Between You and Me (26 page)

Sinking back down into the pillows with a groan, I start to recall the previous evening. We had what I suppose must have been a very enjoyable dinner at Gaucho; although I can’t really remember the food. After three bottles of champagne, some rather nice brandy and an Irish coffee, I don’t think either of us really cared what the meal was like. Sparks were flying, and it was just like it was between Alex and I in the old days, pre-Sal and all the trouble that has come since. We reminisced about uni, old friends and some of the crazy times we had together. It wasn’t long before the memories and the alcohol meant we were staggering up the road together to the nearest hotel. A wave of nausea makes my mouth flood with saliva.
Oh God, is Alex still here?
I lift my heavy head from the pillow, but I can’t hear any movement from the bathroom. Then I see it, a white envelope propped up against the television.

Struggling out from the tangled duvet and still fighting the urge to be sick, I rip open the envelope.

Charlie,

Thanks for a lovely evening. Just like old times eh? Don’t worry about Sal – my lips are sealed.

A xx

Sal. Last night was the ultimate revenge on Sal. I vaguely remember thinking as we made our way haphazardly up to the hotel room that, after the way Sal ditched me at the weekend, this was a fitting punishment. Proof that if Sal doesn’t want to be there for me, there is someone else out there who does. I allow myself a tiny, private smile. If it were ever discovered that Alex and I had spent the night together, Sal would be devastated. And that would be no more, right now, than Sal deserves.

I drag myself out of bed, downing the glass of water and two paracetamol Alex has thoughtfully left next to the kettle. A twinge of regret pulls at my stomach – maybe I should have stayed with Alex. Sal certainly wouldn’t have thought to leave me water and tablets to aid my hangover. After a hot shower followed by a hot coffee, I call Anita to let her know I’ll be late.

‘Anita, I’m running behind. Take messages until I arrive, OK?’ I struggle into my jacket and reach for my laptop bag.

‘OK, Charlie. Alex Hoskins called for you already this morning – just to say thank you for a pleasant evening?’ The upward inflection in Anita’s voice tells me she’s dying to ask me what it’s all about. Ignoring her questioning comment, I thank her and hang up. A pleasant evening, indeed. The thought crosses my mind that I must have been seriously out of it last night – I never even heard Alex leave, and it must have been some time ago for Alex to be at the office already. I pull my laptop bag out from under the table and pause as I heave it up onto the bed. The zipper is ever so slightly open, something I’m sure it wasn’t last night. I always make sure I zip it up fully, especially if I have to travel on the tube; pickpockets are rife and it makes sense to keep it properly closed. Sighing, I pull the zip all the way open and tug everything out, fully expecting to see my laptop gone.

No. Everything is still in there, laptop, papers, charger all present and correct. I mustn’t have zipped it up properly in my haste to get to the restaurant on time last night. Feeling relieved, I repack the laptop bag – I wouldn’t have wanted to have to go into the office today and explain to Mr Hunter that I had lost the entire Pavlenco acquisition case files because I got robbed after spending the night with the opposing lawyer.

Leaving the hotel after a quick English breakfast – there is nothing like bacon and eggs, followed by hot strong coffee and a pulpy orange juice to sort out a rotten hangover – I decide to walk back to the office. The early morning chill has disappeared to be replaced by another day of warm, late summer sunshine and I have a spring in my step, despite the hangover headache thumping away at the back of my head. Without even being aware of it, Sal has been suitably punished and I feel like I have scored the winning point, even though I am the only one in the relationship that knows about it. Judging from the few comments that Alex let slip over dinner last night, at least the ones I can remember, I am confident that Lucian and I have the upper hand over the deal and that everything is going to go our way without a hitch. I breathe in a huge lungful of hot, pollution-stained London air and smile. Raging hangover or not, life is good.

