Across a slate sky showing the first signs of dawn, streaky clouds were beginning to soften with a pink glow. The hurried footsteps of commuters echoed off darkened buildings and people streamed into office blocks, like ants being sucked into a Hoover. Cars roared along the still-quiet roads, demons taking possession of the city while they still could, before the madness of the morning rush hour that would bring traffic to a standstill. Nearby a siren wailed, shattering the peculiar peace of the winter morning in Dublin.
As sharp air bit at exposed skin not hidden under jacket, gloves or hat, Jayne blinked to clear her vision, which had become misty from the cold, as she walked towards one of the new characterless buildings that were springing up all over the city as part of the urban renewal projects. It was her opinion that the authorities would have been better off insisting that the new buildings be in keeping with the style of the older buildings - the stately georgian facades or those with graceful colonnades added a touch of character and class to what she saw as an ugly, grey, sprawling mass. But that wasn't going to happen in a place where deals were made on brown paper envelopes over a friendly pint of Guinness.
What did she know, anyway, she thought as she entered a cavernous, pristine foyer and pressed the button to call the elevator. She was merely one of the thousands of faceless office workers who filled the buildings during the day, Monday to Friday, nine till five.
A disembodied voice announced that the lift had arrived at the fourth floor, accompanied by a "ting!" designed, she supposed, to be cheerful. Shiny stone-coloured floors reflected up at her as the doors slid open and she wondered just how stupid engineers thought people must be to think that something like that would cheer up the little grey people who spent their lives filling the big grey buildings.
The rubber soles of her shoes squeaked across the tiles and she was relieved when she reached the carpeted floor, because the sound seemed eerily loud in the quiet of the early morning. As usual, Jayne was the first to arrive in her section. She flipped the light switch and a brief buzz was followed by a low, long hum as all the lights came on in sequence, one by one, lighting up patches of the wing at a time. The sight of rows of desks and partitions stretching out endlessly reminded her of a chicken farm she had once visited as a child. She hadn't eaten chicken since, her silent protest in defence of the poor creatures who were fooled into believing they were living in a natural environment when in fact they were destined to never see real daylight, shut away in a simulated environment of false days and nights.
Sometimes Jayne thought she knew how they felt. In the depths of winter it was dark when she arrived at work, and by the time the day was over daylight had already vanished. She barely had time to eat lunch in the canteen downstairs during the day, never mind take the entire hour's break to which she was entitled in order to take a walk in the fresh air. Not that there was often sunshine to be enjoyed anyway in this bleak, dreary country.
Jayne was a foreigner in Dublin. A native of Australia she had flown to the other side of the world, a bright-eyed nineteen-year-old during her year of breaking out and seeing the world before settling into whatever career choice she had assumed would make itself apparent, given enough time. She had gone to London first, and within a month had met Conor, a handsome Irishman who had swept her off her feet with his wit and charm.
That was four years ago.
At first things had been wonderful. Conor had been captivated by her bubbly, outgoing personality and they had travelled together all over Europe, working in bars and restaurants or any other place that would pay them enough to keep them in food and wine. After two years, though, his Irish-ness had called him home to the Emerald Isle. At twenty-five he had wanted to settle down and make a home, have a family.
It had sounded wonderful to her and she had accompanied him willingly.
But Conor in Ireland had turned out to be a very different person to Conor anywhere else. His Mammy ruled their family with an iron fist and had taken an instant dislike to Jayne, not least because she wasn't Irish. Nonetheless, Jayne was nothing if not stubborn and she held onto the belief that in time, the man she had fallen in love with in London would re-emerge and her happiness would be secured.
Now she was no longer so sure.
Setting her handbag down at her desk she switched on her computer, opened her email and went off the little kitchenette in the corner to make herself a cup of the brew that passed for coffee here. On returning to her desk she saw that she had 78 unread emails. Sighing, she started scrolling through the list, deleting the spam and glancing quickly at those marked for the attention of "All Staff". She stopped as one of the message subject headers caught her eye. It read "Opportunity in Paris", from someone called John Bergmann. Instead of deleting it as she normally would anything from someone she didn't recognize, something prompted her to read the message.
