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Dear Lloyd,
I don’t think it will mean very much coming from me right now, but I’m sorry. I know people usually only apologize to make themselves feel better (and that probably is a bit the case here) but I still feel like I owe it to you to say – I’m sorry.
You were right. I stomped on you on my way to the top. I threw whatever was between us, or could have been between us if I’d let it, under the bus. You’re kind, and good, and deserved so much better than that. I didn’t think I had any self-destructive tendencies, but the way I’ve pushed you away makes me wonder if I do after all.
I did exactly what my mum did to me and my dad. I did what I promised myself I’d never do. I hurt someone I loved, to protect my own ambition. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
I don’t expect you to forgive me. That’s okay.
But I want you to know that I’m her – the girl you keep looking for. Somewhere, underneath all of this, I’m her, the way you’re someone else behind that act you put on around the office. Just in case that counts for anything.
Sincerely Yours,
Anna Sherwood
I don’t really expect much of a response from Lloyd to my apology text or my mention that I found the file he left behind and will give it back to him on Monday – and I don’t get one. Radio silence is the least I deserve.
I spend the weekend stewing over all the things I wish I hadn’t said to him, how things could have gone differently if we’d both just been a little less on edge – how it should have been a friendly heart-to-heart instead of such a fierce argument. I keep wondering about how angry he got when I mentioned his dad and his work at Arrowmile – Lloyd always seems so upbeat, I never stopped to consider he might just be making the best of a bad situation. Even after what Will said about why Lloyd didn’t do the degree he really wanted, I don’t think the full reality of his situation had really sunk in.
Is that what the file is all about? His way of making the best of a bad situation, somehow?
All those things he said about living in his dad’s shadow, calling it a ‘poisoned chalice’ … And I was too busy with my own selfish and self-righteous attitude to listen to him.
When Monday finally arrives I’m one of the first at the office – but there’s no sign of Lloyd anywhere. Throughout the day, I make so many excuses to leave my desk – so that I can scout around for him – that Laurie asks me if I have an upset stomach or a UTI – she has remedies in her desk drawer for both.
I figure he must be around somewhere, and that I just keep missing him, so gather my courage and find him on Teams.
Anna Sherwood
Hi, Lloyd. Just wondered if you were in today?
Lloyd Fletcher is typing …
Lloyd Fletcher switches his status to ‘do not disturb’, and doesn’t reply to my message.
I go home late, hoping that I might run into him – but another circuit of the office around seven o’clock shows that it’s nearly empty, and he’s nowhere to be found. My bag feels heavy with the weight of his lost file as I tote it home once more.
Tuesday, I have better luck. I leave a meeting with Dylan’s team downstairs and find Lloyd standing around by the lifts, holding a coffee and talking to a couple of people. I hang back until they’re done talking, watching his wide, exaggerated gestures and the unfaltering smile on his face, and it makes me regret the way we argued even more.
Finally, the others filter off in different directions, and I seize the opportunity to corner Lloyd before he can storm off. Up close, I see he’s looking a little frayed around the edges. There are bags under his eyes, a twitchy edge to his stance.
His smile freezes in place, eyes darting about as if noting who’s around to witness if we fight again. His voice is tight when he says, ‘Anna. This isn’t a good time.’
‘I’ve been trying to catch you. It’s just – I – I texted you, and I wanted to apologize, but –’
He rolls his eyes, cutting me off. ‘You said enough on Friday night. Now I know you think I don’t do anything important around here, but I actually have a meeting to get to right now.’
‘That’s what I –’
‘I’ll see you round, yeah?’ he says loudly, with a casual dismissal that probably sounds friendly enough to everybody else, but feels fake and cutting when hewon’t even look at me. He strides off, like nothing’s wrong, and I wish I’d had the stupid file with me so I could just give it back and not have to keep chasing after him.
Does he really hate me more than he wants to get his pet project back?
I send him another text, trying to explain, but it, along with my message from Friday night, remains unread.
I spent weeks trying to keep Lloyd at arm’s length, pushing him away every time I feared I was letting him get too close – and now that it’s finally happened, it’s bittersweet.
It makes me wish we’d never met that night, never kissed.
