By the Time You Read This (18 page)

Since the announcement of Corey’s engagement, I’d been locked in a world of nothingness. I tried not to think about it all as I got on with my day-to-day life of working, sleeping and eating. But not even work could excite me, or the letter that arrived informing me of a pay raise. I suppose Corey’s news allowed me to feel as if I’d lost a friend. No, it wasn’t that. Corey had lived in France for years. I’d lost a lot more than a friend. Perhaps I’d lost hope. But hope for what? I knew we’d never have pursued a full-time, all-consuming relationship, so I wasn’t sure why I was feeling so…so empty.

Instead of thinking too much about the Corey situation, it became easier to plow myself into my job, and for the next six months I regularly worked twelve-hour days and some weekends until I could almost see the promotion in the near distance. Carla did a good job of cheering me up a
little when she said that Corey just wasn’t the “marrying type” and had probably been coerced into it by The Blonde Bombshell Mark Two. Of course, I knew Carla was still smarting over Rob’s betrayal and remained committed to the ridicule of anyone in a remotely happy relationship, but still, it hadn’t hurt to hear it.

W
hen I received an email from the Big Boss summoning me to her office, as always I felt fearless and ready to take on whatever she had in store for me.

“Lois. I know you are a very busy lady, so I’ll keep it brief,” she said.

I shuffled about in the chair and watched a rare smile appear on her face.

“How would you like to become Senior Market Data Analyst for the firm?”

The way she looked at me suggested she’d just asked if I’d be interested in fancy chocolate and not a job that would see me with a salary increase of almost eighty percent!!!!

“Yes, that would be fine…Thank you.”

I think my dad would be proud of me if he knew that I could actually afford to move to a bigger place if I so wanted. But my apartment had come to represent so much to me. The first place to ever feel like a home. And I was staying. Besides, it was almost unrecognizable with a newly decked-out kitchen, a huge Smeg fridge and a washing machine delivered sparkling new from John Lewis. The lounge was cozy but modern and minimal, and best of all was my company car—a Jaguar XJ-S. I knew it was mega-flash and at first felt a bit of a twit, driving to work the first morning, but it handled like a dream and I knew that Dad would have been thrilled, what with the earlier model being his favorite car of all time!

So, working a seventy-hour week was fine.

Being woken up in the middle of the night to take an overseas call for work was also tolerable.

As were the accompanying headaches, due to lack of sleep. And the bags lurking under my eyes.

I was hardly seeing Mom and Abbi. Although I tried to make it up to Abbi with a trip to Hamleys for her fifth birthday, spending close to a hundred dollars on her, when admittedly she would have been content with a trip to McDonald’s. That’s guilt for you.

But work had to come first, right? Being successful was what fueled me; nourished me like food and was everything I needed to function. Craving the next task, the next mountain to scale. Yearning for work like Carla yearned for a man. And if anything, work had proved more reliable than men. So what if I was alone, with only a handful of friends? I was okay. I’d be all right. I still had Dad.

It seemed to take Carla about five minutes and fifteen dates with ten different men for her to finally land “the real love of her life.” Markus, a freelance thingamajig (which basically meant he spent oodles of time at home), who came complete with Raymond, the live-in brother. It wasn’t long until she’d shipped out of mine and into their typical bachelor pad—because, in her own words, it needed a shot of femininity.

My invitation to dinner soon followed.

“Hi,” said Markus as he opened the front door to me. Curving large lips—an attribute Carla boasted had made her fall in love with him, oh and how he used them—smiled warmly toward me. I greeted him, shrugging off my coat just as the brother breezed into the room dressed
in a trendy pair of jeans and controversial white FCUK T-shirt over a nicely gym-toned chest. As well as natural good looks, Raymond seemed to hold good conversation as Carla and Markus caressed each other with doe-eyed gazes over my best friend’s speciality paella.

“Carla never told me she had such a pretty friend,” he said.

“Thank you,” I replied, before taking a bit of wine. The way he was looking at me made me nervous—in a good way.

“This isn’t great, honey,” commented Markus, poking at the food with his fork.

“Sorry, babe. What is it this time? Too much pepper?” asked Carla in a little girl’s voice, which for a second I mistook for sarcasm.

