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‘A shame,’ says Steve. ‘I thought you two were a thing. I told him that too. I said, I don’t know much, but I thought you two matched.’
*
I’m going to do this. He might not be here, but I’m doing it for him. Forme.I want to stand in front of hundreds of people and face my biggest fear. Not only talking about how I feel, but talking about how I feel in front of everyone I know. Show my little bruised, nervous heart that needs to know it’s OK to reveal itself. BecauseSo what? So what?
Petra takes to the stage first. The music fades and she taps the microphone once and then twice, like she’s watched way too many movies where this is how speeches start. ‘Hello, hello, people of Flye.’ She laughs, and she pulls her teeth into a tight grimace.
Kira smiles back at her from the floor, gives two proud, loving thumbs up, and it makes me smile. Petra, who had once been like me. Battered, bruised and scared of love, has pushed through and out the other side, standing in a proverbial shard of light.
‘It’s so nice for us all to get together for the night, to be out of the office, off location, here as people instead of emails, humans instead of phone calls and video conferences and orders barked during half-time. But it’s more to say thank you for your hard work, and for all of us to remember that we are all people, with hearts and lives and hopes and dreams and fears. We aren’t just our jobs.’
Everyone claps and nerves creep up my skin, as it’ll soon be my turn to speak. I take a deep breath. As long as I don’t trip over, domino it off the stage, what could go wrong? Cardboard Gary Lineker’s snapped neck blinks into my memory. Going out the same way Cardboard Gary went would be symbolic.
‘And while it seems sometimes time doesn’t move, when we all come into work day after day, same routines, same lunch breaks, same mugs and small talk at the kettle, time goes on. People arrive and people leave. Every year I stand here, and say goodbye to certain people. We have recently said goodbye to Jack Shurlock who has flown to pastures new, miles and miles away, the cheeky bastard.’ Laughter. Again. ‘June Briggs retired, fittingly back in June, and George Reckitt has gone to get his PhD in .?.?.’ Petra pauses and checks her hand, which is scribbled with black ink. ‘Geotechnical engineering. Wow. Well. Anyway. It hasn’t been the same without them, but we, of course, wish them the best. But someone here tonight is going to be leaving us, and has become a sort of .?.?. office celebrity, shall we say, in her own right. Millie Chandler will be leaving at the end of the month after five years with Flye.’
People clap, and I’m pleased to report not a single rotten tomato slaps against me.
I step forward into the spotlight. This is it. Here I go. I feel as good as naked, up here, all eyes on me. Petra puts an arm around me. ‘Do you still want to speak?’ she says into my ear, as people whoop.
‘Yes,’ I say, ‘yes please.’
And here goes nothing.
‘Hi, everyone,’ I call into the microphone. Feedback squeaks from the PA. And is that really what my voice sounds like? ‘What a year. What afive yearsI should say, but .?.?.’ God, there are so many people out there. So many faces, so many eyes on me. But not his. Not a single pair of the eyes in this room are those warm, hazel eyes I wish so much I could see. ‘And if any of you didn’t know me, you certainly do now, thanks to something calledmy email drafts.’ Everyone laughs, thankfully. A titter that travels around the room, like a soft wave. ‘I’ve learned so much working at Flye, most of which I learned the moment those emails were sent and landed in so many of your inboxes – and inboxes across the land.’
Lin, in the crowd, smiles at me, phone poised, filming me. She’s invited me onto her podcast, to talk about the emails, and I’ve said yes.
‘Since that moment, my life has changed. I’ve learned to look things in the eye. I’ve learned to honour how I feel. And I’ve learned .?.?. we’re all a bit messed up actually. That’s why you all panicked. Panicked because what if it happened to you?’ Everyone laughs – nervous laughter, but laughter all the same. ‘Because we might put on a front, pretend we say everything we want to, that we mean what we do say, but .?.?. we all have unsaid things. Things we wish we could say, or know we never will. To think you do, and nobody else does, is a lie. We are all the same.’
