A Passionate Love Affair with a Total Stranger (6 page)

He paused. ‘I know this isn't great medical protocol but I heard about your pelvis. Er … bad luck, eh? Look, Charley, I'm at the airport so I can't stay for long but I wanted to reassure you about your job. I've decided to move Margot Pearson up to your position until you come back, so as to keep outsiders out and maintain continuity. And I'm not letting you anywhere near the building for at least three months. You need proper rest, OK?'

I reached for the chocolate box and stuck something large and square into my mouth, ignoring Dr Nathan Gillies's pre-surgery orders. Of all people, please, not Margot.
Seriously, God
, I repeated,
please not Margot.
I would never see my job again if she took it over.

‘I think I should be fine to work from here, John,' I said, without conviction.

‘No,' John said briskly, raising his voice to combat a departure announcement in the background. ‘No, you're far too weak to be working. Margot may not be a patch
on you but she's familiar with the brand, the corporate protocol and all of your contacts. I have no choice.'

I said nothing. I felt like someone had turned a light out.

‘Well, Charley, I just wanted to let you know. I thought you'd be pleased we're keeping it internal –'

‘Anything else you wanted to tell me?' I interrupted.

There was a brief silence. ‘This is the final boarding call for flight V6000 to Los Angeles LAX,' said an impersonal voice in the background.

‘Yes, Charley, I …' John was speechless for once. Then: ‘I thought you'd be pleased to hear that I got engaged,' he said lamely.

My first tear in six years began to slide down my nose. ‘Wow,' I whispered. ‘I'm delighted. Absolutely delighted.'

‘I, um, wanted to let you know in person,' John muttered. He didn't sound far off tears himself. ‘But you had your accident and … Look, I have to go. Susan and I are going to go and get married on a wine estate in California. Just a quick, quiet affair. Not a big deal. Another reason why I want Margot to take the reins. I need to be able to go away knowing the company's in the hands of someone who understands and cares about our corporate profile.'

I nodded, tears falling silently down my face. ‘Bye, John.' I ended the call.

Matty and Sam left first. They exchanged a look that said,
This is not a place for a man
. Matty kissed Hailey quickly and slid out; Sam gave me a lopsided smile and waved formally at Katy, just to be on the safe side.

Hailey was clearly stumped by the wreck that quivered
before her. For what seemed like eternity, she stood by my bed, blotting tears as they fell, holding my hand and saying nothing. I howled all the louder. If Hailey couldn't solve this, no one could. But, after a long and painful interval, during which I thought I would never recover, I made a decision and signalled to Hailey to hold a tissue over my nose.

I had decided to get a to-do list going. Organization was the only way I knew how to claw back control when the world around me went mad: it gave me certainty, calm and purpose. ‘Right,' I said, sliding wearily into Business Charley mode. ‘Katy, go to my house and sleep. Actually, no, go to Ness's. I don't want Sam molesting you. And, Hailey, I need you to help me clear my diary.'

Hailey nodded, relieved. ‘Excellent plan,' she muttered, getting my Moleskine off the bedside table. ‘Although, God knows, Chas, it's going to be quite a job.' We both smiled bravely.

Katy gathered up her stuff. ‘I'll come back later, sis,' she said tiredly. ‘You'll be OK. I only met John once but I thought he wore terrible middle-aged clothes. Chinos. I mean,
Christ
.' She kissed me and wandered out.

Hailey, viewing my diary with alarm, pulled up a chair next to my bed. ‘Bloody hell, Chas,' she said, gazing at the boxes filled with neatly written appointments. ‘I feel dizzy just looking at this.'

For a few minutes, it went well. Hailey copied down several phone numbers and agreed to call several people: the dog kennels where I volunteered; the chef at the French bistro on Broughton Street, who was going to teach me perfect pastry; the little woman who taught me
Mandarin; and the noisy multi-bangled girl who waxed my muff. The decorators, who were booked in throughout July; my personal trainer; the man I'd approached about starting piano lessons. And many more. When we got to my gym membership, though, things got harder. ‘Well, presumably I should cancel it ASAP,' Hailey said, scribbling something.

‘No! Absolutely not!'