“Not enough actually,” he said mid-mouthful as Carla leaped from her chair, returning with the pepper shaker. I struggled not to make a comment.

Apparently Raymond worked for an insurance firm where he did “exciting” things with forms. Although he described his job wittily, my eyes were almost glazing over by dessert. I was absolutely exhausted.

“Am I boring you?” he asked self-consciously, suddenly appearing younger than his years. Carla and Markus had disappeared into the kitchen.

“No, I’ve just been working late. Sorry.”

“That’s okay. Carla said you were a workaholic.”

“Charming. Nice to know how others see you.”

“But she didn’t say how pretty you were, remember…? I’d get a new friend if I were you…” He smiled and I noticed a perfect row of very white teeth.

Raymond was twenty-two and happy to do all the things a lot of twenty-two-year-olds cherished. “Killing” his brother at the latest Playstation game, apartment-sharing and sporting a serious aversion to being tied down. So at first glance and perhaps to the outside world, Raymond and I were total opposites. But his refusal to be pinned down made him a
very
attractive proposition for me, because with him I could bury the fear of someone wanting more than I was willing or able to give. And without a man around I was content with my toys—and we’re not just talking about my new Nikon digital camera.

So being with Ray on a Sunday and Thursday evening each week also felt right. Just as laughing with him on the phone and in between meetings did. Everything was moving just the way I liked it and
always
to my schedule.

B
ut the day I had to tell two senior members of staff that we needed to let them go—that felt so, so wrong and was one of the hardest days I’d ever had to face at work. Having no miscellaneous entry to refer to on this, I was clueless as to how to deal with such a situation. But I found the strength—or nerve—to inform the first person and then the second (just before slipping them the website address of my employment agency). Still, the whole process left me feeling like shit and wanting to talk to someone. Anyone.

I was exhausted by the time I reached home.

The answer-phone beeped through with a message from Ray. I dialed his number on my cellphone.

“Hi, Ray.” I undid my jacket and placed it on the side of the sofa. The lounge, in fact the whole house, still smelled
of fresh paint after having it redecorated only three days before.

“You sound down. Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine. Just a hard day at work.” I hit Play on the stereo remote control and the tones of Amy Winehouse burst into the room like silk and honey and my muscles began to relax.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I thought for a moment. “No.”

“Are you sure? I’m a good listener!”

“No!” I snapped, feeling my hackles rise. Wondering what a twenty-two-year-old in a dead-end job could possibly know about the mechanics of firing good people. A decent man, with two teenagers and a wife to support. A young woman with a mortgage, just like me.

“I’ll come round, shall I? Can I come round?”

“When?”

“Tonight?”

“Instead of Thursday?” I asked, kicking off my shoes and slipping aching feet into a pair of yellow fluffy slippers—Abbi’s Christmas present last year. My time with Ray was strictly Thursdays and Sundays and he knew that—then again, I could do with some company after the day I’d had.

“I’ll be truthful…with Carla and my bro always getting it on…it’s a bit much. Then there are the rows. I could do with the peace, to be honest. Plus you can tell me what’s on your mind…”

Knowing what it was like to perch in the shadow of Carla’s exploits, I agreed for Ray to invade my space for one extra night.

And I had to admit, it did help me to forget about the firings temporarily and I was able to sleep soundly for the first time in weeks.

The following morning, I awoke to find him fiddling with my new camera.

“We should take a picture together. This has a timer, right?”

“Yes, it does…” I replied suspiciously

“I bet they’ll come out all professional. Digital technology is supposed to be better than the old stuff. Talking of which, why is that old camera in your cabinet? Why don’t you just chuck it or give it to a charity shop.”

Now I was angry. I padded into the kitchen as he followed like an irritating little lapdog. My plate of oats began to warm in the microwave, and he continued. “We haven’t got any pictures together, Lois. Perhaps we’ll take some when you get back?”

“Sure, but not right now, okay?” I replied, knowing deep down that I was not interested in taking any pictures of the two of us.

I canceled Thursday.

“C
orey will be here next week!” gushed Carla’s mom as “With Stars On” came to an end. I decided there and then to purchase the retro-style record player I’d found on the Internet, skipping any chance of bumping into Corey and his Blushing Blonde Bombshell Mark Two Bride to Be.

