A Part of Me

‘You do know that Amy isn’t your boss, right, Hannah?’ Phil enquired, drily. ‘You haven’t got to kiss her arse. And before you say it, yes, even though it is indeed a perfectly honed and perky size ten.’

‘Twelve now,’ I corrected. James had mentioned Christmas excess twice since my birthday.

Tom and Alice, Cyan’s computer-generated-imagery techie and marketing primo respectively, flopped down onto the right side of the booth, squashing the rest of us four bodies closer to Phil.

‘Did I hear something about a perfect arse?’ Tom asked, a glaze of dance-induced sweat sticking loose fawny curls to his forehead. ‘You talking about my booty again, Philippa?’ He never changed out of his hipster jeans and casual shirts, not even for Friday-night cocktails.

‘Not this time, hot stuff,’ Phil replied. ‘Amy’s arse, not yours. Hannah’s grown fond of kissing it.’

‘Cool it, Phil. Hannah’s just being nice. Remember what that feels like? Being nice?’ I stuck my tongue out playfully and was rewarded with another danger-red grin.

‘If you think Phil’s got a big mouth, Hannah, wait till you go on a night out with Dana and Marcy,’ Alice said glibly. ‘You’ll think Phil’s a pussycat.’ Phil blew Alice a kiss. Over the last few years Cyan Architecture & Design had grown enough that the women in the office now loosely formed two groups. Us and Them. Dana and Marcy were definitely thems. Phil said Sadie belonged with them too, and wasn’t impressed that I’d asked her out with us tonight. Sadie’s relentless preoccupation with her phone wasn’t exactly winning her any points. Sadie lifted her head and briefly looked big blue eyes out from trendy rectangular glasses. ‘Dana and Marcy are all right, Alice,’ she declared.

Phil cocked an unconvinced eyebrow. ‘Well, they’re not going to be bitchy with you, are they, Sadie? Not with Uncle Adrian paying their wages.’

‘I earn my keep, Phil,’ Sadie retorted. ‘I work all the hours you do.’

‘Er, you’re in the studio the same amount of hours, Sadie, I’ll give you that. But that’s not quite the same thing.’

The atmosphere dropped a few centigrade. ‘I don’t get any special perks, Phil.’

Phil smiled. ‘But you don’t see Uncle Adrian letting us lot get away with a fumble in the samples library with the lighting rep, Sadie. That poor guy, he only came into the office to show you their new product range.’

Tom began tittering. ‘She saw more than that!’

Sadie glared at Phil. ‘So who are you, Phil, the sodding fun police?’ She tried to meet Phil’s glare, then, obviously thinking better of heading further into the argument Phil had started, returned to her text-a-thon. Fortunately, her phone had more life left in it than Leah from reprographics, who’d been face down on the glass-strewn table for at least twenty minutes. Phil stopped glaring at Sadie and muttered something under her breath about dodgy CVs and loose knickers. They’d always jarred. Phil disliked Sadie for the same reasons I couldn’t bring myself to – Sadie was twenty-three, with legs up to her eyeballs, and seemed to have way too much fun for just one person. I hoped it would last as long as possible for her. I’d been like Sadie too, once. Phil still was, she just wasn’t twenty-three any more and it annoyed her.

Phil shook it off just as a sticky round of Cosmopolitans touched down on the table next to Leah’s face.

‘So, who’s up for going up town?’ Alice enthused.

‘You guys get stuck into those,’ I said, nodding at the drinks. ‘I’m just nipping to the Ladies’.’ I nudged Tom and Alice so I could wriggle out past them.

A few minutes of peace in the loos and I was glad not to be part of the clubbing debate. By the time I’d re-emerged from my cubicle, I was already flagging. The door into the Ladies’ swung open and a familiar head bobbed into view. ‘So? We going with them?’

I pulled a face and pumped on the soap dispenser. ‘I don’t think I’ll be out much later, Phil.’

Phil pouted. ‘Nah, you’re right. I don’t think I could listen to Hannah blowing any more smoke up your arse anyway.’

‘Give her a break, Phil. She’s a nice girl.’

Phil acknowledged me sourly then began retouching her lippy in the vanity mirror. ‘I’m a nice girl too, you know,’ she huffed indignantly.

‘I know! Just … be cool. Give Hannah a chance to know that too.’ I finished rinsing the soap from my hands. ‘And lay off Sadie. I know you’re not keen but she’s not so bad. Plus, I don’t want to wind Adrian up. He’s strung out enough.’

