Marshmallows for Breakfast (37 page)

Monday I got up early. Showered with blistering hot water and left at 5:45 a.m., before the children got up. I missed them. I wanted to see them, to listen to what they'd done in the time I'd been away. I wanted to see the light in their eyes, the smile on their lips, to hear their voices excitedly unraveling the mysteries of our time apart. The agony inside my
head hadn't gone away, the pressure on my chest was increasing not decreasing, the bruise on my heart was spreading. I couldn't pass that on to them. Not even for a few minutes. And after the revelation I'd had, the reminder that I did not and would not have kids, I knew I had to pull back from them.

I beat Gabrielle to work for the first time ever in us working together. She raised her eyebrows in surprise when she saw me at my desk as she arrived, but made no comment. Instead we just talked about the conference and what I'd learned. “I learned I'm never going to have children,” I almost said. “That's what I learned.”

I knew what this was. It was bereavement. It was losing something precious. It was losing a part of myself I'd never gotten to know. I hadn't gone through the bereavement process like I should have done three years ago when I found out. I'd simply stayed in shock, maybe even denial, pretended it wasn't happening. Pretended I could hide from it by moving to Australia. As a result, I was nowhere near acceptance, the part of the process where you assimilate the knowledge and move on with your life. I was somewhere along that process of loss and grief. I knew that. In tel lec tu ally I knew that. Emotionally was something else completely. Emotionally a simple look would ignite enough pain to knock me out.

The day inched by. I looked up at lunchtime to find it was only ten- thirty and I still had hours before I could go to lunch and walk around the streets, get outside in the fresh air, unnoticed and anonymous.

My skin doesn't fit.

I felt uncomfortable. I wanted to bury my fingernails into the flesh of my inner arm and claw away the skin. I wanted to dig my nails into the softest, tenderest part of my cheek
and strip it of everything. I wanted to hurt physically so the rest of it would go away.

“Kendra, for God's sake!” Janene's frustrated voice called across the office and broke into my trance.

My eyes stopped staring at the swirls of words on the newspaper in front of me and moved up to seek out the office assistant.

“Are you back on planet earth?” she asked, each word coated in sarcasm. “Or shall I page you on whichever crazy world you're visiting today?”

Gabrielle was out of the office, so was Teri. It was only the two of us, which was why she was using this tone. Since the incident with the phone message where Gabrielle had given her a written warning, she had been very careful to hide her dislike of me. As soon as we were alone, the razor-blade studded politeness with which she dealt with me fell away, and who she was would appear.

“How can I help you, Janene?” I asked evenly. I didn't want to fight Janene. I didn't want to fight anyone.

“Did you sign those temp invoices?” she asked.

“Not yet,” I replied. I'd meant to, but hadn't. They'd actually left my mind.

Her hazel eyes rolled up at the ceiling as she heaved a frustrated sigh. “What
haveyou
been doing?”

“I'll sign them when I'm ready,” I said.

“You do that,” she said with a slight snarl. “And if anyone calls because they haven't been paid, I'll be putting them through to you. I won't be taking the blame because you're not doing your job.”

“You know what I love most about you, Janene?” I said, my voice as calm and serene as a sea before a violent storm. “Despite every piece of evidence to the contrary, you still think you're the boss. And, despite the fact I have a better
title, and I have a better pay structure and I pretty much have a better job, you go on day after day, laboring under this delusion that you can tell me what to do. It's incredible. I applaud your delusionary abilities.”

While Janene tried to shift out the insult amongst what I said, my eyes returned to the newspaper in front of me. I raised my pen, went back to the top of the want ads because I hadn't taken in one word that I'd read.

“If ever there was a woman in need of a good seeing to, it's you,” Janene said. “What's the matter, Kendra, not getting any?”

I continued to stare at my newspaper, the nib of my pen pressed hard enough into the newsprint to make it snap.

“Do us all a favor and go get laid, Kendra … Oh, yes, I forgot, you don't like sex, so afterwards you make things up and call the cops to have the man arrested, don't you? But I suppose it's only fair—sleeping with you is a crime, isn't it?”

If I hadn't just come back from the conference, if I hadn't been missing the kids, if I'd had more sleep in the past few days, what happened next may not have. I may have just calmly removed my diary from my desk, written down in detail what Janene had said to me and reported her to Gabrielle upon her return. I may have gotten up, left the room and walked around the block until I could sit calmly in the office with Janene. I may have ignored her. I'll never know. In the seconds after she spoke, my eyes closed and then opened to glare at her. I took in her straight, gold-blond hair that fell in expensively styled sheets to her shoulders. I took in her mean eyes, her vicious mouth, her nasty nose, the base cut of her jaw, her expensive black suit. All money and no class. I took it all in. And then I opened my mouth. “If you speak to me again, Janene, I will hurt you.”

“As if,” she scoffed.

“You just spoke to me.” I felt my mouth twist into a bitter, humorless smile. “Obviously you didn't understand what I said.” I spread my hands out in front of me, leaned forwards. “I mean, if you
ever
speak to me again; if you even utter a simple hello or good-bye, tell me there's a call for me, or say ‘excuse me’ if we pass in the corridor, I will wait for you someplace and I will
hurt
you. Now, just nod if you understand.”

Janene nodded.

“Good.” I lowered my eyes to the newspaper in front of me. Shaking. I was shaking. I couldn't read, couldn't move, in fact. Had those words just come out of my mouth.
My
mouth? Did
I
say that? I had left my body for a few moments, had watched myself from a distance. Now I was back and I was horrified. That was not me. I did not do things like that.

“So, now that it's clear that Janene is never to speak to Kendra again, does anyone want to tell me what's going on?” Gabrielle asked.