Hailey looked pointedly at my broken leg and I implored her silently not to say anything. I couldn't give up the gym. It would mean defeat. I simply had to know I could go back there one day and, if I wasted four months' subscription in the meantime, then fine. Hailey, watching my face, said nothing but crossed out ‘cancel gym membership' from her to-do list. I felt a fleeting moment of gratitude for my bosomy friend.

‘Tuesday, video conference with the German office at seven thirty a.m., catch up with John at ten, meeting with Edward from the
BMJ
at one o'clock, French reps at three, board of directors at six. What the fuck? Who has meetings after the working day has finished?'

‘The working day has not finished at six,' I muttered. ‘Don't worry about the work meetings. Margot will no doubt be hacking into my Outlook diary already. Just concentrate on the extra-curriculars.'

‘With a schedule like this you should not have fucking extra-curriculars, Charley Lambert,' Hailey said.

There was an uncomfortable pause while I tried and failed to come up with a defence.
She doesn't understand
, I told myself.
She may want to spend her Tuesday night sitting on the sofa with Matty, but I want more than that!

And then I felt a sudden stab of panic. I had no option
but
to spend the next few months sitting on the sofa on a Tuesday night.
How
the fuck would I do this? WE WERE LAUNCHING SIMITOL! I HAD TO BE THERE! I eyed up the controls on my drip and wondered if I could make myself unconscious.

‘OK, Chas, what's left?' Hailey asked, a few minutes later.

I thought about the lonely desert of silence and inactivity that stretched ahead of me, hours, days, weeks and months. No projects, no appointments, no warm glow of satisfaction as I crossed something off my to-do list, no building adrenalin as the Simitol launch got closer.

‘Nothing,' I said softly. ‘Nothing's left.'

‘Oh, Charleypops,' Hailey said, reaching out to touch my hand. ‘Don't say that! You needed a break! We could hang out for once. I miss you,' she added pointedly.

I tried but failed to resist asking her what she meant by that.

‘I mean that every time we arrange something you either arrive at, like, midnight or something … or you cancel,' she replied. ‘Which means I'm in a good position to tell you to rest.'

‘I don't want to,' I muttered as Ness slid quietly into the cubicle. The very sight of her made tears spring from my eyes again. ‘I've just got too much to do. You don't understand. I'll take a rest next year …'

Ness jumped over and kissed my forehead. ‘Rest sounds like a lovely idea,' she said gently. ‘But, oh, poor old Charley, I'm so sorry you're having to rest in, um, these sorts of circumstances.' She grimaced, guessing correctly how much pain I was in.

‘I don't want to rest,' I told her. My breath caught in my throat and it came out in a sob that sailed out way beyond the confines of my cubicle.

‘Here we fuckin' go,' muttered a man in the one next to mine. He sounded like an early species of caveman.

‘Fucking shut up,' Hailey replied to the curtain between us.

Ness took the tissues from Hailey and dabbed at my cheeks. She looked beautifully healthy in her high-waisted shorts and stripy vest. I felt vast and lumpen. ‘Charley, you need to take a rest!' she protested. ‘You've got a broken leg! My love, you –'

But I wasn't having it. ‘You just don't understand,' I cried, knowing how juvenile and horrid I sounded, but finding myself strangely unable to stop. There was a terrible panic welling in me and it was gaining momentum every second. ‘You don't know what it's like to be as busy as me. Fine, maybe I
do
do too much and, fine, I'll maybe look at that in the future, but for now, Nessie, I have to
work.
I – Ah, God, it's pointless –' I broke off, agonized. What was the use in trying to explain or justify my schedule to someone who had the luxury of working an eight-hour day? Who was able to sit in the bath and cook dinner and play board games? Jesus! If only!

‘Being busy is a choice,' Hailey said mildly, as if reading my mind.

I ignored her, crying with renewed despair as I caught sight of my diary, every appointment now scored through with Hailey's pink pen. ‘I literally cannot do this,' I sobbed. ‘I can't. If you don't understand, fine, but you'll have to believe me when I tell you this is an
absolute
disaster
.'

Hailey's face suggested she wasn't very interested in believing me. Ness tried a bit harder than Hailey, but I could tell she, too, was struggling. And so, feeling completely alone, I gave up. I covered my face with my hands and wept. And wept and wept, not pausing even when the drunk next door started yelling about me being a ‘fuckin' loser' and Hailey stepped out to deck him and Ness had to drag her back into my cubicle.

