The image of you, p.39
The Image of You, page 39
‘He might be just trying to make amends,’ pointed out Vera sagely.
Vera knew the whole story. Anna had decided to tell her the truth when she returned from New York. She’d wanted to keep her job at the centre and needed to explain her sudden, unexpected absence. The truth seemed the only way forward, partly because she was too exhausted to think of one more lie, one more deception, and partly because Anna knew that if she was ever going to be truly well she needed some support around her. Who better qualified to help than Vera?
Vera had accepted the situation with her usual equanimity. She’d passed tissues but no comments, other than small encouraging sounds such as ‘uh huh’ and ‘OK’, whilst Anna spluttered and blushed and wept her way through her story.
‘Can I still work here?’ Anna had begged.
The truth was, her wage from Drop In barely covered her bills; she made more money from Zoe’s modelling. Of course she realized that she could do catalogue work as Anna too, but it wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted to work here at Drop In, alongside Mrs Delphine, Rick and all the other people she cared about, but she realized that her poor mental health was an issue.
Vera had hugged her, laughed and commented, ‘Like I’d dare cross you, after hearing all that.’ She was the one who put Anna in touch with the counsellor.
Vera had remained loyal, understanding and sensible. Right now, she reached across the reception desk and squeezed Anna’s fingers. ‘Hey, remember, it’s not his money. Even if he is on the committee that decides these things, you don’t owe him a thing. These big banks give away tons of cash. So, we’re the lucky recipients this time. Let’s just enjoy it.’
* * *
They took a tube and then scurried through the City streets, arriving wide-eyed at the imposing building that was the bank’s head office. Their gang made a crazy and colourful contrast to those around them. For a start, they were not dressed in dark designer suits, they were not striding purposefully, oblivious to the stupendous grandeur of the building, but rather gawping carelessly. And besides, they were laughing and chatting rather than scowling or trying to look sophisticated.
‘Wow, this place is stunning, if not a bit intimidating,’ said Vera. She gazed up at floor after floor of glass and marble. ‘Imagine working here.’
Anna had been there before. Well, technically, Nick had brought Zoe; they’d had sex on his desk. Neither incarnation had ever been introduced to his colleagues; there hadn’t been either the time or the occasion. The whole episode had been a whirlwind—or, more accurately, a tornado.
They took the elevator to the nineteenth floor, where the lift doors parted; they followed the noise of laughter and clinking glasses and the heady perfume of fat waxy lilies. Someone offered to take their coats and, in exchange, someone else proffered a tray of champagne. Everyone took a glass; a few with grateful shyness, others with bold entitlement. The room was crowded and noisy. They’d been told it was to be an intimate gathering, which apparently in Herrill Tanley translated into at least a hundred people.
Anna had assumed their gang would all stay close to one another but, within minutes of their arrival, Vera and two of the others were whisked away by the bank’s publicist who wanted to introduce them to someone or other, a journalist or the boss, maybe an influential client. Mrs Skarvelis pushed Mrs Delphine towards the food table. And Rick and Ahmed moved towards the window because they wanted to check out the view. Anna was left alone. She didn’t mind. She wanted to stay at the back of the room, cling to the wall. Just in case. It was a lovely party; she couldn’t fail to be impressed. Everyone looked elegant, pleased or proud. The champagne was copious, the canapés delicious, yet she couldn’t relax. She nervously scanned the room and avoided small talk being forced upon her by engaging with the waiters and talking about the cute little savouries that they were offering. She found she had a particular fondness for the crab cocktail with tomato tartare, in fact she had one in her hand when—
She saw him.
Then he saw her.
Eyes across a crowded room. Bang. Their gazes locked.
Tall, handsome, notable.
He weaved determinedly through the crowds, expertly dodging pleas for him to join small clusters of people who so obviously wanted to detain him. She quickly swallowed the remaining mouthful of crab, dabbed her lips with a napkin.
She couldn’t take her eyes off him. Nor he, off her.
