Sharing Nicely (17 page)

“Pardon?”

“You heard me. Diamonds. I’m going to break it down and then I’m going to buy it and I’m going to kick you out on the streets.”

“Well, good luck with that,” I replied. “Diamonds is mine. I’m not going to give up without a fight.”

“That’s what I was hoping,” he sneered and put down the phone on me.

I was frantic. What was he going to do? I wouldn’t let him take the club from me, I
couldn’t
let him take it from me. But how was I going to protect it?

The next day it became clear what Darren’s first move was going to be. “Are you sure you want to cancel?” I said to the third person that day. “I can assure you that— Oh, okay, well, that is of course your decision. If you’d like to rebook for another date…”

I slammed the phone down.

“Another one?”

I nodded.

“That bastard.” I’d told Taylor that Darren had a bee in his bonnet. I’d not told him more than that, but he needed to have an idea of what was going on. “We’ll be all right, though, boss. He’s not friends with every person in London, you’ll still get plenty of business.”

“Hmm, you might want to read this.”

Shelly put an open newspaper down on the table in front of us. It was a review of Diamonds and it wasn’t pleasant.

“This is all lies,” Taylor snapped. “I’ve never served dodgy beer in my life and the chef is top notch.”

I shook my head. That was just the start of my problems. When the chef got wind of the bad review, he left in a huff. We had an unannounced visit from Environmental Health, which, of course, gave us the all-clear but we were told that serious allegations had been brought so we’d be under continual observation. By the time the bar had shut that night I was ready to pull all my hair out I was so stressed.

It didn’t get any easier, either. The only thing that kept me going was the customers. There was one afternoon when the beer delivery hadn’t turned up and the freezer had mysteriously been turned down too low and we’d had a brick through a window the night before and the glazier still hadn’t turned up. I still had on my plastered fake smile and I was out waiting on tables as Jen had given birth to a little girl and was off on maternity leave.

“Oh, Kerry, we had to come,” an old man exclaimed when I went to take their order. “We saw that terrible review in the paper and we had to come. We couldn’t believe it was true, could we, dear?”

The white, curly-haired old lady opposite nodded.

“Well, you’re very kind.” I smiled. “I hope you do find your experience here today pleasurable.”

“I’m sure we will,” Harry continued. “I love Diamonds. I might be a bit long in the tooth now but I still feel welcome here and so does my darling wife, Dorothy, don’t you, dear?”

Dorothy nodded and smiled again.

“I am glad,” I replied. “Now can I get you something to drink or to eat?”

They gave me their order and I couldn’t help but smile a real, genuine smile as I served them. Such a sweet couple, and even though they weren’t quite in the demographic of most of Diamonds’ customers, they still felt at home. That made me feel warm deep inside and at the time it was colder than the Antarctic in there.

“Kerry,” Harry said to me when I processed his credit card to pay his bill. “I’m very happy to say that the review we read was complete poppycock. We’ve had a lovely time, you’ve been so good to us and the food was delicious.”

“Well, thank you,” I replied, feeling a little choked at his kind words.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about, dear. I’ll be telling everyone how good Diamonds is and Dorothy will too, won’t you, dear?”

Dorothy nodded and I smiled.

It was Harry and Dorothy and the other customers who continued to come and fill my bar and my restaurant who kept me going. So much went wrong but our numbers didn’t waver. We lost a few big events, but the general public still loved Diamonds. We never seemed any quieter and my books still balanced perfectly well. Darren was not doing a great job of running my bar into the ground—the bar’s owner was on the brink of a nervous breakdown, though.

I was in work every day, not purposefully, but every time I tried to get some time off, something went wrong. I was completely worn out and I wondered if that was Darren’s plan, simply to grind me down until I gave him the damn place.

In four weeks I dealt with every emergency you could imagine, and some you wouldn’t believe. I supposed the only advantage to it was that I didn’t have time to think about anything else, like Greg. Thoughts of him crept in fairly regularly and my sleep was filled with dreams featuring him, some good, some raging nightmares. As much as I wanted to forget him completely, it just wasn’t happening.

The worst day of my life was a Tuesday. I got up, got dressed and got the Tube. I was ready for whatever the day was going to throw at me. I wasn’t feeling good but I felt prepared to do whatever I had to do.

I was
not
prepared to see my beautiful club enrobed in smoke and flames. Three fire engines were outside, hoses aimed at the centre of the blaze. I pushed through the crowd of onlookers to a streak of plastic tape that seemed to hold them back. I went to dip under it but I was stopped in my tracks by a policeman who seemed to be as wide as he was tall.

“Sorry, miss, you can’t come through here, it’s too dangerous.”

“But it’s my club,” I gasped, tears flowing down my cheeks. “It’s my life.”

“You’re the owner then?” I nodded.

And so started a morning of answering asinine questions and fending off horrific accusations at the local police station.

“I don’t know,” I said. “For the last time, I have no idea what might have caused it.”

Eventually I was released, with a strict instruction to not leave the country. I wanted to go back to the club, but I wasn’t allowed to. If I got too close I might try to fuck up the evidence. I rang Taylor instead.

“I dunno, boss. Everything seemed fine when we left, I can’t believe what’s happened.”

“No, neither can I.” I sighed. “Will you ring round the staff? Tell them I’ll pay them their usual shifts but I don’t know when we’ll get the club back open—if people want to seek employment elsewhere, I won’t hold it against them.”

“Okay, boss, I’ll get on it. Jeez, this sucks.”

“Yeah, it does.”

I knew exactly who was to blame for the fire
—
Darren had to be behind it somewhere along the line. I doubted he’d have personally set the place alight but he would have been involved. How it could be proven, I didn’t know, but I’d have to try. I couldn’t come to terms with what I’d seen—all my hard work, all my dreams up in smoke.

