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It’s all I can do not to cartwheel down the pavement as I leave the offices. Not only did I get to leave on my own terms, but the perfect job is within my grasp. I’m just about to do a little skip of joy when I spot Peter sitting outside the same café I sat outside almost a year ago. He’s got a cup of coffee, and his box of possessions is balanced precariously on the rickety table. He looks so pathetic that I find myself drawn to him, even though he’s never had a nice word to say to me in the entire time I’ve known him.
‘I’m really sorry, Peter,’ I say to him.
He looks up at me, and I’m surprised to see no malice in his face at all.
‘Don’t be,’ he replies. ‘I brought it on myself, I know that. In a funny way it’s probably a good thing. I’ve wanted to be a travel writer since I was very young. All the other kids in my class wanted to be footballers or pop stars, but I wanted nothing more than to see the world and write about it. It turns out, of course, that it’s not as easy as that. You can’t just will yourself into a job like that, you need talent, and it didn’t take me very long to realise that I didn’t have any. But I was lucky, and I managed to get the editing job instead. It was as close to my dream as I knew I was ever going to get, so I slogged away dutifully at it. Unfortunately, it turned out that I wasn’t much good at that either, and I found it a real struggle.
‘When I first met you, I was so envious of you. There you were, young, beautiful, posh, and so,sofucking talented. Excuse my language, but you are. You made it look easy, and I hated you for it, because you were producing stuff that was better than anything I’d dreamed of writing, and you didn’t even appear to break a sweat. It all just seemed so unfair, and I started to get a bit obsessed about bringing you down. When I saw what people were saying online about the Bellavista, I thought this was my opportunity to prove that you weren’t as infallible as you appeared to be. You were supposed to be Icarus, and I reckoned I was the sun that was going to melt your wings. I was so pleased when I showed my findings to Mark and he called you in. I knew he was going to let you go and I thought I’d won. Only you took it, made something even better from it, and then won a bloody award! I think that tipped me over the edge. I knew that I’d gone too far as soon as I woke the next day, so I wasn’t surprised when I got called in this morning. I’m sorry, Madison. I really am.’
‘What will you do now?’ I ask him.
‘Nothing to do with writing or editing!’ he laughs. ‘I don’t know yet. They were kind enough to give me a severance package, which they didn’t have to do. It was “in recognition of my many years of service”, apparently. I’m sure I’ll find something.’
‘I hope you do. Good luck, Peter.’
‘Thanks. Good luck yourself.’
27
JANUARY
‘So they offered you a job? That’s amazing!’ Charley says, down the phone. I’ve called her with the update, as promised.
‘No, they haven’t offered me the job, but they’ve “encouraged me to apply”, which isn’t far off. I had a chat with Peter as well. He was surprisingly nice about it all. I think he realises he’s been a complete dick to me. Shame it took him so long.’
‘Does he know you’re going for his old job?’
‘No, I thought that might be rubbing unnecessary salt in the wound.’
‘Good point. I really hope you get it, though. It sounds perfect for you, and it will be nice to have you around more, instead of travelling all the time. Have you heard anything from Toby?’
‘Not a thing, and he still isn’t answering my calls. I don’t know what to do. I can’t even go to the studio and confront him, like I did with Ed at his office that time, because there’s no guarantee he’ll be there. I could be sitting outside for weeks if he’s away on a shoot. I can’t tell you how much I’m missing him.’
‘Try.’
‘What?’
‘Try to tell me how much you’re missing him. I have a theory.’
‘It feels...’ I start, and then dry up.
‘Yes?’ she prompts. ‘Oh, I don’t know. It feels like a part of me is missing, does that make sense? If I’ve had a dream with him in it, which I do a lot, I feel all warm and fuzzy when I wake up, and then reality comes crashing in and it’s like a punch in the gut. Thank goodness I don’t have any deadlines looming, because I’m completely unable to focus on anything except him. I keep wondering what he’s doing, what he’s thinking, who he’s with. Sometimes I just sit, staring at the phone, willing it to ring and be him.’
‘Mm. That’s what I thought,’ she says. ‘Has it occurred to you that you might be in love with him?’
‘What?? God, no!’
‘OK, answer this. What do you think it would be like to kiss him?’
‘Oh, I’m sure he’s a good kisser!’ I say, confidently. ‘He’d be gentle, but not sloppy. He wouldn’t be one of those guys who rams their tongue in your mouth as if they’re trying to force-feed it to you, but it wouldn’t be flopping around like a piece of raw liver either.’
‘I worry about your imagery sometimes. And what do you think he’d be like in bed?’
‘He’d be a considerate lover,’ I tell her. ‘He’d be attentive, wanting to make sure that everything was right.’
‘So, to recap what we know so far. You miss him so much you practically feel like you’ve lost a body part. You fancy him. You’ve obviously thought about what he’d be like as a lover and your descriptions are very positive. This doesn’t sound like “just good friends” to me. Face it, you are in love with him. I’ve never heard you speak about a man like this before. Surely you can recognise the symptoms. You must have been in love before, how does the way you feel now compare to that?’
I cast my mind back through my previous relationships and try to remember how I felt about them.