At first I cried out of sheer frustration at being trapped in plaster for an interminable length of time, but then further causes for despair erupted brilliantly into my head like a toxic cabaret show. I cried over the agony of handing my precious job to Margot Pearson, at the loss of my independence, at the possibility of permanent damage to my leg. And then I found myself crying for the years I'd wasted trying, with futile desperation, to reel in John. All that brown rice, all those expensive haircuts, all of those painstakingly composed witty emails. All for nothing! John had opted to propose to a married woman he'd started an affair with soon after kissing my bosoms in the cleaning cupboard three years ago.
You idiot!
my head crowed, delighted.
You could have got married in the time you've wasted following him around!
Had a child. Learned to play another instrument. Been happy!
I wept for all this and more.

I wept until, after half an hour, my best friend and my sister gave up. They called the nurse in. ‘Any chance you could knock her out?' Hailey asked politely.

The nurse was only too happy to oblige.

At some point in the night, I woke up, my strange dreams interrupted by the persistent ring tone of the hospital
phone beside my bed. It swam into focus as I opened my eyes; a red light flashing benignly above the receiver.

For a second or two I considered ignoring it. Nobody called in the middle of the night. But what if it was John, calling from California to tell me he'd made a mistake? That was a call I'd be glad to take, I reflected, reaching out and picking it up.

‘Hello?' I whispered furtively. I did not under any circumstances want to wake up the caveman in the cubicle next door.

There was a short pause. Then: ‘Hello,' Granny Helen replied regally.

I checked the clock. It was four thirty-six a.m. And, for the first time in more than twenty-four hours, I smiled. Of course Granny Helen would call at four thirty-six a.m. Of course. ‘Hello, Granny Helen.' I settled back on the pillows. ‘Bit late, isn't it?'

Granny Helen ignored me. ‘I hear from Vanessa that you're feeling sorry for yourself,' she said. It sounded like she was eating. I knew what she'd be eating too: it would be Jamaican ginger cake. Granny Helen lived in the cottage attached to our house and she often sat up in there until the wee hours, eating ginger cake and reading fearsome-sounding books with her glasses perched on the end of her nose. There would be a tumbler of Scotch nearby and probably a dramatic Dvořák symphony playing quietly from her gramophone. Imagining her in that very familiar setting I felt suddenly comforted. ‘Well?' she prompted, when I failed to respond. ‘Are you splashing around in the pond of self-pity?'

I considered lying but thirty-two years of experience
with Granny Helen convinced me otherwise. ‘Yes,' I admitted. ‘But, Granny Helen, you can hardly blame me …'

‘Nonsense!' she snapped. ‘When those boys started coming back from the war they had broken bones in places where there weren't any bones, Charlotte. They didn't just break their legs in three places like you, they broke them in twenty! But they were still limping around on sticks, getting on with it. Where's your wartime spirit?'

‘It's 2012,' I replied. ‘I went for a picnic, not to fight the Germans. Allow me a little bit of frustration.' I knew, of course, that she wouldn't.

‘No,' she replied crisply. ‘No, Charlotte, I shall not. I'm going to ask Christian to bring me to the hospital tomorrow and by then I want you to have brushed yourself down and stopped sulking. Good heavens above, girl! You'll be right as rain in a few weeks! Think how much worse it could be!'

There was a silence: sullen from my end; ferocious from hers.

‘Now listen, Charlotte,' she continued after a few seconds. Her voice was fractionally less scary. ‘Have a think about what will keep you occupied while you recuperate and tell me what that thing is tomorrow. There's got to be something you can do. I personally recommend model-making. Your grandfather loved it. Kept that busy mind of his ticking over.'

‘OK,' I replied automatically, knowing that there was no such thing. Nothing would make me happy until I could get up and get back to work.

‘Excellent. Now sleep,' she ordered, as if I hadn't been trying to do that before.

‘Bye, Granny Helen.' I replaced the receiver. I switched on my little reading lamp and stared glumly at the pile of magazines and books by my bed, wondering if Granny Helen had any understanding of what my life was like. What single activity did she think was going to replace all the things I did every day?