The Love Shack (30 page)

Returning to his old job will give Dan a secure career path that a man of his intelligence and ability deserves.

But I can’t ignore the fact that everything is starting to feel just a little bit wrong.

Chapter 47

Dan

I’m not saying I expected Gemma to react to my job news like the crowds greeted Walter Raleigh’s return from the New World. But does it make me sound like a needy son-of-a-bitch to say I expected more than I got? I suppress my irritation as I walk through the city centre the following day, for a meeting at the Brownlow Group GP Practice, which provides medical help for many of our service users, and hear a voice calling my name.

‘Dan!’ It takes a moment for me to recognise its owner – and her familiar, expansive smile. Though when I first met Tracy Omubo two and a half years ago, when she was twenty-two, she had nothing to smile about. She bounds towards me, her long legs in faded jeans, a flowery rucksack thrown over one shoulder and silver bangles running up her arm. ‘Dan, OHMYGODDD! It’s been ages.’

‘Wow . . . Tracy.’ I am genuinely astounded by her appearance. ‘How are you?’

In the days when Tracy first appeared on my client list, she’d just escaped a violent two-year relationship with a bloke under whose influence she’d become an habitual heroin-user. The boyfriend, who’d hospitalised her several times (twice for suicide attempts) was hard to shake. But the drug was even harder.

Yet, somehow, through sheer, bloody-minded determination – and the same Addaction course I enrolled Sheila on – she kicked it. She was clean by the time I signed her off.

‘What are you doing these days?’ I ask.

She grins, her eyes glinting. ‘I’m at college.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Yep. Who’d have thought
I’d
become a swot! I’m doing Business Studies, living in a flat just off Smithdown Road with three other girls. I love it.’

Tracy and I are heading in the same direction so we spend ten minutes catching up, until I arrive at my destination. ‘This is me,’ I say, nodding at the building.

She hesitates. ‘It’s so brilliant to see you, Dan.’

‘You too, Tracy. I can’t tell you how proud I am of you.’

She shrugs and smiles and suddenly looks awkward. ‘I’ll be honest, Dan. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.’

I can’t shake what Tracy said from my mind as I drive to the office, so much so that by the time I arrive I have to have a word with myself. This is just a job. There are dozens of brilliant people at the Chapterhouse Centre, all making a difference. And nobody can say I haven’t done my bit, even if I hate the idea of unfinished business.

Like Sheila. I think she genuinely wants to kick her drug dependency. But after beginning with good intentions, her Addaction sessions tailed off in direct proportion to a particular group of ‘friends’ reappearing in her life, all of whom are users and fully intend to remain that way.

Deep down, Sheila knows that the key to breaking her cycle is in her own hands. But every time she stumbles, she takes it out on everyone else: Addaction, for holding their sessions a bus ride away; me, for not trying to slip her in the back door of the Kevin White Unit.

But I can’t think about cases like hers. Someone else will step in and help her on her path. In the meantime, I need to focus on my own path. And, if I’m ever able to afford the kind of house that would make Gemma and me happy, this is what I’ve got to do.

Pete’s out when I return to the office, so I pull up my chair and start writing my resignation letter. It’s short and functional; there seems little point to an alternative.

The door bursts open as I’m printing it off. ‘I feel liberated!’ Pete declares, as if he’s returned from a countryside ramble with no clothes on.

‘Why?’

He flips himself into the chair. ‘I feel good about myself, reinvigorated. Like a young man again.’

‘Been rediscovering your porn collection?’ I whip the letter off the printer and fold it up to put in an envelope.

‘Crass.’

‘So what is it?’

He puts his hands behind his head. ‘I no longer have feelings for Jade.’

‘I
see
.’

‘Don’t say it like that.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like you’re Sherlock bloody Holmes uncovering a mystery. It’s true. After what happened between us, I did a lot of thinking. I decided to take stock. We’re better as friends.’

‘But you’ve been telling me for years you’re madly in love with her. Now you’ve walked in, taken one bite of a Jaffa cake and as far as you’re concerned, that’s it. This profound, all-consuming devotion I’ve had to listen to you bang on about has been switched off like the Blackpool lights after Christmas.’

‘Good analogy. The difference is, they won’t be coming back on next September. Or indeed any September. I’m moving on.’

‘If you say so.’