‘Hello.’
‘Hello.’
‘Nice dress.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Beautiful colour.’
It was raspberry pink. Over the past six months Anna had tried to dress more boldly. She didn’t want to wear invisible blacks and greys all winter; she no longer wanted to vanish. Anna had known since the moment that Pamela had told her about wearing a raspberry-coloured jumpsuit the night she’d met George, that she’d secretly craved owning something that colour. Something vibrant, luxurious and cheerful. Something full of life. She’d spotted this raspberry dress in Whistles and although it cost more than she usually spent on clothes, she hadn’t been able to resist it. Now she was glad. From the way he was looking at her, it was worth every penny.
‘It’s what caught my eye. It’s quite the statement. But you carry it off.’
It wasn’t the smoothest compliment, but she believed it was well intentioned.
‘Thank you.’ She thought she sounded calmer than she felt. She hoped so.
‘Is it velvet?’
‘Yes.’
‘I want to touch it.’ He looked surprised that he’d actually said so.
Anna felt like giggling. There was something attractive about a person inadvertently blurting out exactly what they were thinking. It was refreshing, most people tried so hard to be cool.
‘Velvet has that effect,’ she told him.
‘No, you have that effect.’
‘Cheesy line,’ she smiled.
He laughed and blushed. ‘Sounded a lot like one, right? But honestly, I meant it.’
For a second she closed her eyes. Remembered to breathe. Felt the moment. Then slowly she opened them again. He was still there.
‘Can I get you a drink?’ he asked.
She nodded at the glass of champagne she was holding. ‘I have one. The nice man on the door gives them out for free.’
‘Oh yes, of course. Sorry.’ He looked awkward but determined. ‘Look, I’m not doing very well here. I’m normally considerably more impressive,’ he managed to muster a grin.
‘I bet you are,’ she replied, laughing gently.
‘Shall we start again? Pretend we’ve just met.’
She considered it. He seemed well intentioned, clever, pleasant, he was certainly handsome. There were worse ways to pass an evening. ‘If you like.’
With an obvious sigh of relief, he asked, ‘So where do you fit in? How come you’re here?’
‘I work for one of the charities that are benefiting. We’re picking up a big cheque tonight.’
‘Ha! Well, you have me to thank for that,’ he said, looking pleased with himself for the first time.
‘Really?’
‘Well, not entirely. Although, I am on the charity committee. I’ve had some influence on picking a longlist of worthy charities.’
‘How did you choose?’
‘A bit randomly, really. I just picked ones I’d heard of. Ones my friends, or friends of friends, had an interest in. It’s as good a place as any to start for a longlist.’
He held out his hand and she shook it.
‘Sorry, I should have introduced myself. I’m Hal Douglas. I’m in equity capital markets.’
‘Oh.’ Anna blanched. ‘I’m Anna Turner.’
He swayed. ‘Nick’s fiancée?’
‘Well, no, not for six months. But well, yes.’
‘I’m—’
‘His friend, I know.’ She dropped her eyes to their hands.
He was still clasping hers. He ought to let go now. He didn’t. He just moved his thumb a fraction, like an inadvertent caress.
Then he coughed. ‘More of a colleague, I’d say, than friend; we didn’t have all that much in common in the end. Ex-colleague, actually. He left the bank after, well—’ Hal looked away from her for a second.
It was only then that she realized it was the first time he’d broken his gaze since they set eyes on each other. She found she wanted him to look at her again.
‘He’s taken a year’s sabbatical. Did you know?’
‘I didn’t. I actually thought he was behind Drop In receiving the cheque.’
‘No, sorry. That was—’
‘You.’
‘Well, yes. I guess. I’d heard him talk about your good work. Did you want it to be him?’
‘No.’
Hal looked relieved.
It was true that she hadn’t wanted to be beholden to Nick, but now, somewhat annoyingly, she realized that she did want to think he was repentant, or at least aware.
