Chapter 20
Despite Brian having sold a house in Lanark to one of the police officers who turns up, there’s nothing they can do.
People have a right to protest. They concede that Nicol’s loudhailer is a pain in the arse, so he’s made to put it down on the pavement.
He raises his hands like a criminal, showing the weapon has been dropped, reminiscent of an argument we had outside a pub in town once because he thought I was chatting up the barman who I did not fancy even a little bit.
After the officers leave, I busy myself in the back corner, organising the filing cabinets, keeping out of view and listening to Gavin and Brian discussing the cause of the protest. It’s all Heather Gray’s fault, apparently.
She illegally evicted some guy and Brian told her not to, at least he thinks he did.
Actually, now he properly considers it, he might have joked about tossing the guy and all his things out onto the street, but he was clearly – very clearly – having a laugh.
Whatever was said, it was definitely Heather who did the chucking out so it’s nothing to do with Perfect Property Solutions.
By the end of this conversation Brian’s done a great job of convincing himself he’s entirely blameless in the matter and decides to go out onto the street to talk with the mob.
Releasing my grip on the filing cabinet drawer it snaps back, trapping my finger. ‘Fuck,’ I mutter. Don’t do that, he won’t like that, Brian, I think to myself. It’s too late, he’s already on the street. Through the glass I hear him say, ‘Who’s in charge then?’
The yucca I’m meant to water every Friday, its dry, dusty soil telling on me, shields me from view. I inch closer to watch; the leaves rustle.
‘Who do you know out there, then?’ Gavin shouts from their desk.
‘The one leading the chants is Nicol, my ex.’
‘And you don’t want to see him?’ Gavin remains facing their computer, inputting data on a spreadsheet for Go Holdings as if rowdy mobs turn up at the office all the time and lack any intrigue.
My real reason for not wanting Nicol to notice me is because I look like shit from running about to the flat viewing and am wearing a very drab, stereotypical woman-in-an-office outfit: a black pencil skirt with a thin-knit black polo-neck jumper.
I don’t want to draw Gavin’s attention to this, should they find my appearance lacking too, once I point it out, so I say another equally embarrassing truth.
‘He’ll think he’s won and he hasn’t. Even though working here is paying my bills, facilitating me to pursue things I love outside of work, all he’ll see is me working at an estate agent’s and he’ll think I’m morally bankrupt and he – the cheater – can convince himself he’s superior once more. ’
Early on in our relationship I mispronounced the word ‘superfluous’ because I’d only ever read it, never heard it said.
Nicol corrected me when I said it aloud for the first time in my life to him as ‘super-flus’.
He’d been kind in his correction but stored my mistake away, using it against me regularly to cast doubt on my thoughts, beliefs and actions for the next seven years.
For example, ‘Are you sure we have enough oat milk in? Because you used to think it was “super-flus” so maybe get some on your way home so I don’t run out. ’
Gavin’s nails start click-clacking on their keyboard. They’re not done with me, though. ‘And what are these pursuits you love so much?’
The first thing that comes to mind is Willie’s floating body.
The second is the jogs that preceded Willie’s death, which have now become a regular part of my routine.
I jog most mornings before work. ‘Running,’ I blurt out, then because one hobby on its own sounds as sad as none, I tack on, ‘and the arts’.
Endlessly watching episodes of Fixer Uppers Go Under the Hammer sounds too pathetic and insane.
‘You like going to the cinema, then?’ Click-clack, click-clack; their fingers don’t stop when they speak like mine would. They must be able to touch type, which impresses me much more than it should.
‘Yeah, I do like going to the pictures. Although I haven’t been in ages.’
‘Do you know what I learned from Colin’s funeral?’
This is a sharp conversational turn. Colin has been resurrected more times than I care for in chats at work.
‘No, what?’
‘That I need to stop fannying about with whatever me and you are. So, with that in mind, do you fancy going with me to see a film on Friday night?’
Two thoughts happen in unison at this question.
Thought one is that, in all the chatter and the surprise of what Gavin has said, I’ve been sloppy.
I’ve allowed too much of my head to get above the glossy leaves of the plant.
