SEVEN DAYS (32 page)

Chapter Thirteen:
The End

Auguste Rodin:
“The main thing is to be moved, to love, to hope, to tremble, to live.”

“Did you miss me?” Judy asked.

“Of course,” Barry said. He was holding a sheet of paper, but this time it actually had something typed on it and today's date.

“You're really working,” Judy observed.

“It's been rough,” Barry said.

Judy opened her email and saw that there were over 1,500 messages waiting for her attention. Still more were waiting to come in, but a message had popped up saying that she had to delete some messages before she could receive any more.

“No shit,” Judy said to her machine.

“Excuse me?” said Jules. “I don't think I've ever heard you swear before.”

“Get used to it,” Judy said. “I've got over a thousand fucking emails and can't be fucking bothered.”

Jules' mouth dropped open.

“I'm just kidding,” Judy added, but an hour later, when she was still wading through emails of people who had cc’d her into their conversations or bcc’d her for feedback, or who were requesting solutions to problems that were either self-invented or had since solved themselves, she realised that there was more truth in what she had said than she thought.

She missed the smell of oils and acrylic. The feel of 250 gsm, feathers and seed shells.

She missed the smell of Mark's cologne. The feel of the hair of his chest against her breasts. His lips against hers. His body on top of her. His arms around her.

At four forty-five, she found herself staring at the clock in the bottom right of the screen. She was sure the computer had a virus, because it had been four forty-five forever.

If I was in France now,
she thought,
it would be five forty-five and class would be over. I'd be up in my room, showering, changing, and be down in Mark's room by five fifty-five.

Jules stopped by her desk again before leaving.

“You look different,” he remarked.

“I am different,” she replied.

“What did you do on this art course? Want to tell me about it? Tonight? Over dinner?”

“Busy,” she said. “Sorry. Thank you.”

“Another time,” he said.

She said nothing. She didn't have to.

Another colleague, George, stopped by at just before five, surprised to see that Judy had her handbag packed up and was waiting for the clock to release her, when she was normally at her desk until at least six.

“What are you looking at?” George asked. He was sweet, with sad, knowing eyes and a cute smile. But she wasn't interested. There was only one man for her and...he wasn't for her.

“I've been checking my emails,” Judy mused. “All day. I haven't actually done any work. Not a bit. And the building didn't fall over.”

“Well, not today,” George agreed, “but tomorrow is another day.”

“What do you think would happen,” Judy said, “if I highlighted every remaining email on this page and pressed 'delete'.”

George leaned in and saw that there were about four hundred emails still unread.

“I think hell would freeze over,” he said. “And then your computer would freeze too.”

“Maybe,” she said.

“Go home,” he said. “Connect remotely. Do it while watching Corrie.”

“A life is a terrible thing to waste,” she said. “I couldn't possibly do either of those things.”

“You could do it at mine,” he suggested. “I'm connected.”

 “I'm not going to work tonight,” she said. “Really.”

As she got nearer to home that evening, however, she knew that she would connect remotely and check out those emails, just to pass the time. She might even flick on the television, as George had suggested, to dispel the cloying silence. If Corrie was on, then that would be okay. It would help fill a gap.

She missed her late night chats with Mark, the warmth of his body enveloping her, his breath cool against her skin.

Fortunately for her, when she got home he was on her doorstep.

“What are you...what are you doing here?” she said.

“Hi,” he said and then gestured to the wheelie case and rucksack at his feet. “I've just come from the airport. It’s not what it looks like. I didn’t lose my key. I have somewhere to stay, but I came here instead.”

“Why?” Judy asked.

“Because you're here, not there, and I want to be with you. I know you have a colour-coded diary or something and I should have called ahead and you probably have plans, but as you know, I don't exactly work like that, as you noticed, and so...”

She threw herself at him, slamming him into the front door and knocking the wind out of him. Before he could draw a breath, she planted her lips against his. She kissed him hard and, at the same time, fumbled to get her keys out of her handbag and unlocked the door.

They fell inside, slamming against another wall, still kissing hard. Judy kicked the door shut and dropped her keys and her handbag at their feet.

She broke off their kiss for a moment, to retrieve Mark's luggage from the step.

“Are you still going to change the locks?” Mark asked.

“Yes,” Judy assured him, “but with you on the inside, you gorgeous man. You're not going anywhere.”

THE END

For more short stories, novels and freebies from Silence Welder;

Visit http://www.silencewelder.com