Читать книгу Working Wonders - Jenny Colgan - Страница 6

Arthur looked around. It felt like sun on his face. Where was he? What about a window? Was he outside? He risked opening an eye, and instantly staggered backwards. He was on the edge of a forest and there wasn’t another building in sight. It was dark and icy, and he caught a glimpse of something white through the trees. Then he woke up.

He couldn’t tell where he was. His face was pointing upwards towards some light, which could either be good, as he wasn’t face down in a gutter, or bad, if he were dead. He realized how ironic this would be after wishing himself dead all morning, then realized that if he really were dead irony probably wouldn’t come into it. He tentatively opened his eyes.

‘Well, hello.’ A warm voice sounded in his head. He focused. He was lying on a sofa. A woman in her mid-fifties, with long grey hair tied back, was sitting opposite him, regarding him calmly. She was staring at him without blinking, and her eyes were an odd shade of yellowish hazel.

Arthur blinked twice. ‘Um … Where am I?’ he sputtered, in the traditional way.

‘You’re … just here,’ said the voice.

He became aware of the throbbing in his head, as the faint memory of what had happened started to crystallize. He didn’t think it was going to be good.

Arthur sat up a little way and looked around. He was in a heavily furnished room. The room was full of things: sticks, models, pipes; every available surface was covered in clutter. There was a familiar noise which he realized was the whistle of an old-fashioned kettle. The furniture was old – dark wood mostly, including a long desk. There was even a window, which looked out onto a small sunny garden – it must have been round the back of the building, away from the car park. That was odd; the rain must have cleared up. Then in a flash, he remembered the whole thing.

‘Oh, God. Oh no. Oh no.’

‘Sssh.’ She smiled and leaned forward. ‘Don’t worry about it. It appears a telephone jumped up and attacked you.’

‘Oh,’ said Arthur. He was feeling it deeply. ‘Oh, my God. Did I really throw a photocopier …’

The woman nodded. ‘Yes, you did. That’s why we thought you had probably better go somewhere quiet for a little while.’

Arthur tentatively fingered the impressive bump on his head. ‘Where am I?’ he asked again.

‘Oh, you’re still in the building. You’re just in my office, that’s all.’

‘Who are you?’

‘I’m Lynne,’ she said, reaching out to shake his hand. ‘I’m the company psychotherapist.’

Arthur lay back and exhaled. ‘I was afraid of that,’ he said ruefully.

‘What?’

‘When I saw, you know, the non-office soft furnishings and stuff. Company shrink. Today of all days.’

Lynne smiled. ‘And that is so terrible?’

‘I would say me turning into an official, rubberstamped nutjob on the day the consultants come in is, on the whole, pretty terrible, yes.’

‘Nobody is saying you’re a nutjob.’

‘Well, I just did. Oh, hang on, if you think you’re a nutjob, doesn’t that mean you’re not one? Or maybe it’s the other way around. In which case I’m really in trouble.’ He sat up again.

‘Calm down,’ said Lynne. ‘Relax. I’m a doctor, you know. And it’s not every day someone throws a photocopier through a window then knocks themselves unconscious. We had to look you over. You’re going to be fine.’

‘Oh, God.’ Arthur winced at the memory. ‘I am so not going to be fine. I’m going to get fired for this, aren’t I? That’s why I’m down here with you. You’re to calm me down with yoga or something so I don’t run upstairs and strangle Ross’s pimply little carcass. Great. This day could not possibly get any worse.’

‘Ssh,’ said Lynne. They sat in silence for fifteen seconds.

‘So this is treatment, is it?’ said Arthur eventually, as it became clear that she wasn’t thinking of saying anything to follow up ‘Ssh’.

She stared him down until he went quiet again, lay back, then finally began to relax. After five minutes – and as Arthur was on the point of dozing off – she leaned over slightly.

‘That’s better.’

Arthur blinked up at her through sleepy eyes.

‘Am I in serious trouble?’

She shrugged. ‘No. I don’t think so. You may have to see a bit of me, though.’

‘But why not? I mean, I destroyed half the office and could have killed someone.’

