The Day We Disappeared (4 page)

‘Yes, I'd imagine. You guys
must have to do all sorts of exercise to stay strong.'

‘I don't really have time
for exercise,' I said. ‘Or to eat well! I used to cook everything from
scratch.'

I cleared my throat and tried to
straighten up a bit but there was something hypnotic about the sofa, the low light
and that surprisingly compassionate man. Normally my conversations with clients were
one-way affairs: long monologues about them and their problems punctuated by
sympathetic comments from my corner. And I quite liked that. I enjoyed the focus
being on someone else. Here, though, was someone who wanted to turn the lamp of
kindness on me.

‘It seems a shame,' Stephen
offered, ‘that someone who wants to help others doesn't have enough time
to help herself.'

I'd never
thought about that. He was right.

‘Maybe instead of having my next
massage I'll send you off for some yoga and an early night, and pay you
anyway.'

I smiled tiredly. ‘In all honesty
I think I'd die if I tried to do yoga, these days! I'm so unfit … But
it's a nice idea.'

‘I know how you feel,' he
said, surprising me again. ‘I kind of don't really allow myself to stop
because if I did I think I'd be so broken I'd never start
again.'

I looked at him, at those twinkling
eyes. Now he came to mention it, I could see the tiredness in them. And a warmth I
didn't expect from his sort. ‘You said it's all self-imposed,
though,' I said, after a pause.

Stephen yawned and stretched, leaning
back into the sofa. He popped his feet up on the coffee-table, just like that, and
turned his face to the ceiling. ‘It is entirely self-imposed,' he
reflected. ‘But it's just how I am. There aren't many people like
me in business, people who can lead so effectively. I hope that doesn't sound
arrogant. I just mean that to be a leader, a role model, a friend to your workforce,
you have to sacrifice your own life a bit. Well, a lot. You have to be their mum,
their dad, their brother and their annoying bossy old granddad.'

I stared at his monstrously expensive
shoes, tickled by the idea of this extremely attractive man being a bossy old
granddad. ‘Do you have a private jet?' I asked, on a whim.

‘The company does,' he
admitted, ‘and I find it embarrassing, but we basically have to have one, with
offices in so many places. So I plant more bloody sustainable forests than farmers
plant carrots. I'm the ultimate guilty capitalist.' He smiled at me
suddenly, an intense sort of a smile that made me feel like he could see all of me.
‘So
much about my life must look
ostentatious and gaudy,' he said, ‘but I reckon that as long as I stay
nice underneath, it's okay.'

‘I reckon so too,' I said.
We were still looking right at each other.

The moment passed. ‘Right, well,
I'd better take some money from you,' I said.

‘What time are you back here
tomorrow?' He handed me some banknotes and I got up to find him a receipt.
‘Will you get a lie-in at all?'

I explained that I worked all over
London and was only there two afternoons a week.

‘Crikey. No wonder you're
tired! Well, I hope someone's going to make you a lovely dinner and give you a
nice massage all of your own.' He pulled on his coat, a wool affair in a grey
herringbone.

‘Um, not tonight.' I was
unwilling to tell him that I lived alone.

‘No?'

‘No.'

‘Oh dear! Well, Annie Mulholland,
I demand that you get a very expensive takeaway. The sort that arrives with a bottle
of Chablis and a bunch of flowers.'

Stephen looked as if he cared about my
evening a great deal, possibly more than he cared about his own. And I was impressed
that he'd not only remembered my name but been brave enough to call me
Annie.

I wished for a second that
he
would be there when I got home, serving something wholesome in a nice rustic bowl,
with that smile and those warm, penetrating eyes. Being all handsome and
leaderish.

The reality was
that I'd arrive at a lonely, dark house and probably eat two chocolate mousses
before passing out.

‘Can't you just work in one
clinic?' he persisted. ‘So you don't have to spend your life on
the run?'

I explained, as briefly as I could, why
my work situation was as it was.

‘You poor thing,' he said. I
handed him a receipt and shrugged.

‘You're very talented at
what you do, Annie. That was the nicest hour I can remember. Although you're
sub-standard at the old admin, I'm afraid. You've made this receipt out
for September and, unless I'm much mistaken, it's March the
fifteenth.'

