What else?Shut down the fantasies. Working on that without much success.Focus on traits that irritate. That’s more like it. That I can do. Anders can be infuriating.Flirt elsewhere. I think about Steve. But would it be fair to encourage them if there is no attraction on my side? Or maybe it’s implying flirting leads to fancying.
I don’t have time to explore further. I clear my history and cache and shut down all tabs. Picking up my laptop and notebook, I open the door to the lion’s den.
Anders is away from his desk, sitting on the sofa, one arm strung along the back. He’s focussed on the laptop balanced on his leg, crossed ankle to knee. The sunshine streams through the window, glinting on his bent head. He looks still, composed, every inch the visionary leader. I sigh. It would be so much easier to fall out of lust with him if I didn’t already admire him.
He looks up, eyes glinting as he spots me. And that crooked grin, so unapologetically mischievous, flashes across his face.Focus on the irritating.
“This is very good.” He nods toward the laptop, and I know he’s reading the departmental performance report I collated for him. A flush of warmth spreads through me as my brain reacts to his words with a dopamine release. Damn humans and our in-built need for validation and connection.
Anders is making it very hard to focus on the irritating. Especially when he continues, “The graph in figure nine is excellent. You can see the issues in one glance. I know how tricky that is to achieve, so well done.”
I blush some more. The raw data was messy and complex. I spent ages working out the best way to show the story buried within it. I was proud of the report when I finished, and it feels wonderful to have Anders acknowledge it. It’s guaranteed he will be the only person who recognises my contribution.
“This bit,” he points to his screen, and I move to the sofa to sit beside him. I’ve sat here a hundred times without a problem but now I’m preternaturally aware of his arm an inch away from mine, the warmth of his body, the slight hint of bergamot as he lifts his arm.
“This is clever.” His head turns toward mine and I drop my eyes to avoid his. It’s a learned reaction but I find myself staring at his lips instead. Full, firm, fascinating lips. Kissable lips.
Stop that,Cora.This will never do. I twist away and slide myself further along the cushion under the pretext of opening my own laptop. “Thank you.” I acknowledge his praise briefly and move on quickly. Much as I want to bask in his appreciation, it’s too dangerous. “Now, the first thing on our agenda is the projected costs of the new government legislation. I’ve broken it down into minimum, enhanced, and best practice, and provided estimates on the impact on recruitment and retention for each option.”
Mercifully, Anders follows my lead. I gallop through each item, barely giving him time to draw breath. We cover everything in record time. Once I finish interrogating him as to what he needs me to focus on next week, I close my laptop lid and gather my things.
He leans back. “So, are you doing anything exciting this weekend?”
I hesitate, terrified he’s going to ask for a date. Then reason reasserts itself. He’s asked me this at the end of most of our meetings. It’s his way of building rapport, appearing to be interested in the minutiae of my life.
“Effie’s got a party tomorrow. I’ve got laundry. What about you?”
That lopsided grin re-appears, this time it’s rueful. “Working. Between now and the end of the year, I’m not expecting to get many weekends off.”
My heart softens. “Now, if anyone in this company said that to you, what would you say?”
“I’d tell them rest is a necessary part of health and maintaining focus. That they can’t expect to perform at their best if they don’t take breaks.”
“Right back at you.”
His smile disappears and his eyes grow dull. “But work is preferable to being lonely.”
And my heart breaks for him. Of course I’m affected. It’s easy to forget he’s still raw from his break-up. Just because he proposed to me doesn't mean he’s not still mourning his relationship. I would guess he proposedbecausehe was hurting.
I reach out a hand and rest it on his shoulder. “It will get better.”
His head turns and for once, I let myself look into his mesmeric eyes, blue as the water in a glacial lake and just as deep.
As Rob is forever reminding me, just because someone doesn’t show emotion, that doesn’t mean they don’t feel it. Anders may move through this world seeming impervious but in this moment the loss of Imogen and the longing for a family is there in his eyes. If I didn’t have Effie, I might well have said, “Yes.”
The Cormorant
Effie has never had a birthday party. That sounds tragic but her birthday is in the summer and since I’ve been working for Cerium and can afford it, we make our annual three-week visit to my parents as a celebration. She loves her grandparents; to her, it’s even better than a party. For now.
Since she started school, though, she has received a few invitations to other kids’ parties. Some invite just the girls in the class; some brave souls invite everyone –usually to a soft-play centre where the children can tear around to their hearts’ content.
Today’s invitation is to a painting party, and unusually, parents do not need to stay. I expect Effie to be excited but she seems resigned. We’ve already been present-shopping; I vetoed Effie’s choice of a pocket microscope and a detective kit. Instead, we compromised on a bead bracelet kit as a safe choice based on the type of party. Effie was scornful, but I reminded her presents had to be something the recipient enjoyed, not something thegiver wanted. When I asked her what the birthday girl liked, her response had been a shrug and a blank face. Effie’s attention to detail seldom extends to humans.
We join the other partygoers outside the designated address. Thankfully we were instructed to dress in old clothes, which means I didn’t have to fork out for a new party dress as Effie has been growing recently. Looking around, though, some parents have an odd definition of old. A fair few girls are in floaty floral dresses that could pass for flower girl outfits, although most are in jeans and t-shirts. And many of the girls are wearing their hair in elaborate styles involving plaits and beaded combs. I snort to myself as I wonder how long a style like that would last on my daughter. Ten minutes, tops. I long ago cut Effie’s hair into a shoulder-length bob but maybe I should have added a sparkly clip. If it was a butterfly, I might have got away with it.
I recognise most of the mothers from previous parties. There are a few nods in my direction, but no-one talks to me. I’m an unknown, a working mother. To be handled with politeness but not inclusion. Everyone is gathered in groups. I’ve no idea which of them to join, so I take my cue from Effie and she chooses to stand alone. We’re only waiting a couple of minutes before the doors open, and the mother of the birthday girl appears.
She seems more excited than her daughter as she explains the children will be painting ducks. Party food is included and we are to return in two hours. I kiss Effie, pass her the present, and wait until she files in with the other kids.
