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“That went well,” he said as we stepped out into the crisp Brighton evening.
I looked up at him, towering above. He had just the faintest shadow of stubble, his face etched in shadows against the gaudy brilliance of the pier beyond. “It went great,” I said. “They loved you.”
“They definitely lovedyou.”
“I scheduled in some dates in a diary, that’s all.”
“They liked you, Lydia. You coordinated well for a complex project, considering.”
“Considering?”
“Considering recent events,” he expanded, dark eyes crashing into mine without even a sliver of awkwardness.
I felt my hackles rise. “My personal shit doesn’t make me unable to do my job. I’m fine, James. Thank you.”
He laughed, and I gritted my teeth until I realised it wasn’t at my expense. “You sound like me. Knock you down and you’re scrabbling to your feet, swinging your fists at the air and claiming it didn’t hurt.”
“Oh, it hurt,” I smiled. “But I’m always straight up on my feet. Always.”
We walked along the beachfront towards the hotel in amiable silence. James Clarke was a brooding character, I could tell, but his smile was easy. I felt strangely comfortable in his presence, my steps falling into gentle rapport with his. Every now and again his eyes would catch mine, and I’d see something flash in him, some indeterminable knowing. Maybe it was concern, I dunno, but by the time we reached our venue for the night I felt a calmness I hadn’t felt for days. I put it down to the sea air, taking in cleansing deep breaths of salty breeze and thanking my good fortune for being out of the London chaos.
On arrival I paced straight through the hotel foyer, turning in the doorway to the bar to suggest we have a celebratory drink, but James wasn’t following.
“There’s a good restaurant here, by all accounts,” he said. “Have dinner and drinks on my room. I’m sorry I can’t join you, I have things to do.”
I kept my smile bright despite the major blow out. “Of course. No problem.”
“I’ll see you in the morning, Lydia.” His brush-off panged more than it should have. A rejection-fuelled chink in the Lydia Marsh armour. I elbowed it good and hard, and it fell away into nothing. No big deal.
“See you in the morning, James.”
I didn’t watch him leave.
***
I had a few in the bar. Enough to really feel them on my way to my room. James Clarke hadn’t made a reappearance and I hadn’t felt the need to keep up my work facade. Hence the large house whites and unsteady legs. I glanced at James’ closed door as I passed, right next to mine, trying to be a good neighbour by treading as lightly as possible. I was too drunk for a work night, but hell it felt nice to be in my own space again. A few weeks sharing Steph’s shoebox apartment was already driving me crazy. Probably her, too. I took a breath in my own space, and caught sight of the pier through the net curtains. Sea-view balconies were a win. Air, glorious air.
The breeze sobered me up enough to ease off the wobbles, and I relaxed against the railings with slightly steadier legs, staring intently down on the people below. I heard a door slide open to my left, but my view was blocked by a partition. A voice cut out in the night, quiet but deep, a low laugh tickling my stomach.
“She said no, then? Probably for the best... what do you mean youkind ofasked her? You either did or you didn’t. You did, didn’t you?”
I held my breath, unsure whether to stay or go. Maybe he wouldn’t notice if I crept back inside.
“It’s for the best, you’d break her and she’d end up moving out again and leaving you in a worse state. Honest, she would... I’m pretty sure it’s not love... no, that’s definitely not love... Rebecca, that’s definitely, definitely not love.”
His laugh was so genuine and warm. At odds with the steely professionalism of his corporate persona. I stayed put, committed to waiting it out until he went back inside.
“You could advertise, you know... like most normal people do... you’re notthatweird, Bex, not really. Anyway, some peoplelikeweird...weirdpeople like weird...”
I heard him put a foot up on the bottom ledge of the balcony, and peeked forward to find him leaning out into the night. He was still in his suit, its tailoring hugging him in all the right places. He looked really fucking perfect. Drunk-speak. Drunk.
“I’ve got to go. Long day tomorrow... Yes, it’s going well... Yes, she’s good... I can give praise where it’s due, Rebecca. She’sgood…Behave will you. It’s work...”
She’s good.Me? All of a sudden I felt like an intruder. I should have coughed or something, made it obvious I was there. Shit. Too late.She’s good.I’m good. Of course I’m fucking good. I work really hard... but still.She’s good.I found I was smiling. Did I really smile anymore? Since Stu? Of course not. Of course not since Stu. His name cut, and I was right back there, at home, packing my things through spidery itches. I tried to rein my thoughts back in, but they wouldn’t come. Wine was a mistake.
“I’ll see you on Saturday, ok? Stick an advert online, you’ll have probably solved your dilemma by then. Who knows, you might have Cara mark-two already moved in. Goodnight, Rebecca.”
He finished the call but stayed still, staring out to sea. I was contemplating a move back inside, regardless of whether or not he’d hear me,but he negated the need altogether by leaning over.
