Page 68 of Love Unlocked

Al turns around to face them all, a smile on his lips. He can see the surprise on Walter’s face, he was expecting him to lose his cool, but Al is not losing anything else to Walter.

‘I did not give that box to Walter. I did not arrange to have that delivered to him. It has nothing to do with me. I’m sure you can trace the account it was ordered from, and the credit card.’ Melody is funny and she’s smart, but she wouldn’t do this. She wouldn’t bring it to Al’s workplace. She would protect him. He hopes he’s right making this assumption.

Walter is unconvinced. ‘He’s lying. It’s just another thing he’s doing to try to ruin my life,’ he says childishly, folding his arms.

Ryan reaches into the packing peanuts and feels around. He pulls out an invoice and examines it. Then he pulls out a note card and reads in the same teacherly tone:

‘“To Wally, I hope this cheers you up at work. Let’s spice it up a little.”’

Walter glares at Al. ‘He wrote that.’

‘“Your warrior princess,”’ Ryan finishes.

Walter’s face drains of all colour.

Warrior princess? How long had Walter called her that? Where had it come from? It makes Al sick and he starts to spiral into all the dark places as he imagines them together until he tells himself to stop. Stop the spiralling. Stop the rage. Stop it all. He is finished with them controlling him. The pain they caused him will not become him. Let them go.

Walter looks unsteady on his feet as if he’s going to pass out. He looks mortified. Ryan reaches out to grab him. Walter drops the dildo into the packing peanuts.

Through the glass Natasha is still on the floor by her desk, tears streaming down her cheeks with laughter, and from the way she’s holding herself she’s streaming in another way too.

‘I take it you recognise the sender,’ Ryan says.

Walter nods, and mumbles incoherently. ‘Al wouldn’t know, he couldn’t know that I call her that. It’s a nickname.’

Ryan nods. ‘Got it. The information you gave me is a little different than what I’ve heard here today so what I suggest is you two just act like grown-ups and stay out of each other’s ways.’

‘Yeah, sorry,’ Walter mumbles, head down, grabbing the box from his desk. ‘Thanks for … yeah …’

‘Come on,’ Ryan says, slapping him on the back and leading him out of the office with a respectful nod at Al. ‘Thank you for your time.’

Numbly Al walks with him.

Stafford steps away from the shelves of model bridges and says, ‘What he did sounds shitty and no one can blame you for feeling angry but best advice I can give you is to build a bridge and get over it, yeah?’

‘Understood.’

When they’re gone, Al turns around to avoid the stares of the office. He doesn’t think he can ever leave this room again, they know everything, his failures, his losses; it’s all they’ll ever see in him. He looks out the window, surveys the city, Melody’s apartment building. He could feel hurt, or soak in the immense relief that he managed to get away from those two clowns and by that he means Walter and Tara. They can have each other; they actually did him a favour. The relief is overwhelming. He feels a surge of adrenaline, a release of pressure.

He is finally free of their torment.

His office door opens again.

‘Al, seriously,’ Natasha says, wiping her eyes from the laughter. Her mascara is smudged around her eyes, she resembles a panda. Her legs are crossed. ‘I have to go home and change my knickers.’

28

Melody

Melody stands outside Prunella’s home, a four-storey Georgian building near the iconic St Stephen’s Church, affectionately known as ‘Pepper Canister’ due to its likeness. Her house is a mid-terrace nineteenth-century iconic part of the Dublin architectural landscape. Worth multi-millions, the daytime darling who started as a child model and then a children’s TV presenter has built up an empire with her husband, the distinguished businessman Jasper Maguire.

Melody has a nervous stomach as she looks up at the elegant house, with a pink door, hanging baskets and flower pots adorning each windowsill. So many windows. Four across, four levels high, the windows getting smaller as they reach the old servants’ quarters at the top. She folds up her scooter and as soon as she places one foot on the first step the front door opens and Prunella-at-home-look greets her. Strategically ripped jeans, a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up, hair loose with beach waves.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Prunella declares so dramatically that Melody has to look behind her to see who Prunella is talking to. She realises it’s herself when Prunella, barefoot, pads down the concrete steps and throws her arms around her.

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ Prunella says.

‘Okay,’ Melody says finally with a laugh.