‘I know,’ said Lynne. ‘And when that copier went through the window I could hear the cheers and applause all the way down here.’

‘Really?’

‘Oh, yes. You’ve become something of a folk hero.’

‘Good God.’

‘Well, possibly not amongst the professional photocopier repairman fraternity. And yes, you certainly sparked some excitement upstairs.’

Arthur couldn’t quite take this in. ‘You mean, they’re not going to fire me?’

Lynne permitted herself a quiet smile. ‘Who’d dare escort you out of the door?’

He blinked. ‘Doctor …’

‘Lynne is fine.’

‘Lynne …’ He turned and looked straight at her. ‘Lynne, I can’t lift a sack of potatoes. How on earth did I do that?’

She looked right back at him. Her gaze was penetrating, and he noticed again that her eyes had a curious, almost yellow cast to the iris.

‘Well, maybe if you keep coming to see me we’ll find out.’

Arthur crept slowly out of the building – he’d been given the rest of the day off. From the corner of his eye, he saw something burning. A horrid acrid smell was being given off and as he went closer he saw that someone had set fire to the photocopier, which had landed in a mangled heap on a patch of landscaped grass. A small crowd of people were standing round it, watching it burn from either end, the paper igniting and the plastic melting.

Fumes, he thought, slinking his way to the car. But one of his colleagues saw him and peeled off from the group.

‘Hey! Hey everyone, it’s Arthur!’ The crowd of people gathered round, then all began to clap and cheer. Arthur took a step backwards, touching his bump again. Marcus, the accounts manager, came running up to him.

‘Hey, well done, mate!’

‘Yeah!’ shouted one of the secretarial staff. ‘Won’t be getting any more paper jams from this bloody thing, will we?’ She kicked the smouldering mass with her shoe.

‘Yeah! Collate THIS!’ yelled someone else, kicking it again.

‘That was great, what you did,’ said Marcus, clapping Arthur on the shoulder. ‘Much respect.’

‘Yes, well, um, good,’ said Arthur. ‘Well, I’m off.’ And he wandered slowly towards his car. As he reached it, he turned and looked up at the offices. He could see Ross, eyeing him up from behind the glass. When Ross noticed him, he very slowly drew a line across his throat.

Cock, Arthur thought to himself. That tosser’s going to sack me after all.

The house was quiet when he got in. Unused to being around during the day, he padded up and down, looking for something to do. The semi looked gloomy and dark – immaculate but somehow unpleasant. Arthur didn’t like the relentless tidiness; it implied a panic that anyone should ever smell anything or see anything not entirely bland and lemon-scented. He picked up the TV remote control, then threw it back on the sofa in fear. His life may be going to the absolute shits, but nothing would make him watch daytime television.

He knew he should phone Fay, but he was putting it off for as long as possible.

Putting what off? he suddenly thought. How much with Fay was he really putting off?

He went over to the mantelpiece and pushed aside a prominently displayed christening invitation. Fay had left next to it a Baby Gap catalogue, with a note for him to look through and choose the ‘cutest’ pair of dungarees for some sprog or other.

I’m not ready for a baby he thought, for the millionth time since he’d been … well, a baby. I’m not ready for a baby with Fay he thought, more honestly. Oh well, if I’m about to lose my job for being a nutcase, it’s hardly going to be an issue. I’ll have to tell her tonight.

‘Do you want to watch West Wing?’

‘Yeah, all right. Nice dinner, by the way.’

‘Thanks. It’s called pasta – apparently the Italians invented it. Not bad, eh? Shall we have it again sometime?’

‘Give us the remote.’

‘Are you all right?’

‘Fine. Why – are you?’

‘No, no, I’m fine.’

‘Okay.’

Well, she’ll find out soon enough, thought Arthur, crawling through the next morning’s traffic. When I get given my cards … do they still give cards? Well, P45. Whatever. I hope I get redundancy. Ooh. What if I get redundancy? Maybe I should go round the world. On my OWN. Maybe I should go to Brazil and get plastic surgery and a fake passport and become a diamond smuggler.

