Conditional Love (22 page)

We moved closer until my nostrils were filled with the scent of Sure for Men. His eyes locked onto mine and he slid a hand behind my neck. My legs trembled as his lips came within kissing distance.

‘Perhaps I can change your mind.’ His breath whispered against my ear and sent tingles from the nape of my neck to the bottom of my spine. I melted against him as his lips brushed mine.

I snaked my arms around his broad back, tracing the contours of his muscles with my fingertips. It felt so good to be back in his arms. When I was with him, I felt safe and protected, as if his strength was enough for the two of us. I couldn’t bear to lose him again.

‘Yes, perhaps you can,’ I murmured, submitting happily to his kiss.

Marc pulled back, his eyes glinting triumphantly. ‘That’s more like it, Princess!’

I squealed as he picked me up and swung me round.

‘Shall we go to bed?’ He winked at me, inclining his head towards the door.

I wriggled out of his arms. ‘You go ahead, I’ll just tidy up here.’

My heart was going like the clappers as he headed into my bedroom. He was staying over! I couldn’t believe it; back there for a minute, I thought I’d blown it.

Yay! I’m his girlfriend, his princess!

I collected the dirty plates and glasses and dumped them in the kitchen sink. The washing up could wait, the fifteen stone stud muffin in my bed couldn’t. I turned to leave, an industrial-sized grin plastered across my face.

Emma stood in the doorway, in her dressing gown, arms, legs and eyebrows crossed. I clutched at my chest.

‘Jeepers, Emma! You frightened the life out of me!’

‘So you’re taking him back then?’

‘He’s taking
me
back. And I can’t believe my luck,’ I corrected her.

She huffed in disgust. ‘I don’t get it, what has he ever done for you?’

My mind was full of the things I hoped he was going to do for me any minute, and quite frankly she was ruining the mood. As much as I valued her support, right now I didn’t really want to get into the ins and outs of my relationship with Marc. So to speak.

‘Look, I love you to bits and I know that you’re just looking out for me. But can’t you just be happy for me?’

I glanced towards my bedroom door. He would be getting impatient soon, or worse, he would drop off to sleep and bang would go my plans.

Emma pulled her mouth to one side. Her brown eyes looked worried. She wasn’t convinced. I gave her a big hug.

‘I offered him money, you know. To start that second-hand car business. Do you know what he said?’ I said. She shook her head warily.

‘He wants to do it himself, pay his own way. There!’ I pulled back, hoping to see her lighten up a bit.

Emma shrugged. ‘Glad to hear it. I’m sorry, I want to be happy for you, but I just don’t trust him.’

‘It’s different this time. I’m standing up for myself much more these days.’ Well sort of. I wasn’t sure Emily Pankhurst and friends would have been cheering from their graves at my pathetically submissive display of five minutes ago.

‘Jess says –’

I raised my eyebrows, annoyed that they’d been talking about me behind my back. She placed a placatory hand on my arm.

‘We just care about you. You haven’t even begun to deal with meeting your dad properly yet and we’re worried you’re rushing into this thing with Marc as a result.’

I gasped. That wasn’t true, was it? My dad was the biggest waste of space I’d ever met and I wasn’t going to waste any more of my time thinking about him. It was as simple as that. Nothing to do with ‘dealing with it’.

My bedroom door opened and Marc appeared wearing only his boxer shorts. Emma yelped with embarrassment and ducked out of sight.

‘I’m waiting, Princess,’ he crooned seductively, waggling his eyebrows. Every fibre of my body responded and I practically skipped off to join him.

‘Just be careful, Sophie,’ called a hushed voice from the kitchen.

A noise woke me up ludicrously early. I opened my eyes and shut them again. It wasn’t time to get up yet. A self-satisfied smile crept across my face. Marc was still here and this time I’d managed not to roll out of bed during the night.

My grin got wider as I remembered how I’d reacquainted myself with Marc’s body last night. It had all been over very quickly, and he had been snoring five minutes later, but that was OK, we both had work today and it was important to get a good night’s sleep. The best thing was that he hadn’t mentioned the Slendertone machine once, and for that I would be eternally grateful.