"Dear Jayne,
I was given your email address by Cathy McCabe who recommended I get in touch with you regarding a position that has become available here in Paris with my company.
We are looking for someone who is fluent in French but also knows something about Australia and Cathy said that she thought you may be interested in the job. It would involve some travelling but the rewards would be excellent for you.
If you are interested in hearing more, please contact me by reply email and we can arrange a telephone call so that I can give you the details.
From what Cathy has told me, I realise you may be a little sceptical so please feel free to get in touch with her and check up on me.
Regards,
John Bergmann"
Cathy McCabe? Jayne shook her head in bewilderment. She had met Cathy on her travels a couple of years ago, and Cathy had flown over to Dublin for a spot of sightseeing last summer, spent a night at Jayne and Conor's place and then left again. They had probably not exchanged more than three emails in the entire time since then, although she and Jayne had gotten along really well. She knew Jayne lived in Paris and travelled a lot but the details of her job had somewhat escaped Jayne. Now she wished she had paid more attention.
Paris. Now there was a place she loved. She been to the city four times so far and each time had fallen more in love with it. It had been tempting, the last time, to stay there but Conor's need to come home to Ireland had put paid to that idea. Staring out of the window, she wondered what it was that had made Cathy refer this person, John, to her.
Daylight had crept up on the city outside but it was now merely dull and overcast and as she stared it began to rain, a few soft spatters at first before turning into a torrential downpour. She thought it was, quite possibly, the most depressing sight she had seen. The rain just never seemed to end in this place and suddenly she knew that this email may be the beginning of the rest of her life.
It offered a glimmer of hope that she hadn't realised she so desperately needed. She shot off an email to Cathy and then got on with her daily tasks.
An hour later, Cathy replied. It turned out John Bergmann headed a company that had business dealings with Australia, which was why she had thought of Jayne.
"I hope you don't think it too presumptious of me, Jayne, but you really didn't look all that happy the last time I saw you and I just thought you might be ready for a change. And I remember how much you loved Paris, so it was a natural choice. John is a good man and he looks after his people well."
That was all the encouragement Jayne needed, so she replied to his email and sat down to wait. Half an hour later her mobile phone rang and a strong, friendly male voice introduced himself as John and asked if she was free to talk. Grabbing her coat she hurried downstairs and out the back of the building to a quiet, sheltered spot where she couldn't be overheard by her colleagues, who had by then started filling the desk farm around her.
After a long conversation with a man she had never met but instinctively liked, she knew she had made her decision. There were still details to sort out but the job sounded like a challenge she could take on with enthusiasm, involving some administration, some PR, some translating and some travel. Since travel was her favourite pastime she didn't see this as a problem and silently thanked her mother for insisting she learn to speak French like a native. At the time it had been because her mother was of French ancestry, but the why's and wherefore's didn't matter now. It had paid off and John Bergmann seemed happy with the way the phone call had gone. All that remained was for Jayne to organize her exit from Ireland.
The first thing she did was email Cathy to thank her for the referral.
The second thing she did was make herself another cup of sludge-in-a-coffee-cup.
The third thing she did was type out her letter of resignation.
All of this, of course, was designed to delay the fourth thing she had to do and that was to talk to Conor.
"Conor here." He answered his direct line in his business voice.
"Hi, Babe it's me, Jayne," she said.
"Yeh, I can hear that. What's up?" She was glad to hear him relax. It meant he was alone and would be able to talk.
"Listen, I was just on the phone to a bloke in Paris," she started, deciding to blurt out the whole thing before she lost her nerve.
"What the hell? Where did this come from, Jayne? Why didn't you tell me you were out looking for another job? Feck's sake, woman, what's got into you? You can't just drop a bombshell like this on a man out of the blue!"
"Conor, calm down!" she hissed over the phone, trying to keep her voice down. "It's not like I went looking for this. He came to me. I just think, you know, it would be good for me. This is just not working out the way I thought it would. I hate living here. You must know that! There's no way you could possibly be blind enough to see how unhappy I've been."
