Breaking Joseph (32 page)

I stopped
listening to whatever it was Ben was saying and wondered what
Joseph was doing tonight. What was he wearing? Did his voice pour
across a little restaurant table at the Italian place we loved so
much, or over the din of a bar?

“Who’s this,
then?” Aidan bellowed, elbowing me.

“This is Ben.”
I smiled. “He knows Matt from rugby.”

“Pleased to
meet you.” Ben held out a hand and Aidan pumped it.

“A pleasure.
And how do you know Miss Vaughn here?”

“He refused me
a job last week,” I said, eyeing Ben deviously.

“It’s true. I
had to turn her away. She wasn’t really…what we were after.”

Aidan snorted.
“You only employ crotchety old toffs?”

“Something like
that.” He laughed. “She was a bit overqualified, so to speak.”

I tipped my
head. “You read my CV then. I didn’t think recruitment consultants
bothered with those sorts of things.”

He smirked.
“Thought it might have your phone number on.”

“Lei-Lei,”
Aidan muttered.

“Yes?”

“Stop thinking
with your cock,” he said through gritted teeth.

Ben blinked.
“Mmm?”

“I said, chip
off the old block.” Aidan clapped him on the shoulder. “See you
around.”

“What was that
all about?” Ben said.

“Him? He’s
always like that. Ignore him.” I set my drink down on a stack of
magazines. “Want to dance?”

Admittedly,
there wasn’t a lot of room for anything that deserved to be called
dancing, but we weren’t the only ones and it was as good an excuse
as any to touch him. Whether it was the evocative scent of him, how
warm his hands were, that he was just different…touching him seemed
like a good idea.

Besides, he
wasn’t ashamed to twirl me about like an idiot.

“Nice
dancing.”

I half jumped
as Matt materialized.

“Have you come
to join us?” I asked sheepishly.

“I was looking
for you,” he said, throwing Ben a blank stare. “Wondered if we
could chat for a minute.”

“Oh. All
right.” I peeled Ben’s hand from my hip. “Back in a bit, okay?”

“Of course.” He
shrugged, fists delving into his pockets as he watched us
leave.

I followed Matt
through dark halls and bright lights. The noise died behind his
bedroom door.

“Is everything
okay?” I asked.

He flicked on a
lamp. “Suppose. Yeah.”

“I’ve never
been in your room before.” Trails of junk spilled from half-packed
boxes. “Not here, I mean.”

“Leila.”

“What?”

“If you’re
going to rebound, can you do me the decency of not doing it in my
flat?”

“I’m sorry,” I
managed. “I didn’t mean to be a cow.”

“I know you
didn’t.” He sighed.

“I mean, I
wasn’t really going to do anything. I just–”

He lunged and
then his hands spanned my cheeks, his forehead mashed to mine.

“What are you
doing?” I shrieked.

“I could help
you rebound,” he murmured. “Since you’re ready, and all.”

I only just
restrained a groan. “You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

“Possibly.” His
eyes were wide, pupils glassy.

We walked back
until I was trapped between his torso and the door. I tasted
alcohol on his breath as it flooded the space between us.

“Can you back
up a bit, please?” I croaked.

“Why?” He
stroked my cheek. “We still like each other. Don’t you think we’re
wasting time?”

“I think you’re
being inappropriate.”

“Shit. Where
are my manners?” He reached into his pocket and for one horrible
moment, I thought he was going to get his wallet out. Then it was
obvious that he was just feeling awkward–but too late. It was
written all over my quivering lip and wide eyes.

“Not those
kinds of manners,” he spat.

I gave a slow,
apologetic nod. Circles, circles…we clashed in the same places,
over and over again. Maybe it was the mirror between us, showing us
what we wanted to see. Or maybe it showed us things that we’d
rather forget about ourselves. About each other.

“We’re not
going to get back together, Matt,” I said quietly.

Outside, an
acoustic guitar began to play to whoops and applause.

“It might
happen,” he said.

“No, it
won’t.”

“But it’d
happen with Ben the cock out there? He’s…he’s got an earring!
Fucking hell.”

I folded my
arms and smiled sadly. “He smells like Joseph.” The words came out
so small, so weak; Matt winced like he’d been punched in the
face.

