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‘Oh, quit being so hard on yourself.’ I try to lighten the mood. Then as I gaze at him, oblivious to the people walking past us, I lean towards him and kiss him.
It’s another night I don’t sleep. I kissed Arsehole Lawyer, for frick’s sake. What’s the matter with me? And when he walked me home, he kissed me back. But there was an easiness between us, an honesty between us, too, as though we could say anything to each other. In my experience, it isn’t often you find that.
After drifting in and out of sleep, the morning brings one of those days of half-light, the rising sun only lightening the grey skies a shade, as I walk up the road towards the park.
The weirdness of the day is amplified by the lack of people in the streets, by the layer of haze that hangs in the air, and a sense of foreboding I can’t shake. As the day goes on, the feeling grows stronger. I have an inescapable sense that I’m waiting for something. But for what exactly, I can’t articulate.
At work, it’s no different. It’s a day I can’t put my mind to anything. I have zero tolerance for anything other than the essential, and when a man walks in, I know instantly from the cut of his suit, from the folder he’s carrying, he’s been drafted in to replace Forrest.
When he reaches the bar, I’m ready for him. ‘Ah, you must be from Stanford and Co,’ I say coolly.
He looks taken aback. ‘Um, yes. I’m here to see?—’
Cutting him off, I keep my voice breezy. ‘I know. I’ve been expecting you. I’m terribly sorry but you’ll have to leave. We have an infestation of fleas and we’re about to fumigate.’ Reaching down, I start scratching my leg.
Horrified, he can’t move fast enough. Halfway back to the door, he stops, coming back and passing me the envelope he’s carrying. ‘I forgot to give you this.’
Raising one of my eyebrows, I stare at him. ‘Is she offering full payment?’
When he hesitates, it tells me all I need to know. Ripping the envelope and its contents in half, I pass them back to him, going back to the bar and pulling out a face mask left over from COVID days. ‘I’d leave if I were you – unless you want a dose of insecticide – or fleas.’
He looks as though he wants to say something, but mercifully decides against it. As he scurries out, I can’t help smiling to myself.
It’s a brief interlude in a day that gets no less strange. When my mobile buzzes with a call from one of the magazines I work with, instead of the thrill I usually feel, for the first time ever, I let it go to voicemail.
This is a lull, I tell myself. And I have no problem with that. We’re still in the grip of winter. The season of darkness, as we wait for the longer days of spring.
10
RAE
When I walk into the Little Hotel on Wednesday night, Marnie’s already there, sitting on a sofa in the window, a bottle of wine and two glasses on the table in front of her.
The bar is cosy and as I take off my jacket, I notice the ornate turquoise and gold ceiling as I sit next to her. ‘It’s really nice in here.’
‘It is, isn’t it?’ She picks up the bottle. ‘Wine? Or something else?’
‘Wine would be great.’
Pouring a glass, she passes it to me. ‘Cheers.’
‘Cheers.’ Lifting it, I frown slightly, noticing she seems distracted.
She smiles overly brightly. ‘I hope you’re having a better week than I am.’
So there is something. ‘It’s been fine, so far. Why? What’s yours been like?’
‘Weird…’ Putting her glass down, she’s silent for a moment. ‘OK. I suppose it goes back to a customer who majorly trashed one of the hotel rooms a couple of weeks back. Obviously, I billed her for the damage. Next thing, she sends her lawyer round toget her off. He came in last Friday.’ She cups her glass in her hands. ‘He was so arrogant and completely up himself. He made this stupid offer, so I got rid of him.’ She frowns. ‘A couple of days later he came back. I tried to get rid of him again, but he seemed different. He apologised about the last time and asked if I’d go out with him. I think he wanted to make up for being such a dick.’
‘So did you?’
‘I didn’t hear from him.’ She shrugs. ‘Then the following day, I was sitting near the memorial with a coffee and a slice of cake. And there he was. Apparently he’d lost his phone.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘I thought he was spinning me a line. I mean, who loses their phone? Anyway, he was on his way to the hotel hoping to talk to me, when he saw me.’ Her eyes are puzzled as she looks at me. ‘We got talking again and he told me how the night after we met, he was involved in a car crash. Remember when it snowed? It was then. He was fine – but his friend wasn’t. He died,’ she says quietly.
My stomach churns as she mentions the car crash. I remember hearing it mentioned on the local radio news. ‘That’s terrible.’
She stares at her glass. ‘He was devastated – like seriously not in a good place. But what was really weird was how he’d become a different person. As the afternoon went on…’ She tails it off. ‘It got weirder. Anyway, one thing led to another, and… I kissed him.’
My eyes widen. ‘And?’
