Chapter 13
13
ELENA
Elena sat at her desk and stared at the clock, as if it would help her time-travel forwards to the end of Derek’s meeting. She hadn’t even been able to focus on the last chapter of her current read by her favourite uplifting fiction author. For the last two hours he’d been on the top floor, with the board. It was lunch time now. Rory had gone to the staff gym for the first time, with Gary. It had only taken Gary a year to persuade Rory that you also get a buzz from pushing your body in an environment that wasn’t ten thousand feet high, or under threat from cascading water.
The door to the office opened. Derek came in, jumper sleeves rolled up, glasses off. He headed straight for her desk, sat on the corner of it, mouth downturned.
‘They rejected the idea?’ she said and put down her book.
‘We need to get our act together, need to raise our game, because the board said if we don’t’ – he paused and then punched the air – ‘then this brilliant project won’t hit the heights it deserves! They love the idea and want us to move forwards, full pelt!’ Derek’s face split into an axolotl smile and he held out his palm. She high-fived it back. Cheeks sweaty, hair ruffled, and wearing bright yellow trainers, Rory walked in with Gary. Elena waved them both over and Derek stood up.
‘Well done on those figures you collated on competitors’ broken biscuit sales, Rory,’ said Derek. ‘The number of consumers for those items impressed the board. As did the fact it’s not a widely pushed product at the moment. The market is crying out for another brand to jump on board. That’s us.’ He looked at Gary. ‘I conveyed how the whole team has got behind this idea. The enthusiasm is contagious – that boardroom was buzzing when I left. Right…’ He rubbed his forehead. ‘In the first instance I need to speak to product development and?—’
‘First coffee more like, the oil to our engine,’ said Gary.
Derek followed him into the staff kitchen to help, the two of them talking in an animated fashion.
Rory held out his hands.
‘No,’ Elena said. ‘Not doing it.’ She shook her head. ‘Nuh uh.’
He raised an eyebrow and she gave a mock sigh, stood up and slipped her hands into his. He did a quirky dance and she joined in, laughing.
‘We’ve not shaken our stuff and done the Good Times Dance since September, I reckon, when that change to more sustainable packaging paid off,’ said Rory. ‘And it’s good times, for sure. I actually survived that drive to work this morning.’
‘What do you mean?’ she replied, catching her breath.
‘We might have been on the motorway, but eighty-five miles an hour?’
‘Everyone does that.’ Elena had cruised along, overtaking car after car, when normally she’d have stuck in the inside lane and to the speed limit. She’d insisted she’d drive every day this week, keen to press ahead with her carefree attitude. She made up an excuse that something had felt wrong with the car’s suspension and she’d wanted to test it. God, how good it felt to drive without worrying about every potential hazard, not feeling she had to take the longer, safer route, on quieter roads.
‘I don’t speed,’ he said.
‘Says the man who put his foot to the floor during his rally car experience in the spring.’
‘That was under controlled conditions. There were no other cars I might have hit.’ He cocked his head. ‘You’re really going for it, aren’t you? Throwing caution to the wind as you approach thirty.’
‘A firework almost exploding in your chest gives you enormous perspective,’ she muttered and pretended to type on her keyboard as Rory headed off to fetch their coffees. He was right. Speeding hadn’t been cool. It didn’t matter about endangering her own life, but it did about Rory’s and other drivers’. She quickly googled a rally drive experience website and added it to her mental list of daredevil activities.
Halfway through the afternoon, when it was time for another caffeine hit, Derek ordered in donuts from a favourite bakery around the corner – a Bingley Biscuits tradition when there was a work event to celebrate, a nod to the company’s roots and how far it had come. The jam donut had been one of the company’s most popular items, before they’d gone into mass production and focused on biscuits. Back in the fifties and sixties, they used to be iced in blue or red and sold outdoors at Maine Road and Old Trafford. Normally Elena would stick to a humble glazed ring, and she certainly wouldn’t eat any Christmas fare until the week before. But today she snapped up one loaded with cinnamon cream, covered in dark chocolate and freeze-dried cranberries. Rory grinned as she took a bite and cream spurted down her chin. When it was finished, she reached for another, with blonde chocolate and a mini gingerbread man on top, filled with ginger and pear jam. Elena never worried about calories, least of all now when she might only have three weeks and two days left on this planet. She brought up the online calculator, channelling Rory. In other words, twenty-three days; five hundred and fifty-two hours; thirty-three thousand, one hundred and twenty minutes.
How her goal had changed, from simply surviving her remaining weeks, simply going through the motions in order to be safe, to sucking them dry of every single drop of life. There were so many things she’d missed out on, like… like hot air ballooning, edge-of-your-seat wild nights out, like eating oysters, like travel, like… love. Love, the thing she wanted to experience most – yet the hardest to tick off any list because you couldn’t just book or pay for it.
‘Let’s go to this great bar I know near here and celebrate properly,’ said Elena as she pulled up on her drive after work.