I pulled the duvet up around my shoulders. Shame he couldn’t stay in bed a bit longer for a cuddle. I’d forgotten how early he had to go to work. I could hear him getting dressed; jangling keys, rustling papers, the soft clicking and beeping of his phone… his phone? I turned over and attempted to focus on his shadowy shape in the dawn light.

‘Marc? What are you doing?’ I rubbed my eyes and squinted at him.

He whirled round from his position at my dressing table.

‘Er – you looked so gorgeous lying there asleep, I thought I’d take your picture. Say cheese!’ He held his mobile up and it flashed.

‘Oh God, delete it!’ I groaned, my hand flying to my bedhead hair. I probably looked like one of the Muppets.

‘I haven’t got any pictures of you. Mum was asking what you looked like.’

His mum was asking about me? He had never taken my picture before, so I should be pleased. Perhaps this was a sign of things to come?

‘Can I see?’ I smiled sweetly. ‘The least you can do is to show me how bad it is.’

‘No time, Princess.’ He leaned across and gave me a peck on the forehead. ‘Gotta get to work.’ He reached under the covers, pinched my bum and with a dirty laugh, he was gone.

I was about to drop back off to sleep again when I remembered what day it was. My eyes sprang open. I jumped out of bed and dived into the shower. Nick had called yesterday to say that the draft drawings were ready. My very own grand design was ready for inspection.

An hour later, with freshly washed hair and wearing one of my favourite dresses, I was ready for work. I collected the Lilac Lane folder from my dressing table and headed to the office.

twenty-five

‘That was a long lunch hour, or should I say hour and a half?’ said part-time Maureen, leaning low across her desk to stay out of Donna’s eye line. ‘The boss has been up and down like a jack-in-a-box waiting for you to get back.’

I groaned; I’d hoped she wouldn’t notice if I was late back. I had an entire boring day at the office to get through before the meeting with the architect and the suspense was killing me. The only bright spot had been my lunch break, when I had spent a blissful hour daydreaming in the homes magazines section in WHSmith. Unfortunately, I had lost track of time.

‘I had to cover for you in the end,’ said Maureen, knitting her eyebrows together with worry.

There was a sarcastic tut from Jason, who seemed to relish me getting into trouble these days.

‘Thanks, Maureen, I’m really grateful,’ I said, still out of breath from my dash back to my desk. ‘What did you tell her?’

‘Dentist. Emergency filling.’

I stared at her incredulously. Now I would have to fake a numb face and dental pain for the rest of the afternoon.

‘Sorry,’ said Maureen, pulling her cardigan tighter and folding her arms. ‘You know how nervous she makes me. It was all I could think of. Anyway, you’d better get in there. Oh, and Frannie Cooper called. I said you’d call her back ASAP!’

Joy.

I rifled through my drawer for a spare McDonald’s straw, popped it in the top of my bottle of water and practised a clumsy suck. Clutching my face tenderly and ignoring Jason’s sniggering, I hurried over to Donna’s office.

If there was one thing Donna despised, it was her staff moaning about their ailments. So when she asked me if I was all right, I didn’t have to act: my face was numb with shock.

‘Yeff fankf,’ I nodded, taking a seat opposite her. ‘Ve dentist pold me a go home, b I fay I’m foo bibby.’ I slurped my water and allowed a tiny dribble to run down my chin, pretending not to feel it.

Things got even more bizarre when Donna handed me a tissue and pointed to my chin. I was worried now. That was a blatant display of compassion. If Donna had a motto like John Lewis, it would be ‘Never Knowingly Understanding’.

It hit me all of a sudden; I was getting the sack. It was the only possible scenario. This out of character display of kindness was all part of the process in case I tried to sue her at a later date for unfair dismissal.

I knew instantly what must have had happened: Jason had stitched me up on
The Herald
’s Facebook page again. I’d spent an hour this morning deleting all the lewd photos that he’d got his mates to post on my new ‘Funniest Holiday Snap’ competition. What had he done this time? I glanced through the glass and caught him grinning at me. The toerag.

‘Don’t worry about talking,’ said Donna, patting my hand. This was getting seriously freaky. ‘Just nod and shake your head.’

I nodded.

‘As you know, the trial period for your social media project finishes this month.’

Does it? It must have slipped my mind. I nodded anyway.

