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There was only one course of action for my boss to follow: tomorrow, I’d be fired.
* * *
On Monday morning, I smoothed down the front of my shift dress and coldly smiled at myself in the mirror. Paracetamol dulled my headache from the wine last night and my make-up artificially gave me a healthy glow.
I was dressed like a queen: since I was getting sacked, I was going to look fabulous when it went down. My makeup, hair and outfit was flawless, my dress accentuated my curves without over-sexualising my look. I pulled on my yellow woollen coat and felt a pang. I wore this when I’d arrived in Oban and met Stuart, for the second time, at the train station.
I caught the Tube like a robot. Moved on autopilot, letting the crowds jostle me towards the exit and along the footpath.
It felt like every billboard I passed pictured couples attending romantic dinners, holding hands over diamond rings and promising love on Valentine’s Day. I snarled at the bus stop poster displaying a bouquet of red roses and made a pedestrian jump. Good old’ V day was less than two weeks away and I was being mocked at every street corner.
Fuck love! Fuck happy couples!
I stopped inside my building and took a steadying breath. Then, I pressed the elevator button and headed up to Reedman, Williams and Dennis, to meet my fate.
“You’re back,” chirped the receptionist.
I said nothing. I looked past her where Michelle was walking towards me.
“Hello, Amanda,” she asked with deliberate care. “How are you?”
I closed my eyes and opened them slowly.
“Pretty shitty, actually,” I deadpanned. I stood straighter and gripped my handbag tight. “Shall we get this over with? Andrew’s office, I assume?”
Michelle began to speak but I strode past her with confident measured steps, the click of my patent heels bouncing off the steel and glass of the office.
I gave Andrew’s P.A. a quick nod, knocked on his door once, and then walked in, shoulders back and face set hard.
A man jumped out of the visitor’s chair in front of Andrew’s desk and turned to me.
Stuart bloody McAlister!
Surrounded by a dozen bouquets of red roses and sunflowers.
I let out a cry, grabbing the nearest thing to me; a bunch of roses. I pulled my arm back ready to hurl it –God, I hope they still had thorns, so they would scratch him up when they hit his face!- when Michelle grabbed my arm from behind.
“No! Don’t you dare!” She yelled as I struggled against her. “It’s not what you think!”
“It’s pretty obvious!” I wrenched myself free of her grip, but Michelle managed to get the flowers. I hooked my thumb in Stuart’s direction.
“You invited him to see me get fired!”
“No, hen!”
I suddenly noticed how pained Stuart looked. Though his suit was pressed, his eyes were bloodshot, with dark circles underneath, his hair messy as if he had been pulling and running his fingers through it.
He only does that when he is nervous.
“What are you talking about?” Michelle made an exasperated sound. “You’re not getting fired!”
“W-what?” I stammered.
“I called and texted several times, but you never answered! So, I emailed you five times about today! You never replied!”
“I didn’t check emails while I was on leave and I threw my phone at the wall.” I winced, recalling how it had exploded on impact. “It’s smashed to bits.”
Michelle shoved the roses back in the vase and gave Stuart a pointed look.