‘I’m in,’ said Rory. ‘First I need a shower. Leave in twenty minutes?’
Whilst he raced upstairs, Elena knocked back a glass of water and headed into the lounge. She took the roof off the glass tank and put in her hand, coaxing Snap to climb on. The two of them sat on the sofa.
‘Shedding my skin is fun,’ whispered Elena, holding up her hand, admiring Snap’s flexibility. ‘What does it feel like for you? Liberating, to start anew? Because that’s what I’m experiencing. I’ve got nothing to lose by shedding my fears and inhibitions.’ She eyed the tank again. ‘In case… the worst happens, on the twenty-first of December, before then I’m going to get you and Brandy a bigger living space. I’m sure Rory will agree. Your universe should have sides longer than thirty centimetres.’ Gently, Elena placed Snap back in the tank, said hello to Brandy, an d then sprayed the bramble leaves with water and put on the lid.
Rory appeared in a black leather trench coat, wearing drainpipe jeans with boots, and a Manga sweatshirt – The Matrix with a Japanese twist. They set off, without Elena going back to check the front door was locked, and waved to Tahoor as they passed his house. After a brisk walk they entered a bar called Boujee and took a bottle of Merlot to a table. Elena poured out two glasses, nestling back in the velvet armchair, admiring the room’s twinkling fairy lights. A Christmas tree was already up in the corner, tastefully ornate with colour-coordinated baubles. Normally she’d have cringed at decorating so early, but somehow, this year, she felt the need to appreciate it. Rory sat opposite her, candles between them flickering in the dim light, R&B music playing in the background.
‘Cheers! Here’s to not being broken!’ She knocked the drink back in one. Rory did the same. The first bottle soon emptied, accompanied by chat about the bungee jump this Saturday. Rory took her through the safety procedures and Elena tried to look interested. She ordered a second bottle.
‘How does your dad feel about you doing extreme sports?’ she asked, slurring her words slightly, not caring that it never suited her to drink on an empty stomach.
‘I never tell him in advance.’
‘Wise. Mum and Dad messaged me last night, asking if I was still doing it, said they were excited for me – but the lack of usual emojis spoke volumes.’ She raised her glass to her lips. ‘Has he ever wanted to do one of the sports with you?’
Rory shook his head.
‘How about your mum?’
He ran a finger around the rim of his glass. ‘She can’t. She isn’t with us any more. ’
‘She’s moved away from Stockport?’
‘No, I mean…’
Elena put down her wine, unable to swallow for a moment. Had a big family fallout happened? ‘Ignore me. Being nosy.’
‘She doesn’t live in Stockport. She’s buried there,’ he blurted out.
Elena sat very still. ‘Oh, Rory, I’m so very sorry, I always thought…’
‘My fault. It’s easier to let people assume the best.’
‘Did it happen long ago?’
‘Long enough,’ he said before clearing his throat and grabbing the menu. ‘Right. Let’s order. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.’
Elena tried not to stare at him. That’s how Rory was broken – his mum must have died relatively young. Elena had dated a therapist once. He told her that his job was to find out what made a client cry and then to get them to talk about it. The things we strove to hide did the most damage, he’d said, like a kind of mental dry rot. She studied Rory more closely, as if he were one of her books that had a misleading cover or title. Up until now, with the bright clothes and boyish smile, he’d been a light-hearted genre, nicely easy to read, with a happy ever after ending – eventually he’d meet someone, settle down and swap parachutes for nappies. But now a darker subplot had emerged. It created an ache inside her chest. She didn’t know why. Rory was only a colleague.
He suggested they order two Boujee Burgers – with satay and hoisin dressing on the side for him. She’d never understand why he enjoyed mixing flavours so randomly. She went to pour herself another glass.
‘Slow down, Elena! I’m not carrying you home.’
She ignored him, having already forgotten her recent hangover. She was owed a few evenings with hazy memories, after so many years of being cautious. Her colleagues often got sloshed on a night out. Gary would break into Salsa moves, Caz would put the world to rights, Derek would talk about his stamp collection and the whole team would get more affectionate. As for Mum and Dad, they’d get silly, duetting their favourite songs by Rick Astley.
Now it was Elena’s turn. She raised her glass to his bemused expression and carried on drinking. They ended up getting a taxi back. Rory helped Elena upstairs and into the bathroom just in time. She threw up into the toilet bowl whilst he rubbed her back. He fetched her a glass of water and took off her shoes and coat, before helping her onto the bed. She lay down and he slipped an extra pillow under her head.
‘Stop fussing, I’m fine,’ she said, throat burning.
‘I’ll remind you of that sentiment tomorrow morning, Ms Swan. Good night. Bacon and eggs, first thing?’
She gagged. Yet , she thought, look at me, no holds barred, doing exactly what I want . She waved two fingers in the air at Rory as he chuckled and departed. Elena was living her best life, she was. Holding that thought, she rushed into the bathroom and once again threw up.