Come Back to Me (17 page)

When Chloe had opened her eyes on the Sunday morning it was to a feeling of lightness: the events of the evening before suddenly looked a lot funnier. Sure, it was extremely embarrassing – and despite her desire not to replay it, it seemed her mind had a will of its own and kept doing so anyway – but it wasn't the end of the world.

When she'd turned over she was surprised to find an empty space beside her. She'd hurried into the corridor and checked the bathroom, lounge and kitchen, but Mark, it seemed, had gone.

She hadn't heard from him for the rest of the day, but felt it was really up to him to make the first move after sneaking off like that.

When she'd got to the office the following day, she'd seen that Mark was in his room, his head bent over his work. She went and put her things down and tried to get on with her
own tasks, but it was no good. Eventually she gave in and went to see him.

‘Hello?' she said, standing in the doorway.

Mark looked up. ‘Hello,' he replied with a formal smile.

‘Are you okay?'

‘Of course.'

‘You left pretty quietly yesterday.'

‘I know. I had things to do.'

‘Oh, I see.'

Silence.

Chloe felt a bit light-headed. ‘Are you still on for Saturday?' she asked.

Mark looked up quizzically.

‘The family do,' she reminded him. ‘I've told everyone you're coming,' she added, although it was untrue, but she felt she needed to use some coercion.

‘Oh, that. Sure.' Mark gave her a quick smile. ‘Just let me know when we need to leave. I'm quite busy this week, so I might not see you much before then.'

‘Okay,' Chloe said. She knew a brush-off when she heard one. She went back to her own room, trying to dispel the tears that threatened. He was treating her as if she'd been the one who'd disgraced them, whereas they both knew he'd been the main culprit.

The rest of the week had dragged interminably. With the Christmas party over, everyone just wanted to get to the Christmas break. Ordinarily they would have shirked as much work as possible, but there was simply too much to do.

On the Thursday, Risto appeared at her office door, and asked if she could spare him some time. He sat down and
they chatted about what they'd be working on in the New Year, about their Christmas plans, and the need for comfier furniture in the offices. By the time he left, Chloe felt considerably lighter in spirits. She was looking forward to having him around more, she decided, and there was no question that he'd been flirting with her quite openly throughout their conversation. Her mind went to Mark working hard in the next-door office, then she pushed the thought away. Mark had hardly spoken to her since the weekend, and a little flirting was hardly a crime, was it?

As she shrugged off her niggling anxiety, Mark appeared at the door, as if she'd conjured him up. He didn't bother to knock.

‘David wants to see us,' he said, his face grim.

‘Oh?' Chloe's stomach sank but she tried not to show it.

‘Now,' Mark added, indicating with a flick of his head that she should come with him.

Chloe jumped up, smoothed her suit down, and felt her hair to check it was in place. Her mouth was dry. Surely this wasn't about the weekend – they couldn't sack her for watching Mark topple into a drum kit, could they?

As they reached David's office her alarm grew. She saw Neil was in there as well, and that neither man looked happy.

‘Come in, you two, and close the door,' David said, indicating that they should both sit down.

Chloe glanced at Mark. He sat rigidly on the chair next to her, looking grimly past David towards the window.

‘Neil and I thought we should discuss the events of last Saturday,' David began, forgoing preamble.

Chloe's insides began to curl up in shame.

Mark cleared his throat. ‘Before you go on, I would like to say that it wasn't Chloe's fault in any way. I accept responsibility entirely. I'd had too much to drink and I behaved like an idiot. It will never happen again.'

‘Mark –' Chloe began, thinking that she should at least support him, take some culpability onto her own shoulders, but Mark turned and glared at her so fiercely that she couldn't think of what to say next.

David held up his hand. ‘I don't wish to start apportioning blame,' he said. ‘All Neil and I would like to say is that if either of you
ever
do anything like this again while you are representing Lewis, Jameson & Marchant, there will be
very
serious consequences. We have discussed this with Henry – though he felt it better not to be in this meeting for obvious reasons – and we are all in full agreement that we are willing to let it go
this once
, but this is the last time, and you should still both be on your best behaviour while you make amends. If you do wish to conduct a relationship, then you will leave it at the doors to these offices; this is not some kind of libidinous stomping ground, and whenever you are representing this firm we demand the very best from you. That's why we hired you. Are we clear?'

