My Single Friend (40 page)

She hides her face with her hand. ‘You know that report you asked me to get bound professionally?’

My throat tightens. ‘The
Peach Gear
strategy?’

‘I didn’t think it’d do any harm showing it to him,’ she babbles. ‘He said he only wanted to take a copy of one of the logos . . . If I’d known the consequences . . . God, Lucy, I feel like killing myself.’

I stand up, jaw clenched. ‘Not as much as I feel like killing Drew.’

Drew could tell I knew, the second he saw my face. And despite his denials, now I’ve got him by myself in a meeting room, his body language couldn’t be more of a giveaway if he had big flashing lights.

‘Lynette said
what
? I don’t know what she’s talking about,’ he sneers, as if the mere suggestion of impropriety is absurd. ‘The little slag’s bitter because I dumped her. Now, get out of my way, you silly, stuck-up bitch, and let me get back to work.’

He tries to push past me to get to the door, but I refuse to move.

‘There’s no point denying it,’ I tell him, crossing my arms. ‘Lynette told me everything. The only thing I don’t know is why. Why did you do it, Drew?’

‘You’re insane,’ he replies. Then he steps back and accidentally bangs his head on one of the framed cuttings on the wall. He’s clearly rattled.

I go on. ‘Do you despise me so much that you’d try to bring down my career – out of spite?’

‘This is a tedious conversation.’

‘Or was there another motive?’

‘This whole thing is ridiculous and I resent these preposterous allegations.’

‘Come on.’ I stand my ground. ‘Cough up. What possible reason would you have to leak a piece of information like that to the
Gazette
when—’

I’m halfway through my sentence when, for a reason I can’t fathom, I find myself scanning the cuttings on the wall: they consist of frame upon frame of Peaman-Brown-generated publicity. The ones Roger considers to be our best. There are loads of examples from Dominique, Stephen, Emma and Douglas and – if I do say so myself – me. Everyone has at least a few articles up there. Everyone except Drew. He has only one: the Ernst Sumner story that appeared in the
Gazette
in the same week as the
Peach Gear
débâcle.

‘Oh my God,’ I say, beginning to see the light.

‘What?’ snaps Drew, as his forehead starts to glisten with sweat.

‘You did a swap,’ I say accusingly. ‘You gave them the scoop about
Peach Gear
in return for them printing your crappy story about Ernst Sumner. A story you’d spent months trying to get in print, without success – until it mysteriously appeared in the same week as the
Peach Gear
story, that is.’

He looks out of the window as if he can’t hear me.

‘Drew, do you know how serious this is?’ I continue, exasperated. ‘Forget our petty rivalry: you risked the reputation of one of this company’s biggest clients to get one poxy story in the paper.’

He glares at me. ‘They were going to sack us,’ he whines.

‘Whose fault was that?’ I demand. ‘They had no coverage because you didn’t manage to get any legitimately. The answer isn’t to go trampling on the other clients.’

He says nothing and I wonder for a second if I’ve finally shamed him.

‘I’ll never admit it,’ he whispers. ‘And you’ll never prove it.’

‘
She doesn’t have to
.’

When I spin round, Roger’s at the door. The expression on his face is one I’ve never seen before: it’s like thunder, which is quite an achievement for someone who’s often mistaken for Bill Oddie.

‘Lucy – perhaps you could give Drew and me a couple of minutes.’

I glance at Drew. His jaw is twitching, but he remains defiant.

As I leave the room, I close the door and head to my desk. I reopen my presentation and try to focus on it, but within five minutes, Dominique appears.

‘What’s going on with you and Drew? I saw you drag him to the meeting room and wondered from the look on your face if he’d make it out of there alive.’

‘
I’m
the least of his worries,’ I say quietly. ‘Roger’s in with him now. God knows what he’s going to—’

‘Lucy, could you pop over here, please?’ Roger is heading into his office.

I glance at the meeting room where he was with Drew. The door’s open but I can’t see if he’s still in there.