‘People do change, you know, Dan. It’s all about adapting. I sat up the other night and said to myself: “Jade and I are never going to get together. Am I honestly saying that I can’t be happy without her?” The answer is,
of course
I can. I mean, it’s like this job. I love it, but if I had to leave for whatever reason, it wouldn’t be the end of the world, would it?’

Chapter 48

Gemma

A text comes from Alex on Tuesday morning, just after I’ve arrived at work.

I know the answer to this before I even try, but I’m going to do it anyway: I won the company raffle – dinner for two tonight at a Greek place in Manchester. Only I’ve got no one to go with * sob * Will you take pity on me, break the rules and come? x

I peer at the text. Company raffle? Who exactly has a company raffle? I have the same conversation with myself that I’ve had a lot lately – about whether this constitutes an advance of the non-friendly variety. And despite the cool response I attempt to compose, I secretly know that part of me wants it to be that.

What about the lady on FB you’ve been dating? She looks LOVELY – take her. Do not blow it with her!

He replies:

I tried her first but she’s going out for her mum’s birthday x p.s. I can think of no other circumstances in which it’d make a woman feel better to be second choice!

You’re right – I do feel oddly better. Still not coming though (sorry!) x

You’d break a man’s heart. If you change your mind, I’ll be at Dimitri’s at 8 p.m., alone and weeping into my taramasalata. x

I end the call and pick up the phone again, dialling another number altogether – that of Dan’s dad, with whom I am appalled.

‘Who
are
you trying to get through to?’ Sadie asks as I sigh and pick up the receiver again.

‘A tosser,’ I mutter as the phone rings and, to my astonishment, someone answers.

‘Hello? Mr Bushnell?’ The line goes dead and I look at the receiver as if it’s just farted on me. ‘I don’t believe this!’

Sadie shakes her head. ‘It’s a wonder he and Dan are from the same gene pool. Dan’s so thoughtful and nice. Still, even accounting for that, you seem very worked up about this. Is everything all right?’ The truth is, my head has felt as if it’s on a boil wash all morning. ‘Is the house sale getting to you?’

‘Don’t talk to me about the house sale,’ I reply. ‘We’re meant to be exchanging contracts this week, so the deal is finally sealed – but for a reason I can’t pin down, it hasn’t happened.’ Simultaneous pings alert us to a group email that’s landed on her computer as well as mine.

Sadie opens it up. ‘No team briefing this afternoon. YES! Hang on, where are you going?’

But I already have my coat on. ‘Sorry, Sadie. I’ll stay late and catch up, I promise.’

‘Seriously, Gemma – where?’

‘To see a man about a dog,’ I reply, as she looks genuinely concerned that I’m off to buy a Chihuahua.

I’m glad I’m wearing heels today. The highest I own. They add to my sense of purpose as I arrive in the reception of the Chester Grosvenor, for if ever there was a day to dabble in power dressing, it’s today.

I know that this is where Dan’s dad is staying because his PA mentioned it when she was talking to me. I have no idea if he’s still here, or indeed if he remains on UK soil. But I’m about to find out.

‘Can I help you?’ The reception is manned by a demure, Scandinavian-looking blonde, who gives the impression that she bathes in ewe’s milk and the honey of virgin bees every night.

I stand tall in my heels, feeling slightly faint at the pseudo-Bond Girl trick I’m about to attempt. ‘One of your guests has been trying to get in touch with me. He’s a business contact, but we keep missing each other. Could you see if he’s in his room? His name is Scott Bushnell.’

Her expression is motionless. ‘Is he expecting you?’

‘Oh yes. Like I say, he needs to speak to me. If you could just call him.’

She reluctantly picks up the phone and dials a number, before waiting a moment. ‘There’s no answer, I’m sorry.’

The likelihood that he’d be at the hotel in the middle of the afternoon always was remote, but at least I know he’s still in the UK. Problem is, I don’t know what to do now. I was all fired up, ready for my showdown – I’d even rehearsed a speech – and now I’ve got nowhere to go. ‘Thanks anyway.’

‘Would you like to leave a message?’

‘No, it’s fine – oh!’ I follow her gaze across the lobby to a man who looks as though he’s been dressed by Armani and had his hair done by Ken Dodd. He’s striding through the door with a phone plastered to his ear as the ice maiden attempts to catch his attention. He looks more than happy to end the call and give it to her.

