Don't Get Me Wrong (28 page)

Kim nodded. She was finding it hard to concentrate.

“But before we launch the new strategy, I must get fully fit. In order to nuance my strategic role. So the charity will have to do without me for a while.” Jake gave her a thoughtful glance. “And without you, too, of course.”

Kim was confused. “Without me?”

“Well, that's the other reason for our little session here today. And why I volunteered, in fact. I said, She's already been through so much. The death of a beloved sister. Her life turned upside down by the sudden responsibility of supporting a young child—not only financially, obviously, but emotionally as well. I felt you would be better able to hear the news from me.”

Her heart beat faster. “The news?”

Jake looked at her with mournful eyes. “I'm afraid we're letting you go.”

“Letting me go?”

“Making you redundant. As an organization, due to internal efficiencies, rationalization, and downsizing, we no longer need a regional development manager.”

Kim stared.

“Which, of course, given the major de-hiring program you undertook over the past few months, you will have realized already.”

“You can't do it like this, Jake. I have rights. There must be a consultation period.”

“Obviously, it has nothing to do with the fact that your new caring responsibilities will make you less agile and less flexible. Less useful to the organization, really. That might have been an issue if the charity had still needed a regional development manager. But, as I've explained, due to the general restructuring and consolidation, it doesn't.”

I can't lose my job. Not now I've got Otis to look after.

“You'll be paid until the end of March. Which I think's quite generous.”

There was a small silence.

Kim said, “So what was the point of the annual evaluation?”

An expression of mild surprise flitted across Jake's face. “Didn't you find it useful?”

•  •  •

“You're not telling me you haven't rung him.”

“Why would I ring him?”

“You said you would.”

“I said I might.”

“It seems to me, Kim, that you are making life unnecessarily difficult. Harry has a duty to support his son. And he is more than willing to take on that responsibility.”

“Eva never wanted—”

“Jean-Marc and I have discussed this at some length. Obviously we don't want you to starve. And you are, of course, welcome to come and stay with us at any time. It would be a pleasure to have you here as our guests. For a limited period, of
course. But we're not in a position to pay you any kind of allowance. If only we were. Tax in France is a national scandal. Everyone's talking about it. You can own a country home with marble floors and a swimming pool and olive groves and an exquisite formal garden, but you're still struggling to make ends meet. And how we struggle! I can hardly afford a weekly manicure.”

“I've never asked you for—”

“I haven't wanted to bring this up, Kim. But I do feel that your attitude is fundamentally selfish. Surely it would have been better for Otis to stay in London? Of course, it was very kind of Izzie's parents to take you in. But really, Kim. Newcastle. You can't be happy in the north of England. I refuse to accept it.”

“I didn't have a—”

“It's not as if it's any kind of long-term solution, being a lodger in someone else's house. You need to put down roots. Think of the future. And I simply can't see why you won't accept Harry's help. He could rent you a nice little flat somewhere charming. Like Primrose Hill. Or Hampstead. Otherwise, Kim, in years to come, Otis may look back and wonder why his aunt deprived him of basic necessities—indeed, of a father's love—just because of some mild dislike on her part. And I hope you have your answer prepared. Because, quite frankly, in your shoes, I wouldn't know what to say.”

•  •  •

The worst thing about the playground of Otis's new school was that everyone was so bloody friendly. Kim, in her black jeans and white T-shirt—no makeup, no jewelry, no smile—put her head down, avoided eye contact, and headed for the exit as soon
as she'd dropped Otis off. But people kept stopping her, asking polite questions, and inviting her to things she didn't care about.

It was all so meaningless, all this friendliness. All these people milling about, their mouths opening and shutting like letterboxes.

“It takes time, pet,” said Izzie's mum. “There's no rush.”