Mrs. Traveno stood in the doorway, her black leather briefcase in one hand, her square, flat cardboard box of Office Wonders mugs, magnets and mouse mats balanced on the palm of the other. Her eyes were fixed on me. They burnt into me with the same intensity and heat that a branding machine scorched the flesh of an animal.

When neither Janene nor I spoke, she moved stiffly across the office to her desk beside the large sash window, placed the box on her desk, dropped her briefcase on the floor, threw her handbag onto her chair. She seemed to do it all without taking her eyes off me. Without turning even a fraction, she opened her red lipsticked mouth. “Janene.
Leave.” Janene didn't need to be told twice. She didn't even look triumphant as she gathered her bag and coat and left. As soon as the door shut behind her, my boss, dressed in a navy-blue skirt suit, went and flipped the lock. No one was coming in or leaving without her say-so. She folded her arms across her chest, planted her feet in the middle of the floor and glared at me.

Under her gaze, with every passing minute, I crumbled a little more. I shouldn't have said what I said. I couldn't believe I'd said what I said.

“What happened?” she eventually asked, her voice soft enough to be kind.

I tried to breathe but I couldn't, not fully. I tried to moisten my lips but my mouth was dry. “I can't tell you,” I replied.

Her chest moved up and down in controlled breaths, she was struggling to keep calm. To remain professional. “Anyone could have walked in like I did. A potential employee, Teri, a client. They would have had to witness what I did. I know you wouldn't have said what you said without good reason. But I can't help you if you won't tell me. I'd like you to think very carefully before you answer me this time. Kendra, what did she say to you?”

I knew I should say, should explain it all. Let her know that what Janene had said was too close to home. I knew I should tell her because if there was one person on the earth I was sure would understand it was Gabrielle. But I couldn't,
wouldn't
repeat it. Not even in abstract. “I can't tell you,” I replied.

“Are you sure?” She was offering me one last chance to save myself.

I nodded.

“OK.” She nodded. “Kendra Tamale, I am placing you on suspension from your position as head of temp recruitment
with basic pay until you can give me a proper reason for your behavior today. This suspension is effective immediately.”

As she spoke my teeth gritted together, clenching into each other until my jaw hurt. Tears built up behind the lump, which worked like a dam in my throat.

I mumbled, “Thank you,” got up, turned off my computer, dropped my mobile and diary into my bag, picked up my coat and left without another word being said between us.

CHAPTER 33

G
abrielle and I sat in the corner of a pub, nearer to my flat than to the office.

It was a proper British pub with dark wood, paisley carpet and wallpaper. We had a little table, where we sat opposite each other. A large glass of white wine sat in front of her, a glass of cranberry and soda waited in front of me.

I'd got there first and found the table through the throng of bodies. More than once during the time I sat there, I'd been tempted to text Gabrielle and tell her something had come up and I couldn't make it. I didn't want to see her. Not after what had happened. I was desperately ashamed of myself and didn't want to face anyone. That's why I hadn't been in touch with her for the whole week. But she'd called me yesterday, asked if I would meet her for a drink after she'd finished work and I'd hesitated.

“As your friend, not your boss,” she'd said to my pause. “We won't talk about work.”

I'd still hesitated.

“Don't make me beg,” she'd said quietly. “I'm your friend, don't make me beg.” I'd agreed.

Kyle and the kids didn't know about my suspension. I left extra early every morning and came back very late every night. During the day I took a train to central London, walked around, sat in the library near Leicester Square and read books and newspapers. One day I caught the tube out
to west London and walked past the house where I grew up. None of my family had lived there in years, but I'd wanted to see it now that I was back in England. Another day I went to the flat in north London where I'd lived when I returned to London from university in Leeds. Visiting them was a way of reminding myself where I'd come from. How far I'd come. How far I'd gone just to come back.

Part of being suspended probably meant I was supposed to sit in my house and reflect upon my actions, but then the Gadsboroughs would know and I didn't want them to know. I didn't want anyone to know. I was so ashamed.

Gabrielle took a drink of her wine, put her glass down on the table and looked up at me. I was probably radiating “leave me alone” vibes. And not because I was cross with her for suspending me, but because I was mortified that she'd had to. That wasn't who I was. I wasn't someone who caused trouble. I wasn't someone who threatened people. I didn't want to talk to Gabrielle because I'd let her down.

She looked tired. Her wavy black hair was shiny and glossy as it framed her face, but her complexion was the grey of the sea after a storm, dark shadows haunted the areas under her eyes, her features were pinched and drawn, as though simply looking normal was an effort. “We miss you,” Gabrielle said.

Involuntarily the muscles in my body stiffened and recoiled slightly from her.

“I know I said no work, but I miss you.”

“I miss you, too.”

“So, are you going to come back?”

“We said no work talk,” I replied.

“Yeah, we did.”

Gabrielle knocked back half her wine in one go, then put
her glass down on the table with a forcefulness that said she'd made an important decision.

“I was raped when I was twenty-five,” she said, staring straight into my eyes.

My body snapped back in my seat, recoiling from her again.

“I knew him. He was a friend of the family. Our parents knew each other—they'd all come over from Australia around the same time when I was sixteen and we moved to Cornwall. He was slightly older than me so I didn't see much of him, but when I came up to London to work he kind of took me under his wing, you know, as a favor to my parents. He took me out a few times, showed me a few places, introduced me to his friends. He was nice, fun, like an older brother, almost. Nothing like that ever happened between us until one day, we're meant to be meeting some friends down the pub for Sunday lunch. He comes over … We don't get to Sunday lunch. Well, I didn't. He did. As far as he was concerned nothing important happened that day.”