The Night That Changed Everything (25 page)

He tries to act all jokey but he's pissing me off.

‘It's not just the Rebecca thing,' he says when he clocks that I'm not smiling. ‘It's your work situation. I've heard it for years, and you're right, it wasn't so bad when you were with Rebecca, but if splitting up with her has made you remember how much you hate it, see it as an opportunity; do something instead of just talking about it.'

The singer thanks the audience again, and then the countdown begins. Ten, nine, eight . . .

‘I knew you weren't interested earlier.' It's my wounded pride talking now. ‘All that masticate bollocks was just your way of telling me to shut the fuck up, wasn't it?'

Jamie raises his palms, a placatory gesture. ‘Calm down, mate. I'm just—'

‘Don't tell me to calm down.' I stand up. ‘You know fuck all about how hard these past few months have been for me. How could you? You haven't been in a serious relationship since sixth form.'

Three . . . two . . .

‘You're incapable of taking anything seriously, that's why you decided to run a bar rather than get a proper job.'

The trumpet player launches into ‘In the Midnight Hour' and Jamie looks stunned.

I stand there, regretting everything I've said but not knowing how to take it back. Instead I leave, away from the kissing revellers and the overcooked burger, away from Jamie. I walk out, into the street as fireworks light up the London sky.

I feel relief as fresh air fills my lungs, but it doesn't last long. I realize that I can run away from all of those things, but I can't run away from the one thing that hurts the most – the truth.

Friday, 2 January

New Year 1–0 Rebecca.

First day back at work and I was supposed to come in and kick ass, but not only am I still not sleeping, now I have a whole new layer of angst to contend with.

Arrghhhh
, I groan internally, rubbing my eyes. Why oh why did I go back to the bar on New Year? Or at least, why didn't I leave again when I realized Ben wasn't there after all? If I hadn't been so gutted about missing him, this never would have happened.

As soon as I woke up this morning the memory of Jamie being there in my bedroom came flooding back. No matter how hard I try to pretend it never happened, my mind won't let me block it.

Having to avoid Ben and Danielle was bad enough – I don't want to have to avoid Jamie too. But how can I face him?

‘Rebecca?' The voice makes me jump out of my seat.

‘Sorry, Jake. Yes?'

‘Can we have a quick catch-up?'

‘Sure,' I say, wondering if he's going to ask me if he's carrying any holiday weight or whether he's too old for his new goatee.

‘I'll get straight to the point,' Jake says, waving me into the seat opposite him in the meeting room. ‘We're in bad shape. The pre-planning stage is way behind schedule. Some of this is down to workforce problems, so we've signed off an increased headcount, but there're a couple of things I need your help to get to the bottom of.'

He opens his notepad.

‘According to the schedule, the piping was meant to be delivered to the site before Christmas. It hasn't turned up yet, and it's holding up the groundwork.' He looks up at me. ‘Do you know what date you sent the order?'

‘Definitely three weeks ago.' Is when I shoved it in my top drawer with the intention of sending it as soon as I got back from lunch, but forgot. Fuckity-fuck. ‘I'll chase it.'

‘Please do, as a matter of urgency. Also, I can't find a signed copy of permission from the Local Planning Authority. Do you have a copy of it?'

My palms sweat. I haven't sent anything to be signed. Schoolboy.

‘Have they contested anything?'

Please say no. We won't be able to go ahead without the signed agreement, and will have wasted shitloads of money. I'll get sacked. And then I'll be single and unemployed, and I'll probably have to move back in with Dad, and—

‘No,' Jake says. ‘But it's vital we have it.'

‘I'll dig it out,' I promise.

Jake pushes his glasses up on his head and rubs his eyes. ‘Can I say something, Rebecca?'

‘Sure,' I reply, digging my fingernails into my palms. No one ever asks for permission to say something if the thing they're going to say is good.

‘And please take this in the spirit it's intended.'

Balls.

‘This is an important project for the firm.' He brings his hands together, as if in prayer, and taps his chin with them, as though deciding how to word this. ‘And the reason we put you on it was because you're one of the most thoughtful architects we have. Your natural instincts about what is worth restoring and what needs modernizing are exactly what the cinema needs. And I know you can do it. This is your chance to really shine, and make a name for yourself.'