He parked, for possibly the last time, and looked up at the grey building. Its boundless conformity scared him; always had. Whoever designed this building – what were they, a robot? Did they really despise people so much? To go through thousands of years of civilization and end up with a big grey portaloo with windows that didn’t open and flat roofs without gardens?

The office actually went quiet when he walked in. People would kind of half look at him, then pretend to be incredibly busy with something else as he approached. Ooh, the walk of shame. Any doubts he might have had about whether or not throwing a photocopier out of a window was quite as cool a feat as Lynne had implied were immediately confirmed. He could feel the tension in the air. He was going down.

And sure enough, when he got to his desk, there was that consultant bitch Gwyneth standing imperiously over it, her back to him. He felt his face colour. She’d bloody better not have been going through his stuff. He wished he’d had time to scribble ‘Gwyneth is a big nosy cow’ all over his papers, which had always done the trick at school.

She straightened up slowly, her back still to him. ‘Wonder what crappy power management weekend she learned that on?’ he muttered to himself.

‘Arthur,’ she said, turning round and extending a long hand. He didn’t take it.

‘Yeah?’

‘Would you mind stepping into my office?’

‘Is that really necessary?’ He’d decided to say this on the way in, as he reckoned it would sound rather cool and suave.

‘Yes, I think it is.’

‘Um, yeah, all right.’

Dammit, he thought. And, I wouldn’t be that rude to people, even if I did have fabulous legs … Arthur shook his head. Infidelity, unprofessionalism and favouring someone he despised all in one scoop. Dammit.

Gwyneth closed the office door.

‘Well, we’ve studied your tests, and everything that happened yesterday,’ she began.

Arthur attempted to jut out his jaw. ‘And?’

She sat down on the edge of the desk. ‘We’re making you – the new head of department.’

‘How soon can I leave?’

Gwyneth looked at him curiously.

‘Oh,’ said Arthur. He looked embarrassed. He had been expecting the phrase so much, he actually thought she’d said, ‘We’re making you redundant.’

Then he fell silent. ‘No diamonds, then,’ he muttered to himself.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘But what about …’ he started up again. ‘You know, the whole …’

‘The photocopier?’

He nodded, glumly.

‘Don’t worry about it. We’d like you to keep seeing that therapist, if that’s okay, but apart from that, we think you’re the man to take on our new project.’

‘What project?’

Gwyneth stood up with a theatrical flourish and unleashed a flattering picture of Coventry (taken from quite far away). Overarching it was the European flag. One particularly big star hovered over the top of the town hall.

‘What I’m about to tell you is extremely important,’ she said. ‘It’s entirely confidential for now, and is going to change your life.’

Arthur raised an eyebrow at her. ‘Don’t tell me, they want me to retime the traffic lights in the pedestrian precinct.’

She ignored him. ‘Right,’ she started again, indicating the picture. ‘We, with the help of you,’ she said proudly, ‘are going to make Coventry … “European City of Culture 2005”!’

Arthur stared at the picture for a long time. Then he looked at Gwyneth to see if this was some terribly unfunny office prank, which would eventually lead to him losing his job after all. She wasn’t smiling – smiling did not seem to be a Gwyneth attribute so far – but was looking at him expectantly. He winced. The silence lengthened until he realized he had to say something.

‘Um …’ He coughed. ‘Why would they choose us and not, say, Birmingham?’

‘Exactly!’ said Gwyneth dramatically. ‘We have an epic fight ahead and many strong competitors!’

Arthur shook his head. ‘Gwyneth, I don’t know what this has to do with me but, you have to admit, we are generally considered to be the ugliest town in the entire world. Well, we’re running a very close thing with the dung heap shanty towns of Rio de Janeiro.’

‘That’s why it’s such a great challenge! We need someone strong and motivated and unafraid to make this happen – we need you, Arthur.’

Arthur was stunned. ‘But … This’ll never work. I don’t even think there are that many hanging baskets in existence.’

‘’Course it will. Glasgow was a slum.’

‘A slum with a working infrastructure and thousands of beautiful Victorian sandstone buildings.’

‘Grab this!’ said Gwyneth, dramatically leaning in close and looking straight into his eyes. ‘This is your great opportunity, Arthur. Seize it with both hands!’

