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“I'm meeting a couple of friends later, but I've got an hour or two,” I say, glancing at my watch. Ellie and I arranged to meet at eight in Covent Garden, and she texted me this morning to say a reluctant Sophie would be joining us. I haven't spoken to Sophie since our argument about
Luke, and the thought of some liquid courage beforehand is quite appealing.
Charlie waits for me as I log off and lock up my drawers. I loop a soft pink scarf around my neck and pull on my jacket, grabbing the handbag stashed under the desk.
“Where are we going?” I ask Charlie as we walk down the corridor. Half the offices are empty, abandoned early by occupants impatient for the weekend, and it makes the hour feel later than it is.
“Just around the corner to China's,” Charlie says. We both reach out to press the lift call button, and I beat him by half a second. “It will be full of partners and consultants, but Caro chose it.” He shrugs.
The lift arrives, doors sliding open with a slight creak. Then Callum walks out, his pace slowing as he sees me. A smile breaks out on his serious face, and I find myself returning it.
“You leaving?” he asks. I refrain from pointing out the obvious, and nod in agreement.
“Yes, we're off to the pub.”
“Well, enjoy your weekend.” Callum presses on the lift button to keep the doors open, and I see Charlie waiting just inside. “Thanks for your hard work this week.”
I feel a strange twinge in the pit of my stomach. It's like somebody plucking a guitar string deep inside of me; it echoes and vibrates. “Thank you for putting up with me.”
He puts his palm on my lower back, where my spine starts to curve. Even through two layers of fabric I feel my skin warm. The gentle pressure makes me step forward, into the waiting lift, and I turn to face the doors as he steps backward. When they close, the steel sheets obscure his face, but the memory of his stare remains on my retinas.
* * *
The bar is heaving. People stand hip to hip, their sharp business suits wilting in the face of the steamy atmosphere. Our group of five has been here for three hours. Caro's boss has been paid a big bonus and has generously put her black Amex card behind the bar, and we’re making the most of it. Though I'm not Caro's biggest fan—and she certainly isn't mine—it's amazing how the lure of free champagne can pour oil on troubled waters.
“You want another?” Charlie's voice is thickened by intoxication. There's a twitch in his right eye that's becoming more pronounced with every mouthful. I hand him my glass and he upends the bottle, the trickle of bubbles only filling it halfway.
“Damn, I shall have to order more.” In an attempt to curb his slurring, he over-pronounces every word. He's becoming posher, too. Raising his hand, he hails the cocktail waiter. “Bartender, my good man.”
“Some people can't take their drink.” Caro rolls her eyes. “Whereas you, Amy, can drink like a soldier.”
When she looks at me she wrinkles her nose, enough for me to know it isn't a compliment. “Where's that lovely boss of yours anyway? I thought all the partners were here.” Caro scans the room, searching this way and that. For the first time tonight I'm glad Callum isn't here. I don't think I'd be able to watch her flirt with him.
Just before seven, I get a text from Ellie, saying that Sophie has a headache and can't make our night out. After a rapid exchange of messages, we decide to skip dinner and clubbing in the West End in favour of an evening of free drinks right here in Canary Wharf. Ellie arrives at eight, her slim legs encased in a pair of shiny leggings and her midriff bare, revealing the butterfly she had tattooed on her hip last year. I try not to wince when everybody looks at her as she walks in, eyeing her outfit as if it's some kind of fancy-dress costume.
“Amy!” she calls, running over in her skyscraper heels, their height making her wobble as she crosses the room.
I shouldn't be embarrassed by my best friend, especially since she's been so supportive with the Luke situation. I ignore the stares and step forward, throwing my arms around her waist.
“You look gorgeous,” I say loudly. To be fair she really does. It's just that among the crisp white shirts and wool jackets, she's some kind of exotic bird.
Out of place. Unexpected.
“Is this outfit okay?” She tugs at her top, but nothing she does is going to cover her stomach. “I thought people would be a bit more dressed up.”
“It's perfect. You need to tell me where you got those leggings.”
Ellie grins. We both know there's no way I'd wear leggings and a crop top, not with the curve in my spine. Tight clothes only make it more obvious; one of the reasons I've always preferred loose and floaty to slinky and fitted.
I make the introductions, ignoring Caro's smirk and her friend Miranda's wide eyes. Then Charlie saunters back, bottle of champagne in one hand and a tumbler of whisky in the other, his eyes restless and unable to focus.
“It's a pleasure to meet you,” he says, offering Ellie a glass of champagne. “What department do you work in?”
Caro coughs a laugh, muttering, “Slut department.” Luckily Ellie doesn't hear. Instead she starts up a conversation with Charlie about the joys of working in administration, and I silently thank him for being so bloody nice.
As the evening progresses, we all join Charlie in varying states of drunkenness. Miranda manages to spill a whole glass of red wine down the front of her dress, and runs to the bathroom to scrub it off. Caro joins a group of her teammates, flirting and flattering her way to the top, while Charlie, Ellie and I hang around at the bar, moving from champagne to bottled beer in an attempt to stop the room spinning.
The two of them are getting on famously, enough for me to feel no compunction when I head for the bathroom.