Chloe nodded.

‘Okay, then,' David said. He got up and opened his office door, showing them out. ‘That will be all.'

Neil hadn't said anything throughout the entire meeting, just stared at them both as though they were emitting some unpleasant odour he was forced to sit in. At David's dismissal, Chloe jumped up and exited the room, finding she could breathe easier once she'd crossed the threshold. She
felt indignant at being spoken to like a four-year-old, still unable to see why there was such a fuss being made, and no evidence of at least a portion of humour amongst all the stern words. Considering the array of shocking behaviour they came across every day in cases, what had happened was surely a little bit laughable.

She walked a few paces then automatically looked back for Mark, to see he was still in the office, saying something further to David and Neil, and then shaking both men's hands. She paused, wondering what was going on, but thought it better not to hang around too obviously in the light of what had been said. So she made her way back to her office deliberately slowly, hearing Mark's footfalls catching up behind her.

She turned around. ‘Jesus!' she said to Mark, smiling, ‘you'd think we'd shot the drummer, not just wobbled into his kit.'

Mark looked at her solemnly. ‘Don't, Chloe,' he replied, sounding irritated. He walked past her towards his room, and she followed, unnerved.

‘Mark, it'll blow over. And thanks for trying to get me off the hook,' she said, coming towards his desk.

‘For Christ's sake, Chloe,' he hissed, throwing himself onto his chair, ‘get out of here, will you. It's hardly the best start if they come round and find us gossiping two seconds after they told us to cool it.'

Chloe was taken aback at his tone. ‘Okay,' she said, holding her hands up. ‘I'm going.'

‘Good,' Mark retorted grumpily, looking at his computer screen.

Back in her office, Chloe was unsettled by Mark's demeanour. Surely this was a storm in a teacup, and would be forgotten by next week.

But now she couldn't stop dwelling on it, and found herself typing an email to Mark, thinking that he couldn't berate her for double-checking after what had just happened.

‘
Are you still coming on Saturday?
' she wrote nervously. ‘
For the family do?
'

Her inbox bleeped a moment later.

‘
Yes
.'

Chloe let out a sigh, feeling a little better. They could talk about everything then, away from the office, and by next week it would all be back to normal.

It was only eight a.m., but the sun was already merciless as Alex made his way to the hospital, forcing his feet to move in the direction he dreaded going. It was a long walk, but his funds were seriously low and he couldn't afford a taxi. There had been a small amount of coverage from the local press in the week since Amy had been kidnapped, and Alex was notorious in the hostel now. Most people tried to stare without him noticing, but wouldn't catch his eye. One or two had attempted to confront the situation head on, offering their condolences – they appeared earnest, but Alex couldn't believe they wanted anything more than gossip, so he had been surly enough to stop them in their tracks. Since he had taken all Amy's things to the hospital the room was just a dark place to rest his head. He rarely saw it in daylight.

The police were encouraging the media interest, hoping for leads. Alex felt they were useless; they had got nowhere
so far. He thought they were probably keeping their fingers crossed that the publicity would outrage the friends and relatives of the perpetrators and thus do their job for them.

Each day this journey was getting more and more difficult to make. He didn't know what to say to Amy, or to Amy's parents, or especially to Amy in front of her parents. Ray seemed to avoid looking at him; Amy too sometimes, and even when she did, he couldn't read her expression. Was it a plea? For what? Action? Compassion? Something he needed to do … ?

 

When he arrived, Amy was resting, her skin grey against the white sheets. He took up his position in this excruciating daily tableau – on another hard plastic chair brought in for the extra visitor, which he moved to the window. He was sick of these four walls and their minimal furnishings, the beige linoleum.

Amy's parents were either side of her bed: her mother sewing; her father dozing. Each time Amy woke up they all jumped to attention, and Alex could see in her eyes how awful she found it. What else should they do? he thought. Ignore her? Sing and dance for her? He had no fucking idea at all. He wished someone would give him some kind of clue.