“I’m sure he’d love to see you, Lois. Just think how great it will be to have him close by when they get married!”

“I don’t understand,” I said, slipping the vinyl into its sleeve.

“He and his wife will be moving to Greenwich.” As soon as she said it, she realized. “You are okay with this, darlin’?”

The vinyl almost slipped from my hand as the ramifications of such a move became clear. “Of course I am!”

“I knew you would be. You and Corey were years ago. Childhood sweethearts. Over with now, right?”

“Right.” And that was true. I had no real feelings for Corey, I just didn’t need the reminder of a one-night stand constantly biting me on the ass every time I ventured out of my house. And when I thought nothing else could add to this magical moment, she added, “AND they’re both coming to England to discuss wedding plans. Next week!”

The following week I pushed forward a planned business trip to Dubai. By day, heading up the new team in tall, plush offices, a backdrop of clear skies and a searing sun. By night, lying on a four-poster hotel bed, listening to cable, working from a laptop, trying and succeeding to place all thoughts of Corey securely where they belonged—out of my head.

U
pon my return, the happy couple were safely back in France.

“I can’t believe you went to Dubai without telling me!” moaned Ray after an exhilarating bout of lovemaking. While Oliver had been a tender, sweet lover in the beginning, Ray took to the task with gusto, desperate in his quest to please me and doing quite a good job. If only he wouldn’t whine so much.

“Oh Ray, it was just a spur-of-the-moment thing. When the company says jump, I have to!” My hands behind my head, I sighed deeply, my lower body snug under the duvet.

“Doesn’t seem fair.”

“Ray…” I said, with just a tinge of exasperation.

His bottom lip shot out out like Abbi’s. “Just let me know next time, that’s all. Perhaps I could come with you. We’ve never been abroad together.”

“Okay!” I sighed, knowing that would never happen.

“Talking of going out…I was wondering, instead of me coming here on Sunday, why don’t we…” And on he went. The whining, the chatter, the questions. The only two words I did manage to identify were possibly the most important. Sister and park.

“The park?”

“Or we could take her to the zoo—whichever. Take some pictures—you never use that top-of-the-range camera of yours!”

The whole concept seemed alien to me, this idea of some warped “family” outing, complete with snapshots. My eyebrows scrunched in confusion as I searched for a get-out clause and found one in Carla—who was scheduled at my place for dinner with Markus this Saturday. Only, she didn’t know it yet.

L
uckily, Carla did manage to persuade Markus to come over on Saturday, and while we left the brothers catching up in my lounge, Carla frogmarched me into the kitchen.

“So, what’s this all about then?” asked Carla, one eyebrow raised.

“Thought it right to return the favor.”

“Liar. I know you’d rather boil your own toe than spend time with Markus.”

“Don’t say that!”

“I know you don’t like him,” she spat quietly, just as Markus appeared.

“Darling, have you seen my phone?”

Carla placed a hand over her mouth. “Oh, babe, I think I left it on the sofa at home!”

Markus’s nose flared and his eyebrows arched. “But I told you to go and fetch it when I was looking for the car keys!”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” she replied, truly apologetic.

I left the ensuing row to see what Ray was up to. After five minutes I headed back toward the kitchen, stopping just outside the door, hearing obviously raised voices.

“I said I was sorry!”

“Why do you have to be such a dumb bitch, huh?”

I waited for my best friend to slap this man’s face—at least verbally—because no one had ever spoken to her like that. Not since Tommy Wannamaker called her Tuls (“slut” backward) in the third year.

So I waited.

“I’m really sorry, Markus,” I heard her mumble apologetically.

Was this for real?

“I hope this doesn’t happen again,” he said, footsteps heading toward the door as I made a quick backward retreat into the toilet.

T
wo days before my twenty-sixth birthday, Carla slipped me some Ann Summers coupons just as I was about to broach my concerns over Markus. Mom, armed with Abbi in tow, dropped by for the first time in history to hand over a DVD of some sloppy movie. And I had to admit, it was a nice surprise having them over and I even
took some beautiful pictures of Abbi before they left, just as Ray phoned claiming his surprise would wait until a few days AFTER my birthday, because of work constraints. This was okay with me, considering the only thing I really wanted to do was read another birthday entry from Dad.