‘Of course,’ I say, standing and heading towards him as he emerges from his office with his jacket in his hand. ‘Um . . . have you finished with Drew?’

Roger snorts. ‘You could say that. Come on, let’s go for a coffee. I want to make you an offer. One I should have made a long time ago.’

Our final night out is a jubilant affair for most of the group. Erin and her friends – Darren, James and Amanda – are bursting with excitement about the start of the trip. Dominique has spent the evening demanding to know
everything
about my brother (so far, I’ve revealed that his feet smell worse than a recently-deceased bear’s bum, but it appears not to have put her off). And Henry, entirely reasonably, is brimming with as much anticipation as the others. If he has second thoughts, he’s not showing it.

As for me, I’m making a fair-to-average job of looking happy. Which is an achievement. Because I feel as if I’m having a bad dream and can’t wake up. I feel as if I’m in a hang-glider heading for a mountain. I feel . . . like crap. Sorry. It’s difficult to be poetic when you’re this upset.

‘Have some taramasalata, Lucy,’ says Darren, as he pushes the bowl towards me. ‘You’ve hardly eaten a thing.’

‘Oh, thanks.’ I take a scoop of bubblegum-coloured dip and begin picking at it with a pitta bread. Everyone agrees that it’s the most delicious dish outside Lesbos. I feel as if I’m forcing cement down my throat.

‘Just think,’ says Amanda, ‘this time next week we’ll be in Budapest, eating goulash and drinking . . . whatever they drink in Hungary.’

‘They’re big on dessert wine,’ Henry tells her. ‘I think it’s called
Tokay
.’

‘I’ve never liked sweet wine,’ Erin frowns. ‘I’ll stick to the beer.’

‘They’re good at that too,’ Henry adds. He catches my eye for a second and it sends a bolt of lightning through my chest. I look away quickly and try to look like I’m relishing a dollop of tsatziki.

‘Make us jealous, why don’t you?’ Dominique nudges Henry. ‘Lucy and I are stuck here while you lot jet off to these exotic places.’

‘You’re welcome to join us,’ grins Darren. ‘There’s always room for two more ladies.’

‘Oh God!’ groans Amanda. ‘Someone hold him down. He never could resist a blonde, Dominique.’

‘My kind of man then,’ she winks. ‘Thanks for the invitation, but I made a vow years ago never to stay anywhere with less than four stars. Which I believe counts out some of the places on your itinerary. I’d get a nose-bleed on entry.’

The wine flows freely through the night and, the merrier the group becomes, the further into despair I sink. I can barely look at Henry. I convince myself that, unless I keep my head down, he’ll guess. About my fierce, brilliant and terrible love for him, a love I fight every day – and lose.

At one point Erin leans over to pick up an olive and Henry smiles tenderly at her. Tears prick into my eyes and I panic that I’ll have to leave the room.

‘I believe congratulations are in order, Lucy,’ says Amanda. ‘Erin said you’ve got a new job.’

Roger promoted me. After the scene he witnessed with Drew, he says he finally realized how much he appreciated me. A few months ago, I’d have been ecstatic about this. Now I can hardly bring myself to care.

‘Yes, I’m an Account Director now,’ I tell her. ‘So I’ve got a team of my own – and I’ll be on the management board.’

‘Nice pay rise?’ asks Darren.

I nod.

‘No one deserves it more than Lucy,’ adds Dominique, grabbing another piece of pitta. ‘It’s about time Roger acknowledged what an asset she is.’

As the waiter comes over to pour some wine, Dominique turns to me and says quietly, ‘I can’t believe what a conniving little shit Drew was, though. I know you and he were never the best of friends, but to stitch you up like that . . . honestly, I was stunned.’

‘Hmmm.’

‘It’s a shame he got to quit of his own accord and skulk away without any of us noticing,’ she muses. ‘I’d have liked to see him fired and marched out by security.’

‘We don’t have security.’

‘I know – more’s the pity. Still, it amounts to the same thing: he’s out of the picture.’

