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From: Vince Gudgeon
To: All LEIGH office
Subject: Cardigan found
Sorry. Didn’t realise I sent to all.
From: Gail Fryer (PA)
To: All LEIGH office
Subject: Cardigan found
LOL Vince. Thank you. xxxxx
*
Fundraising Steve actuallysmileswhen he sees me this morning, although I can’t help but notice his shoulders slump when I push open the door. Something happened last night on the way home from the pub. A hot, angry fire bubbled up within me, as I ran and ran over the moment with Jack, in the pub lobby. His face. The disappointment on it; that crushed my heart like a squashed tin can. And then Owen’s phone, lighting up and lighting up. And lying in bed, at home, staring tearily and shakily at the ceiling, it continued. Everything from the last few months, flipping through my mind, over and over, like a looping video tape. The emails, Owen and Chloe, Mum and Dad, the fallout of everything.
And then I thought of Jack’s friend’s theory. That niggle that won’t stop tugging at me; that niggle that won’t stop buzzing around my mind like a trapped bee in a beer glass. And I realised last night, alone in my bed, that Idowant to know the truth about it, if I can get my hands on it somehow. Because I want to move on. Just like I’ve avoided looking at my feelings in the eyes for so many years, just like I avoided so very many things I wanted to say, but was too afraid to speak out loud. And maybe they won’t even be able to tell me anything, these nerds in IT, but I’ll at least be able to look them in the face, in the office I probably should have thundered into, all those months ago, and ask them. Back myself.Get down with myself, as Jack would say.
‘How are you?’ I ask Steve.
Steve nods. ‘I’m all right,’ he says tentatively. ‘And .?.?. you?’
‘OK. Sort of.’
‘Right.’
A clock ticks on the wall, and a fan whirs in one of the computer towers. ‘Listen, Steve, I wondered if I could talk to you? About .?.?. the whole email thing.’
Steve hesitates, and nods. He’s wearing a Christmas tie. Tiny little reindeer, with shiny red pom-pom noses.
I close the door softly behind me, and he looks up.
‘I’m sorry about my email to you,’ I say. ‘About the .?.?. fundraising.’
‘It’s nothing.’ He clears his throat; a large hand in a fist at his mouth.
‘I think all the charity stuff you do is great,’ I say. ‘I really do. But .?.?. I did mean what I said. The sexist comments and stuff. I really think you need to consider—’
‘I have,’ he says quickly. His long, oval face flushing powder-paint pink. ‘I’ve .?.?. I’ve been thinking a lot about it. About how I conduct myself.’
‘Oh.’
‘My wife and I. We’re .?.?. seeing someone. A um. Couples therapist?’ And it’s like it has cost Steve the earth to divulge this to me. He’s almost sweating, as if the words themselves choked him on the way out.
‘Oh. I see.’ And I can’t help but soften. I nod. ‘Wow. Well. I .?.?. hope it helps you, Steve. I think that’s a brave thing to do. Really.’
Steve nods again. The gelled prongs of his hair not moving at all. And it all makes sense now. It’s like Marshal says, isn’t it? That some ‘bad’ people, aren’t bad, just in pain. His comments about my body, about the temp’s marriage. It was never us. It was him. Steve and his unsaid struggles with his own marriage. His own image and self.
‘Look, I know you’re limited to what you can do,’ I say to him, ‘but I just .?.?. I need to know at leastsomething.’
‘Millie, if it’s about the emails, I can only do what I can do.’
‘But I know you must know more than I do. In fact, I know you do. And Jack says—’
