A Passionate Love Affair with a Total Stranger (30 page)

‘For your
information,
John, I'm better equipped to do this conference than Charley,' Margot continued. Her voice was rising to a rather un-seahorsy screech.

‘Enough!' John shouted. His face had taken on a red tone that I'd never seen before. A little pulse had started up next to his eye. ‘Margot, please leave this office immediately. I need to talk to Charley.'

Margot didn't move. ‘Have I walked in on a professional argument or a lovers' tiff?' she sneered. ‘Is poor little Charley-warley sulking that John didn't leave his wife?'

There was a terrible silence.

‘
What
did you say?' I asked her. My voice was deadly quiet.

Margot grinned. ‘Oh, wow,' she said softly. ‘Oh, wow. You think he's left her! Well, he hasn't, Charley! He had dinner with Susan and Bradley Chambers last Thursday, making sure his precious boss didn't smell a rat.
Pathetic.
'

‘Shut the fuck up,' John shouted, wheeling round at her. Flecks of spit flew from his mouth. ‘How
dare
you bring up my private life?'

Margot must be making it up – John had had his French friends staying last week! Then I leaned back against my desk. Maybe he hadn't had French friends staying last week. Maybe Susan hadn't run off with the rich owner of a wine estate. I felt suddenly faint. The world had gone mad.

John was shouting at Margot now, properly shouting, and she was shouting back at him, threatening to tell Chambers about me and him. Or something like that – I wasn't sure. My brain had suddenly gone foggy. Various thoughts slopped through my head, all weirdly shaped and accompanied by strange underwater noises.
John hadn't left his wife
. Furthermore, he was so afraid of rocking the boat that he was trying to prevent me – physically – from leaving the office.

Is this what I want for myself?
A job like this, a man like this?

Waves of exhaustion rolled over me. I'd had little more than a couple of hours' sleep and my eyes were still slitty from last night's hard work.
What is it all for?
All this hard work? All the achievement? Salutech doesn't care about you! John doesn't care about you!

No, I thought, staring blindly at a spot on the floor between Margot and John. No, the only people who really cared about me were my family, whom I'd been prepared to ditch at the slightest hint of pressure from my boss.

And then:
Enough
, my head told me.
You can't do this any more.

I paused, surprised. But another thought came, stronger than the last:
I don't want this.

And so, as if in slow motion, I stood up, took my family photos off my desk and stuffed them into my handbag, which I put back on my shoulder.

I don't want this
, I repeated to myself, with mounting amazement. And I knew it was true.

I straightened up. ‘I resign,' I said.

‘Yeah?' Margot was shouting. ‘Well, how about this, John? Your little slut has been running a company on the side since she broke her leg. A
dating
company, of all things.' She spat the word out as if there was excrement in her mouth.

John turned to me, astonished. ‘Bullshit,' he shot back, turning away from me again. ‘That's impossible. She works all the hours God sends.'

Too bloody true.

‘I resign,' I said again.

John ignored me. ‘Prove it,' he hissed at Margot.

Finally, my brain started to work.

‘I resign,' I said loudly. ‘Is anyone actually listening to me? I'm leaving now and I won't be coming back. If you want to sue me for my notice period then go right ahead. I want my life back.'

Two faces looked blankly at me.

‘What?' John said.

‘You heard,' I replied. ‘We can discuss this all via email, or phone, or I can come in to do it formally, but right now I'm going to my grandmother's funeral.'

John was flabbergasted. ‘You can't leave,' he said incredulously. ‘You can't just – just
leave
.'

‘I have to,' I said slowly. ‘I'm thirty-two, nearly thirty-three, and I have no life. And my dad needs me.' The words caught in my throat and I walked around John and out of my office.

‘How the hell will I explain this to Chambers?' John sounded almost childish. He was hot on my heels.

‘I'm sure you'll work it out,' I said softly. ‘You're used to putting him before anyone else.'

As if on cue, Chambers scurried towards the office, his mean little face sniffing the air for trouble.

‘Off to the road show, then, Sharon?' he asked suspiciously.

I looked him up and down, this disgusting little prick of a man who had taken it upon himself to touch my backside more often than I cared to remember. ‘Fuck you, Runty,' I said to him.

