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At least then, we might have been friends now.
I’m persuaded to take a break from VLOOKUPs (which I’ve finally got the hang of) to join Verity for her very late lunch on Thursday afternoon, glad for the excuse of a coffee break after hours of yet more spreadsheet automation for my team. I regret it when I realize Tasha is joining us, too.
Verity has a fancy home-made salad packed for her lunch, but queues up with us to get herself a smoothie from the coffee cart to go with it. It must be amid-afternoon rush: the place is unusually busy. She and Tasha are chattering about some internet drama between influencers they both follow and I’m trying to keep up, when Lloyd comes into the canteen.
He looks like hell.
Lloyd moves agitatedly, one hand bouncing rapidly against his thigh as he walks. He doesn’t seem to notice that one of the laces on his trainers is undone. His thick, dark curls are sticking out at all kinds of angles. He looks stressed in a way that hollows out the area beneath his eyes and lends a frantic look to his face.
He’s a far cry from the polished guy who normally swaggers about the office, and I cringe to see him like this.
Verity and Tasha notice, too.
‘He looks terrible,’ Verity whispers, voice heavy with pity. ‘He’s been all over the place all week. I wonder what’s wrong?’
Is this because of our argument, or is it more than that? Has something else happened?
‘I should go talk to him,’ I blurt, then correct myself – ‘Um, I mean, I have to talk to him about something, so I should … catch him, while he’s free.’
Tasha makes a small, scathing noise in the back of her throat. ‘Don’t youalwayshave something to talk toeach other about? I swear, it’s like every time I look over at your desk, there he is.’
He’s just being a nuisance, would be my usual retort.
‘It’s just work stuff,’ is what I tell Tasha now.
She pulls a face, a sly smile that lets me know she doesn’t buy that for a second.
Verity, however, gives me a little shove. ‘Go, Anna – we can catch up another time!’
I duck out of the queue, and back into it again about ten people back, popping up right in front of Lloyd. He startles when he sees me – then frowns, looking around for an escape route, or maybe just trying to figure out who else is here, and if it’s worth it to shout at me to go away.
‘I know you don’t want to see me, or talk to me, and I get it,’ I say in a quiet rush, hoping that the general hubbub will cover up our conversation from any eavesdroppers. ‘I don’t expect you to forgive me. You’ve been so kind and patient with me all summer, and I’ve taken that for granted. You don’t owe me anything. But I’m still sorry. And I’m sorry for all that stuff I said about you being the golden boy, and your dad, and … I’ve been thinking about what Will said, about how you took all this on so he wouldn’t have to, and how you’re stuck on a uni course you don’twant, and all that stuff in your file, the research and project plans and things, and –’
Lloyd throws a hand out, grabbing my arm tightly, a manic look in his eyes.
‘You’ve seen my file?’
‘Yeah. Yeah, I found it after you left on Friday night. It’s back at the flat, because I was worried people might ask about it if I kept bringing it into the office, and you seemed really secretive about it, so –’
‘Oh my God.’
The air whooshes out of Lloyd’s lungs all at once, and he seems to buckle, the hand on my arm now feeling more like he’s holding on for support. A little colour returns to his cheeks, a weight lifting from his shoulders – and I realize, foolishly, the state he’s in isn’t about our argument at all. It’s about the file.
‘Didn’t you see my texts?’ I ask him as he recovers, collects himself.
‘Your carefully worded apologies? I saw enough.’
‘Obviously not, or you’d have seen that I picked your file up and told you I’d bring it back in for you on Monday. That’s why I tried to talk to you the other day, and have been chasing you around all week. It looked important. I figured you’d want it back.’
His eyes narrow, shoulders squaring, but far from annoyed – he looksworried. ‘You read it?’
‘Only a bit. I was trying to figure out who it belonged to. I saw you had … emails, from me. Stuff about all the Arrowmile projects.’
It’s a leading comment. He doesn’t take the bait.
He just stares at me, deadly serious. ‘I need that file back, Annalise.’
‘I’m not holding it hostage. I’ll bring it in for you tomorrow.’