‘Oof, hang on.’ Arthur leaned backwards to reclaim some personal space.

‘Oh, sorry.’ Gwyneth immediately retreated and dusted herself down. ‘I knew that weekend assertiveness course was a bad idea.’

They looked at each other.

‘It’s completely impossible,’ said Arthur.

‘You get your own office,’ she replied. ‘And a budget. Your own team. And access to corporate catering.’

‘Access to what?’

‘You know, those mini prawn thingies. And sausages and stuff like that.’

‘When would I get those?’

‘Whenever you like. Every day.’

Arthur stared into space and said a brief farewell to the diamond mines of southern Brazil.

‘Well, I guess I’m your man.’

‘I know.’

She stood up and held out her hand. He shook it. It was soft and warm and … oh crap. He fancied her.

‘We’ll be working together quite a bit,’ she said.

I was afraid of that, thought Arthur.

‘Great!’ said Arthur.

‘Oh, and by the way,’ she called out to him when he was nearly free, ‘I’m afraid you have to tell Ross.’

‘Tell Ross …?’

‘That you’ve taken over his job.’

Arthur marched back into the middle of the room.

‘I’ve what?’

‘Well, how did you think it was going to work? It was you or him. It’s you. Now, tell him.’

‘I have to fire him?’

‘No, you have to give him some sweets. Yes, you have to fire him. You’re in charge.’

Arthur backed out, feeling white in the face, with deep and profound misgivings as to what he’d just agreed to do.

‘Right … Yeah … I’m in charge.’

Being in charge, Arthur decided the best thing to do straight away would be to take a quick slip through the side door, drive into town and go for a little walk. This was going to take a while to sink in, and he fancied a quick look at the size of the problem he was going to be dealing with. Plus, wandering through towns and cities, reading their infrastructure and examining how they were put together had had a calming influence on him for years.

It was a chilly grey morning, and now most people were locked into their offices for the day it was incredibly quiet around the shopping precinct. He walked across the pedestrianized street. This had been meant to improve the city. Instead, it had provided a good ground for people to fight each other, and hanging-out areas for the local youths. Dilapidated brick stands of pot plants filled with phlegm and cigarette butts stood forlornly at intervals, and the garish shopfronts told their own story: ‘Everything for ninety-nine pence’, ‘Pricesavers’, ‘Remnant Kings’. Plastic products nobody wanted spilled out of their fronts. Two hulking teenagers in sports gear were kicking around a tin can, watched appreciatively by four or five others. One just sat on the ground, eyes glazed with cheap cider, or worse. Underneath the centre were miles of deserted, dank underpasses that most people were too scared to use.

Arthur circumvented the youths carefully and wandered into the run-down shopping centre to ponder what to do. It felt … This was what he was supposed to want, wasn’t it? To run things his way. More money. Power. Responsibility. Surely he should be more excited than this?

Truthfully, all his life Arthur had waited for things to come to him. It saved too much boat-rocking. God, Fay had practically had to jump him the first few times they’d met. And this … what were they expecting? After all, he hadn’t meant the thing with the photocopier. What if they expected him to be that macho all the time? And how the hell was he going to fire Ross? He scratched the back of his neck. Christ! Maybe he should just stick to this leaving idea. He’d almost got his head around it, after all. In fact, the very thought of having to run this project was bringing him out in a cold sweat. It would be bad for him. Bad for his health. Bad for everyone. It would end in ruins and they’d shunt him to the back office and …

Deep in thought and staring at the ground, he didn’t even notice Lynne until he walked right into her as she came out of a shop.

‘Argh!’

Lynne dropped several packages on the ground whilst Arthur started a long litany of apologies.

‘God, I’m so sorry … Let me help you with … Wasn’t looking …’

Scrabbling around on the pavement, he couldn’t help noticing that some of the packages were quite peculiarly shaped. Looking up, he realized Lynne had been coming out of the pet shop. A fat man, obviously the shopkeeper, came out behind her.

‘Look,’ he said, ‘I’m sorry. We just can’t get crocodiles, okay? They’re illegal.’