"What, so that's it? Don't you love me anymore, is that what you're saying? I know it's been a bit rocky for a while but I love you. You know that, don't you?"
Jayne was silent for a moment, then she replied, "No Conor, I don't know that. I used to think I did, but lately it just seems we're always fighting about something." Mostly your mother, she thought.
"Jaysus, Jaynie, I had no idea."
"Yeah, well..." she trailed off.
"So are you saying you're leaving me?"
Jayne thought her heart would break at the way he said it, his beautiful deep lilting voice cracking slightly.
"Oh God, Conor, I don't know. I just know I have to do this. I do love you, I just don't think we can carry on here, you know?"
"So what if I come with you?" he said.
She thought he was joking. "Oh would you be serious please! You couldn't stay away from this God-forsaken place before, what makes you think you could do it now?"
"Jayne, if it meant I not losing you, I'd follow you to the end of the earth," he said quietly and her heart leapt. Maybe there is hope after all?
"Tell you what, Babe, you think about it a bit before you make any hasty decisions, okay. We'll talk about it when I get home tonight."
She could see her boss beckoning her into his office across the room so she quickly ended the conversation and headed over, taking a deep breath to steel herself for what was coming. He started by glaring at her, asking if her resignation was some twisted ploy to get a raise in salary. When he saw that there was more to it than that he tried to pull a guilt trip on her - they were in the middle of a project and she would be leaving them short-handed and besides, she was the only one who knew the system properly. She couldn't help but marvel at the man's idiocy. After two years of abusing her willingness to work hard, taking credit for things that she had done and short-changing her on her overtime, he actually believed he could charm her into staying.
He failed miserably and she left his office suppressing an urge to laugh out loud.
When she got back to her desk, her phone was ringing. She groaned when she saw the number on Caller ID. It was Conor's mother. Great! Oh well, best get this over with, she decided and answered with her best syrupy-sweet voice.
"Hi Margaret."
"Don't you 'Hi Margaret' me, you little Aussie tart!"
"It's a pleasure to hear your voice too, Margaret..."
"You may have my Conor under your spell but you don't fool me, missy!" she shouted.
Jayne held the phone away from her ear to avoid permanent hearing loss from the volume and acidity of the woman's voice.
"Whatever do you mean, Margaret?" she said, as calmly and innocently as she could.
"Trying to steal my boy away from me, is what you're after. Turn him into some wanderer, dragging him away from his roots... well it will be a cold day in hell before I see him leave his home for a no-good foreigner like you! He'll never leave! I'll be glad to see the back o' you though, then he can find himself a nice Irish lass and settle down and have babies, like he's supposed to. You're not going to win this one, girl, I promise ye'!"
And with that she hung up.
Jayne blinked.
That had gone pretty much as expected. She sighed. Unfortunately she knew the old bag was probably right. This was a side to his mother that Conor refused to see and the woman had a hold on her son that Jayne had always felt she could never compete with. It made her sad, because she still thought that she and Conor could have a future together. As long as his mother wasn't around to talk holes in his head. Oh well, she had made her decision, now he would have to make his.
"Delivery for Jayne Banks?" she was startled to see a little grey man in a little grey uniform standing beside her with an enormous bunch of red roses. Who would be sending her flowers? A little embarrassed and slightly shaken, she thanked him, ignoring the curious stares of the heads that had popped up from behind the partitians around her desk.
"Wow, Jayne, secret admirer?"
"You got a new boyfriend, Jayne?"
"Wow, Conor must have really done something wrong!"
"Is there a card?"
There was a card.
It read:
"So when do we leave?"
Her phone rang.
"Conor?"
"Did you get the flowers?"
"Yes, they're beautiful."
"Good."
"Does this mean..?"
"Do you really think I'd let my mother get between us, Jayne? I love you. She'll come around eventually, and if she doesn't, well... she can't keep me warm at night, now, can she?" He chuckled and her heart warmed.
"She rang me, you know."
"Yeah, I thought she might. I hope she wasn't too harsh - she was pretty upset when I told her I'd decided to go with you."