And then I turned my back on John MacAllister for the first and last time. I handed my security pass to Cassie and walked out of the comms office, my car keys jangling loudly in the silence.

As I exited the lift downstairs, legs almost buckling with shock, a heavily made-up woman with immaculate and extremely massive hair stormed through the main entrance. ‘Where will I find John MacAllister?' she asked the security guard. She was American. She had serious nails. Talons of scarlet. She wasn't speaking very loudly but there was something utterly terrifying about her. So terrifying, in fact, that I found myself momentarily rooted to the spot, watching her.

And then I realized she was Susan Faulkner. Susan MacAllister now. Oh, I'd stared at her photo for hours.

The security guard tried to explain that she would probably need an appointment to see the CEO but Susan cut in with a deadly smile and a voice of steel: ‘If you try to stop me, I may get violent,' she said quietly. ‘John MacAllister is my husband. And I've just found out that the filthy pig has been sleeping with his press woman. If you let me up there, I will murder only him. If you detain me, I will murder you
and
him. OK?'

‘You'll find him on the third floor,' I interrupted, suddenly coming to life. I put my foot into the lift to keep the doors open for her. ‘And, yes, he has been sleeping with his “press woman”, I'm afraid. He told her his marriage was over and that you'd run off with another man to America. I'd definitely go and murder him if I were you.'

She stared at me for a moment and I watched her face change. Then she let out a bloodcurdling war cry and charged into the lift.

I smiled and walked out into the world.

Fifteen minutes later I was stomping up a very pedestrian-unfriendly verge alongside the A1, feeling slightly silly. During my filmic departure from work I hadn't spared much thought for logistics; in particular the fact that Salutech owned my car. The sudden absence of wheels, and indeed of anything resembling a bus stop, had not facilitated my great escape but I reckoned another twenty minutes would bring me to a bus that would take me home. That was all that mattered to me right now.

I'd been unable to get hold of Ness and had eventually
called Sam, who said he'd try to come and pick me up. However, I wasn't expecting to see him any time soon. He didn't own a car.

I was dumbfounded by the events of the last hour. So dumbfounded, really, that I kind of didn't have any idea how I was feeling. When Sam had asked me, I'd just sort of shouted, ‘Raaaaaarr!' then tripped over a pothole and dropped my phone. There was an incredible feeling of lightness around my chest, but I was aware that this could be the breathlessness of shock as opposed to some metaphysical sense of freedom.

But among all the thoughts that were flying around my head – panic, disbelief, astonishment, anger, joy, to name but a few – there was one thing about which I was very certain. And that was the fact that John was not the man I'd thought him to be.

He was weak.

I was deeply shocked. John had always been the strongest, most confident man I'd known and it was this confidence that had mesmerized me for seven years.

And yet John was so scared of Bradley Chambers that he had tricked me into coming into work so he could, what?
Kidnap
me? What was he going to do? Bundle me into his car boot and roll me out at the conference? It was actually laughable. And to think he was so scared of his boss he'd tried physically to stop me leaving the building … It was quite sick, really.

‘John is weak,' I said out loud. ‘A weakling!'

But an idea was forming somewhere in my head. A rather radical one.
I'm not all that strong either
, I thought
slowly, hopping across a drainage ditch. Had I not flayed myself alive for Salutech? Had I not, a mere hour ago, agreed to abandon my family on one of the hardest days we'd ever had together just because Bradley Chambers had decreed it must be so?

‘
I
'm a weakling,' I muttered, extricating my tights from a clump of brambles.

And then:
‘
I'M A WEAKLING!' I tried it a bit louder and it felt glorious. I was not a Scottish Amazon or anything of the sort. I was just another weak, imperfect person, a girl who'd thrown her life into her work because she had no idea how else to live.

‘I'M NOT TOUGH AT ALL!' I shouted, grinning. ‘WOOOO!'

A lorry driver honked at me, clearly perplexed by the sight of a six-foot woman shouting to herself as she crashed along the grass verge in a suit and heels. I waved in acknowledgement. ‘YEAH!' I yelled, feeling something release in my shoulder blades. ‘I'm a knob!'