‘Illegal? How on earth does anyone make soup?’

Lynne raised an eyebrow at Arthur as the man retreated inside. ‘Hello, Arthur. Well met.’

Arthur swallowed. ‘Em, hello there.’

‘Are you going this way? Let’s walk a while.’ It sounded more like a command than a query.

‘Why …’ Arthur stumbled for something to say. He didn’t really know any therapists and was slightly worried about being misinterpreted in some way that would mean he was a terrible person. ‘Why do you want a crocodile?’

‘Who wouldn’t want a crocodile?’

Arthur shrugged. ‘Yeah, I guess.’

‘What’s the matter?’

Arthur looked at her kind face. Today, her hair, decorated with pendants that looked like leaves, was loosely pinned back in a bun with tendrils escaping.

‘Well …’ He explained about his conversation with Gwyneth. She was meant to be his counsellor, after all.

‘Hum.’ Lynne stared straight ahead. ‘That was quick.’

‘What? You knew they were going to do this?’

‘No, of course not. Not as such,’ said Lynne, twisting up her face. ‘Office grapevine, you know.’

Arthur nodded.

‘So. How are you going to begin?’

Arthur shrugged. ‘I was actually just considering … that I might not.’

‘Might not? Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘What’s ridiculous? Do I have the look of the man who’s going to spend the rest of his life stuck in an office?’

‘Around the mouth … and the nose, yes.’

Arthur grimaced and walked on. Lynne caught up with him.

‘I think it is time, don’t you?’

‘What?’ He turned round. ‘It’s not my time.’

‘It is,’ said Lynne urgently. She looked at him, and he felt something odd pass between them. He shook his head.

‘Sorry – I don’t quite know what I meant by that. I mean – well, what do you mean? Time for what?’

‘Time for you to take all this energy and …’ Lynne cast her hand around the desolate parking garage where they found themselves. It was puddled with oil and cigarette ends. ‘Ssh,’ she said.

Arthur followed her gaze. In the far corner, three white faces were huddled round a brazier, staring at them like ghosts out of the darkness. Not an unfamiliar sight in the back roads of the town. Arthur and Lynne quickly hurried on through the car park.

‘Who’s going to change all this if you don’t?’

‘What, now you want me to tackle the drugs problem?’

‘Environment matters, you know that. Pride, Arthur. It’s time to pick up your sword and go for it.’

‘Pick up my what?’

‘It’s just an expression.’

‘Oh. Only I seem to have been hearing about swords rather a lot recently.’

‘Yes, well unfortunately I’m not a Freudian type of analyst, so I can’t help you with that one.’

‘What sort of analyst are you?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Let’s just see how it goes along, eh?’

‘You are a real therapist, aren’t you?’

‘Yes,’ she patted him on the arm. ‘Yes, I am. Now, what have they asked you to do? Fire someone?’

Arthur gave her a sharp look. ‘Do you do everyone’s therapy or just mine?’

‘I can’t tell you that, I’m afraid.’

‘Well, then. Obviously you already know. Yes, they have.’

‘Then do it quickly. Show who’s in charge. Don’t mess around. If you’re going to run this thing, Arthur, you’re going to need respect.’

‘I know. But even though I hate the guy, I don’t want to ruin his …’

‘Week, perhaps? Month, maybe? His type always bounces back. Look over there.’

Arthur followed where her finger was pointing. Two nine-year-old boys were bent over a rain puddle in the cracked concrete. They should have been at school. Instead they were mindlessly, repetitively, picking up pieces of rubbish, setting them on fire with a lighter and dropping them in the water.

‘You don’t have long,’ said Lynne. Arthur watched the two boys for a moment more.

‘But I …’ He turned round. In the darkness of the car park, Lynne had gone.

Ross was sitting alone in the canteen, a place made up of hideous plastic furniture that somebody believed would be made to look like the Dorchester by the addition of some wickerwork and some pathetically touching pot plants. He was rocking on the edge of his chair and prodding a pencil at a glutinous piece of Danish pastry. Arthur stood in the doorway and looked at him. Suddenly, he didn’t look much of a tosspot any more. He looked like an ordinary young man, already running to fat, anxious and insecure.