Kim felt as if she was looking at the world from inside a glass case. She couldn't feel anything—rain, or cold, or the softness of fabric. She couldn't smell anything. Sounds were strangely muffled. But she got through the days. Meetings at school. Targets at work. Reading aloud to Otis and trying to be prepared in advance for words to do with love and family because they got stuck in her throat and choked her.

Sometimes, like a thief stealing in through the window, the thought of Harry came into her head. But she always pushed it out. She had to focus on practicalities—the present, not the past. Otherwise she'd go under. Even so, Kim worried about having ripped Otis from everything that was familiar. She watched him carefully. At the beginning, he talked about London a lot—his friends, Harry's flat, Harry himself. But then it all just faded away.

“So how's the job?” said Izzie, on a lightning visit to Newcastle. She was living in Liverpool these days with her friend Hannah—a fellow comic she'd met on the stand-up circuit. They were writing a sitcom together. For the BBC, said Izzie, her face lit up with excitement. Kim couldn't stop staring. Hannah, vivid against the faded chintz of the living room, had the brilliance of a painting by Georgia O'Keeffe. Her orange T-shirt glowed like fire against her dark brown skin. She had a soft brown Afro,
bright-blue nails, a short silvery skirt, and long legs splayed over the arm of the sofa like a crane fly spilling out of a matchbox.

“It's OK.” What else can I say? thought Kim. It's a job. Badly paid. In housing. The only one I was offered. Now, weeks later, Kim didn't find this surprising. After Eva died, all the passion, fire, and commitment had just vanished. I would stare in the mirror, she thought, and see a face so wiped of any expression that it looked like a lump of raw dough. And people could see that. You couldn't really blame them. It was obvious that I didn't give a shit. About anything. And if I'd been hiring staff, I wouldn't have given me a job either. I'd have put me right at the back of the queue.

“And Otis likes his new school?”

“We've bought him a present,” said Hannah. “A purple Furby. You can teach it to talk.”

Kim usually let Izzie's parents handle all the difficult questions (“It's early days, pet”). But that afternoon they had taken Otis to see an ancient aunt in Prudhoe, leaving her undefended. The truth was, the school was worried about a whole long list of things. Kim had been in to see Miss Carter twice in the past month. Otis isn't paying attention. Or listening to instructions. It's possible he has hearing difficulties. Or language delay. But we think it would be a good idea to see the educational psychologist. And of course the school counselor. There may be bereavement issues. And how are things at home?

“You know what?” said Hannah when the silence got too long. “I think you're working too hard. We need a night out in Liverpool.”

Kim couldn't imagine a night out anywhere. “I thought I might take Otis back to see Christine one weekend.”

“You can stay in Sydenham if you like,” said Izzie. “The flat's just sitting there empty most of the time.”

Early in May, on a morning so full of spring promise that the sun was blindly flashing off bits of metal like an overenthusiastic press photographer, Kim was rushing out of the school gates when a woman with red hair fell into step beside her.

“Would Otis like to come round one day?” She had a London accent. “Victor keeps asking.”

Victor? Who the hell is Victor?

“I'm Emily. We live near each other, I think. Are you going back now?”

“I'm going to work.”

“I'll walk with you for a bit, shall I?”

Oh great, thought Kim gloomily. Company.

“You're a woman of mystery, you know. Everyone keeps talking about you.”

Kim looked up, furious. “Why?”

“Because they can't find out anything about you. It's intriguing.”

“There's nothing to find out.”

Emily laughed. She had the creamy skin that sometimes goes with red hair and freckles. “You're just making it worse. Now I'm curious, too.”

Kim took a deep breath. “I got made redundant. I couldn't find a job in London so I came up here. I live with my friend's parents. Otis is my nephew. I was made his guardian when my sister died.”

“I'm sorry.” Emily looked genuinely sad. “They told us about your sister when Otis started at the school. When did she die?”

“Last November.”

“How old was she?”

“Thirty-one. Breast cancer.”

“God, that's shit.”

Kim nodded.

“I used to work with someone whose best friend died of breast cancer. Same age. It's like some kind of plague, isn't it? Taking out all the women.”