‘Um, Mr Bushnell, this lady wishes to talk with you. I believe you know each other?’

He turns and looks at me, blankly. I’m clearly entirely unrecognisable from the scores of pictures Dan’s tagged me in on Facebook.

‘I’m Gemma Johnston.’ I shake his hand decisively before he can say anything. ‘I wonder if you could spare a couple of minutes?’

He’s nothing like I expected. I’d seen the pictures, of course – and heard the history – but somehow he’s shorter, less impressive, nowhere near as formidable as I was led to believe.

‘I have to be at a meeting three minutes ago, so I’m afraid I can’t give you my undivided attention.’

‘I just wanted a quick chat about lunch yesterday.’

‘Didn’t you get my message?’ He looks alarmed.

‘I got a text, but that was after we’d eaten, and—’

A crinkle appears above his nose. ‘Something came up that I couldn’t get out of. Look, I’m sorry. I’d like to get to know you better. I know how much you mean to Dan, and obviously you’re a very successful and interesting person.’ I narrow my eyes, wondering how he’s managing to flatter me when I’m so pissed off. It also strikes me that, contrary to Dan’s prediction, he isn’t flirting in the slightest. I lower my chin and sniff surreptitiously to check my deodorant hasn’t worn off.

‘I hope you don’t mind me speaking bluntly, but—’

‘I don’t at all,’ he says, holding up both hands like a ‘stop’ sign. ‘But right now, I’ve got to be somewhere, then this afternoon I’m flying back to the States. So, whatever you want to get off your chest will need to wait. Sorry.’ He walks in the direction of the lift and I scuttle after him.

‘It’s just that . . .’

I step into the lift and a sliver of panic appears on his face. ‘You’re not pregnant, are you?’

‘No!’ I reply.

‘Getting married?’

‘No.’

‘About to go to prison?’

‘No, nothing like that.’ I am feeling ridiculous now. ‘I just . . . you’re acting like a man who isn’t interested in his son. And I’m simply . . . well, I simply wanted to tell you that you
should
be interested in him.’

I’m suddenly both overwhelmed by how much I mean this – and by how much of an idiot I sound. I look up for reassurance, but he couldn’t appear less impressed if I’d sung ‘The Wheels on the Bus’ and got the words wrong.

‘Is this all?’ He steps out of the lift and I make an unconscious decision to follow him.

‘What do you mean,
is this all
?’

‘You’ve come all the way here to stalk me long enough to give me a speech about my son. A son I knew a long time before you did.’

‘I’m not stalking! And . . . well, the problem is that he’s a son you don’t know very well at all, as far as I can see.’

He glares at me with cold eyes as he stops in front of a door. ‘Thanks for the pep talk. It was lovely to meet you.’ He holds out his hand but I don’t shake it.

‘I’m not going anywhere.’

‘Well, you’re not coming in here.’ He points to a sign that says
Gentlemen
and, with a thin smile, pushes open the door and disappears inside.

My heart is racing. My thinking isn’t entirely straight. I barge in through the door.

‘Actually, I am.’ I find it impossible to announce this without accompanying it with a pantomime flounce, as if I’m dressed as Widow Twankey and have just caught Wishy Washy trying on my tights.

The two gentlemen at the urinals gasp in stupefaction, complain loudly, then zip up their flies rapidly enough to risk widespread trauma to the groin region.

‘Is nothing sacred?’ one asks.

‘I’m sorry, but this is important. And I didn’t look,’ I reassure him as he pushes past to leave.

The door of a cubicle clicks closed. I sidle up to it.

‘Look, this isn’t my idea of a fun afternoon, but you’re leaving me with no choice. Mr Bushnell, you left us alone at a restaurant, waiting for hours, before standing us up. That day meant so much to Dan. And me. He really thought this time that you weren’t going to let him down.’

‘I’m a busy man. He needs to learn to deal with it.’

‘He
has
learned to deal with it. That’s the problem. Why does it have to be that way? Why can’t you just be places when you say you’re going to be? Don’t you feel any sense of responsibility towards him?’

‘He’s not four years old!’

‘I’m told that things weren’t much different when he was that age.’ The toilet flushes, he comes out fastening his pants and marches past me to the sink to wash his hands. Next time Dan’s scraping around for redeeming features in his father, good personal hygiene might be the best I can offer.