Construct a Couple (22 page)

“And?” I croak, not sure I want to hear the rest. The phone is sticky in my grasp, and I switch it to the other hand.

“Well . . .” Karen’s voice trails off, and my heart begins pounding. “Turns out the reporter wasn’t interested in the charity.  Once he got on the line with the trustee, he didn’t even ask questions – just aired all sorts of dreadful accusations, claiming Jeremy misused funds to improve his own properties, and that we should investigate his business dealings with Top Class.”

Anger invades every cell, and I grit my teeth. Gregor couldn’t get back at me directly, so he had to go for my boyfriend? For a
charity
?

“The allegations aren’t true, of course. As treasurer, I’ve kept track of every penny, and there’s nothing the least bit suspicious – either with Jeremy’s properties or Top Class,” Karen says. “The reporter didn’t mention his name, but do you know anyone who might want to cause trouble?”

“I can think of someone, yes. A former employee at the magazine. Don’t worry – he’s no longer working in the media.” I pace across the polished floorboards, trying to breathe. Thank God Gregor’s silly allegations won’t stick. And since Helen’s made sure the slimy weasel is blacklisted in every major news outlet, the chances of him getting anything in print are miniscule – unless it’s some rag like
Rodents Today
, circulation 10.

But if Karen has proof the accusations are false, why do the trustees need to meet?

“Well, whatever this person’s reasons, he’s certainly made things difficult.” A heavy sigh echoes down the line. “With recent events and Jeremy’s personal contact within Top Class, the board wants to speak to him directly and review the accounts. To put their minds at ease, you understand.”

 I nod, then realise she can’t see me. “Of course,” I say, cursing Gregor in my head.

“Even with all the evidence to the contrary, it won’t look good if Jeremy’s absent. The charity’s future is already rather uncertain, and the last thing we need is more problems.” She pauses. “If Jeremy
can
make it, I should prepare him for what he’ll be facing. Do you have any idea where he’s staying in the Black Mountains?”

“No,” I respond glumly. In fact, I’m not even sure where the Black Mountains are! Sounds like something from Narnia.

“Do tell me if you hear from him, all right?” Karen asks.

“Definitely.” Although we haven’t spoken for days. “And you’ll keep trying to reach him?”

“Yes. I’ve been calling his mobile every hour, just on the off chance he answers. I’ve left so many messages, his voicemail is full.”

“I’ll text and try ringing, as well.” I’m itching now to hang up and start typing a message.

We promise to keep each other posted, and say goodbye. With lightening speed, I fire off a text to Jeremy asking him to get in touch with Karen, saying he’s needed in London on Tuesday. Then I hit ‘call’, praying he picks up. As expected, though, it clicks through to voicemail – and the message box is jammed.

Slumping on the sofa, I press my cold hands to hot cheeks. I’d gladly wring Gregor’s spindly neck right now if I could. Leaking stories is one thing, but picking on a charity? I type out another message to Jeremy as resolve pumps through me. I’ll text until my fingers are bloodied stumps – Gregor’s not getting away with this!

But by the time we leave Westport for my flight Monday evening, I still haven’t reached Jeremy. Judging by Karen’s radio silence, she hasn’t either. My fingers aren’t quite bloodied stumps, but I’ve sent so many texts my mobile provider put a temporary bar on my phone, thinking it was stolen. When I explained I’m just desperate to reach my boyfriend, I could almost see the guy on the other end rolling his eyes and mouthing ‘psycho’. Well, yes, I wanted to say. I
will
go psycho if Gregor’s plan works.

“Here we are.” Kirsty’s face is downcast as we pull up to Departures. “Please come back and see us soon.”

I touch my friend’s arm, thinking how strange it is, returning to London without her. “Don’t worry – that’s a given.” I cross my fingers that next time Jeremy will be by my side.

We climb from the car as Tim gets my bag from the trunk.

 “Let me know how it goes with Jeremy, okay?” Kirsty throws an arm around me.

 “I will.” I’ve been so focused on reaching him for Tuesday’s meeting I’ve barely had a chance to ponder how we might work things out.

I squeeze Kirsty a final time, hug Tim, and cuddle Jane.  God, I’m going to miss them.

“Call when you get home,” Kirsty says, lifting Jane’s chubby hand in a wave. As I enter the bustling airport, I turn back to see the three of them standing together, a solid unit in the flow of passengers streaming into the terminal.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“Please return your tables and chairs to the upright position in preparation for landing . . .”