‘Ross,’ said Arthur softly. He’d felt nervous about doing this, but seeing him, he couldn’t be.

Ross blinked and let his chair fall back to the table with a start. He couldn’t quite look at Arthur but stared straight ahead.

‘Hey Art!’ he said, forcing the jocularity into his voice.

‘Do you want a coffee or something?’ As soon as he’d said that, Arthur realized it was cruel. Why prolong the uncertainty while he buggered about getting a cup of coffee? He might as well have said, ‘Would you like an extra four and a half minutes of excruciating torture?’

‘No, thanks,’ said Ross.

‘Ross …’

‘Yeah? What? Good news, is it?’ He coughed a cynical laugh.

‘No,’ said Arthur. He wondered if Ross would punch him, but he still felt all right; quite under control.

‘Ross, they’re doing something different. I’m afraid you’re going to have to leave.’

Ross stood up, as if he couldn’t bear to be any closer in airspace to Arthur. ‘God, God, I bloody knew it.’

‘I understand you’ll be feeling upset …’

‘Might have known they’d get some namby pamby PC non-car bloody saddo who just happens to be good at fucking poofter tests …’

‘Okay … maybe not quite that upset.’

‘I told ’em. Sort out the roads. Build more. Don’t hire some soft wanker who can’t even get laid.’

‘Yes, well, we seem to be moving from upset to offensive …’

‘And now they’ve got you running the whole bloody town! Well, God help them, that’s all I can say.’

Ross stood up and kicked his plastic chair crossly, his heavily gelled ginger hair sticking straight up from his forehead. He advanced on Arthur.

‘I don’t give a fuck, you know. You’re not the first guy in here. Some bloke walked in and offered me a job in Slough. You just bloody watch me. I’ll sort out that place and we’ll be using your fucking pedestrianized precincts as car parks.’

Arthur got riled. ‘That will be great. Why have just one town hating you when there are so many more opportunities out there?’

Ross leaned into him menacingly. The room was eerily silent, it still being out of lunch-hour time. Arthur suddenly found himself thinking back to his first and only fight ever. He was ten years old and, after kicking the shit out of everyone in the class in ascending order of size, McGuire had finally got round to him. The time had been pre-ordained. The class had encircled them. Arthur had taken a deep breath, trying to remember what his stepfather had told him – ‘Don’t worry, son, you only have to square up to the bullies once, then they’ll leave you alone. Run at him as fast as you can and try and hit him on the nose.’ Of course McGuire had held out one arm, held him by the forehead and pounded him into the ground – on that day and so many days after that, it long ceased to be a spectator sport. Arthur’s nerves were not, at the moment, at their boldest.

Without warning, Ross’s left arm shot out and smashed him on the ear. It felt like being stung by an extremely large bee. Arthur was dimly aware of a buzzing noise, then realized there wasn’t a bee, it was the rest of the office, attracted to the open door of the restaurant. Before he could stop to think, the adrenalin kicked in, and he threw up his arms like he was playing volleyball. He caught Ross a glancing blow on the underside of the nose. Ross grunted and staggered backwards a few feet. Whilst Arthur was taking this in, Ross threw out a foot and cracked it into his gut. Arthur squealed – it was as undignified as that – but, finding it in him to ignore the pain, came charging forward, yelling and letting fly with an erratic punch which landed straight in Ross’s eye socket.

Ross was roaring now, like a giant bear, lunging around with his hand to his eye. Furiously, he dragged up one of the plastic chairs which, Arthur dully noted somewhere in the bottom of his mind, were normally bolted to the floor, and brandished it in the air across the canteen.

And Arthur, noted coward, who had never done anything even vaguely out of step in his life before yesterday, who had balked at everything that came his way, who was ready to get soft and old in his middle age, said something he’d never said before in his life, not even in fun. Instead of clenching his body and waiting for the blow or trying to make himself as small as possible, he pushed out his shoulders and opened his body wide, like a gorilla, or Russell Crowe. He stood, legs apart, eyeing up the other man with as much ferocity as he could muster.

