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Did he need to drink copious measures of Scotch to forget me last night?
My eyes drift to his face to find him watching me. Intensely watchful, I would have to say, peeling away my skin and analysing each beat of my heart.
I blink, careful not to react, and then turn back to Amber. ‘How’s everything going with the launch preparation?’
‘Aye, good. We’re getting there. I’ve staffed the main headquarters and we’re just getting the international charitable recognition worked out to allow foreign donations.’
‘Advertising?’ Jack chimes in.
‘We’re meeting with two agencies next week to select a final campaign. It’s looking like it will be print and digital-heavy, with the possibility of sponsoring a major sporting event over the summer—possibly the cricket.’
Jack pulls a face. ‘Bloody hell. The cricket?’
‘Oh, come on. Lucy would have wanted it.’ Amber grins, pushing a finger into his shoulder in a further sign of their casual camaraderie.
It’s strange that I don’t often think of Jack like this—as a member of other spheres.
Here, it is him and me and the work we do together. It consumes so much of my life that I must admit I’m surprised to realise he has other people, things, memories and hobbies. Jokes and history.
Did Lucy watch cricket while Jack groaned about it? Did they laugh about his aversion to any sport other than rugby?
I blank the thoughts—or try to. But they’re gnawing at my mind, unfolding like a concertinaing piano accordion that’s ever so slightly out of key.
‘It’ll be a good show,’ Amber says loudly, her smile encouraging as she winks in my direction.
Despite the fact that she’s forced me to walk through a door that shows me the ghosts of Jack’s Happy Past, I like her immensely, and the more she speaks about the foundation the more I know we’ve absolutely made the right decision. She’s intimately informed on all the matters I need to consult with her about. She’s thorough and quick and funny. And she’s uniquely motivated to make the fundraiser a success.
She’s Lucy’s sister, and Lucy is dead, but I am jealous of Amber suddenly. It’s ridiculous. An emotion entirely unworthy. But watching her talk, with her big red lips and her animated face, I feel wan and boring in comparison.
I would have been bland compared to Lucy, too.
I look downwards as Amber launches into a description of the view from her office. I’m wearing one of my favourite dresses—a shift in olive-green with bell sleeves and
a boat neck. Oh, but it’s so conservative and drab! Just the kind of dress my mother would adore. I chose it for the length of the sleeves, which fall to partway down my hands, because my wrists—which I see I’ve now accidentally left uncovered—have a dark band of bruising around them.
Belt-burn. Thanks, arsehole.
I nod at something Amber’s said, my eyes moving of their own accord to Jack’s face.
He’s looking at my wrists, too, and the colour has drained from his face. I shift self-consciously, uncrossing and crossing my legs and drawing my sleeves lower in the process.
‘Amber, we can discuss the rest over lunch. I know Gemma’s got a desk full of crap to deal with.’
‘Your crap!’ Amber laughs good-naturedly, totally relaxed.
‘That’s her job,’ he says pointedly.
Amber rolls her eyes. ‘How you put up with him is beyond me.’
But she stands, straightening the crinkles out of the front of her skirt as she moves towards me. I hold out a hand to shake but she ignores it and pulls me into a hug instead.
‘We’ve spoken so many times I feel like I already know you. But it’s been lovely to finally meet you.’
‘Likewise,’ I murmur, stepping away from her with cringe-inducing coldness. Something else my mother would approve of! Standoffishness is a bland green dress. Great. I’m everything I swore I’d never be.
‘Gemma? I need a moment with you, please.’ He turns to Amber. ‘Why don’t you wait for me in the car? This won’t take long.’
‘I have a few calls to make,’ she says, and nods, clipping out of the room.