Phil watched me in the mirror. ‘Adrian’s always strung out. Since when did you roll over for him, anyway?’

I pulled a few paper towels from the dispenser and bent down for a quick cubicle check. ‘Since Claire Farrel told him she’s taking a partnership with Devlin Raines. She leaves in six weeks.’ Devlin Raines were Cyan’s main competition in the city. They were a bigger company than us, with offices in several UK cities, and Adrian hated losing anything to them, especially staff.

‘Claire’s leaving? She kept that quiet. So that’s why Adrian’s been so uptight.’ Phil began tidying her fringe. ‘But why does that affect you?’

‘Because a few days before Claire gave Adrian notice, he agreed to consider James and I sharing the adoption leave. Claire’s leaving has thrown the surveying team up in the air, I don’t want him to clamp James down and change his mind about us sharing the time off.’

‘How much time is it?’

‘A year.’

‘A year? Adrian agreed to that? Well, at least now I know why you asked Glitter Knickers to come out tonight. Keep Uncle Adrian on side then, hon.’

‘That’s not why I invited Sadie, Phil. She’s been a little out of kilter lately. I think she’s having man trouble.’

‘Man trouble? Sadie! You are joking? Jeez, Ame, you are such a sucker. She’s been sexting some brain-dead beefcake all night. I bet you any money, she dumps us soon to go cop off with him.’

I watched Phil carefully in the mirror. ‘Jealous, much?’

She was trying to keep a straight face. ‘You’re damned straight, I am,’ she conceded, tumbling into husky laughter. ‘I could do with a good snog.’

Phil tugged me back out into the throb of Rufus’s. Leah from reprographics was now propped up between Tom and Hannah. They were chatting to each other as if it were a bus stop and not a human body sandwiched between them.

‘Where’re Sadie and Alice?’ Phil asked.

‘Clubbing’s a no-go with this one,’ Tom huffed, repositioning Leah’s limp arm through his. ‘Alice’s gone to get a head start on the pizzas and Sadie, er … she left when you guys went to the loos.’

‘Sadie left? By herself?’ I asked.

Tom shrugged. ‘Said she didn’t fancy sharing a pizza, or a taxi, with Phil. She said she was going to grab a cab at the rank.’ I threw Phil a reproachful look and checked my watch.

‘What?’

‘Come on, it’s one thirty in the morning. We’re not leaving her to wait for a cab on her own.’

Phil grimaced again. ‘But what about the pizza?’

I narrowed my eyes at her. ‘You don’t eat pizza, Phil. It’s not macrobiotic.’

Phil was better at narrowed-eyes than I was. ‘Oh, sod it, Amy. Why do you have to be such a sodding Girl Guide?’ she huffed, starting off towards the doors. She waited there impatiently as I said goodbye to the others.

‘Come on, then,’ Phil called, ‘let’s go rescue Glitter Knickers.’

*

Ten chilly minutes later, the end of the taxi rank queue snaked into view.

‘I don’t see her, Phil,’ I said, trailing my eyes over the queue of scantily clad girls and kebab-wielding lads vying for the next available taxi.

‘She’s a big girl, Ame. She probably got the beefcake to pick her up.’

‘And what if she didn’t?’

Phil gave the queue a once-over. ‘She’s not here, Ame.’ A commotion broke out in the line, the timeless cocktail of testosterone and alcohol. ‘Sod this,’ Phil scowled, ‘I’m not waiting here with this lot. Work’s only five minutes away, let’s call a cab from there. Quicker and warmer.’ As soon as Phil mentioned the cold, I could feel it, seeping in through my jacket.

‘We can’t, Phil. No unauthorised access at weekends any more. Adrian was pretty clear on that.’

‘Again with the Girl Guide thing, Ame! You’re such a do-gooder these days.’

I held my hands up. ‘Okay, okay! We’ll go to the office. But I’m not getting labelled as the Nightshagger, okay? So if we get caught, I’m just gonna flat out say that I know it’s you, Phil.’

Phil’s face flourished at that. ‘Let me tell you now, if I was the one who’d been flushing the un-flushable down the men’s loos, I wouldn’t risk getting caught there now. The cleaners are on the warpath. Anyway, everyone knows it’s Stewart from reprographics, the dirty little monster. No wonder Leah drinks so much, it must be awful working next to Stewie all week.’ Phil huddled into me, walking us away from the crowd.

‘So Stewart’s been slipping into the studios at night! Are you sure?’ Honestly, I didn’t think he had it in him.