It would take months to repair and God knew how much longer to get the insurance paid out. I’d have to start from scratch again. I couldn’t face going home and looking at the four walls there so I just walked. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted someone to talk to, someone to hold me and tell me it’d be all right and my traitorous mind went to one person only
—
Greg. I wanted Greg.

I admit I was probably not thinking very rationally. I certainly wasn’t making any sense, not even to myself, but I had to find Greg.

I started out by discovering where he worked. That is the gift of smartphones—you can stalk anyone on the go without having to find an A
–
Z or a phone book. It was a short Tube journey over to the centre of the financial district and when I emerged onto the street I was faced by dozens of people in smart suits carrying briefcases and over-the-shoulder laptop bags.

I’d never really seen the attraction of office work. I’d always been a social character and always had my eye on a job that involved some kind of interaction with people. I was made to be in customer services, it was my perfect job.

It didn’t take long to find the office block that housed Greg’s place of work. The whole tower was dedicated to different branches of his empire—the mobile phone apps, the mobile phone network, the computer game brand he owned, they all had their headquarters there. It was a tall, glass-fronted structure, minimalist and efficient-looking. If I’d been more myself I would have thought twice about walking up to the huge front doors and striding across the marble floor to the sleek, wood-fronted reception desk.

While I waited for the thin, immaculately attired receptionist to finish on the phone I glanced at the board beside her. Unsurprisingly, Greg’s office was on the very top floor. It would have an amazing view over the city, I was sure. After a minute the lady rested the phone receiver in its cradle once more and looked up at me.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“I’d like to see Greg Stamford, please.”

“Certainly, miss.” The lady at the desk beamed. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Erm, no,” I replied.

“Ah.” She sucked air in through her teeth. “Mr Stamford is rather busy this afternoon, you’re best making an appointment to see him.”

“When is he next available?”

“I believe we have a slot at the end of next week, I had someone cancel this morning.”

“Oh, well, I really need to see him today,” I replied steadily, even though I was starting to feel panicky inside.

“Well, I can show you to the waiting room, miss, then I can find out if he has time to fit you in. What’s your name?”

“That would be great, thank you. My name is Kerry Matthews.”

The lady’s eyes widened and her perfectly painted bottom lip dropped for a fraction of a second before she raised it again. She had regained her composure within a matter of moments.

“Ah, well, I have been informed that Mr Stamford doesn’t want to see you at all, I’m afraid.”

“Look, this is really important, I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“I understand that.” She bobbed her head and her short blonde hair bobbed up and down slickly in line. “But it would be more than my job’s worth to even ask him to see you, miss. Mr Stamford was very forceful about the matter.”

I felt a tear slip down my cheek as all bravado and false confidence melted away with her words.

“Look.” She smiled sympathetically. “Let me show you into the waiting room. You can sit and compose yourself for a while, all right? I’m sorry I can’t do anything more.”

I nodded and followed her down the corridor into a room that housed a large coffee table and half a dozen or so comfy-looking grey chairs.

“I’ll come back and check on you in a little while,” she said. “Take all the time you need.”

I nodded and sat down. I’d come so far, I wasn’t ready to give up. I looked around the room and wondered how I could get to Greg’s office.

I walked over to the door she’d led me in by, the only one in the room. To the left was her desk, to the right, more corridor. I waited until there was someone at the receptionist’s desk blocking her view down the corridor, then I carefully swung open the door, thankful it didn’t have squeaky hinges, and took off down the hall away from the entrance, trying hard to make sure my work shoes didn’t squeak on the shiny wood floor. I soon found an access point to the staircase and ducked in through the double doors. I imagined most people would use the lift and I would have preferred to myself, knowing how many floors high the building was. But it was back in the foyer, past the reception and the security guards, so it was simply not an option.

I hurried up the first three flights, convinced someone would come running after me at any moment. I had to slow down then, though, because although I wasn’t exactly unfit with the work I did at Diamonds, I wasn’t exactly an athlete either. I didn’t have the stamina to keep running, especially not up steps.

As I suspected, no one used the stairs. They were simply there in case of emergencies. When I made it to the seventh and eighth floors without detection, I started to calm down a bit. I kept climbing. I knew it would take time—this was not a short building and although I was losing count of the flights I’d walked up, I was sure that I was probably only halfway to Greg’s office. My legs throbbed by the time I reached floor seventeen. I stood to one side of the doorway for a few minutes to capture my breath. I still had a few flights to climb and I wanted to be capable of speech once I got there.

As I stood, hands on knees, back bent and panting like a fluffy dog in the middle of summer, the door beside me swung open. I held my breath. The door hid me for a moment and the woman ran up the stairs in the other direction. As her heels clattered I let out a sigh of relief. Once I was capable of breathing and not panting I continued up the stairs at a sedate pace—that way if I was passed by the woman coming back down, I hoped she’d mistake me for a fellow worker. That wouldn’t happen if I was bright red in the face, sweating and huffing and puffing like I’d just run the marathon.

Finally I reached the top floor. I stopped again and peered through the small glass windows of the door. There was another receptionist’s desk then a door that I assumed led into Greg’s office. On closer inspection I saw his name on the plaque on the door, confirming my suspicion. The desk was empty when I looked and so, before I had time to think and talk myself out of it, I strode through the door, past the desk and into Greg’s office without pausing to knock.

The room was huge
—
every wall was in fact windows, apart from the one housing the door I’d just walked through. Greg’s desk was directly opposite me and he sat behind it in a tall-backed leather chair. A small woman sat on a far more square and practical chair with her back to me.