Jayne smiled.
"Nah, it wasn't too bad. Nothing a tough Aussie lass can't handle anyway."
"I bet," he laughed.
"So, I gotta go, I'll see you later, okay?"
"Yeah. Love you."
"Me too."
When she hung up Jayne sat back in her seat and looked out of the window. It was still raining outside. The kind of rain that wasn't going to let up for days, by the look of it.
Thinking back to what Margaret had yelled at her on the phone, Jayne let out a laugh.
A cold day in hell, huh? Well, it certainly was!
This was my very first attempt at a short story, written some time ago. I guess I'm now ready to share this stuff with the world.
A Second Chance
It was a perfect summer’s day. The sky was bright blue and clear, the sun sparkling off the sea, which was smooth as a lake because it was one of those rare days when there was no wind in the Bay. Monica breathed deeply in her chair, allowing the scene to calm her somewhat. However, the peace was short-lived as Julie grabbed her arm to draw her attention.
“There he is!” Julie sputtered, almost spilling her drink in excitement.
Monica followed her gaze to the group of people who were by now weaving their way towards the table on the hotel terrace. They were smiling and waving, and Monica and Julie returned their greetings, Monica somewhat less enthusiastically than her housemate. She recognised Sam, Alex and Christine, but not the two tall men with them.
One of these men was the source of her current irritation. She had happily planned a tranquil day of gardening until Julie had returned home in a whirlwind of nervous excitement, bearing the news that Matthew was in town and he’d asked her to meet him, but she couldn’t bear the thought of going alone and Monica simply HAD to join her for moral support. Monica’s protests had been brushed aside – as usual. Julie was like a force of nature and she pretty much always had her own way. So she had been dressed up, made up and bundled into the car to meet the man of Julie’s dreams – who by now had reached the table and was being introduced to her.
Matthew turned out to be the blonde one. He introduced his companion as Nicholas, an old friend of his who was putting him up while he was in town. Monica tried to mean it when she said, “Pleased to meet you.”
The new arrivals seated themselves around the table and called the waiter over to order drinks. Matthew now occupied the seat next to Julie and was obviously as smitten with her as she was with him. The waiter arrived and soon the group was doing the usual social small talk. Monica quietly sipped her drink while the others continued talking nineteen to the dozen. She was fond of these friends of Julie’s, but found she had little in common with them. She knew that they viewed her has “Julie’s serious friend” and didn’t quite understand the friendship between the two women, who were as different from each other as night from day. They had given up trying to turn her into one of them and nowadays accepted both her presence and her quietness. It wasn’t that Monica was anti-social or rude - she simply preferred to keep quiet if she had nothing to say. Besides, she enjoyed watching people in social settings. She was always amazed at how much she could learn about people just by watching them interact with each other while she sat quietly, unnoticed. For instance, now she watched Matthew and Julie. Both were taking part in the general conversation, but they kept exchanging glances and Julie would smile provocatively at him every time he turned to her. Monica mentally shrugged her shoulders. Julie always fell head-over-heels with someone and for about six months that person would be the centre of her existence, until she got bored or met someone else. She wondered idly if Matthew was the same. Probably. Most good-looking men were.
As she looked away from them she noticed that Nicholas was watching her, a sardonic smile on his lips. He raised his glass slightly as if in toast and tilted his head to one side. Suddenly Monica had the impression that he knew exactly what she had been thinking. She gave him a blank stare and consciously turned her attention back to the conversation going on around them, smiling and nodding so that it appeared as if nothing was amiss. Inwardly, however, she was seething. Who gave him the right to try and read her thoughts? Who did he think he was anyway? Some tall, dark, handsome (yes, even she had to admit it!) stranger who probably had a string of girlfriends and a mirror on the ceiling above his bed, and absolutely no intelligent or original thoughts, judging by the company he kept.
A voice of reason pointed out that, at present, she was in the same company, but she shushed it down. After all, she was only here because Julie had insisted.