The second is how, upon hearing the question, my entire being feels lighter, a lift in my soul that Gavin wants me.
Words in response fail me as I re-stoop; the crowd turns on Brian.
There are a few boos and then, now the rain has stopped, dismantled brollies jab towards him like swords.
He shouts, ‘There is no point trying to deal with unreasonable people. You will be hearing from my solicitor.’ They heckle him until he’s back inside, snapping the lock shut, while the chant resumes.
‘What a bunch of bastards.’ He straightens his suit. ‘I explained the situation, but they kept banging on about how the rental agreement is with us, therefore the issue is with us. Blah, blah, blah.’
When his jacket sleeve is at the precise point he wants it against his shirt, Brian is at a loss about what to do. The visual and aural noise of the protesters is impossible to ignore. ‘Right,’ he says to the room. ‘Let’s all head into my office and plan our next steps.’
Our next steps? I’ve definitely nothing to do with this, which would be a valid point to make if my innocence were more important than being spotted by Nicol, who is pacing from one side of the window to the other, the loudhailer returned to his grasp but not yet back to amplifying his voice.
To my great shame, I find his commitment and passion as impressive as I ever did.
There is lots and lots wrong with him, but not this.
The core of his being that cares intensely is what redeemed him time and again to me.
No matter how cutting the comment or how disinterested he was in my life, I looked at how much he cared about people and places he didn’t even know.
How could that man not have the same depth of feeling about his actual girlfriend?
‘Troops.’ Brian shuts the door with a bang. ‘What we gonna do?’
‘Stop working with someone who does illegal evictions?’ I suggest, because that seems like the only answer.
Brian snorts. ‘No. But really. What we gonna do?’
Gavin fidgets with the thin silver bracelet on their hairy wrist, rubbing the smooth nub of the lock on it. ‘I think Jemma’s right. Heather’ll have definitely broken her contract with us. We at least threaten to stop working with her, get her to behave herself.’
This isn’t as cut and dried as I’d like, which is maybe why Brian contemplates it. ‘Aye.’ His eyes are on the panels of the ceiling. ‘Aye, that could work. Perfect Property Solutions as a leader in ethical letting.’
There’s a flutter in my belly. Is this place going to turn into somewhere I won’t need to hide in the corners of? ‘What else would we do to be more ethical? Provide landlord references? Rent freezes?’
‘You are hilarious, Jemma. Telling Heather to clean her side of the street is what we’re doing. It’ll keep those weirdos outside away from us.’ He claps his hands together. ‘I’m off to go and tell that lot we’ve listened and we’re making changes.’
While Brian goes, me and Gavin stay in his office, our faces staring at Brian’s empty chair as if he were still present.
‘The cinema would be lovely, thank you for asking,’ I say, then get up and brush myself off, even though there’s nothing on me, and leave.
My belly continues to tingle, my body reacting not to anything to do with work but to Gavin, beautiful Gavin, asking me on a date.
Me. Nicol and I never had a first date. We snogged in a nightclub and then shagged for a month solid, which felt passionate and romantic and a sign of how deeply we loved one another from the start.
With hindsight, him wooing me would have given me the space to discover if I liked Nicol the person and not just the regular hefty dose of oxytocin the sex gave me.
Back on the main office floor, I’m confused. The street is back to its usual sparsely populated self. Brian’s standing at the window looking out onto the nothing.
‘Where is everyone?’ I ask.
‘Dunno. They fucked off before I could tell them the good news.’
I walk towards the window to assess the scene myself and confirm the union folk have indeed fucked off. ‘I’ll get back to work, then.’
‘Nah, let’s call it quits. Today has been enough for me. I’m sure you feel the same.’
There’s no ‘Ye sure?’ to indicate I’ll happily stay if he needs me to because I’m so dedicated. I grab my things and am out the door shouting, ‘See you in the morning!’ before my computer has properly shut down.
Outside work, the knowledge I am walking on the same terrain Nicol recently occupied makes the ground feel unsteady, not entirely solid.