I crack open an eye at the flight attendant’s droning voice, wondering if they’re trained to deliver the perfect nasal intonation. The word ‘nasal’ brings unpleasant thoughts of Gregor to mind, and my heart throbs with hope there’ll be a text from Jeremy or Karen when I land. Maybe, just maybe, Karen has been able to reach him.

I’ve been so jittery this whole flight even free wine couldn’t induce my usual drank-too-much drowsy state. I’d hoped to grab a few winks, since once we land I’ll need to head home, change, and go straight to work at
Seven Days
. But every time I closed my eyes, all I could think of was Jeremy.

I lean against the window as the plane traces the winding Thames, gliding above the London Eye, St James’s Park – oh, there’s Buckingham Palace! – then over Hyde Park, where I spot the Serpentine. London has given me so many memories, both good and bad. But most of all, it’s given me Jeremy. I can’t wait to touch the ground again, as if by reconnecting with the soil, I’ll be closer to the man I love. Gulping, I think of the obstacles ahead, hoping he wants to overcome them, too.

As the wheels bump onto the runway and we taxi to the terminal, I switch on my mobile and stare at the screen, eagerly awaiting a text informing me Jeremy’s in town. But the phone stays sullenly silent, and my heart sinks.

There’s still time, I tell myself. It’s only six in the morning, and the meeting can’t start before nine, right? It’s the first day back after Easter holidays – it makes sense he’d come home today. In fact, he’s probably on the motorway this very second! And even if worse comes to worse, Karen
does
have proof those allegations are false.

 But despite my pep talk, I know deep down Karen’s right: if Jeremy’s not at the meeting, it doesn’t send a good message. And with all the other problems . . . I shake my head, crossing my fingers for the best.

Back at my dusty bedsit, I peel off my rumpled clothes and climb into the shower. After the pristine marble-tiled affair at Kirsty’s, my bathroom’s stained ceiling and cracked porcelain seem even more noticeable. Grabbing the handheld nozzle, I sluice rust-scented water over my body as quickly as possible. Then I unearth a clean pair of trousers from the back of the wardrobe, throw on another sweater, grab my handbag, and I’m out the door. What’s set in motion stays in motion, and I have a feeling if I stop moving, I might not start up again until tomorrow.

At
Seven Days
, I settle onto my cracked plastic chair and pull up today’s articles. There’s double the amount of text to check because of yesterday’s holiday, but burying my head in work is just what I need to kill time until Pick Up Sticks opens and I can talk to Karen.

Finally, the clock hits nine, and I hurriedly punch in the charity’s phone number.

“It’s Serenity,” I say when Karen answers.

 “Oh, dear, I’ll have to call you back. The meeting is about to start.”

“With Jeremy?” I hold my breath he’s made it.

But the silence on the other end tells me everything I didn’t want to know. “I’m afraid not.”

“Oh,” I croak, as anxiety fills me. “What do you think will happen? The board can’t make any decisions without him, right?”

“Yes, actually, we can. The charity’s constitution states we only need quorum to pass a motion.” Voices echo in the background, and Karen’s muffled voice says she’ll be right there. “I’ve got to go. Talk soon.”

She clicks off, and I swivel in my squeaky chair as my mind tumbles through what to do next. Without Jeremy’s presence, though, I draw a blank.

“Hey!” Lizzie’s friendly face grins over the top of her crimson maxi dress as she plonks onto her seat. God, her cheeks are practically glowing with colour. “Good Easter weekend? It was mental at the market. Christ, just in time,” she whispers as Jonas’s bulk approaches.

“We’ve got twice as much to get through today,” he says, with no preamble. “Both Beauty and Art. I’ll need them by five.”

Lizzie rolls her eyes at me as he walks away, then boots up her computer and gets stuck in. Try as I might to focus on the latest in self-tanning sunscreen (irony, anyone?), the words swim before me on the monitor. Forget turning orange: every bit of brain matter is focused on the meeting a few miles north of here.

Finally, when the clock reaches eleven and I can bear it no longer, I dial Pick Up Sticks’ number for the second time this morning.

“Karen!” My heart pumps as I await the news. “How did it go?”