Suddenly she realised that while she’d been so distracted, the sun had started setting and plans had been made for the evening. Before Monica had a chance to say anything but the briefest goodbyes to all, Julie was on her feet, brushing Matthew’s cheek with a light, suggestive kiss and the two women were headed for her car to the chorus of “See you later!” from those who remained at the table.
When they were safely back home, Monica decided it was time to put her foot down firmly.
“Enjoy your evening, Jules. I’m staying in tonight – there’s a movie I’ve been wanting to see…”
“No way, Monica. You’re not spending another Saturday night alone in front of the TV. Not if I have anything to do with it. Besides, I saw the look Nicholas gave you this afternoon – he’s obviously keen on you”. Julie was already hauling clothes out of the wardrobe, trying to decide what to wear.
“What? You’re crazy, Jules. He’s just another chauvinistic male out to add another notch to his belt, and …”
“Oh, come on, Monica. You can’t let me down now. I promised that we’d both be there. You can wear my black sweater if you like. It’ll look fabulous with those new jeans you bought. Oh, please come? At least for a little while? The others will be there too, it’s not like a proper date or anything. You don’t even have to talk to him if you don’t want to. I really want you to get to know Matthew a little better – your opinion really counts, you know.”
As always, she knew exactly which buttons to push, and Monica found herself ready to leave when the doorbell rang at 7:30.
“I’ll go, for Julie’s sake,” she promised herself, “but I refuse to talk to that, that …”
Her thought stopped dead when she opened the door. Instead of Matthew, it was Nicholas who stood there, leaning casually against the doorframe, his left hand in his pocket, his right behind his back.
He really is quite handsome.
The thought caught Monica unaware, and her irritation returned. She was about to turn around and yell to Julie that it was time to go, but he quickly but gently put his hand on her arm to stop her.
Shocked at her reaction to the pressure on her arm, she said nothing, just looked at him.
“Monica, wait a sec” he said. “I wanted to talk to you before we went out tonight. I get the feeling we got off on the wrong foot somehow. I can see how Mat and Julie are attracted to each other – they’re the same type of people, and guess I just assumed that you were too. I mean, you and Julie are obviously good friends, so it just followed that… Anyway, I’m sorry I judged you so harshly at first. I realise now that you’re different from the rest of the group. I mean, you look like someone who can actually hold a conversation.”
He smiled, a little shyly.
“I know this sounds, strange, since we hardly know each other, but I hope it’s not too late, and, umm…”
He trailed off, searching her face for some clue as to what she was thinking. She felt herself becoming lost under his gaze, lost in those deep, brown eyes. She was amazed that she hadn’t noticed his eyes. They were honest, intelligent eyes.
“Here, I brought you this. Can we at least try and be friends? You know, give each other another chance?”
When he brought his right hand out from behind his back, it was holding a single yellow rose.
Slowly, Monica’s bewilderment faded and a warm glow spread through her as she took the rose and smiled up at him.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m Monica. Pleased to meet you.”
Well folks, this is it. The story that won me £50. Hopefully its the beginning of great things for me :-)
Enjoy.
***
My first emotion of the day is panic.
What time is it?
I force my eyes open and squint at the clock. My eyes close again with relief that I haven’t overslept.
I drag myself out of bed and into the shower. Bracing myself, I turn on the tap and stand under a blast of icy water for a few seconds, gasping.
Good morning world!
Ten minutes later, with my wet hair wrapped in a towel, I breeze into Luke’s room to wake him up.
“Rise and shine, Sleepyhead! It’s a beautiful day,” I sing as I pull the curtains aside to let in the sunshine. Today I’m not lying. It is a beautiful day; the sun streams in to light up the lump in the bed that is my son.
“Aw Mom, five more minutes please?” the lump mumbles.
“No chance, Buster! I’ll see you in the kitchen,” I complete our morning routine.
I finish dressing and apply a minimum of makeup. We have had a few sunny days already this summer and I want to show off my tan. Luke and I meet in the kitchen for breakfast. I sip my coffee and smear Bovril on my toast. Luke layers on jam before topping his toast off with cheese. I wonder briefly where he got the idea from to put the two together. Not from me – I think it tastes awful.