Chapter Thirty-Five

SAL

By telling Laura what I am going to do I seem to have cemented my plans in my mind, and the following week feels as though a weight has been lifted. Don’t get me wrong – I am still terrified at the thought you might find out what I’m planning, but I start to think about what I can pack discreetly, things that can be squirrelled away into a holdall – the only bag I will take in the beginning – things of mine and Maggie’s that you won’t notice are missing. It’s a difficult job; for someone who doesn’t really spend a lot of time at home you don’t miss a trick, so I decide to leave all of our favourite items of clothing, toys and books, and start to put away the lesser-worn, infrequently used items. Our favourite things will have to wait until we are safely away and then maybe I can send my dad over to pick things up. I don’t tell my mum and dad my plans just yet – they always have bought into the illusion that we are a perfect family unit, and apart from my mum making the odd remark about how you don’t seem to be able to attend many family parties, I am pretty sure she has no idea what has been going on in our relationship. Anna and Julia, on the other hand are a different story, and I think I am going to have to confide in them before I make the first step. Julia, as predicted, is pleased.

‘Sal! To what do I owe this pleasure?’ Sounding surprised, as usually she is the one to call me, her voice is warm honey pouring down the telephone line, evoking a lifetime of memories – Julia’s voice has been in the background my entire life, comforting, bossing, and nagging; she’s like another mother to me.

‘Jules, I’m leaving Charlie.’ I dispense with any niceties, blurting it straight out before I can change my mind, and hear Julia gasp, a quick intake of breath, and then:

‘Thank God. Bloody hell, Sal, I was wondering when you were going to see sense. I’ve been biting my tongue for years, and so has Luca.’ Julia’s husband is a tall, dark, strong Roman she picked up on a gap year travelling around Europe. They met, fell in love and, needless to say, Julia never made it to university, choosing instead to move to Rome and marry Luca. If he hadn’t been Italian, I don’t think my dad would ever have allowed it. I explain to Julia everything that has happened, starting with the most recent incident of your taking Maggie overnight and going right back to the first holiday we had in Egypt and the cold-shouldering that followed. After hearing about the perforated eardrum, the broken fingers and all the other ‘accidents’ you have subjected me to, Julia is, in turns, shocked, horrified and disgusted. She had her suspicions but never, ever thought things were as bad as this. By the end of our conversation she is in tears and furious, just about ready to head over to England and kill you. I am also in tears, relieved that she believed me and thankful she doesn’t think I’m some weak, spineless idiot, as I was worried she would.

‘Julia, please, calm down. I just have to wait and see if I have this job, and then I can leave. I’ve started packing, but I don’t want to tell Mum and Dad just yet. I can’t risk Charlie finding out and doing something stupid in an attempt to stop me, I have to think about Maggie.’

‘OK.’ Julia agrees to calm her typically Italian fiery temper. ‘But I mean it, Sal – one word and I’ll be there. Maybe you and Maggie should come over for a visit, get out of the heat for a while? I can’t imagine Charlie will let you go quietly.’

I tell her I can’t, especially if I manage to get the teaching job, but I hope she’ll understand that I do appreciate it. I have to stand on my own two feet and show you that I don’t need anyone else. Relieved to have her support, I thank Julia, tell her I love her and hang up. All that remains now is to find out if I have the job, or if I have to keep looking.

On Friday morning the postman delivers the plain, white envelope that will seal my fate. Sick with nerves and with trembling fingers I open the envelope and, once again, shake out the white paper bearing the St Martin’s C of E Primary letterhead, almost too afraid to read it in case it’s bad news.

‘Dear Sal … delighted to inform you … please attend … Friday 21
^st
August …’
A wave of relief washes over me and tears spring to my eyes. I got the job. As of Monday 7
^th
September I will be the Year Six teacher for St Martin’s Primary. I rush next door to Laura, waving the letter in the air.

‘Laura, I bloody got it!’ I barge in through the back door, only to see Laura sitting at the kitchen table with a blond-haired man. ‘Oh, sorry, you’re busy, I’ll come back.’ I start to back away, back towards my own back garden.

‘No, Sal, stop. Don’t be silly! This is my cousin, Oliver. He’s been travelling and just got home yesterday.’ The man stands, towering over me, and shakes my hand. He must be 6’ 4” at least – a direct contrast to tiny Laura who’s lucky to hit 5’ 3” in her stockinged feet.

‘Nice to meet you, Sal. Laura’s been telling me all about you.’ I narrow my eyes at Laura and she gives a tiny imperceptible shake of her head.

‘Well, nice to meet you, Oliver. Sorry for barging in on you two like that.’ He sits back down and Laura gestures to the seat next to her.