With a smidge of irritation she asked, ‘Where is he spending his sabbatical? LA? Monaco? Barbados?’ Anna threw out the names of the most glamorous places she could imagine.
‘He’s actually doing voluntary work in El Salvador, building orphanages, I think.’
‘Wow.’
Hal smiled. ‘A pretty impressive way to find yourself, you’d have to agree.’
‘Is that what he’s doing? Finding himself?’
‘I suppose so. He never discussed it with me. I always believed we were quite close but I suppose we were boy-close, if you know what I mean. After he left I realized we didn’t talk about the big stuff as much as we perhaps should have.’ Hal shrugged. ‘It’s not what happens here, not usually. His move was sudden, unexpected. I just assumed you must be at the root of it.’
Anna coloured. She took a sip of her champagne. They were still holding hands. No longer as though they were shaking hands, but something closer and more familiar. Tender. She should break away. She didn’t. And it didn’t feel as weird as it should have done.
‘Did he tell you why we split up?’
Hal shook his head. ‘Just cleared his desk over one weekend.’
Someone offered them a canapé. They shook their heads; neither wanted to be interrupted.
With some reluctance, trepidation, Hal asked, ‘Would you like to talk about it?’
‘It was complicated. My sister died.’
‘Oh my God, the one he was having an affair with?’ Hal looked shocked, saddened.
Anna could only imagine all sorts of horrors that he was trying to process and order. She quickly dived in. ‘Before he had an affair. Technically, he was having an affair with me.’
‘What?’
‘It’s a long and boring story.’
‘It really doesn’t sound boring!’ Hal’s eyes were wide; it was almost funny.
‘No,’ she admitted. ‘Complicated then.’
‘I have time, if you want to talk about it.’
Anna glanced around the noisy room. This was not the time or the place.
Reading her, Hal said, ‘Maybe it would be better if you told me in a quiet bar.’
She looked hesitant.
‘Or over a cup of coffee,’ he added.
She did not get the chance to answer because at that moment they were interrupted by the distinctive tapping of a microphone being brought to life. They listened to the rather wordy speeches and clapped when the cheques were bestowed. Vera’s acceptance speech was tight, polite and upbeat; Anna felt enormously proud.
Suddenly it was time to go. People were collecting up empty glasses; there were no more canapés being passed around. The ordeal was over and it hadn’t been an ordeal at all. Anna let out a breath that she hadn’t been aware she was holding on to. She, Vera and the Drop In gang started to gather up their belongings and amble towards the door. Unexpectedly, Anna realized Hal was by her side.
He quietly slipped his hand into hers. ‘So do you have time for that coffee?’ he asked.
She glanced down at their hands.
Hal followed her gaze and grinned. ‘Look, I know I shouldn’t be holding your hand,’ he admitted.
‘No,’ she agreed.
‘It doesn’t make any sense.’
‘No.’
‘It’s really presumptuous. Nick always said I was a bit of a romantic idiot,’ he mumbled, then added, ‘I probably shouldn’t be talking about Nick.’
‘No.’
Hal shrugged, seemed to wonder what to say next. ‘The thing is, it just feels OK. I just saw you across the room and something drew me to you.’ Almost apologetically, he admitted, ‘I don’t want to let go. Not yet—’
Not ever?
‘Is there any possibility that you know what I’m talking about?’
There was.
Anna nodded.
And so he led her through the throbbing crowd towards the exit.
Towards possibility. Towards a new beginning.
* * *
Keep reading for a special extended preview of
I Invited Her In
A gripping story of friendship and betrayal by international bestselling author Adele Parks.
Available soon from MIRA Books.
I Invited Her In
by Adele Parks
One
Melanie
Monday, 19 February
While the girls are cleaning their teeth, I start to stack the dishwasher. It’s too full to take the breakfast pots—I should have put it on last night. There’s nothing I can do about this now, so I finish making up their packed lunches and then have a quick glance at my phone.
I’m expecting an email from my area manager about the results of some interviews we held last week. I work in a high-street fashion retailer that everyone knows. There’s one in every town.