‘BRING IT ON!!!’ he roared.

The sound bellowed and bounced off the walls. Then – silence.

Ross and Arthur stared at each other. The crowd of people by the door were completely silent. Nobody dared breathe. Then, with a crash, Ross hurled the chair across the room, but away from Arthur. It split through a picture frame hung from the raffia.

‘Fuck you! This will come around,’ said Ross, his face purple and red to bursting. He pointed his finger at Arthur. ‘THIS WILL COME AROUND!!’

And he stormed out of the room, leaving Arthur and the rest of the office staring in his wake.

‘How was your day?’ Fay asked carefully.

‘Oh, oh, it was fine, you know. Usual.’

This was becoming a nightmare. He used to share everything with her. Now he could barely talk to her beyond politeness, before she’d sigh and start mentioning somebody or other’s toddler who had done something which was supposedly cute but in fact just sounded incredibly annoying.

Fay was well aware of this. She flicked quickly through Heat magazine, elaborately casual.

‘So the black eye …’

Arthur winced. Okay, that was stupid. Perhaps he should have double-checked for the visual evidence.

Fay let out a long sigh. She remembered what the book had said – never nag, never burrow into his affairs. She tried to do her best. But he was late, tired, distracted, he’d hardly said a word to her for what felt like months – ooh, and, by the way, there was blood on his collar and he had a black eye. Her man – the sweet, gentle man she’d fallen in love with five years ago at a training conference in Peterborough – couldn’t even tell her why he was dripping blood. She set aside her magazine.

‘Arthur, we have to talk.’

He grunted into his newspaper. Yes, he knew they did. He looked up at her. His eyes were hollow.

‘What’s going on?’ she asked.

‘Well …’ Arthur did a quick summary in his head.

Hmm not that bit … No, maybe not that …

‘I got promoted.’

Fay’s face lit up. ‘Really?’

He nodded. ‘Yes, really.’

‘But this is brilliant!’ Her eyes shone. ‘I mean … we’ll have enough money to – hang on.’

She ran to the fridge and came back with a bottle of champagne they’d been keeping for good news.

‘This is so fantastic!’ She kissed him on the top of his head. ‘You’re so clever, darling! And think what we can do now …’ She straightened up for a second and smiled at him. ‘And the black eye is, what – the official entry token to the executive washroom?’

‘I had to fire Ross,’ said Arthur matter-of-factly, uncorking the bottle.

‘Oh! God, well, that’s even more brilliant. Isn’t he the one you thought was a bit of a tosspot?’

Arthur nodded. ‘With a good tossy right hook.’

‘Ooh!’ She sat by his knees, hugging her own, and lifted up her glass to be filled. This was it. This was the moment. No wonder he’d been so quiet, if he’d been working up to such a wonderful surprise!

‘So, there’ll be a bit more money coming in, won’t there?’

‘Um, we didn’t discuss it … Probably.’

Oh God, thought Arthur. He suddenly had an inkling as to where this was heading. Thank God his eye was already black. Although of course she could still scratch it out.

‘So, you know, maybe we could …’ She twirled her manicured finger around the top of her glass. Looking at it, Arthur realized for the first time that he didn’t really like manicures. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to sound like he was encouraging her. The pause grew longer. She looked up at him, firstly with hope, then, as the silence continued, almost as he watched, the light in her eyes slowly dimmed.

She stared at the seagrass carpet for an even longer time. It was killing Arthur to keep quiet, but he didn’t know what else to do. He felt a lump in his throat. The wait grew interminable. Finally, and very slowly, she raised her head back up to look at him. Her eyes were full of tears, quivering, hovering and waiting to fall.

‘Are we …’ She was attempting to sound dignified, but there was an immediate wobble to her voice. ‘Are we – are you …’ She shook her head to get a grip, and managed to steady herself. ‘Do you really want to be with me, Arthur? Properly? To settle down and have a – a family and everything?’ Immediately her eyes flicked away. A ten-ton weight settled on Arthur’s ribcage. He had to say something soon. He had to.

He couldn’t think of anything. He was failing.

