Chapter 33
So far, all I know for certain is that the house from the show has since been sold and the company Henry owned it through was wound down a few years ago.
Henry is a conundrum. It turns out men called Henry Hamilton who live in and around the Hamilton area are plentiful.
I search ‘Henry Hamilton property developer’ and angrily press enter on the phone so hard it makes Gavin look up from their computer screen.
When I arrived at the office Gavin was not here, which was unusual.
They usually arrive before everyone else.
It was Brian who had opened up and was in the back office, his ring light shining while he spoke to his phone on the tripod about ‘the warrior’s mindset’, whatever that is.
Prior to recording his pish, he’d left a Post-it note asking me to organise a delivery of the most expensive bouquet the florists would do for his lover, and one of a mid-size arrangement for Leanne, and for me to compose a message of my choice on both.
This radicalised me even further against him.
Brian needs to be exposed as soon as is possible as far as I’m concerned, because it’s starting to feel like I’m the one having the affair and I have enough on my plate as it is.
To keep things simple I put the same message on each bouquet, worded in such a way that they would prompt a conversation at the very least: Love is complex, isn’t it? - Bri x
‘That’s nice of you to stay around long enough to resolve an issue,’ I said as I typed in Henry Hamilton property South Lanarkshire. Gavin flinched as I smacked the phone and received no useful results.
My own phone buzzes. It’s Amara.
Checking ok to get everything for Thursday?
Oh good, another person bothering me.
YES
I respond, and then follow up with:
I told Nicol this last night. Why are you asking?
The message is seen straight away, Amara responds the second the blue ticks illuminate to show me she’s read it.
Sorry. I actually wanted to ask you about something else…
Typing… appears under her name on and off, on and off, for ages, and that’s irritating to me, too.
If she’s going to ask me something, she should just fucking ask it.
I drop the phone, another look from Gavin, then my phone vibrates to let me know the message Amara spent a generation typing is with me.
It’s about Nicol.
That’s what it took her ages to compose.
That. The mention of Nicol unearths a paranoia within me.
How weird he’s been whenever I’ve been alone with him, that message about him being the best I could get I am now thoroughly convinced he sent from Amara’s phone – who is to say that just because this is Amara’s number what I’m receiving is from her this time?
Amara, if this is you, send proof.
Amara – or Nicol, whoever it is – disappears offline, so that’s shut them up, which is welcome reprieve until Amara sends me a selfie in which her expression is very serious as she poses next to her giant telly which is on the BBC News channel, showing today’s date and the time of one minute ago.
She never was good at taking a picture of herself.
I believe it to be authentic and not a clever piece of Photoshop. I continue with the chat.
What about Nicol?
Gavin is getting up, shredding papers, stretching, generally making much more noise than usual.
‘Are you wanting me to notice you, Gavin?’ I turn my phone over on the off chance their eyesight is spectacular and they can read my messages.
Given their reaction to Nicol in the flesh, Nicol’s girlfriend and me in communication would probably not help things.
‘I thought it would be nice to clear the air?’
‘I don’t really know what I’m clearing the air from, Gavin.
I understand there are some things you don’t agree with’ – I turn around to see Brian fiddling with the settings on his ring light, I catch him just as he’s went too high and nearly blinded himself – ‘but we should be able to talk about things, not vanish.’
Gavin sits on the edge of my desk. It creaks from their weight but it would be inflammatory to suggest they move elsewhere when they are trying to make amends.
They whisper, ‘I mean it, I had to go. Do you really think I’d be that insecure about your ex?
I can feel what’s between us, Jem. People don’t have the chemistry we do if they’re hung up on ex-boyfriends who have questionable facial hair.
I understand the timing made it look like it was a huff, but I promise it wasn’t. I’d only leave you if I had no choice.’
Three messages come in one after the other, buzz, buzz, buzz, making it sound urgent, like important things are happening. The vibrations act as a deterrent to Gavin, they get off my desk. ‘OK,’ is the best I can muster.
My phone buzzes again.
‘Do you want to go on a walk at lunch?’ Gavin asks.
‘Sure, yes. I brought in leftover lasagne for you in case you wanted to eat some after all of your effort.’
Gavin’s face breaks into a smile that makes me instantly forgive them. I hate myself for being so soft, so easy to win over. Love is weakening me just as I’ve found my strength. I’ll need to keep an eye on that.
How did he treat you?
– I mean, I know badly. He cheated on you for God’s sake. Before then, was he nice? You were always so coy about him. I know you had ups and downs like everyone does but it was mainly ups, in the long term, yeah?
– I think it’s harder for us than we thought it would be. It could be that he is stressed because he feels bad about what happened with us all?
– Don’t get me wrong, I love him and I know he loves me.
Amara being miserable may sound like justice to someone outside of the situation, but to me it’s the worst-case scenario.
For my life to be blown up, I want them to have movie love, the kind people talk about as aspirational for themselves.
You know, ‘Yes, they started off as an affair but anyone can tell by looking at them they’re meant to be together, what choice did they have?
’ Ams not even getting to live happily ever after is a nightmare for me.
He is not a nice person, he made me feel very bad about myself.
