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She laughed, but it was full of bitterness. “You think that was Lydia’s fault? Do you? If you want to blame anyone you’ll have to blame Cara. It was her who let that stupid bitch Steph up with no warning.That’show this happened, James, one stupid mistake. No trail of stupidity, or attention seeking, or game playing, just one stupid case of bad timing. Cara’s sorry, if you want to know. She hasn’t stopped crying. Blames herself for this whole sorry mess.”
“Take care of Lydia, Bex, please. Tell her I’m sorry.”
She was already gone.
***
I prayed every day that Lydia would be at my desk in the morning, a fresh cup of coffee in hand, but she never was. She called in sick before nine without fail, I saw the emails. Genericshe’s unwellshit. It ate at me through every minute, but still I couldn’t break through my own fucking barriers.
What is love, anyway? What does it mean? Did I love Lydia Marsh? Was that even enough?
I drove myself insane, throwing every waking hour into the Salmons project and barely sleeping, pleading that one day soon the ache for Lydia would pass.
But it didn’t. It got fucking worse.
So many times I wanted to turn up at hers, armed with a taxi full of roses and promises of happy ever after, but I couldn’t promise that, couldn’t promise something I was uncertain I’d be able to deliver. I’d baulked at telling Frank about us, even though he suspected already, baulked at the very first fucking hurdle. How the fuck would I ever give her the relationship she deserved? I couldn’t even admit the truth of it to myself, let alone anyone else.
I wasn’t expecting a knock on the door at ten am on Friday morning, and I definitely wasn’t expecting it to be Emily Barron, the scatty blonde girl from Lydia’s team. She took a seat across from me without invite, beaming like a big smiley dullard. I raised my eyebrows in question, not really giving a shit what she wanted.
“I’m here about Salmons,” she said. “I need briefing, since I’m taking over the project management.”
“Sorry? You’re doing what?”
“I’m taking it over,” she repeated. “Now that Lydia’s gone.”
My blood turned to ice. “What the hell do you mean, Lydia’s gone?”
She looked at me like I was retarded, like I was the only person on the planet not in the loop. “She’s in the main meeting room with Frank,” she said. “Handing in her notice. Wants to get away from an ex or something, you know the one you kapowed in reception? Seems you giving him the shoe wasn’t enough, she’s off. Brighton apparently, got a job with White Hastings McCarthy.”
I felt the colour drain from me. “She’s doing what?”
“Poached by Trevor White I think, rumour has it there’s something going on there. I hope so, Lydia’s a nice girl.”
“Where is she now?” I hissed.
She rolled her eyes. “I told you already, she’s down with Frank, signing off her leaving arrangements. She’s not coming back, not even for a single day, how shit is that?”
“Excuse me, Emily.” I stormed from my desk, uncaring of the way she was flapping her mouth for my attention.
“But what about me?” she said. “What about Salmons?”
I pointed to the file on my desk. “Knock yourself out, Emily, I couldn’t give two fucking shits about Salmons.”
***
My heart jumped into my throat as I caught sight of Lydia through the meeting room door. She looked pasty, sick, worse than she had done those months ago in the kitchen. All over again I watched her dither, a tiny sparrow on a branch, clawing for grip. I hovered awhile, until finally her eyes met mine through the glass panel. She looked away instantly, straight down at the paperwork in front of her. Frank carried on oblivious, chortling on about some bullshit or other, I’m sure.
I opened the door without knocking, and Frank jolted in his seat. “James!” he said. “Come to say goodbye? It’s so bloody sad, isn’t it? We’re all so sorry to see you go, Lydia.”
“I need to speak with Lydia a minute, please Frank, outside.”
He looked from me to her, then turned his attention to his paperwork. “I’ve got some forms to fill in,” he said “Carry on.”
“Please, Lydia,” I said. “Just a minute.”
She shrugged, sliding from her seat like a ghost, trailing me to the doorway. I shut the door behind us, all so aware of the bustle all around. We were right in the heart of the admin gossip hive, right amongst the thrum of twitchy ears and twitchy mouths.
“Can we go upstairs?” I asked. “It’s much more private.”