“Well, not great,” she responds in a solemn tone. “Of course I was able to show our accounts are solid beyond any doubt. But the charity’s had so many troubles – coupled with Jeremy’s absence – the board wants to meet again next Monday with a strategy for moving forward. Or . . .”

 “Or what?” I ask, bracing myself for her answer.

 “Well, unless Jeremy develops a reasonable plan of action to cover operating costs, the other trustees seem to feel Pick Up Sticks has run its course.” Karen sounds glum. “My goodness, I wish we knew how to get in touch with that man.”

“Me, too.” I sigh, picturing Jeremy’s face when he returns to London to find the trustees are thinking of shutting down the charity. And what if he doesn’t come back until it’s too late?

I sit up straight as resolve washes over me. No matter the distance between us, Jeremy needs me now, even if he doesn’t know it. I think of Kirsty and Tim, and Kirsty’s happiness when Tim turned up out of the blue; the fact that the two of them can count on each other.

This is my chance to show Jeremy he can rely on me, by starting a plan to save Pick Up Sticks. Six days remain until the next trustee meeting, and a lot can happen in six days, Jeremy or not.

 “Karen, can I meet you in the office around five-thirty?” I’ve no idea where to begin, but as treasurer, she’ll be able to tell me the financial target to aim for.

“Yes, I have some things to get in order after the meeting, so I’ll be working through the afternoon,” she replies, sounding mystified by my request. “Come by when you can.”

I hang up the phone, a myriad of emotions flooding through me. What if I can’t think of something? What if the trustees hate my efforts? And what if we still can’t reach Jeremy? I take a deep breath and shove away the doubt. I can’t sit tight, hoping everything will be fine. I have the opportunity to do something, and I’m going to grab onto it for all I’m worth.

“What’s happening?” Lizzie raises her head from the screen.

“Jeremy’s charity needs a plan to raise money. Fast,” I say bluntly. Lizzie’s an entrepreneur. Maybe she’ll have some ideas. I need all the help I can get!

“Right.” Her eyes spark, and a businesslike expression settles on her face. “Well, forget corporate donors.  I’d go grassroots – fundraising, along those lines. You can set up events quickly, without too much hassle.”

“Hmm.” My heart starts beating fast as I turn her idea over in my head. Lots of charities fundraise, don’t they?  Jeremy’s never had to, since he’s always been able to secure corporate donations. But until we can get another big company on board, perhaps Lizzie’s hit on something.

Exactly how much money will we need to raise, I wonder? I can’t wait to talk to Karen and get a grip on the financials. Jeremy mentioned a debt, and then there’s the operating costs  . . . it can’t be much, though. The office premises are rented, and debts are paid in small installments, right? This fundraising thing might actually be viable.

The day passes in a flurry of work, and when five o’clock comes, I email my finished stories to Jonas. As I stride through the newsroom, a tiny flicker of pride glows inside. When I first started here, checking two articles would have taken me forever, but the more time passes, the faster – and better – I’m becoming. And by working alongside Helen, I’m beginning to get a solid grasp of reporting skills.

A torturous tube ride later, I’m outside the charity’s small offices off Mornington Crescent. The streets are packed with people hurrying home, and I breathe in the scent of London, something like coal mixed with damp. I ring the buzzer, tapping my foot in a bid to stop nodding off. I’m so exhausted now I can barely focus.

“Pick Up Sticks,” Karen’s voice chirps through the intercom.

“It’s Serenity!” I wait for the door to click open, then clomp down the short corridor and into the ground-floor office.

I haven’t been here for ages, but not much has changed. My heart squeezes as I remember Jeremy’s happy face when he showed me the premises. He’d said he knew beyond a doubt this was what he wanted: creating buildings to help people live independently. It was the perfect combination of the skills he’d learned in his former life as a builder and property developer, and now he was finally putting them to good use.

I bite my lip, looking around at the soothing soft grey walls and cream carpet; the wide hallways to accommodate wheelchairs; and the Stroke Association magazines littering wooden coffee tables Jeremy fashioned himself. Not many clients would visit, he’d said, but if they did, he was keen to ensure they’d see they could have a beautiful home and be self-sufficient, too. I can’t imagine this place closing. Shutting the door – literally – on his dream.

It’s not going to happen. A shot of adrenaline jolts through me – wow, even better than caffeine! – and I smile brightly at Karen, noticing she’s dyed her short white bob a rather startling shade of red (orange?) since I’ve last seen her.