‘Aren’t you even going to talk to me?’ The tears were falling now.

‘Aren’t you going to even deign to … Am I really worth that little to you?’

Fay’s voice was angry now, and hard.

‘Look at me, Arthur.’

Slowly, Arthur lifted his head. Her face was white, and her hands were gripping the wine glass so hard it was frightening. Neither of them spoke. Arthur loathed himself, and his cowardice.

‘Are you – are you talking about having a baby?’ Arthur managed to force out, quietly.

‘No!’ said Fay, indignant. ‘Can’t I ask a perfectly reasonable question about where our relationship’s headed without it turning into a big fuss about … babies.’

‘Oh. Only, I thought you were talking about babies.’

‘Yes, of course I’m talking about babies.’

She attempted to laugh and half choked, loudly in the quiet room. Arthur reached out his hand to her but she shook it off.

‘Fay, – I’m not sure I’m ready.’

Her face creased with disappointment, then she took a breath. ‘How … How … When would you be ready? We have three bedrooms and two cars, for fuck’s sake!’

‘I know.’

‘We chose this place together!’

‘You chose it, Fay,’ he said, as gently as he could, realizing of course that this wasn’t fair.

‘I chose it because … because we’re going out and you’re thirty bloody two years old! And so am I, nearly! We’re not fifteen! You don’t fuck about with someone just to go out with them!’

‘I – I’m not fucking about with you.’

‘I’m thirty-one years old. If you don’t want to get married and have a family with me, you’re fucking about.’

Arthur felt disgruntled. ‘Who invented that rule? I thought we were having a perfectly nice time.’

‘Did you?’

He ignored the obvious truth in her statement.

‘I don’t see why, just because we’re seeing each other … I mean, I don’t owe you anything.’

As soon as he said this he realized how awful it was. She blinked twice rapidly and edged away from him. ‘You … you …’

‘Listen, Fay, I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t. It’s just … I’ve had a really tough day and you’ve just started in on this and …’

But she had already stood up and was backing away across the room.

‘Look, Fay.’

But she didn’t even look like Fay any more. She looked like some strange person he’d never met before in his life. Her eyes frightened him.

‘You don’t owe me anything,’ she echoed.

‘Oh, come on, let’s talk about it.’

‘No, no need for that. You don’t owe me a thing.’

‘Fa-ay.’

Now she looked around, bewildered. She stopped herself. ‘Well,’ she said.

‘What?’

‘Well, I guess I’ll be back to pick up my stuff … whenever …’ She cast an eye round the tasteful living room that they’d gone down to London to furnish – the brown leather sofa, the Habitat rug, the widescreen TV. Suddenly she had pulled herself together, and was eerily calm.

‘You owe me that sofa,’ she said. Arthur was standing now, casting his arms around, trying to say something, anything, but realizing as he did so that somewhere, underneath all of this, there was a definite feeling of relief – and that this was the biggest betrayal of all.

‘You … you betrayed me,’ she said, unnervingly voicing exactly what was going through his head. ‘Maybe not with another woman – but then, of course, I don’t know you at all, do I?’

‘There aren’t any other women,’ said Arthur dully, although he couldn’t help wondering – it was a flash, nothing more – about Gwyneth’s set up.

‘But you betrayed me, nonetheless. You saw me every day and you knew absolutely what I was in for, and absolutely what I was after and you spat on it and pissed it out the window the whole damn time. Did you laugh as the years went by, Arthur? Did you laugh every day because I still hadn’t cottoned on that nothing – nothing I did was any use? That there was nothing I could do? You stole that time from me, Arthur Pendleton. You stole it, and you know you did.’

‘I …’ Arthur exclaimed helplessly.

‘You absolute wretch. Well, fuck you! That’s my curse on you. Fuck you and everything that will ever happen to you.’

‘I wish people would stop saying that today.’

‘Fuck you,’ she said again, and it echoed around the room as she slammed the door. Arthur stood there for a second, until she marched back in, scooped up the television remote control, her bag, her dressing gown, then stood in front of him where he was frozen to the carpet and calmly blacked his other eye.