Twenty minutes later we are in my Volkswagen, heading towards Luke’s school. I start singing to a familiar tune on the radio. Luke rolls his eyes at what he calls one of my “Golden Oldies”, even though the song is only ten years old – two years younger than he is.
As we approach the traffic jam near his school, he grabs his bag, gives me a peck on the cheek and scrambles out of the car quickly so that I don’t have to pull out of the stream of traffic and lose all hope of pushing back in again. Luke and I have this down to a fine art. I keep one eye on the cars in front of me and watch him disappear into the school grounds with his friends, my heart swelling with pride at the sight of my handsome boy with his tall, confident gait and slightly tousled blonde hair.
Ten minutes later I pull into the parking lot outside the building that houses Lewis & MacDonald, the firm of architects where I have worked for the past seven years. I am Mr Lewis’s Personal Assistant. It is my job to ensure that his office and his life run smoothly. I pride myself on doing my job well and in return Mr Lewis is happy to accommodate me when I need to take time off occasionally to take care of Luke. He understands that it is not easy being a single mother. Not that I take advantage of this and I certainly don’t use the “Single Mom” status to gain any special treatment. It was my choice, after all, and I am quite happy with my family status.
Alice is making a fresh pot of coffee in the small kitchen on the second floor. She is a tall, beautiful brunette, Mr MacDonald’s Personal Assistant, and my best friend.
“Why the big smile today, Shelley – did you finally get laid last night?” she asks.
I laugh.
“No, Al, I’m just counting my blessings on this lovely summer morning. I have a beautiful, healthy son, a job I enjoy and a best friend that I get to see every day. Life couldn’t be more perfect!”
“Sure it could, Shelley. You could have got laid last night!”
We both laugh. Alice is terminally single. Some people say she has commitment issues and wonder what terrible thing happened to her in the past to make her shy away from relationships. I believe that she prefers to be single so that she doesn’t have anyone else to answer to or take care of, a concept that I can relate to because I am similarly minded. Except, of course, that I have Luke, but I wouldn’t change that for the world.
Our conversation is interrupted by the sound of the door buzzer. Alice goes off to admit the newcomers, who are right on time for their meeting with our bosses. She ushers them through to the boardroom and I follow with a tray bearing coffee and tea. I set the tray down on the heavy wooden boardroom table and turn as Mr Lewis introduces me to the three men with him.
My smile falters.
Oh shit!
Two of the three men in dark suits smile pleasantly back at me and take their seats. A look of recognition flickers across the face of the third man, but it is almost immediately replaced with a similarly pleasant smile and then he turns his attention back to Mr Lewis.
The meeting begins. I am only there to take notes so I sit quietly off to one side, listening and observing. Outwardly I know I appear calm but my heart is pounding.
Thank God Alice is not in the room. She would see right away that something is wrong. But today is her turn to man the phones while I take minutes of the meeting.
I should have called ‘Tails’!
The men are now engrossed in their discussions and I raise my head slowly to study him across the table, half hoping that I am mistaken.
Nope, it’s definitely him. A little older, and looking more serious and sophisticated than I remember, but there’s no mistake.
He shifts his gaze suddenly and our eyes meet. I am frozen, trapped in the startling blueness of his eyes. Memories of hot sun, sparkling seas and passion on a faraway beach in another time wash over me. I break the eye contact and spend the next hour and a half trying to avoid looking at him, concentrating on scribbling my notes instead. But when he speaks I remember his velvety voice, his big, wonderful, carefree laugh… and the sweet nothings whispered in the sultry darkness of heavy summer nights abroad. Out of the corner of my eye I catch him watching me, and I know that he remembers too.
The meeting is over. I nod and smile vacantly, leaving Mr Lewis to walk his guests out while I stay behind to tidy up. Their voices fade and I slump into a chair.
With the way the meeting went this morning I know they will be back at some stage. This is only the beginning of the project.
Shit!
I lean forward with my elbows on the table, my head in my hands.
Pull yourself together, Shelley. Maybe it’s not so bad. After all, it was a long time ago. Just keep up a professional front and everything will be fine.