How I looked, my personality, my career, who I was friends with (yes, even you) – everything became nothing until it had his validation.
You told me once when me and him were going through a bad patch that I needed to prioritise pleasure, stop thinking having a sad life was the only life. I give this same advice to you x
Amara reads and then contemplates what I’ve said. Her response is the thumbs-up emoji, followed by one final message.
Can you please delete these messages? Just in case.
I put my phone onto airplane mode and then place it in my top drawer to stop me from acting on my impulse to throw it across the room, then continue on my fruitless search for Henry.
Before I know it, it’s lunchtime; I retrieve the leftover lasagne and heat it up for Gavin. When I place the plate down in front of them they kiss my hand, a tiny gesture that is enough to dissolve any lingering annoyance I have with them.
I pick at a tub of grapes while Gavin reads the headlines to me. ‘There’s a strike at a nuclear power plant, the housing crisis is “intens-ifying” in Scotland, that woman from Bothwell in the coma woke up.’
‘That’s great,’ I mumble.
‘I know you’re not the biggest fan of landlords but you can’t have wanted her to die for it.’
Fighting the urge to say I think they should all die for it, I instead tell them, ‘Of course not. I’m glad she’s awake. So glad I’m going to read all about it myself.’
A mother left fighting for life after being struck by a hit-and-run driver is out of a coma, her family have revealed.
Paula Homerton, 38, suffered severe head injuries two weeks ago when she was struck by an as yet unidentified black or dark-grey SUV as she made her way home with her three-year-old daughter. Since the incident, she has been in a medically induced coma with her family at her bedside.
Paula, who is a makeup artist and owns a property management company, was rushed to Queen Elizabeth University Hospital after she was discovered lying in the middle of the road by a neighbour.
Richard Homerton, Paula’s husband, issued an update on his wife’s condition this morning stating she has woken from the coma and is talking, although how long it will take for her to fully recuperate from her injuries remains unclear.
He said: ‘Having survived this horrendous accident, we are now beginning the very long journey of Paula’s recovery, which we have been warned will take months or even years.
She is incredibly confused about the circumstances that led to her being injured.
We hope her memory of the events recovers soon. ’
The collision happened on Clydebrae Drive in Bothwell at between 12:45 pm and 1:50 pm on 11 October. It is unclear why Mrs Homerton was in the road when she was struck. She suffered a critical brain injury and multiple breaks to the left side of her pelvis and injuries to her legs.
Police are appealing for witnesses, CCTV, doorbell or dashcam footage that may help the investigation.
Detective Steven Miller, the officer in charge of the case, said: ‘To leave the scene of any collision is a serious matter, and we’re keen to trace the vehicle to assist our enquiries and speak to any witnesses to this collision.
The injuries Mrs Homerton received will have a huge impact on her life and the life of her family for years to come.
This is not a crime that can go unpunished and we are pursuing multiple lines of enquiry, which we are sure will result in finding the culprit.
We advise that if you were the driver of the vehicle it would be in your best interests to approach the police now rather than waiting for us to find you. ’
To me, that entire article sounds like they know nothing. They’ll have asked for all that footage as part of their inquiries before, and none of it can have led to here or they’d have already taken me away.
Just then, Brian’s wife, Leanne, storms in wearing a spandex gym outfit that shows off her impeccable physique.
Both me and Gavin watch her walk past us and look at her arse unashamedly.
Opening the door to Brian’s office, she yells, ‘What were you doing on the second of October when you weren’t here or at the house? ’
‘Well, hello to you, too, darling. How the bloody hell am I supposed to remember that off the top of my head?’
He gets up, shuts the door for privacy, muffling their conversation, which is a shame as I would like to hear what else is said.
Not only because other people’s arguments are interesting but because it’ll let me know if the scheduling I do for Brian and the assorted hints I’m leaving for Leanne are working.
‘Time for that walk?’
Gavin takes my hand and leads me away; no need to be discreet when Brian’s got other, more pressing problems.
We walk in the direction of the park. It starts to spit so we dip into the graveyard of the Old Parish Church, not wanting to be too far away from the office should the weather really turn.
The headstones are so old most of them no longer bear the name of who is buried there.
The ones that are legible say great things like: ‘Here lie David Smith, his wife and family’, ‘The grave of Mark Aitchison and his wife’, ‘Harry McDonald and his wife lie here’.
The wives’ first names are not worth mentioning; nameless women who once married a man is all they are then, now and forever.
The rain doesn’t come to anything; the sun cracks through the clouds. Gavin takes a seat on a bench near the back stairs to the church where a dozen wreaths of plastic poppies sit solemnly.
‘I’ll help you,’ they say. Given all the things I’ve been thinking about and needing assistance with this morning, what in particular Gavin is referring to is not immediately clear to me.
‘With what?’
‘Getting the documents and information you need. It’ll be easier with two of us doing it, and it’s not like Brian actually cares so long as we don’t cost him any money, which this won’t, will it?’
‘I don’t see how it can.’ I’ll be honest, I’ve never considered Brian in any of this.
‘One thing. If I help you then I get to come to the meeting with you.’
And I agree, because I don’t think I really have a choice.