Never Google Heartbreak (21 page)

I click the ‘What’s on your mind?’ forum where there’s an open thread, to post a message to Max: ‘
It’s been two hours. Are you dead yet?
’ I text him the address of the site, telling him to check it out.

It’s nine now and desks around me are filling up. I close the page like I’m folding up a secret message and go back to checking emails.

There’s a new one from Snotty. ‘
Come to my office now, Vivienne.
’ She sent it at eight fifteen.

She’s speaking on the phone as I sidle up to the glass wall of her office, but she waves me in. I take the chair opposite her desk, open my pad and smooth down the first sheet, placing my pen on top, trying to look efficient and in control. She sits with her legs bent round one another like an aniseed twist. The sunshine from her panoramic window highlights a fluffy down on her heavily powdered face. I glance at her feet; today she seems to be wearing a hybrid of a sandal and an ankle boot over tan nylons that show the seam at the toe. Something about this reminds me of my nana – a flashback to the sweaty, flesh-coloured popsocks she used to leave scattered around like dead mice.

Snotty looks at me without expression, her red lips pressed into a line as she listens to the caller. I look around the neat office, surprised by a couple of books about assertiveness on the shelf. Outside the buildings shimmer in the heat. I think of Max, suddenly flashing back to him on top of me.

‘Vivienne!’ Snotty declares as she hangs up the phone. ‘I’m glad you could join us.’

‘Morning.’ I smile.

‘Is your grandmother better?’

‘Much better, thanks.’

‘Yes, she
sounded
well when she rang yesterday.’ She smiles; her eyes glitter.

Now I’m confused. Who the hell did Nana speak to? ‘She rang here?’

‘Yes, she did. Looking for you.’

‘Well, she gets a bit . . . confused.’

She smiles for the longest time, looking like a crazed cat. When she speaks again, her voice is comically low. ‘Vivienne, if I thought for one minute you weren’t telling the truth, you’d be out of here. There are many people who’d be grateful for your job and yet you seem to think it’s beneath you.’ It’s like being fifteen, in the head teacher’s office. I feel my cheeks burn. ‘I’ve noticed a distinct falling-off in your performance recently. I know you’ve been having a hard time in your
personal
life . . .’ she smiles condescendingly ‘. . . but even so.’ There’s the frozen-face grin again; it’s a moment before I realise she wants me to speak.

‘I understand what you’re saying—’

‘What I’m saying is a verbal warning,’ she snaps.

I open and close my mouth. ‘Right, okay. What, because I took a day to care for my nana?’

‘No, because of your recent performance.’

‘Can you be more specific, please?’

‘Yes, I can.’ She takes out a file and reads dates followed by things like ‘arrived late’, ‘called in sick’, ‘left early’, ‘forgot a meeting’. ‘Shall I go on?’

‘No.’

‘So to be absolutely clear, this is a
verbal
warning, then follows a
written
warning, and then we’d be within our rights to
let you go
.’

‘Is this instead of making people redundant? Just sack them? It’s easier and cheaper that way, is it?’

‘Vivienne, I don’t appreciate your tone . . .’

‘You know I’ve worked hard in this position. You know that.’

‘I’m referring to your performance
recently
.’

I stand up. ‘This stinks.’ I open the door. ‘It stinks,’ I repeat as I stalk out. I feel a fury beat red in my chest and climb to my throat. A verbal fucking warning? What kind of place is this? How many times have I pulled something out of the hat and saved Snotty’s reputation? I stride back through the office and faces pop up from behind the grey work station screens, then hide again like rabbits. Paul from technology sticks his ferrety nose up.

‘Morning, skiver!’

‘Fuck off, Paul,’ I snap, making him chortle like a schoolboy. Finally I get to my desk. Christie sits typing; her hair is coiled in two plaits, one over each ear, and she’s wearing silver eyeliner – her version of space-age chic. She turns to me, smiling. ‘What the fuck went on yesterday, Christie?’ I demand, wiping the smile off her face. ‘Because I’ve just been given a verbal warning.’

She looks confused, then concerned. ‘I didn’t know about that!’ She swivels her chair round, shaking her head. ‘I know how you feel, though, Viv – I’ve had a verbal warning.’

‘I know! I gave it to you!’

‘I suppose that’s justice or something, then.’

‘Did you speak to my nana yesterday?’

‘No.’