‘Oh, God, sorry! I do this sort of
thing all the time – it drives me mad!' I wrote him a new one, thinking that
this was probably the longest conversation I'd had in years with a man who
wasn't Tim or my dad.

‘I'll have my wellbeing
people get in touch,' Stephen said. ‘If you're interested in
becoming a supplier of services to the company, they can arrange direct payment, so
you don't have to deal with physical money next time I come.'

‘Oh! Yes, I'd love to talk
to them about that!'

‘Excellent.'

‘Thank you,' I said
suddenly. ‘Thank you for being so concerned. It's very kind.'

‘We men aren't all
bad,' Stephen said, as I handed him the new receipt. ‘Some of us are
actually quite pleasant.'

I ducked my head, fussing around with
the receipt book.
If only you knew
, I thought.

‘I read a
book once,' he continued, ‘about a man who was stuck. His life had gone
so far from the direction he wanted it to that he barely knew himself any more. He
was sad, exhausted, and felt completely alone in the world.'

‘Oh, yes?'

‘This man didn't know what
to do, so he began by hugging himself throughout the day. Telling himself that
everything would work out fine.' He paused. ‘It touched me. I tried it,
and it was lovely. Maybe you could try it some time.'

After he'd gone I stood in the
reception area for several minutes. I hadn't expected that at all.

I went home, ate two Gü chocolate
mousses and passed out after fifteen minutes of a Jeremy Paxman documentary about
the Great War. I didn't hug myself.

I received a call at eight fifteen the
next morning.

‘It's Stephen Flint,'
said a vaguely familiar voice. ‘How are you!'

The blue-eyed boy. He must have been
back to my website. To my surprise, I rather liked that idea.

I watched the rammed Overground train
pull into Homerton station, people squashed up against the doors like gherkins in a
jar. My heart sank. The sky was filthy brown and if I didn't fight my way on
I'd get soaked.

‘Hi, Stephen,' I said,
tensing anxiously as I prepared for the scrum.

‘Would you like to come and work
for us in-house?' Stephen asked, as casually as one might say, ‘Would
you like a packet of crisps?'

I had managed to lever myself into the
train but my
worn Burmese bag was trapped
between a pregnant belly and a briefcase. I tried to coax it out without squashing
the belly.

‘Hello?' Stephen sounded as
if he'd just walked into a coffee bar. ‘Double espresso, please,'
he said, in the other direction. ‘Can you hear me, Annie? I was asking if
you'd like to come and work for us. That massage was top rate, and if I
brought someone like you into the offices our wellbeing coaches would die happy. You
don't want to carry on schlepping around London, do you? We could give you the
treatment room of your dreams here. Soft lighting. Oxygenating plants. A man with
pan pipes.'

The carriage, stuffed with people, was
completely silent. I was shoved up against an old man with a bobble hat who smelt of
death. He had done nothing at all other than smell bad but already my heart was
thumping anxiously at his proximity.

‘Erm?' I said. Was Stephen
Flint seriously offering me a job? I arched my back to keep as far away from the
bobble-hat man as possible.

‘I could even try to get a little
health-food shop installed.' I could hear him grinning. ‘Hemp bars and
beetroot juice and, er, other disgusting things.'

I wanted to laugh but I was scared
someone on the train might actually kill me. The atmosphere was silently
furious.

‘Come in and see how we
work,' Stephen invited. ‘Our building will knock you out. We've
got pool rooms, a gym with classes and a yoga studio, music spaces, kitchens run by
some of the world's best chefs and even a little spa. Famous musicians come
and gig here. There's three
concierges, and two lovely office dogs that come in to
de-stress anyone who's having a bad day. We're determined to wrestle
Employer of the Year off Google this year.'

Kate Brady worked for Google in Dublin.
The day we'd met, in one of the few travellers' bars in Bangladesh,
she'd had my jaw on the floor with her tales of the offices there. We'd
pondered our respective jobs one hot night while getting drunk on Bangladeshi rice
beer and, even though I'd only ever wanted to practise alternative therapies,
I'd felt strangely jealous. I'd found myself longing to work somewhere
like Kate's office, where I'd have a routine and someone else organizing
my day. Somewhere nice and safe where I could just sort of disappear among hundreds
of other employees.