I feel a little weak, like you do after narrowly avoiding a car accident, but I force myself to move, clearing away the dirty cups and carrying them back to the kitchen. By the time I sit down at my desk I am feeling almost normal again. But the happy summer mood from this morning is gone.
Alice wants to know how the meeting went.
“Fine.”
“That one guy looked vaguely familiar to me,” she says. “The blonde one. Has he been in here before?”
“I don’t think so.”
She can see that something is wrong but can’t figure out what, so she just shrugs and says,
“That’s strange. I’m normally good with faces.”
Mr Lewis returns and I start typing up the minutes from the meeting. I have a lot of work to do and the morning passes quickly. When I look again, it is lunchtime. The buzzer goes and Alice presses the door release button.
I glance up briefly and almost go into shock.
What the hell is he doing back here?!
Alice is about to ask if she can help him but he strides straight over to my desk and she swallows her words.
“Hello Shelley,” he says, smiling a little awkwardly.
“Hello, Brent.” My mouth is dry.
Good grief, he’s still so handsome!
“I forgot something this morning,” he says.
“Really? I didn’t find anything when I was clearing up in there,” I say lamely, motioning towards the boardroom. “What was it you forgot?”
“I forgot to ask if you’re free to maybe go out for coffee.”
Gulp! This is NOT good.
“Um, actually, I have loads of work to do…”
“Don’t worry about that,” Alice butts in. “I’ll cover for you if you want to go out for a while.”
Damn you and your constant need to see me get laid, Alice!!!
I shoot her a filthy look and she slinks away in the direction of the kitchen.
“Sorry, I didn’t want to make things awkward for you,” he says. “I just thought, I mean, I haven’t seen you in years, not since… anyway, I thought it might be nice to catch up.”
I realise he is nervous too, but I know I have to nip this in the bud. Under other circumstances, maybe, but there is too much at stake here.
“Thanks, but I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I say, dropping my gaze.
He says nothing so I look up at him and when our eyes meet it’s like an electric shock has run through my body.
Oh my God, this is hard, but I have to fight it!
Eventually he breaks the silence.
“How long has it been since that summer in Ibiza?” he asks quietly. “Twelve years?”
“Thirteen,” I say.
“Really,” he says slowly. “When I saw you this morning it felt like it was just yesterday. You look great, by the way.”
“Thanks.”
So do you, I want to say, but I fight the urge. Don’t say anything to encourage him.
“Shelley?”
“Yes?”
“Are you telling me I’m only imagining there’s still a spark between us?”
Double Shit!
“Look, Brent, you’re going to be working with my boss and… I just don’t think it’s a good idea. I need to keep my personal life separate from work.”
He looks sad now, as if he has lost something valuable. I know how he feels, but I have to be strong.
“Okay, if that’s what you really want,” he says softly.
He turns to go.
The door buzzer sounds and Alice appears from nowhere to press the release button again.
I turn to see who the newcomer is and my heart jumps into my throat.
“Hi Alice!” says Luke as he bounces past her desk towards me. “Mom, I need your keys. I left my gym bag in the car this morning.”
Luke stops in front of my desk, where Brent is now rooted to the spot. Time stands still.
“Hello,” Brent says to him.
Luke looks up and smiles briefly, his blue-eyed gaze meeting an identical one from the tall blonde man.
I look over at Alice. Realization dawns on her face as she looks from Luke to Brent, and she brings her hand up to her mouth to stop her jaw hitting the floor.
“Mom, the keys please? I have to get back to school by the end of lunch break.” Luke is oblivious.
I fumble in my drawer for the keys and hand them over.
Alice has recovered her composure and offers to drive Luke back to school.
Brent and I are left alone in the office.
“Um, Shelley, how old is your son?”
“Twelve.”
He looks confused and a little shell-shocked. He opens his mouth to say something but no words come out so he closes it again.
My heart melts.
Well I guess my secret is out now. There’s no point in being a bitch anymore.
“Hey,” I say softly, “Does that invitation for coffee still stand?”
Slowly a smile spreads across his face and I know that in one moment, three lives have been changed forever.
***