‘Tell me, then!’ She smiles, holding out her hand for the letter. I give her a few minutes to scan over the details and wait for it to sink in.

‘Bloody hell, Sal, I knew you could do it!’ She jumps up and squeezes me tight in her arms. She leans close and whispers in my ear so only the two of us can hear, ‘This means you’re free.’

Oliver also reads the letter and we celebrate with a quick glass of wine – I have to go and pick Maggie up from a play date she’s had this afternoon with a boy from her pre-school class and I don’t want to be late, or stinking of booze. These things have a nasty habit of getting back to you, and now the end is so near I don’t want any more drama before I leave. Laura says she will watch Maggie while I go and meet Mrs Prideaux next Friday, and I feel a sense of calm and contentment come over me. Everything is coming together and maybe, just maybe, I can start to look to the future.

The day of the meeting with my new boss falls on the Friday before your big final meeting regarding the Pavlenco acquisition, which is a relief as it means I don’t have to worry about you coming home early and finding me out. You’ll be finalising all your paperwork and making sure everything is in order to meet with the communications company on Monday and get everything signed, and no doubt will be preoccupied with it all weekend. I am nearly ready – everything essential I need to take is packed into the holdall, which is stuffed deep under the bed. While I think I am one hundred per cent ready to go, inside there is still a little voice that tells me I’ve failed; I didn’t manage to keep a safe, family home for Maggie and she will end up just another child from a broken home.

I take the train into town, after dispatching Maggie to Laura’s, along with her wheelie suitcase of ‘precious things’. This was the deal we made in exchange for her going to Laura’s for the day – if her ‘precious things’ didn’t go, then neither would she. I give in easily, not wanting the hassle, and Maggie is perfectly happy to wave me off from Laura’s front doorstep.

Mrs Prideaux is waiting for me as I arrive at the school gates, and she ushers me straight through to her office, no Aurelie this time as it’s the school holidays. The school is hushed and quiet, a completely different atmosphere to my last visit when the corridors rang out with the sound of children talking and laughing on their way to class.

‘I’m very pleased you’ve decided to accept the job, Sal. We’ve been searching for teachers of a certain calibre and you definitely meet the standard we’re looking for.’ Mrs Prideaux smiles at me from across the desk, steepling her fingers under her chin.

‘Thank you.’ I blush slightly. It’s been so long since anyone gave me a compliment I’m not entirely sure how to accept it graciously, or how to respond.

Mrs Prideaux runs through everything I need to know before term starts, including handing me the relevant forms for a DBS check, and before I know it I’m laden down with paperwork and books. It’s going to be a heavy workload but a frisson of excitement runs through me. I’ll be back to being Sal again.

‘It’s going to be tough, Sal. The workload can be immense and some of the children are a handful, troubled even.’ Mrs Prideaux looks sternly at me over her glasses. ‘But we really believe you are the right person for the job.’

‘I’m honoured to be part of the St Martin’s team,’ I say. ‘I’m looking forward to the start of the new term. I’ve had a few things to get over lately and St Martin’s is going to be a fresh start for me, and my daughter.’ Mrs Prideaux smiles, and we shake hands as I leave. She hands me the plastic wallets full of paperwork in preparation for Term One and I make my way back towards the train station, nervous but full of anticipation for the weeks ahead.

My phone beeps as I struggle with my paperwork towards the train platform. Trying to dig it out of my pocket, while simultaneously juggling the slippery plastic wallets, I don’t watch where I’m going and bump roughly into someone going the other way.

‘Oh, God, sorry, I’m so sorry.’ I reach out a hand to steady the person I’ve just collided with.

‘Watch where you’re … Sal? Sal Trevetti, is that you?’ I look up, straight into the face of Alex Hoskins, your ex, the one you were with before you met me.

‘Alex? Sorry, what a coincidence, bumping in to you!’ I give a little laugh, before the plastic wallets slide right out of my hand, crashing to the pavement.

‘Shit. Sorry.’ Feeling awkward, I lean down and fumble with the folders, embarrassment staining my cheeks a hot red.

‘Here, let me help you.’ Alex leans down, completely unflustered, exuding the same ice-cold blondness that always radiated like a halo, making the rest of us feel bumbling and clumsy. Straightening up, Alex hands me the other plastic wallet, the problem one that really is full to bursting.