‘Yeah, I’m sure. You see, Ame, while you spend your time keeping abreast of promotions, and job restructuring, the rest of us keep track of the important stuff – like who’s sneaking into the office at night for a bonk. It would almost be romantic, if the little weasel wasn’t married.’

‘Stewart’s married? I’ve never noticed a ring.’

‘That’s because he never wears it outside the marital home, the sneaky shit.’

Comical though the saga of the Nightshagger had been, I felt bad for Stewart’s wife, whoever she was. I’d seen the flip side of extra-marital fun, and it wasn’t much fun at all. Phil shivered as we crossed the deserted courtyard of the immaculately landscaped business square where Cyan Architecture & Design’s studios dominated. The studios were housed in part of what was once an old biscuit factory, deep red brickwork dating back to an era when even industrial buildings were beautiful.

We came to a standstill between the two potted box bushes standing sentry at Cyan’s sleek glass entrance. Phil was already ordering the taxi by the time I’d silently punched the code into the door keypad, letting us in to the perma-lit reception. It was marginally warmer inside the lobby, but the blast of cold air outside had already highlighted the fact that I was not as sober as I thought.

Phil finished the call as I flopped down into the swivel chair behind Ally’s reception desk.

‘They said fifteen minutes. We could go and revise a drawing while we wait, if you like?’

I swatted my hand dismissively. Okay, so I’d become a bit of a slave to this place over the last few years, but taken with Phil’s abandon it made for a necessary balance within the interiors team.

I began swivelling my chair slowly. ‘Why does Ally need so many mini Post-it notes?’ I whispered, glancing over the array of neon-coloured squares framing Ally’s computer screen.

‘Probably so she can tell her arse from her elbow?’ Phil leant over my shoulder to read the little memos. ‘File nails, stick boobs in Adrian’s face, practise counting to ten …’

I pushed her away. ‘Don’t be mean, Phil. Ally’s okay. I like her eyelashes. They’re so big, and …’ I tried to think past the effects of too many mojitos for the right word ‘… lashy.’

Phil grinned. ‘Oh, you like that, do you, Hon? Allow me!’ Phil took a luminous-pink Post-it note from the colourful stack of pads beside Ally’s keyboard and began fringing it with a pair of scissors from the pencil pot. She leant over the desk and stuck it over my eye. I waited while she did the same to a neon-green Post-it, and slapped it over my other eye. Then she stood back to admire her work. ‘How’s that for a degree in product design? Give them a whirl, then!’

I began power-blinking and grinning in alcoholdefying unison. It would seem that Phil’s cocktail intake was finally taking effect too and an explosion of laughter burst from her throat.

‘Ha-HA! That’s funny!’ she cackled. ‘You should defo wear Post-its on party night, Ame, you look priddy.’

‘BFFs should match, Phillypops. You’ll need some too!’ I chortled. I held off flapping my new eyewear just long enough to fashion Phil a pair of the same, sticking a set of bright orange paper appendages over her smoky grey eyelids. Once we started laughing again, we were infected. Phil hung over the reception desk in silent convulsion while I threw myself back across the swivel chair, somehow still batting mismatched neon eyelids while struggling for breath.

Had we not finally broken for air, we probably wouldn’t have heard it. I caught it first. Somehow managing to hold my snickering long enough to listen a while.

There it was again, someone else’s laughter, deep within the design studio. I held my breath and began flapping my hand at Phil, signalling frantically for her to stop giggling.

Phil caught on and shushed. We both heard it this time, a woman’s laughter. Definitely.

Slowly, I released my breath and watched Phil’s expression sober as she strained to hear. The culprit was already taking shape in Phil’s mind, I could tell. ‘That randy little sod!’ she whispered. ‘Come on, let’s bust the Nightshagger!’

I was too drunk for this, so was Phil. I could feel that last bout of laughter still sitting high in my chest, threatening to erupt. I watched Phil cock her ear and wait. The giggler had no idea they had company.

‘And do what?’ I whispered.

‘Just bust him! Ame, we’ll never have to wait our turn for printouts again, or panic about getting things print-ready before the repro lot clock off! Stewie will do anything to keep this from Adrian! How good’s your camera-phone?’

She didn’t wait for an answer. Phil grabbed my hand and hoisted me up before we both tried to tack delicately in heels across the reception’s polished floor. As we slipped into the darkness of the first studio, whispers at the far end of the office gave way to another ripple of laughter. This time, Stewart joined in with his guest, a muffled masculine growl of a laugh, rising and disappearing in waves as he buried his face somewhere that most likely did not belong to his wife. Whoever did own those places was enjoying his visit. It made the laughter rise in me. I yanked on Phil’s hand to slow her Royal Marine-like lead across the darkened office before my lungs erupted into ear-shattering laughter.