‘Yes!’ shouts Lin, and someone whistles.
‘I don’t regret a single moment working here, and OK, I wish I could say I don’t regret a single email sent, on my behalf, or not. But there is one email I regret. One I never wrote, nor sent. But I thought I’d say it, instead. In front of you all, knowing he’s a million miles away, so this is even cringier, even weirder. But I’m telling the truth. Out loud. I just wish you were here to hear it, Jack. And in that tux you told me you hated.’
There is a poised, warm, open silence. One that’s loaded with wanting to hear what’s next, and also an undertone of, ‘might she be having a breakdown?’
‘Jack Shurlock,’ I say. ‘I know this is too late. I know I should have said this before. The whole time I was worrying about all the things I said, and you were trying to convince me I shouldn’t, I should have been worrying about the unsaid things I wanted to say to you. Jack Shurlock, I am in love with you.’ I swallow, my hands shaking, the words landing there, in the room, floating like haze in front of me. Nowhere to go, butout there.‘And I would stand here in front of crowds, in front of stadiums, in front of .?.?.the entire world, and say it, even if you never felt it yourself, even if you never said it back. Even if you never heard me. Because it’s my truth. And although I wish very much I could live forever in your vortex, you have taught me that I hope I live until the end of my life in my own.’
And for a second, there is silence. And then, people clap. People whoop and cheer. Lin shouts, ‘KNEW IT BABY!’, some people stare at me like I’ve just crouched naked on the stage, and others aren’t even listening. They’re too busy pushing steak canapés into their mouths. And that alone is an emblem of the world, really. Nobody’s really watching. They’re too busy worrying about themselves. (Except Petra and Kira. Petra is crying and Kira’s eyes are closed, holding her, like she’s at church.)
‘And I know you got that email by accident,’ I carry on. ‘But I should have sent it back then; sent it myself after that Christmas party minus the embarrassing bits. So here it is. Sending. To all.In frontof all. AtthisChristmas party. Hi Jack, hope the hangover isn’t too nasty. I had such a nice time talking to you. When you get back, do you fancy going out sometime?’
I step off of the stage, and feel twenty feet tall, albeit, slightly wobbly with adrenaline. Because, I did it. I faced my biggest fear, looked it right in the eyes, and said ‘so what?’ And the world didn’t implode. I just wish Jack was here to have seen it. I wonder what he’d have thought, seeing me there, up on stage. I wonder what he would havesaid.Maybe he would’ve turned me down; said, nah, you’re all right, thanks Millie. You’re too much drama for me. But it almostdoesn’t matter? What matters is I said it. What matters is that I feel it; that I feelalive.That I’m being Millie. No hiding, no quashing down. Just Millie. As I am. Grown, in the dark, now ready to step into the light.
People I’ve never spoken to pat my back as I move away from the stage. A waiter proffers a whole tray of what look like miniature fish heads at me, in a scatter of pink edible flowers. Then someone takes my arm in the darkness.
‘Millie. That was amazing.’
It’s Chloe. She looks incredible, in a butter-yellow tuxedo. I would look like Noel Edmunds in such an outfit, but she looks like something from London Fashion week. And something in her face is different. She glows. She looks so much better than she did when I last saw her, on the bridge, in the foggy darkness, and I almost want to hug her. I feel like we’ve been through so much, me and this woman who exploded my life.
‘Hi,’ I say. ‘And thank you, I wasunbelievablynervous.’
‘Seriously. I’m in awe, Millie. It was so romantic.’
I pull my mouth into a grimace. ‘Really? Well, my biggest fear was that I would pass out and break my nose on the fall, so, the alternative wasn’t romantic at all. Nothing romantic about a squashed, bloody nose.’
Chloe gives a smile, glossy, white-toothed, then hesitates. ‘I’m so sorry again. I know I keep saying it, but I am.’
‘Don’t.’ I give a small smile. ‘Really.’
