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‘Leave it with me, then,’ she says, tying her hair back, and pulling two shiny twists of hair to dangle at the sides of her face. An effortless up-do executed with no mirror.
‘Oh, and is Chloe in this week?’ I ask. ‘I want to speak to her.’ Yes, a secret, unspoken part of my plan of getting everything back to how it was. Get my ex back with his ex. Yes, the ex I am absolutely not over nor healed from but I cannot and must not be seen as a villainous heartbreaker because heartbreak is the worst possible thing I’ve ever experienced, and how canIbe behind it for someone else? Yep. Isn’t it great here in the scrambled brain of Millie Chandler?
Petra sighs at me then, but says, ‘Tomorrow.’
‘I just want to apologise.’
‘Yeah, well, there’re a lot of people who should be apologising to you, if you ask me,’ she says. ‘Michael for being rude and entitled. Steve and his bloody comments.Owen. And he should’ve been apologising every day for two years. Oh. And the bloody server company .?.?.’
‘Yeah, well, so far the only people who’ve apologised are a sanitary towel factory I emailed and complained to because the pack I bought were all split. I received a giant box of maxi pads because of that. Shaped like a bouquet.’
Petra cackles. ‘Oh, that’samazing.’
‘Yup. So, you know. If you want artily arranged hygiene products, just have your life ruined. Small price to pay.’
‘Millie Chandler, you have not ruined your bloody life—’
‘Oh yeah? Look at my amazing sanitary towel bouquet and say that to its face.’
Petra bursts out laughing as, a deep voice says, ‘Interesting.’
When I look up, Jack is standing at the bottom of the stairs, an eyebrow slightly raised.
‘Way to a woman’s heart these days, is it? Or just yours?’
I laugh; a sudden, machine-like burst. ‘Oh. Hi! Erm .?.?.’
‘Noted.’ His eyes drop to the phone in his hand, a tiny curve at the edge of his mouth.
And before I can think of a witty response, thrown by Jack’s sudden appearance, and that glint – that bloody unreadable hazel-eyed glint – a woman I have never seen before pushes through the office doors in sunglasses, an oversized denim shirt dress and a huge, gleaming toothpaste-model smile. She’s carrying a holdall which she drops at her feet.
‘Shurlock!’ she exclaims. ‘Oh myLord, you weren’t wrong about that parking. It’s dire, babe. Horrendous.Like parking a bus in a cereal box or something.’
Jack’s face softens. He laughs, a slice of straight teeth. He shoves his phone in his pocket. ‘Yeah, well, you do insist on driving those huge tanks.’
Giggling, she’s suddenly throwing her arms around him, and he’s pulling her into him and he’s grinning – wide, genuine, delighted – and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him grin like that. Whois this?His .?.?. girlfriend? She definitely looks the type that would be Jack Shurlock’s girlfriend. Unabashedly cool. Confident. Make-upless from what I can tell, (or maybe, BB cream and lip gloss at a push) but just naturally, symmetrically holiday-faced levels of pretty.
‘How are you, babe, all right?’ she’s saying, muffled into his chest, and he’s holding her, strong arms across her tiny back.
‘Yeah, I’m good, Jess, really good. Andyou.You look – incredible. Seriously.’
‘It’s the collagen supplements,’ she says, smilingly, looking up at him. ‘And seeing you.Obviously.’
And my face. My face is on fire, and I can’t swallow.Why can’t I swallow?
Jess pulls back and beams up at him, her arms still looped around his waist. ‘Got you a Starbucks. Inthe tank.Couldn’t carry it all. Oh, and – Christ, I’m so rude.’ She turns to us, then, Petra and me, and releases Jack, strides over, a hand to her chest. Her fingers are covered in chunky rings, silver bands, mostly, some holding the occasional (huge) purple stone. ‘I’m Jess. One of the uh, new Liverpool office guinea pigs I suppose you’d say?’
‘Jess Rizzo?’ Petra stands up, as Jess gives a smiling nod. ‘Oh my God, I can’t believe we’ve never met. I’m Petra!’
‘Petra, as in Kairys?’ shrieks Jess. ‘Oh my days, at last!’
Petra shakes Jess’s hand across the desk, and Jess places her other on top of hers, enveloping Petra’s, clasping it. ‘Such a pleasure,’ Petra beams, her wide-set eyes, twinkly. ‘Millie, this is Jessica Rizzo. She’s worked freelance for us for ages, mostly up north. And we’ve just hired her for the new Liverpool office.’
‘Oh. Hi.’ I smile, extending my hand now. I can feel Jack watching us. ‘I’m Millie. Reception. Leigh office. Ha.’
‘Oh!’ Jess shakes my hand, her rings pinching my skin, and then she stops, dead. ‘Millie .?.?. MillieChandler?’
And for a moment, I’m totally endeared that she knows my name, feel sure somehow that I’ve been such afantasticreceptionist at the Leigh office that it’s reached the sunny climes of Liverpool, one of the new managers pointing at my portrait with a big pointy stick, saying, ‘This, receptionists of Flye TV Liverpool, is who you should be striving to be!’ But then, the way Jess’s cheeks pinken, and her ice-blue eyes stay open for far too long without a single blink, makes my heart still. Because –ugh.She recognises my name for only one reason, and we have both realised that at the exact same time .?.?. The emails. Of course, the emails. Sent tosodding all.