She opened a black folder in front of her and ran her finger down the front page. Reading upside down, I could just make out statistics for Twitter and Facebook activity. I stifled a smile, before remembering I was supposed to have a numb mouth. Trust Donna, the technophobe, to have a paper copy of an internet report.

‘These results reflect very well on the department,’ she said, tucking an invisible stray hair back into her shimmering chignon. I held my breath. Now she was really scaring me: that was unmistakably a compliment. I cast my mind back over the years I had worked for her. Yup, definitely a first.

‘The board is very pleased and would like to offer you a promotion.’ She pushed a white envelope towards me, a beatific smile plastered across her face.

A promotion, for real this time! A few months ago, this was exactly what I wanted. Only now, for some reason, I couldn’t muster up much enthusiasm. I picked up the envelope and pulled one side of my mouth up in a lopsided smile, relieved that my imaginary dental work excused me from giving her an effusive response.

‘There will be a modest pay rise,’ she continued. ‘But the important thing is that this is an area the board is willing to invest in. Play your cards right and in six months, we could consider increasing the Social Media head count. You could have your very own assistant! Digital marketing, Sophie. That’s where the future is.’

As she continued to babble on about what an excellent opportunity it was, my heart plummeted. I suddenly saw my career stretching out in front of my eyes like a single lane highway through the desert. No highs, lows, twisty turny corners or hidden obstacles. Simply more of the same.

This morning, in between deleting the nudie photos, I had negotiated a two-for-one deal with a children’s petting farm and uploaded a competition to win a year’s supply of baked beans. Later on today, I had a meeting with a solar energy company who wanted to do a ‘fun’ joint promotion with us. Was that even possible?

Was this it? Had I reached the pinnacle of my career? Had there in fact been a pinnacle, or was it one long plateau? Where was the pride, the achievement, the satisfaction?

‘You know, Sophie,’ said Donna, leaning forward to deliver her final blow, ‘you remind me a lot of myself when I was your age.’

Noooo! The ultimate insult. I could not end up like her. I refuse to still be in this department in twenty years’ time, bitter and twisted and making everyone else’s life a misery.

I gave a low moan.

‘You poor thing,’ murmured Donna.

‘Fank you,’ I said, bending over my straw to avoid eye contact.

‘Off you go.’ She flicked her head at the door to terminate our meeting. Normal service resumed. I almost sighed with relief.

Sixty minutes later, I reasoned that the effects of my anaesthetic would have worn off. After a gentle massage and some exaggerated facial stretches outside Donna’s office window, I reverted to my usual voice when the phone on my desk rang.

‘
The Herald
, Sophie Stone speaking.’ Ironically, my face ached for real now, after all that pretence.

‘You didn’t call back!’

My heart sank. It was Frannie. I held the phone away from my ear. How did she make her voice so shrill? I tried to explain about my dental emergency, but she wasn’t listening.

‘Donna tells me you’re a whizz at social media.’

‘Well, I’d hardly –’

‘Ryan will be retiring from professional football soon and we need to plan his next move.’

Was that the royal ‘we’?

‘I need you to come over and set him up with a Facebook page and Twitter account. If it’s good enough for Wayne Rooney, it’s good enough for my Ryan. If he is going to be the next Gary Linneker, we need to raise his profile.’

Again with the ‘we’.

I felt sorry for the poor guy. All he probably wanted to do was take a gradual slide down the divisions and settle himself into a nice little coaching job at some lesser club somewhere. That would never do for Frannie. She had a place in society to uphold.

Either way, it was nothing to do with me.

‘That’s a bit out of my remit I’m afraid, Frannie.’

There was a long intake of breath followed by a long snort of displeasure.

‘You must understand, Sophie, that I’m a bit of a media guru myself.’

The words ‘Do it yourself, then’ sprang to mind.

‘I have to come up with all the creative ideas for the Fringe Benefits campaigns in
The Herald
myself. In fact, I’m thinking of withdrawing my advertising from you altogether…’

Reluctantly, I set a date to go over to her office and do her bidding and ended the call. I gnashed my teeth and took several deep breaths. Before the handset had even cooled down the phone rang again.

‘
The
Herald
, Sophie Stone speaking.’

‘Hello Sophie. It’s Terry Stone,’ and after a moment’s pause he added, ‘your father.’