They walked on in silence. Emily said, “I was at an investment bank. In the City. But then my husband got a job here. At the hospital. Consultant cardiologist.”

Kim said nothing.

At the end of the street, Emily came to a halt and nodded back at a grand three-story house with wisteria all round the front door. “This is me.” She hesitated. “Look, I know you want to be left alone. And I understand that. Harry's the same. My old friend from work. He looks like shit, but he'd rather die than talk about it. It's the English disease, isn't it? Keeping it all bottled up. But at least let me help with Otis sometimes. It must be really hard on your own.” She stopped and looked at Kim more closely. “Are you OK?”

But Kim didn't answer. She just stood there in the sunshine feeling as if someone had punched her.

•  •  •

One Sunday afternoon in June when Izzie's parents had dragged a silent Otis to the park, the doorbell rang. Kim frowned. She didn't want visitors. She wanted to be alone.

On the doorstep in front of her was a small man with brown
skin, black hair, and dark eyes—probably somewhere in his early thirties, but way too shiny and wealthy to be one of the dads from school. She glared at him.

“Kim?”

“Do I know you?”

He held out his hand. “My name is Syed.”

She just stood there, holding on to the edge of the door. “And?”

“Can I come in?”

“No.”

Syed nodded. “I don't blame you. I wouldn't let me in either.”

“Are you selling something?”

Syed smiled. “Do I look like I'm selling something?”

Kim considered this. He didn't. No clipboard. No leaflets. “So what do you want?”

“The trouble is,” said Syed, “that if I tell you why I'm here, you'll shut the door in my face.”

“You'd better tell me then,” said Kim, “before I do it anyway.”

“Just five minutes?”

“No.”

“Would it help if I said I knew Christine?”

“How?”

“I might need to come in to tell you that.”

Kim started shutting the door.

He said, speaking quickly, “She gave me your address.”

Kim stood there, eyes narrowed.

“I said I was like Ban Ki-moon trying to broker a peace settlement. Although, to be fair, I think she was more impressed by the fact that I liked her mango chutney.”

“You're not making any sense.”

“I know,” he said, beaming.

“Are you always this irritating?”

“Always.”

Oh, fuck it, thought Kim. She opened the door wider. “Come on, then. But it had better be good.”

She led Syed through to the living room. Even now she couldn't believe people made so many different fabrics printed with cabbage roses.

Syed smiled. “She said I might have a wasted journey. Five hours in the car from London, and you wouldn't let me in.”

“But that didn't bother you.”

“I believe in living dangerously.”

She looked at him suspiciously. “So how do you know Christine?”

Syed's smile faded. “You're not going to like it.”

Kim, bored, waited.

“Harry had her number in his phone.”

Her heart banged unpleasantly.

“Your number wasn't there, unfortunately. It would have made life a lot easier. But I rang Christine and told her why I needed help and she invited me round. And gave me your address. She said you'd be more likely to listen if I came in person.”

“Because you're so charming.”

“She's worried about you. Says you're still in shock.”

Kim ignored that. “If this has got something to do with Harry, I'm not interested. We don't see each other anymore.”

“I know. He told me. Although it took all night. You threw him out. Said you never wanted to see him again. And then left
London.” Syed took a deep breath. “The trouble is, he promised to make sure you were both OK.”

Kim was furious. “Is this any of your business?”

“Eva asked him to. That's what's cracking him up. He's breaking his promise to her.”

Kim stood up. “I think you'd better go.”

“Hear me out.”

“It's just going to be a whole load of lies.”

“You think Harry put me up to this.”

Kim was scornful. “You're saying he didn't?”

“He didn't.”

She shrugged. But something in Syed's face made her pause. She felt almost frightened.

Syed said, “I'm worried about him.”

Kim wanted to say, Why should I care? But even as the words rushed into her head, she felt childish and stupid for thinking them.