Our branch needs another sales assistant, and as assistant manager, I was asked to sit in on the interviews. Dozens of people applied; we interviewed six. I have a favourite and I’m crossing my fingers she’ll be selected. Unfortunately, I don’t get to make the final decision.
I skim through the endless offers to invest in counterintuitive home-protection units or pills that promise me thicker and fuller hair or a thicker and fuller penis, and look for my boss’s name. Suddenly, I spot another name—ABIGAIL CURTIZ—and I’m stopped in my tracks. It jumps right out at me. Abigail Curtiz.
My first thought is that it is most likely to be a clever way of spreading a virus; the name is a coincidence, one just plucked out of the air by whoever it is who is mindless enough and yet clever enough to go to the effort of sending spam emails to infect other people’s gadgets.
But Curtiz with a z? I hesitate before opening it, as it’s probably just trouble. However, the email is entitled It’s Been Too Long, which sounds real enough, feasible. It has been a long time. I can’t resist. I open it. My heart thumping.
Normally, I skim read everything. I have three kids and a job, my default setting is hurried, but this email I read carefully. “No!” I gasp out loud.
“Bad news?” asks Ben with concern. He’s moving around the kitchen, looking for something. His phone, probably. He’s always mislaying that and his car keys.
“No, it’s not.” Not exactly. “I’ve just got an email from an old friend of mine. She’s getting divorced.”
“That’s sad. Who?”
“Abigail Curtiz. Abi.” Her name seems strange on my lips. I used to say it so often, with such pleasure. And then I stopped doing so. Stopped talking to her, stopped thinking about her. I had to.
Ben looks quizzical. He’s one of those good husbands who tries to keep up when I talk about my friends, but he doesn’t recall me mentioning an Abigail. That’s not a surprise. I never have.
“We were at uni together,” I explain carefully.
“Oh, really?” He reaches for the plate of now-cold toast in the middle of the kitchen table and snatches up a piece. He takes a bite, and while still chewing, he kisses me on the forehead. “Right. Well, you can tell me about her later. Yeah?” He’s almost out of the door. He calls up the stairs, “Liam, if you want a lift to the bus stop, you need to be downstairs five minutes ago.”
I smile, amused at his half-hearted effort at sounding like a ruthless disciplinarian, hell-bent on timekeeping. He blows the facade completely when he comes back into the kitchen and asks, “Liam has had breakfast, right? I don’t like him going out on an empty stomach. I’ll wait if needs be.”
We listen for the slow clap of footsteps on the stairs and Liam lumbers into the kitchen right on cue. He grew taller than me four years ago, when he was just thirteen, so it shouldn’t be a surprise that he now towers above me, but it absolutely is. Every time I see him, I’m freshly startled by the mass of him. He’s broad, makes an effort to go to the gym and bulk out. He’s bigger than most boys his age.
I wonder where my little boy went. Is he still buried somewhere within? Liam is taller than Ben now, too. Imogen, who is eight, and Lily, just six, are still wisps. They still scamper, hop and float. When either of them jumps onto my knee, I barely register it. I have to stretch up now, to steal a hug from Liam.
I also have to judge when doing so is appropriate and acceptable. I try to get it right because it’s too painful to see him dodge my affection, which he sometimes does. He’s outgrown me. I must respect his boundaries and his privacy; I’m ever mindful of it but I can’t help but miss the little boy I could smother with kisses whenever the desire struck me. Now I wait for Liam’s rare but generous hugs, mostly contenting myself with high fives.
Today he looks tired. I imagine he stayed up later than sensible last night, watching YouTube videos or playing games. When he’s docile, he’s often more open to care and attention. I take advantage, ruffle his hair. Even peck him on the cheek. He picks up two slices of toast from the plate I’m proffering. Shoving one into his mouth, almost in its entirety, unconcerned that it’s cold. He takes a moment to slather the second slice with jam. He’s always had a sweet tooth.
