometimes, she felt as if the customer service job was ultimately a crutch, a stable part of her life that, no matter what she did or where she was, simply was always there for her on the other side of her screen. She’d told herself that she hadn’t yet given notice for the job because she wanted to keep the extra money for a bit longer. Really, she wondered if that was true. She knew deep down it wasn’t.
Just as she was pondering when she’d give up the chatbot job, she saw the doorknob turn, and the door quietly opened into the room. The housekeeper, Larissa, whom Cally had met the day before, smiled. ‘Morning.’ Larissa held up a tray. ‘I thought you might be in need of a cup of tea.’
Cally smiled. ‘Ahh, thank you so much! You didn’t need to do that. I didn’t think anyone was up yet. I was trying to be quiet and keep a low profile.’
‘I don’t think anyone else is. I started at five and heard you come down.’
Cally raised her eyebrows. ‘That’s an early start.’
Larissa put the tray on the small table beside Cally. ‘There’s a lot to do in a house of this size.’
‘I suppose there must be.’ Cally looked at the mug of tea and a little plate of pastries. ‘So kind of you, thanks.’
‘Couldn’t sleep?’ Larissa asked.
‘Oh, yes and no. It’s a habit. I've been getting up early for years.’
‘What, for the horses?’
Cally chuckled. Larissa clearly assumed Cally was in the same boat as the rest of the Henry-Hicks. ‘No.’ She tapped her laptop. ‘I work online and I regularly do a morning shift, so my body clock wakes up early. I’ve been doing it for years.’
‘I see.’ Larissa lowered her voice and gestured upwards with her left thumb. ‘How were they last night? What a dreadful thing to happen.’
Cally pursed her lips for a second. ‘Not great. Hopefully, they might have got some sleep.’
‘It’s terrible.’
‘I know.’
Larissa shook her head. ‘I don’t think it’s going to be a very pleasant few months for anyone involved.’
Cally nodded. She felt exactly the same way. ‘No, it won’t be. Not at all.’
A few hours later, Cally sat at the worktop in the kitchen of the London house. She took a sip of her tea, the warmth of the mug nice in her hands. She watched Logan move around the kitchen, his movements mechanical as if he was operating on autopilot. She felt small, insignificant, wary, and not sure what to do or say.
'How are you feeling?' She knew it was a ridiculous question even as she heard the words come out of her mouth.
Logan paused his hand on the kettle. 'I don't know. It still doesn't feel real.' He turned around and leant against the worktop. 'I keep expecting my phone to buzz with some ridiculous meme from Alastair or for him to burst through the door. Do you know what I mean?'
Cally nodded. She knew the feeling exactly – she’d had it with her grandma. When her grandma had passed away, Cally had felt as if she’d actually lost not just someone in her life but a job, too. Which, to be fair, she had. Her whole existence had involved caring. Not just the physical side of it but the full and hefty mental load had always been at the very centre of her life. When it had been removed, that alone had felt like a loss. As if someone had chopped off her arm. 'I can’t say anything other than it’s very hard.’
Logan sighed and ruffled his hair, making it stand up at odd angles. 'The thing is, I can't stop thinking about how much he irritated me at that dinner. What a thing to focus on! I feel so guilty.’ Logan’s voice broke slightly on the last word.
Cally had felt similar things when her mum had died. ‘I know it’s not easy.’
'How is it possible that a funeral is being planned? They were meant to be going around the world…’ Logan trailed off.
Cally put her mug down. She was well aware of the feeling of grief. She also knew that it had to be navigated with care. ‘I wish I could do something to help.’
'You're already doing it by just being here. I’m sorry if I’m miserable.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous! What about Octavia? Has there been any update on her condition? What did your mum say?'
'She's being discharged today, apparently. I can't even imagine what she's going through.'
‘I know.’
Logan watched a couple of pieces of toast pop out of the toaster, buttered them, and pushed a plate in Cally’s direction. Cally pulled the plate towards her. 'I need to let Birdie know I won't be in.'
Logan looked up, frowning slightly. 'God, Cal, I'm so sorry. I didn't even think about your new job.'
Cally shook her head. 'Don't apologise. It’s fine.'
‘What about the customer service stuff?’
‘I’ve covered them all until next week. Maybe this will be the end of it…’
‘Thanks for doing that.’
‘What’s the plan for today?’ Cally was of the opinion that Logan should head back to Lovely, but she intended to keep quiet about what she thought unless she was asked.
‘I don’t think there is one. I don’t know, really.’ Logan gestured around the house. ‘I suppose see what happens. There’s not really a lot I can do here.’
'Why don't we go for a walk?' Cally suggested. 'Get some fresh air before things, well, you know. It might do you good.’
Logan hesitated, then nodded. 'Yeah, I could do with some fresh air.'
Half an hour or so later, they stepped out into a dreary London morning, the streets still damp from the early-morning rain. Cally took in her clearly affluent surroundings: the towering white townhouses lining the square and the luxury cars parked in designated bays. It was a far cry from the cosy, slightly shabby charm of Lovely Bay but nice all the same.
'This must have been an interesting place to be when you were young,' Cally noted.
Logan strolled along with his hands in his pockets and glanced around as if seeing the street for the first time. 'I suppose so. Though we didn't spend that much time here, really. It was more of a base for when we had to be in London.'
Cally peered at a beautiful tall house with heavy black window boxes dancing with box hedges and white flowers, a huge brass knocker on a front door, and marble steps. ‘Right, yes, I see.’ She didn’t see. Not even close.
‘Look, I’m sorry about this, Cal. It must be bringing back stuff for you.’
‘It’s fine.’
‘Is it doing that, I mean?’
‘A bit. It would be weird if it didn’t.’
‘Right.’
‘It’s different, though. I sort of knew what was coming. I had a lot of time to prepare.’
‘Hmm.’
‘You didn’t have that.’
‘No.’ Logan swore. ‘I just don’t know how to deal with it.’
Cally sighed and squeezed Logan’s hand. ‘Just prepare yourself for it to be tough. It’s really the only thing you can do.’ Cally silently swallowed, more than aware of just how horrible it was going to be. She wasn’t looking forward to the coming few weeks. There she’d been thinking how lucky and gilded the Henry-Hicks lot were. How that had changed.