Another horn sounded behind me. Not even bothering to look round, I waved my hand in acknowledgement. ‘WHATEVS!'

‘Charley,' a man's voice yelled. ‘Get in the fucking car, you lunatic!'

I whipped round. ‘SAAAAAAAM! Sammeeeee!'

Sam grinned, leaning over to open the passenger door of the car he was driving. ‘Oh, my God,' he said, as I threw my bag into the back and hopped in beside him. ‘Oh, fucking hell, you've gone mental!'

‘Whoop!' I responded. ‘YEAH!'

Sam pulled away from the kerb, foot hard on the accelerator to avoid another lorry speeding up behind us. He was laughing. ‘Oh, Chas, this is a glorious day,' he said. ‘WHOOOOOOOOOP!' he whooped.

We both whooped for a bit and then I settled back in the seat, trying to find a comfortable position. ‘Hang on,' I said. I took my heels off and threw them out of the window on to the verge. ‘There!' I stuck my feet up on the dashboard, laughing at the number of ladders running up my tights.

‘We'll pick them up on the way back,' Sam said.

‘Yup,' I agreed. We both laughed and I felt free. I'd been hiding at John's house since Sam and I had conducted our scientific experiment last Thursday, terrified that he had noticed how much I'd enjoyed it, but Sam hadn't let me get away with it. He'd called me most days with First Date Aid queries and updates and had seemed so completely normal that I'd begun to relax. Clearly, for him, it hadn't been an issue at all.

And the lovely thing was that, right at this moment, I didn't care.

‘I am a free woman, Sam!' I cried suddenly. ‘I'm FREEEEEEE!'

Sam grabbed my shoulder enthusiastically, his eyes on the road. ‘I'm so fucking proud of you, Charley,' he said, suddenly emotional. ‘You got out of that shithole. You have no idea how much this means to the people who care about you.'

I glanced sideways at him. Even though it was November, Sam was wearing sunglasses and, with his hair blowing
in the breeze from the still-open window, he looked like some sort of film star. ‘Thanks for coming to get me, Bowes,' I said gratefully. ‘Did you steal a car?'

He grinned. ‘No. It's Sheryl's.'

‘Sheryl who? Tell me this isn't some sex-friend's car, Bowes?'

‘No,' he said, slightly hurt. ‘Sheryl from downstairs.'

‘Oh!' I was surprised. ‘But you don't know the Greens.'

‘Doesn't matter,' he replied. ‘You needed picking up. I'm sure you'd do the same for me.'

I would. I had a whole world of possibility opening up before me. I was going to have time to borrow a car and help a friend. To go for a walk. I could make someone dinner. ‘I feel like a newborn,' I said.

Sam smiled.

‘It's like I'm starting again, Sam. I'm totally shitting myself, and I'll probably have a panic attack soon, but right now I feel like I might burst. With excitement and hope and stuff. Do you know what I mean?'

‘Yeah,' he said. ‘I do.'

As I peered sideways at him, I saw how happy he was for me and I wanted to cry.
We'd done it!
We'd taken action! We'd fought through all the fear and started our lives again! I positively glowed. If it weren't for Sam, I wouldn't have been here, fighting my way down the A1. I would never have taken my life back.

‘We did it, Bowes,' I said. ‘We did it together.'

Sam was looking dangerously emotional himself. ‘Right on, brother.'

I watched him driving for a while and pondered how
much I loved being with Sam. Not only was he silly and kind but he was
safe
. I felt no urge to be someone else when I was with him: not clever, not strong, not witty. It was OK to be a moron or a bore and I loved him for that.

‘So, John's a wanker,' he said, after a few minutes.

I snorted, although not without sadness. ‘Yep. And he's probably dead, too. His wife arrived just as I was leaving. She was made of ice. She's going to kill him. Absolutely no doubt about it.'

Sam punched me on the shoulder. ‘Bo,' he remarked. ‘And do you have any sort of a plan?'

I thought about it. ‘No,' I said truthfully.

‘Good girl.' He reached over and squeezed my leg. Oddly, I wanted to hold on to him but he moved his hand to the gear stick and, in true Bowes fashion, started singing along enthusiastically to a Backstreet Boys song on Sheryl Green's car stereo.