Now someone I'd met twelve hours
ago was on the phone offering me just that, at a place I could cycle to in
twenty-five minutes.
It's a blast, working in that office
, I
remembered Kate saying.
It's nicer than my house, Annie! I'd live
there if I could!

‘You gave me the best massage
I've ever had,' Stephen was saying. ‘If everyone on my team had
access to one of those each fortnight they'd fly. We'll pay you very
handsomely indeed and you'll get all the employee benefits. At least come in
for a visit.' He hesitated. ‘I really hope you don't mind me
saying this, but you did rather strike me as someone who could do with a
break.'

‘CAN YOU MOVE YOUR FUCKING BAG,
PLEASE?' shouted the owner of the pregnant belly. ‘I'M
PREGNANT.'

‘Fat bitch,' muttered a man
on the other side of me.

‘Eat me,' whispered the old
man with the bobble hat.

I could almost
hear Kate Brady.
Are you MAD, woman? Go for it!

‘Yes,' I said, to the voice
on the phone. ‘I can come in tomorrow morning.'

‘And he just hired you?'
Lizzy breathed. ‘Like, this morning?' She was pink with excitement.

‘Yes. And for once I was actually
capable of making a decision! I said yes on the spot!'

Lizzy screamed.

‘It sounds like he is trying to
get into your knickers,' Claudine muttered. ‘He cannot just 'ire
you like that! He knows nothing of you!'

‘It's just insane,
isn't it?' I beamed, ignoring Claudine. ‘And get this, he offered
me nearly TWENTY GRAND more than I make now! CAN YOU ACTUALLY BELIEVE IT? Then he
showed me this incredible area on the top floor, where you can see all the way
across London to the countryside, and he said they'd convert it into a bespoke
Annie Kingdom. That was what really swung it. I mean, you couldn't have
designed a better place for a treatment room. Spectacular views and yet total
privacy, it's stunning!'

‘He called it this?'
Claudine asked. ‘A bespoke Annie Kingdom?'

‘Yes. Isn't that
nice?'

‘It is.' Claudine smiled
reluctantly. ‘It is very nice indeed. But I still do not think I like the
sound of him. This is not the behaviour of a good businessman!'

I sighed. This sort of thing was not
unusual with Claudine. ‘Claudie, I'm a massage therapist, not a
hedge-fund manager.
I showed him I'm
great at massage, and he wanted to hire me because he's expanding his
wellbeing service. Did you want him to interview me for five hours, or
something?'

‘Yes.' She
humphed
.

‘Oh, Claudie, get over yourself,
darling,' Lizzy told her affectionately, and Claudine couldn't help but
laugh.

‘Sorry,' she said, smiling
apologetically at me. ‘I am the worst.'

I loved my friends. When my therapist
challenged me to socialize with more people, I often pointed out that Le Cloob
contained the best people in the world, so why would I bother? She would say I was
missing the point. I would pretend not to hear her.

‘So, what are the offices
like?' Lizzy asked. ‘I've heard they're
legendary.'

‘They are. And, most importantly,
the food is ALL FREE! Stephen took me for breakfast with organic eggs and mangoes
and stuff, and I got so excited I stole a Danish pastry. Plus just as I was leaving
I bumped into Stephen's wellbeing coach, who turned out to be Jamilla from
next door to our old Hackney practice, Claudie. Remember her? It all seemed too good
to be true. But maybe I've gone mad. I mean, it's a massive corporate
company.'

‘You mean, there'll be
people there who have proper jobs?' Lizzy smiled. ‘Darling, you'll
have nothing to do with all that. You'll just shuffle around in your own
private practice, like the strange old lady you are, only this time you'll
have a stream of guaranteed clients.' She threw more wine at my glass.
‘You'll be rich! You can buy some proper clothes!'

‘Never.' I smiled.

‘I
insist
that you buy
proper clothes, my little mushroom,' Claudine said. ‘I cannot have you
working at a media consultancy in batik.'