“Shall I walk
you home?” he said eventually.

“That’d be
nice.”

He lent me a
jacket, since it was windy and I was still half-soaked in beer. We
talked over the moving plans and about the company we were going
to. He told me how Salisbury cathedral, just a few minutes from our
new office, was drenched in flowing floodlights in the dark,
towering into the sky like an earthy fist with a handful of moonlit
cloud. He missed the place so deeply. He talked with his blood.

He was taking
me home to where his heart was, and I’d broken it before we’d even
got there.

“I shouldn’t do
this,” I said. “Moving in with you. It’ll be a disaster.”

“Don’t be
stupid, Leila.”

I tugged his
sleeve. “You were going to stop torturing yourself, remember?”

“I was.
I’m…working on it.” A hand played through his dark mop of hair.
“I’ll cope. I’ll be fine. I’m a big boy.”

“Oh, I know.”
Well, that sounded a lot dirtier than I intended.

He managed a
lopsided grin. “Cheers.”

Thank God for
that.

After an
uncomfortable–but amicable–hug, I made my way up to the flat and
fell into the shower. I flicked the laptop on while I did my
makeup, glumly noting that there was still no email from Clemmie.
Then I loaded up online banking.

I caught sight
of my account balance and squinted at the screen.

Fuck.

Fuck!

Chapter 18

“What’s going
on?” I demanded.

It was barely
nine AM, the earliest I thought decent to ring Mom and Dad. I
hadn’t arrived home until two and had barely slept, though was
still in bed. My brain fizzed all night with the memory of my
banking screenshot.

“I don’t know
what you mean,” Dad said blithely.

“You put the
money back in my account!”

“Did we?” His
confusion was so badly feigned.

“Yes, you
bloody did! What are you thinking? What’s going to happen to the
estate?”

“It’s all
right, love,” he said warmly. “Don’t panic.”

Panic? I was
half tempted to tell him how I’d earned the money! Hell, it felt
like everyone else knew recently.

“I don’t
understand.”

“Leila…you
didn’t think we could really take that much from you, did you?”

“You had
extenuating circumstances,” I insisted. “I couldn’t let you lose
the house.”

“We haven’t
lost it, love.” He cleared his throat. “We…sold it.”

“
What
?”

“We sold it
about two months ago, actually. We’re just looking after the place
until they sort out new managers.”

“Why didn’t you
tell me?” I demanded. “How could you let me think I was paying it
all off?”

“You needed to
do it though, didn’t you? We saw how worried you were and you were
so busy with your important training…”

“I can’t
believe you’ve sold it.” I wanted to weep. I just didn’t have the
energy.

“Leila, we hung
on for as long as we could, but it obviously wasn’t working. Paying
everything off wasn’t going to solve problems with the actual
business.” He sighed; he must have dreaded telling me this.
“Besides…we were hardly comfortable with where the money was coming
from.”

Erm. “What do
you mean?”

“We know you
don’t have another job,” he said pointedly.

“You do?”

“You should
have the money. It was given to you. We put the interest on. You
can give it back to him if you feel comfortable, or sort yourself
out with a flat...but it’s your choice. We can’t take his guilt
money.”

“Who’s
him
?” I said, trying not to sound suspicious.

He exhaled
heavily. “That Charles Flemming.”

“Oh, for fuck’s
sake.” I groaned.

“Excuse me,
young lady–”

“Sorry.” I
spoke through my hand. “Sorry.”

“You didn’t
think we were oblivious, did you? Half the village was talking
about you at one point.”

Now my hands
covered my eyes. “Really?”

“We thought
that when he moved away, it was the end of it. But he was obviously
very fond of you. We knew he was giving you the money, love.”

How to deny
that without telling the truth? Somehow, having my parents think I
was Charlie’s mistress was better than them knowing I was a
whore–even when in this case, they more or less amounted to the
same thing.

“I’m sorry,
Dad,” I muttered. “You must have been really embarrassed.”

“Not as much as
we were worried.”

“Why didn’t you
say something?”

“What could we
have done? You were always so pissing stubborn. You’d have done
what you wanted, regardless. Imagine having that conversation with
us, eh?”

“No. You’re
right.” I kneaded my pillow. “What are you and Mum going to do
now?”