‘Yes you did, Christie! She rang the office – the old bat?’

‘Oh, I thought it wasn’t her.’

‘Well, it
was
her. How did Snotty know?’

‘Oh!’ She holds up her finger in a eureka gesture. ‘That’s probably because she was standing right behind me when I took the call. I think she thought it really was your nan.’

‘It was!’ A frown momentarily crinkles Christie’s brow. I sink into my chair, fury turning to despair. ‘Look, don’t worry about it, Christie,’ I sigh.

‘O-kay.’ She holds up her hands. ‘Only I got into trouble yesterday as well.’

I rest my chin in my hands, studying her. There’s a silver tip to each of her eyelashes. How long did she spend?

‘I presented our ideas for the pantalise range. The knicker slogans? Well, Snotty didn’t like any of them. She said they were offensive. Went a bit mental, actually.’

‘
Our
ideas?’

‘Yeah, you know, like “Hairy Christmas” and that.’

‘Yeah,
your
ideas.’

‘Well, I did clear them with you, and “The last turkey in the shop” one was your idea.’

‘Tell me you didn’t actually say the words “last turkey in the shop” to Snotty.’

‘I can’t tell you that . . . I did say it.’ She blinks.

I look around the office at the familiar backs of heads of the accounts department, the buzzing lights and humming air conditioner, then back at Christie’s blank-as-a-sheet face. I think of Snotty calmly listening to the slogans and I feel a kind of hysteria fizzing in my nose. I’m smiling, then laughing, then snorting, hardly able to speak. ‘Did you say . . . “Deck your balls”?’ I squeak.

‘All of them.’ She’s deadpan. I clutch my stomach, feeling tears in my eyes as I imagine it. ‘What? It’s not funny, Viv.’ I nod my head, trying to catch my breath, sighing and wiping my eyes. I look at her for a moment with a straight face.

‘Last turkey in the shop!’ I cry and I’m off again. It’s a good few minutes before I turn back to Christie, but when I do, she looks a bit upset. I sober up. ‘It’s okay,’ I lie. ‘We’re both in the bad books, but we’ll get out of it. Don’t worry, Christie. All right?’ She looks doubtful. ‘All right?’ She nods. ‘You and me are the dream team of product management and if they can’t see that, well . . .’ I can’t think how to end the sentence. ‘Well, that’s their problem!’

‘Okay.’ She smiles.

We high-five as I remember the facts; we both have warnings. The company are making cutbacks. But I’m optimistic.

I take a deep breath and call Nana.

‘Seven one eight nine double oh?’

‘Hi, Nana.’

‘Darling! Listen, sorry about yesterday, ringing up your office. Did you get into trouble?’

‘Not really. Who did you speak to? Can you remember?’

‘The girl who answered seemed a bit of a dimwit.’ I glance at Christie’s carefully parted hair, feeling a rush of affection. ‘She was at cross purposes with me, and then a rather frosty lady came on, asking all sorts of questions.’ I rub my brow. ‘To be honest, I didn’t like the sound of her.’

‘No. Well . . . it’s probably better if you don’t ring work.’

‘I did try your mobile, but when you didn’t answer . . .’

‘Nana, I spent the day with Max. I told them I was with you, that you were ill,’ I whisper.

‘Oh!’ she whispers back.

‘Why did you ring? Are you okay?’

‘Oh . . . I just had a little pain in my chest and got frightened. It’s all fine now, nothing to worry about.’

‘Are you sure? Did you ring the doctor?’

‘No, no. Reg came round and we had a little brandy and it calmed right down. So, how did you come to be skipping work and spending the day with Max? Details, please.’

‘Long story.’ I smile.

‘Well, bring him along on Sunday.’

‘We’ll see. Listen, I’ve got to go. Speak soon.’

I put down the phone and lean back in my chair. My mind jumps to yesterday, to Max’s studio, remembering the longing, reliving the moments with him. The thought of him has my heart hammering like I’m a schoolgirl with a crush; it’s insane. I click on my website, opening ‘What’s on your mind?’