What? she mouthed as I held her back. One of Phil’s orange non-Marine issue eyelashes was coming unstuck. The grunting was coming from the boardroom, just the other side of a few shafts of moonlight spearing the office windows. Phil yanked us on, passing our own workstations to slump ourselves just the other side of the glass boardroom wall, blinds mercifully shielding us from view.

It probably wasn’t the most appropriate time, but the alcohol in me saw fit to roll off a few more comedy blinks. Phil clamped a hand over her mouth, and for a few more moments, we both stayed that way – crouched in darkness and silent hysterics while the grunter grunted on. Over his groaning, Stewie’s guest was delivering a running commentary on her talents. Listening to dirty talk was too much. I clamped my fingers and thumb over the end of my nose, trying to hold down the pressure of burning hilarity before it leaked noisily from my face.

Phil was at it too, straining to remain quiet as she leant against the glass wall, but unlike me, Phil was focused–determined to take Stewart down commando style. From behind her makeshift lashes, Phil fixed me with determined eyes. She raised her free hand, aggressively pointing two fingers at her own eyes then mine. Then she signalled the count.

Three fingers …

Two fingers …

One …

We half exploded, half fell into the boardroom. Phil had clearly done this before, going straight for the lights.

‘GREEN BERETS! EVERYBODY FREEZE!’ she shouted as the half-naked blonde skittered from where she’d been straddling her friend.

The laughter that had been waiting for its escape jumped from my body towards the dazed couple before I could stop it.

For a few seconds, the room became like a vacuum, a spinning black hole sucking away the air. A queasiness immediately filled the void my laughter had left behind. I swayed on my feet.

Sadie looked younger without her glasses.

Disorientated, I watched the groaner lurch from his chair, yanking at his trousers.

‘Amy!’ James, baffled, running a hand over his muddled blond head. ‘Shit! Amy, I can explain …’

CHAPTER 3

‘ARE YOU SURE this is what you want to do, honey? Why not leave it a little while, just until you’ve given yourself a few days to think everything through?’ This was the third time Phil had called. It was a rare occasion that saw the softness beneath her prickly veneer, but I guess she thought the situation warranted it. Somewhere in the murky recesses of my mind, I knew it wasn’t a good sign.

‘All I’ve done is think, Phil. My head hurts from it. I just …’ I watched the rain silently streaming down the windows overlooking the executive homes opposite. So far April had been unseasonably cold. All morning the sky had promised snow, but there was nothing on the horizon now but miserable grey inevitability.

Phil waited for me to get it together, but I’d already forgotten what I was saying.

‘You can’t just walk, Amy. You’ve worked too hard at that place. Don’t tell Adrian anything, not yet. Just … call in sick. Think about all that later.’

Later? Because later would somehow suddenly mean I didn’t work at the same company as the man who’d just car-crashed our life? Or the woman he’d chosen to go joyriding with? What could later possibly offer? My focus shifted from the streaks of rainwater, breaking my view of the new sandpit in the garden, to the faint reflection I could see of myself in the cold grey glass. I turned away–away from it all, back to the house James hadn’t returned to last night. Apparently, he couldn’t explain. Other than a flurry of missed calls at 3 a.m. there had been nothing.

‘Ame? Are you still there?’

I leant my back against the bookcase and scanned the rest of the lounge. My own home suddenly felt foreign.

‘I’m here.’

Anna had advised us to replace the old glass coffee table with this wooden one. Wood was safer, easier to affix corner cushions to. I’d bought those the same day. And the socket covers, the kitchen drawer catches and the fire guard. All deployed and ready for action. We were fully accident-proofed. If you wanted to hurt yourself around here, as in really cause yourself gut-wrenching pain, James’s idea of love and loyalty was probably going to be your best bet. I tried to shake his name from my head but, from nowhere, the turmoil of the last twelve hours saw its chance and rushed me again. I covered my face with my sweater sleeve, holding the lower part of the phone away so Phil wouldn’t hear.

‘Why don’t I come over?’ she tried.

Quietly, I breathed through it. I felt my chest release again, reluctantly unclenching like an angry fist, and risked a steady lungful of air.

‘I can’t stay here, Phil. I’m going to Mum’s once I’ve packed some things.’