“Well…we’ve
been looking at houses in the village. We did well out of the
sale–you don’t need to worry about that. It’ll be smaller, of
course, but there’ll be plenty of room for you if you need it.” He
paused. “What about you? Will you still go to Salisbury?”

Hmph. Was I? It
was a lot of money, but not enough to last forever and I still
needed to qualify.

“I think so,
yeah,” I said eventually. “Actually…while we’re on the subject,
there’s probably something you should know about Matt.”

“Oh?” Dad’s
voice was amused, teasing; he and Mum didn’t buy my platonic
relationship with Matt any more than Greg did.

“Not like
that!” I sat up to prepare for the onslaught. “Charlie is Matt’s
stepdad.”

Dad choked on
the other end of the phone. “Bloody hell. You do pick them, don’t
you?”

“I didn’t mean
to.” I winced. “It wasn’t deliberate. It turns out we both got into
the company because Charlie referenced us. Neither of us knew.”
Still telling my Dad a dirty secret? Check. Still mortified? You
betcha. “I wasn’t with Charlie at the same time as Matt.”

“I should hope
not.” He started to laugh awkwardly. “It does make you moving in
with Matt sound a bit incestuous, mind.”

I was thankful
that he couldn’t see my face because my eyes had rolled so far
skyward that
sheepish
did not cover it.

“So,” he said,
“what are you going to do, now that you’re rich?”

“Buy some
shoes?” I said drily. “I…I don’t know, Dad.”

I really
didn’t. Money can’t buy me love, and all that crap. It couldn’t
even buy me the career I clung to so fallibly.

Further than
that, I had no idea what it meant.

* * * *

I was booked in
at five, which seemed a strange time on a Sunday. Still, I’d meant
it when I said I wouldn’t shortchange Will, and there was something
surreal and satisfying about an appointment I truly didn’t
need.

The client was
new. His name was Thomas. He did something in advertising and he
liked suspenders beneath a little black dress. This, I was happy to
oblige him.

I got to the
hotel half an hour early and ordered a gin and tonic at the bar. A
huge, ornate mirror sat on the opposite wall beside the bottles of
Champagne and Absolut. I stared at my painted self and decided
Charlotte would finally buy me that Mulberry handbag. She should
probably buy me a flat, too, since my childhood bedroom was about
to be packed away and tucked into a house full of somebody else’s
memories.

God, that was a
grim thought. I’d already lost the man I loved, had probably lost
my best friend, narrowly missed losing my lawyer self and I wasn’t
ready to let go of my garden full of lilacs.

The new start
that beckoned in Salisbury was appreciated but so desperately
bittersweet–it was Matt’s home, not mine. It all felt so
self-indulgent, this moping. I had no money worries at all now and
I would still qualify, still had a job. I shouldn’t be so depressed
over…flowers.

Familiar
anticipation swelled as I stepped into the lift. Adrenaline had
such conveniently distracting properties: blood whispered in my
ears and a flush swept across the little cleavage on show. My
stockings itched in the heat and it was a relief to move as my
floor came into view.

Thomas had left
his door open, as instructed. I checked the room number twice
before letting myself in.

“You know,” he
said, “the more I fuck with this system, the more I want you out of
it.”

Joseph leaned
on his elbows as he perched on the edge of the bed. I clutched the
door handle as nerves jolted down my arm.

“It’s nice to
see you too.” A wry smile creased his face.

“You lied.
Again.”

“They make it
very easy if you know how.”

“I’ll be sure
to tell Will.” I straightened, watching his index finger curve as
he beckoned me. Not that I could bring myself to move.

“Will you come
and sit down, Leila?”

“I’m not sure I
can.”

He nodded
slowly; he understood. “I’m not angry with you, if that’s what
you’re afraid of.”

It wasn’t. He
wouldn’t have brought me here if he was. I was only afraid of
myself; how it would be too easy to touch him, the closer he was.
How sharp little truths and risky invitations sat poised on the
edge of my tongue.

“Ken told you,”
I whispered.

“He did. What
he knew, anyway.” He cocked his head. “To be honest, it wasn’t hard
to work out the rest of it. I knew something dodgy had happened
after it became evident that Mr Flemming hadn’t hired you.”