I plan my evening: a bath when I get in, an episode of Fixer Uppers Go Under the Hammer with dinner, an early night because I need my energy for plotting Pete’s demise.
Cutting into the side street where I kissed Gavin, and the memory of how I felt after killing Willie, make me decide this is Pete’s last Tuesday. I need to keep my momentum going.
My thoughts about exactly how I’ll do that are interrupted by the realisation that someone is matching my steps behind me. I find my keys in my pocket, wrap my fist around the biggest one. Armed with a weapon of sorts, I’m ready to turn around, poised to attack.
Behind me is a small woman, her hood tight around her skull. ‘Jemma?’ she asks, like a real question, even though it’s Amara and she knows who I am.
‘Fuck off.’ I up my pace to the main road quicker.
My running’s paying off, she’s panting as she keeps up.
‘Nicol sent me.’ And I can’t explain it, but hearing his name from her mouth stops me.
It’s a reminder that not too long ago he knew me better than anyone, well, except for Amara.
He knows putting Amara in front of me will make me listen; she cannot be excised from my life anywhere near as cleanly as he can.
‘He saw you at the estate agent’s.’ Of course he did.
‘So why isn’t he stalking me, then?’
‘He didn’t think you’d be pleased to see him.’
‘Whereas I’m delighted by your presence?’
‘I know this is difficult for us both.’ Her words hang between us; I recognise their truth.
At the same time, I am not appalled to notice the dark circles under Amara’s eyes, the frizz to her hair, clear signifiers that life is not perfect for her, as Amara is the sort of person who is usually immaculately presented.
‘I get it, you realise you ruined your life as well as mine, but I’ve processed what you did to me. You need to work through the pain you did to yourself.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jem.’ She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. It springs back into her face when she’s done.
‘So you’re going to pretend you’re absolutely fine, are you? That you never rocked up unannounced to mine?’
‘That was a mistake. Guilt is a difficult emotion to manage but I’m working through it.
I’m sorry for bothering you with that, but this isn’t something you should ignore.
We need you for something that’s bigger than what’s gone on between the three of us.
’ This last bit does not sound like Amara’s own choice of words.
The flat delivery, as if she’s memorised them, gives her away.
‘We saw you while we were protesting, and Nicol thought, and I did too, that you could help the union with your insider knowledge.’
Of all the things I expected from Nicol seeing me at work, my private shame being helpful to him was not an option I’d considered.
Amara needing me to please Nicol emboldens me.
‘How’s being the co-head of a union? Does Nicol allow you to be an active participant or do you get the pleasure of sorting the tea and sandwiches?
’ Amara becomes very interested in her shoes, a pair of shiny oxblood Doc Martens that are scuffed to buggery at the toes in a way that every time I’ve ever seen them I’ve admired how worn in and effortless they look.
The compliment I say by default upon sight of them, that I think they are so cool, is swallowed down to make space for, ‘Ams, whether you know it or not, you’re putting me in a horrible position.
I know if I say I won’t do you this favour, Nicol is going to be a fucking nightmare to you.
He’s going to spend days being so huffy, snappy, blaming you for failures that are not yours. ’
She bites her lip, looks back at her boots or the pavement. It is probably quite unpleasant to hear someone reflect back at you the truth of your new but awful boyfriend. ‘If he’s like that it’s because he’s so passionate about the cause.’
I remember that dread so keenly I feel a flicker of it now. I offer her a lifeline. ‘If he wants something from me, he has to ask me himself.’
Her heavy brows lighten. ‘So it’s not a no?’
By not allowing her to experience Nicol at his very worst, I have gifted him to her at his happiest. Amara can expect a gesture from him that she can look back on when he’s next upset with her for a minor infringement as a signifier of his good heart.
Maybe a cup of tea she didn’t ask for, a soft look she can interpret to mean any number of deep emotions, a text message containing extra kisses when she wasn’t expecting it.
I can’t help myself from trying to take the edge off. ‘It’s not a yes either.’
Amara tells me Nicol will be in touch and dashes off; the person who walks away is more like the person I was friends with. When she’s disappeared from view I keep the keys in my grasp, unable to shake the sensation that I need to defend myself.