‘Is Viv picking you up, or do you need a ride?’ she asked softly.

‘No. Thanks. I’ll get a cab.’ My voice faltered.

‘Are you crying? Because if you’re crying I’m coming over right now.’ A warm rush streaked down either side of my face again. I wiped the tears away, as if that might somehow hide the evidence from my friend.

‘Stand down, Phil. I’m not crying,’ I lied. ‘I have to go. I don’t want to be here much longer in case he turns up.’

Phil let out an unappeased breath. ‘Okay. Call me, will you?’

I nodded at the phone and set it down on its post before Phil could hear me lose it again.

I hadn’t been sure that I couldn’t stay here until I’d said it out loud. Now I knew I couldn’t. I didn’t think he’d have brought her here, but it wasn’t impossible. I booked a cab and skipped upstairs, pulling closed the first door I passed. The lingering smell of recent paint was reason enough to shut off that bedroom. James said we should wait, see who we were matched with, but I’d started painting the nursery in neutrals the day we’d returned from panel. Maybe I’d jinxed it. There were superstitions about that kind of thing.

My bedroom felt just as foreign as the rest of the house. I began stuffing a few handfuls of clothing into James’s overnight bag before lunging towards my dressing table. The bottom drawer slid out easily, revealing the prettily decorated firebox nestled safely on its cushion of winter sweaters. I couldn’t remember where the idea had originated from, my grandmother probably, but I was glad for it now. In the event of a house fire or other major catastrophe, letters, keepsakes – anything of irreplaceable value–would all be to hand in the firebox. All in one place, ready for salvation.

I lifted the découpaged box from the open drawer and regarded it. Dedicated teacher that she was, there wasn’t much Mum couldn’t achieve with PVA glue and patience. My fingers briefly reacquainted themselves with the delicately placed art nouveau motifs in muted blues and greens, the subtle unevenness of the layered images she’d painstakingly crafted. She’d made the firebox for us that August, busying herself in the kitchen while I’d pretended to sleep up here. James had to return to work eventually, for normality’s sake, if nothing else. She’d said such precious things deserved to be kept somewhere nice.

I let my fingers rest on the lip of the firebox. As if I needed to look. As if I didn’t know by heart the remembrances kept safely inside. The pitiful testaments to our son’s tiny life.

He’d have been at school now. Greenacres Primary in Earleswicke, where his grandmother, headmistress there, could have kept an eye on him for me. Made sure he ate his sandwiches; comforted him if one of the other kids was mean. Something like anger flared in my stomach. I fed the firebox gently into James’s bag, pulled on my jacket and skipped out across the landing for the stairs.

Thoughts of Sadie knowing the inside of my home almost sent me into a delirium. The firebox wasn’t the only thing I couldn’t bear her to have been anywhere near. I padded from the pale stairwell carpet onto the milky polished tiles of the hallway. We’d spent months fattening out the file I’d kept safely in the kitchen cupboard. The file that demonstrated the family we could offer to one of the thousands of children awaiting a home. Every last detail of our lives was in there, including our copy of the prospective adopter’s report Anna had put together on us. The PAR was the result of months of countless assessments, interviews with friends, family, diagrams of our support network, income, medical backgrounds, and it was not being left here. Sadie probably knew it all anyway, pillow-talk while I sat at home, oblivious and foolish. Well, it was all coming with me.

A car horn papped outside as I strode into the white tundra of our clean-lined kitchen. I stood the overnight bag against the wine fridge and stalked over to the last cupboard at the end run of units.

I yanked open the tall, sleek cupboard door. The door clattered clumsily, opening only a little way before jarring back against my fingers, denying me access. The handle pulled my fingernail with it and a hot pain drew a hiss from my throat.

I still wasn’t used to the cupboard locks, designed to prevent inquisitive little hands from finding their way to trouble. A searing pain flared where I’d snagged my nail. It was already bleeding happily, a burning sensation spreading not just through my fingertip, but it seemed completely through my core, too. I held it up for inspection and found I’d torn the end of it clean off. It was only a fingernail. Anyone looking in would’ve thought I’d just severed a major artery. I slumped pathetically against the unit doors to the cold tiled floor. Something had been severed, it just wasn’t anything that could be tackled with a tourniquet and fast thinking. At the sight of a silly bleeding finger, something tight in my chest, like an over-stretched elastic band, suddenly gave way. I tried not to, but it was futile. It was as if every muscle in my body wanted to cry for itself too. So I let them, right there on the kitchen floor as the taxi papped on outside.