‘Thank you,' I say slowly, aware that he hasn't finished.

‘But the bottom line is we need to know that you're up to it.'

My heart hammers in my chest. Jake doesn't know if I'm up to it?

I know I've made a few oversights recently, but I had no idea my boss was questioning my ability.

‘I am,' I try to assure him. I consider telling him I've had a few personal problems but I don't want to sound like I'm making excuses.

He smiles and nods, getting up to walk me to the door and I shuffle back to my desk, stinging from his words.

My desk phone rings and Jemma's name pops up on the screen.

‘Do you know how many calories are in a Terry's Chocolate Orange segment?' she asks without waiting for me to speak. ‘Forty-six. Imagine what the whole orange is. I hate myself. You OK?'

I make a noise that indicates things could be better.

‘Bad day?'

‘Kind of.'

‘Want to talk about it? The Lion has just had a refurb, we could check it out after work?' Jemma continues. ‘Have a cheeky glass of wine as it's Friday?'

‘Sounds good.' I'll just go for one glass, I think as I hang up. Take the edge off.

‘Rise and shine!'

‘What the hell . . . ? Hang on, who's that?' I glance at the silhouette that just pulled back the curtains. ‘Jem? Is that you?'

‘It is. I didn't like to stick you in a taxi alone in the state you were in so I came back with you and stayed over.'

‘Was I drunk?'

‘Steaming.'

‘Ouch!' Untying the wrap dress I still appear to be wearing, I discover a big, purple bruise on my right hip. ‘Oh my god!'

‘That'll be when you fell off the table,' says Jemma.

‘Ha, seriously, though . . .'

Jemma isn't listening. She's on her phone, which she thrusts in my face. There's a grainy video of someone dancing on a table to ‘I Don't Feel Like Dancing'. No sooner has it sunk in that it's me then there's a crash and I disappear off the screen.

‘If I ever do that again, rather than film me could you perhaps make me get down instead?'

‘I can't promise that. But don't worry, this is just between you, me and, so far, a hundred and four YouTube users.'

‘You didn't!'

‘Course I didn't. You hungover?'

‘Nope.' I sit up, then immediately lie back down again. ‘Yep. A little. Must be because I didn't eat anything.'

‘Except the chicken.' She sees my blank expression. ‘Remember? Lucky Fried Chicken? He asked how many pieces you wanted and you challenged him to see how many pieces he could fit in a box?'

‘Classy.' I groan. ‘How'd we end up so drunk?'

‘Think we were doing shots at that place after The Lion.'

We went somewhere else after The Lion?

‘Why were we doing shots?'

‘Because my New Year's resolution is to lose two stone and I figured that mixers have unnecessary calories.'

‘You don't have two stone to lose, Jem,' I tell her, closing my eyes again to stop the throbbing in my head.

‘I don't just want to be thin, I want to be emaciated. Like, so people wonder if I'm a smack head. You made any resolutions?'

‘Generally to be less of a fuck-up.'

‘Well, you're nailing it so far.'

I start to laugh but it makes my head worse.

‘Sorry I woke you, by the way,' says Jemma. ‘My data has run out on my phone so my maps won't work. I just need directions to the station.'

‘Give me five minutes and I'll walk you there.' I should probably get out of yesterday's work clothes.

‘I'm so far from home,' Jemma whines as we take the river path down towards the train station. ‘My friend Holly lives in Blackheath and it always takes me years to get home.'

‘I'm not surprised when you walk at that pace,' I half-joke.

‘You don't need to march at a million miles an hour when you have access to the Tube. You should all move to north London, it's so much bet . . .' She slows – practically to a halt – to focus on something across the road. ‘OK, fine. I'll move here instead.'

Jamie is on the other side, waving at us.

I feel my cheeks redden as we leave the path and cross the street towards him, visions of him in my bedroom invading my head. I banish them and wave back.

‘Hey.'

‘Hi,' he says with an easy confidence I envy. He kisses my cheek then holds his hand out to Jemma. ‘I'm Jamie.'