‘Hmmm.’

‘Well, for goodness sake,’ she turns to me, looking exasperated. ‘You’ve been promoted, woman. And you no longer have to sit opposite Drew watching him massage his bits. You should be over the moon.’

I smile. ‘I am. Honestly. I’ve got a headache, that’s all.’

Dominique is about to respond, when I realize my phone is ringing. I remove it from my bag and see that it’s Dave. Given that he never phones me, my first suspicion is that he’s after Dominique’s number.

‘Hi. Let me guess . . .’ I stand and move to the door so I can hear him better.

‘Lucy—’ He sounds out of breath. ‘You’re going to have to come.’

‘What?’

‘It’s Mum and Dad. The house is on fire, Lucy. The bloody house is on fire.’

Henry abandons the car outside Mum and Dad’s house and we leap out. The air is thick with smoke and fear as neighbours with grey faces huddle among themselves. There are fire-fighters everywhere, running and shouting. I stand in front of the house and struggle to breathe as flames roar from three windows and smoke billows into the night sky.

‘Where are they?’

‘Still in there,’ Dave croaks, his eyes heavy with tears. ‘I tried to go in, but the hall’s filled with smoke and . . .’

Instinctively, I rush towards the house, but Henry pulls me back.

‘Let the experts do this, Lucy.’ He wraps his arms around me tightly as fire-fighters equipped with breathing apparatus head in.

Orders are shouted and soon the house is being doused with foam and water. I feel a rush of hope at the fact that something bold and decisive is being done. But it doesn’t matter how much the men attempt to quench the fire – after a few moments the flames continue, taunting us with their unremitting energy.

Time stands still as Henry, Dave and I wait helplessly outside the house with heat stinging our eyes. My panic worsens as the realization that there’s nothing I can do about this seeps over me like a dark shadow.

‘I can’t cope with this, Henry,’ I sob as I lean into his chest, desperate for his embrace to somehow make this go away. ‘I can’t cope.’

Dave stands next to us, his hand over his face.

‘They’re definitely in there?’ I ask for the sixth time.

‘I’ve tried both their mobiles over and over,’ he replies. ‘There’s no answer.’

A figure emerges at the doorway. As it comes closer, barely recognizable through the smoke, I run forward.

‘Dad!’ I shout in desperation.

But it’s not Dad.

It’s a fireman, one who went in earlier. He’s joined seconds later by his colleague who emerges from the house, blackened and defeated.

‘Any luck?’ I ask, and he shakes his head.

‘Oh God!’ I scream.

I turn to Dave and fall into his arms. My brother and I weep like never before as shock envelops us.

‘Lucy.’ Henry touches my shoulder. But I can’t answer him. I can’t move or think.

‘Lucy
.’ He has hold of my arm, prising me away.

I try to look up, but can’t. ‘What?’ I sob.

‘Look.’

I lift my tear-soaked face from my brother’s shoulder.

‘There.’ Henry points to the door.

As we peer through the smoke, I detect movement in the doorway. At first it’s impossible to make out; an outline in the distance. It could be nothing.

Only, it’s not: it’s the shadow of a person . . . no, two people – one carrying the other. As the figure staggers forward, hope rises in my chest. A fire-fighter
might
have saved her. At least then we wouldn’t have lost both of them.

Oh, please God, make that be it. Make that be it.

‘Jesus Christ,’ mutters Dave. ‘Is that . . .?’

‘It can’t be . . .’ I add.

Then the blurred outline becomes clear.

Dad has Mum in his arms, her body draped across him lifelessly. We rush forward, beaten by the paramedics as Dad falls to his knees. Mum is conscious, but only just.

‘See to Carolyn first,’ Dad wheezes as the paramedics get to work. ‘Please. See to my wife.’

As Mum is lifted onto a stretcher, Dad leans over and clasps her hand. He bends down and presses his lips against hers.

Mum opens her eyes and coughs painfully. ‘Thank you,’ she manages.

‘What for?’ whispers Dad.