Page 19 of People Skills

‘How do you know?’ I said again, louder. I could feel it all rising up in me, pure white-hot rage.

‘I know because Richard talked to me about it,’ he said, all faux calmness and condescending tone. ‘He wanted my advice. On how to talk to you about it.’

‘And did you tell him we’re sleeping together? Or did you just pretend to be an impartial observer?’

‘I didn’t tell him, no.’

‘And that didn’t feel unethical to you?’

‘It did, and that’s why I’m ending this. Before it gets messy. Before one of us gets hurt.’

This made me laugh, slightly hysterically.

‘Before one of us gets hurt! Caleb, we’ve been together for almost a year. I love you. I thought you loved me.’ My voice broke a little on that. Please tell me you loved me, I thought, even just a little bit. Just a tiny, tiny bit. Just give me a crumb.

‘You need someone who can love you the way you deserve to be loved,’ he said in response, which was worse than if he’d just said no, I don’t love you.

‘Oh, fuck you,’ I said.

Caleb blanched, as if I was being unprofessional, here, in his precious apartment, as if this was a work meeting.

‘Charlotte—’

‘No, don’t say my name like that. Don’t look at me like that. Don’t pretend what we had was nothing.’

‘It wasn’t nothing, but I think it meant a lot more to you than it did to me,’ he said.

‘You are such an arsehole,’ I said, and then we yelled at each other. Or I yelled and he treated me like he was a teacher trying to remove a disruptive student from the class. And then I left. I walked out of his apartment and he gave me a look, a kind of disgusted look, as he closed his door behind me. This man I thought I might marry was looking at me like I was dirt, and I turned back and kicked his door, hard, which did nothing but hurt my foot, and I limped home and cried for hours.

Three days later I had a meeting with Richard and HR. Caleb had told them about our ‘situation’, that he had ended things ‘before it got serious’ and he was concerned about how I was coping, that I had damaged his property leaving ‘scuff marks’ on his door. Considering this, on top of the Grady situation, they thought maybe I needed to take a few days leave, maybe I need to talk to someone. Maybe I would do better with a lighter workload for a while.

Caleb had out-manoeuvred me at every step. Grady was assigned to him, along with another upcoming book I was due to start working on. I could see what was happening. Only one of us would survive this, and it wasn’t going to be me. Caleb had known this all along.

A few weeks later, my position was made redundant.

And several months of failed job applications later, I wasn’t an editor anymore. Everything I thought I knew about who I was, and my life, was gone.

9

HILLARY IS ALREADY in the office when I arrive on Monday morning, which is unnerving. I usually get in before her and tidy up her desk. I put any important mail from the day before in a pile on the left, and any books that have arrived on the right, stacked in order according to how interesting I think she’ll find them. As soon as she walks in, I then go out and get her a coffee.

‘Morning,’ I say, dumping my things on my desk and going to stand in her office doorway. ‘Can I get you a coffee?’

She points to the cup already on her desk.

‘No need,’ she says. She is typing very quickly and very aggressively, which is never a good sign. Our catch-up meeting isn’t for half an hour. I sit and pretend to read emails but really, I watch the clock, deep-breathe and give myself a pep talk. I’m not going to let her fire me, this meeting is in my control, I have all the cards, I’m the one outmanoeuvring everyone else here.

At eight-thirty, I stand in her doorway again and smile, trying to look casual and unconcerned.

‘Ready?’ I ask.

Hillary looks up, distracted. She’s thinking about Xavier, I’m sure of it. She’s probably picturing him sleeping in his car.

‘Yes, come in and close the door,’ Hillary says. There’s no one else in the office yet, but Hillary likes closed-door conversations to have literal closed doors. I can feel adrenaline coursing through my body, but I push it down, digging my nails into my palms. I know Hillary can practically smell fear; I need to get rid of every ounce of it.

‘Before we start, I need to talk to you about something not strictly related to work,’ I say.

‘Oh?’ Hillary looks a little hesitant. She doesn’t like to get bogged down in other people’s emotional problems, preferring the focus to be solely on her own.