Vivienne Summers,

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,

Inwrought with golden and silver light,

The blue and the dim and the dark cloths

Of night and light and the half-light,

I would spread the cloths under your feet:

But I, being poor, have only my dreams;

I have spread my dreams under your feet;

Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

I want you. I’ve always wanted you and I never want to stop wanting you. M

I close the page quickly, then open it and read it again, feeling warmth rising inside me. I think of his sexy fingers typing those words and imagine escaping, running away with him, to some bohemian world where our lives are spent practising love and art. But I’m terrified of falling in love with him. I remember the short time when I was with my mother in a shitty bedsit with nothing. I know very well that romance can’t pay the rent and love definitely does not keep you warm. I think of Rob and the life I’d planned. The pain of losing that secure future still hits me like a punch. Jesus, I’m pathetic, letting loneliness and lust blind me.

No, it would be nice to get all carried away, but poetry and dreams can’t replace the secure future I lost. Now I’m probably about to lose my job. I’m just confused, that’s all. A lot has happened and the best thing is to just behave calmly and try to see everything in perspective. I need time to think about things. I close the site without replying and concentrate finally on work.

It’s six when I leave the building. The street is chequered with sunlight and shadow. I duck into a little deli on the last corner before the station and pick up lovely food like tiny peppers stuffed with cream cheese, artisan bread, expensive salami and wine. I’ve always wanted to do this – buy sexy food. I imagine a picnic with Max. I know I should just slow down and think, but I’m only getting some bits in to be prepared. I’m not a slave to impulse. Probably I’ll cancel him and spend the evening alone. Definitely I’ll write out all my life goals and the pros and cons of fucking my best friend.

Then I feel a little tremor imagining his tanned body naked in my bed, how he’ll look against the starched white cotton, and I just can’t believe how he affects me.

I just make the tube, squeezing between a well-padded woman and the sliding doors. I check my phone, reading his messages.

‘
What time will you have me, Mrs? M xx
’

‘
What have you done to me, you witch? I can’t work, I can’t think! M
’

‘
Vivienne! My heart! M
’

‘
I want to taste you again . . . M
’

Oh, some of them are a bit rude. I look up into the pink face of the woman as the train rocks out of the station. Her eyes flutter up from my phone; she raises one eyebrow and smiles. I swallow, feeling flushed as I look out to the backs of passing mansions, wondering what I’ve started and wanting this delicious anticipation to last for ever. I text him.

‘
I should probably just have an evening alone – to sort my head out. V
’ I wince at how mundane it sounds.

‘
What kind of word is “should”? There is no “should”. Do what you want,
’ he replies. Then, ‘
What do you want?
’

I answer without thinking: ‘
You.
’

‘Have a good evening,’ the train woman says as I step onto the platform. I stalk off. As the train lurches away I look up and meet her eye again. She winks.

I’m scarily out of control. I can’t wait to see him. There are schoolgirl butterflies in my stomach. This is definitely not sensible. It’s just lust and will end in disaster, but I’m powerless. I’m going to have to let things happen and see how I feel later. I take a few running steps, sliding in my heels, hurrying across the sunny road and turning into the side streets on my short-cut route home. I’ll have a shower as soon as I’m in, wash my hair and use that expensive body lotion Lucy got me for Christmas. I’ll wear that long summer dress – Max said he liked it once. One more block of houses. I turn into the back alley and see my building. There’s someone waiting in the doorway.

He leans on the wall in shirt sleeves. The light glows on his tanned arms and glances off his platinum watch strap. His profile is like a classical sculpture as he searches the street ahead. His straight nose, pouting mouth and designer shades are fashion-shoot perfect. I stop walking. I stand and stare. He’s shining like gold outside my door and I fear the blade he must be hiding, bracing myself for a fresh stab. He turns, sees me and straightens. He’s lifting his hand to wave. He’s calling to me, like in my dreams.

‘Hi, Viv.’ He smiles that little-boy smile.

‘Rob!’ I say. ‘What are you doing here?’

Well, since you ask . . . [takes deep breath] Breakfast in bed, weekends away, clean sheets, candles, oral sex, Manolo Blahniks, a phone call, a cleaner, leisure time, a cuddle from behind, a man who knows how to drive and can reverse with one hand on the steering wheel, a man who can fix things and knows how to entertain a baby, big shoulders, a plan, someone with a good working knowledge of female anatomy, whispered dirty talk at dinner, someone funny, a great book, a comfortable bra, love letters, flowers, raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens.

* Valid today only

Rob walks slowly towards me, reaching out and pulling me into an embrace, clinging around my waist. I stare over his shoulder, holding up the grocery bags until my biceps burn. He breathes in my hair. I pull back.