‘Oh my God. . . and I'm Jemma! Our names are practically the same,' she gushes as she shakes his hand. ‘Rebecca's told me all about you.'

Jamie tries to catch my eye and I hope he doesn't assume she means I've told her all about the other night.

‘I'm just about to open up if you girls fancy coming in for a coffee?'

‘Jemma has a train to catch,' I tell him, avoiding his gaze.

‘Och, I'll get the next one,' says Jemma. ‘A coffee would be ace.'

‘Or maybe a hair of the dog?' I suggest. I might need a drink to get through this.

‘So, how's 2015 treating you?' Jamie enquires as I help pull down chairs from tables. Jemma wanders off to give herself a tour.

‘All right,' I mumble. ‘And you?'

‘Not bad.'

‘Good.' I wonder if he's said anything to Ben about what happened on New Year's Eve but I can't bring myself to mention it, so I just ask: ‘How's Ben?'

‘Haven't seen him since the party,' says Jamie.

‘How come?'

‘I think he's gone back to Manchester.'

Now it's Jamie avoiding eye contact, and I'm about to ask why Ben has gone back so soon after he was there for Christmas, when Jamie says: ‘I think I have a plan for him work-wise.'

He stops and leans on the back of the chair he's just placed on the floor, and I think he's going to say more about his plan for Ben, but what he says is: ‘Look, about the other night . . .'

‘We really don't need to talk about it, Jamie,' I whisper, finally meeting his eye. ‘Let's forget it. We're good.'

‘This place is wicked,' calls Jemma from one of the red horseshoe booths.

Jamie turns from me to smile at her. ‘I'll get the coffee machine on.'

‘Make mine Irish,' I call after him, sliding in next to Jemma, just as she's clambering out the other side.

‘I'll give him a hand,' she tells me.

I watch her climb on to a stool and lean across the bar to chat to Jamie. I have to hand it to her: when it comes to men, she's not scared to do the chasing. No matter how many setbacks she has, she'll keep taking risks.

A few minutes later Jamie disappears out back and returns with a piece of paper and a pen, handing it to her. Oh my God – is she giving him her number?

‘I know exactly what you're up to, you know,' I remark when she returns a few minutes later.

‘You do?'

She looks slightly embarrassed.

‘Jem, it's so obvious,' I say. ‘Why would you go up to the counter unless you wanted to speak to Jamie without me hearing?'

‘Right, here you go, ladies.' Jamie carries over the drinks on a tray, then pulls a chair over and sits on it backwards. He and Jemma exchange a look.

What's going on?

‘She knows,' reports Jemma.

‘She heard?' asks Jamie.

‘Hey, it's no big deal,' I say quickly. I don't want either of them to think I have a problem with them swapping numbers. I especially wouldn't want Jamie to let what happened the other night stop him.

Jemma sighs and pulls a sheet of paper from her pocket, holding it up for me to read the messy letters written across it in Biro.

‘Uoitu . . . hang on, I can't really—'

‘Sorry,' she yelps, turning it round. ‘It was upside down.'

Intervention.

‘Um . . . ?'

Jemma takes a deep breath. ‘Jamie is worried about your drinking, and I agree. So this is an intervention.'

‘Seriously?' I smirk. ‘You're hosting an intervention on my drinking . . . in a bar?'

They glance at one another, and Jemma shrugs. ‘It was a spontaneous intervention. A spintervention, if you will.'

‘Well, if I'm going to have to sit through this, I'll need a proper drink. Mine's a large Scotch.'

They don't crack a smile.

‘I don't have a drinking problem,' I insist, laughing.

‘That's exactly what someone with a drinking problem would say,' Jemma tells Jamie sadly.

‘I heard that.'

‘You were meant to – otherwise I'd have said it when you werenae here.'

‘Rebecca,' Jamie laughs, folding Jemma's sign in two, ‘you do drink a lot these days.'

‘I've always drunk a lot. We all drink a lot.'

‘It's different now. You used to know when to stop. You didn't drink alone. You didn't have memory blanks. You never missed a work meeting because you were hungover.' He gives me a gentle smile. ‘You weren't careless or clumsy, or in no state to look after yourself. I'm worried that you'll get hurt if you're not careful.'