In the past couple of days, Amy had not been as sedated, and so when she was awake they all watched TV. Heaps of it. Hours and hours of shitty TV, so they didn't have to talk – Alex couldn't tell whether that little box in the corner was a blessing or a curse.

As Amy was asleep this morning, he flicked idly through an old magazine that was on her bedside table, presumably
left by a hospital worker. It was full of pretty dresses and anxious headlines: model can't cope; actress can't have a baby; alcoholic sports star shames his wife again. He didn't feel a jot of sympathy for any of them.

He had returned to gazing out the window when a doctor poked his head in, saw Amy was asleep and said ‘A word?', looking at each of them. Amy's parents quickly jumped up and headed out, not looking back. The door swung shut behind them. Alex took it that he was not welcome.

They were alone. He went over to the bed, pulled up a chair and leaned forward, peering at Amy's face. He reached out his hand and, as softly as he could, stroked her hair, her brow, then her cheek. Her eyes remained closed, but a single tear escaped from beneath one of them and quickly ran towards his hand. He stopped it, held his fingers still, and Amy opened her eyes.

‘Hello.' He smiled at her.

‘Hello,' she whispered, watching him.

Quickly, not knowing how much of this precious time he had, he reached into his bag and pulled out Bug-Eye, the weird gecko toy he'd bought Amy as a joke in Thailand, knowing how cute she found the tiny real-life counterparts that stuck themselves to the hostel walls in the evenings. He tried not to remember how her eyes had lit up with laughter when he had given it to her, for now she could barely raise a smile, let alone one that reached her eyes.

‘This little guy got left behind,' he told her, waving the toy at her as though she were a child, not telling her that he'd gone to sleep holding it on a few occasions to try to feel close to her.

She took the toy and looked at it for a moment, managing a weak smile, then said, ‘Alex …'

‘What is it?' He leaned towards her.

Her gaze moved to meet his. ‘You don't have to stay.'

‘What?' He recoiled as though she had just spat in his face. ‘What do you mean?'

‘This …' A weak arm came up and gestured around the room. ‘It must be awful for you.'

‘Well, not as awful as it is for you.'

‘Use your plane ticket tomorrow – go home. I'll be home soon. Don't miss out on Christmas with your family.'

‘Amy, I …'

‘Al, go home. Mum and Dad are here now … I don't need …'

She cut the sentence short, but he had no doubt about which word she had faltered at.

‘Okay,' he said, getting up, heading over to grab his things. ‘I see.'

He could hear her ragged breathing, and, just for a moment, he looked at her face. The appeal in it was plain.

‘This is silly, Amy. Do you want me to stay?'

She shook her head, still crying silently.

He couldn't bear this. ‘For
CHRIST
's –'

The door opened and Amy's parents were back. Amy's mother looked alarmed to find Alex yelling at her daughter. Amy's father's face instantly clouded with anger. Before either of them could do any more, Alex grabbed his things, and without a word or a look at anybody, he walked out the door.

Amy was in turmoil. She loved Alex so desperately, but now she was not the same. He hadn't changed; but she had transformed. She was ugly and scarred. He didn't love this girl – how could he, he didn't even know her. At the moment he was just holding out, hoping that the woman he knew was still there somewhere. But Amy was certain that person was gone for good.

So she had thought, perhaps I should let him go for good too. Better he leaves and I can make our happiness into a dearly held dream, than he stays and I watch his love for me gradually wither and die.

She had thought all this, and yet watching him leave, upset and angry, sent a fresh pain through her, overwhelming her aching body. She would have called out, but the appearance of her parents made her pause, and then he was gone.

Her father smiled at her as though he hadn't noticed
Alex's swift departure. ‘I have good news,' he said, coming across to her bedside and taking her hand.

‘What is it?' she asked. She couldn't imagine what it might be, but she longed to hear it.

‘They say you're healing well. You can be discharged in a couple of days.'

‘Oh.'

She hadn't really contemplated leaving the hospital – her thoughts had been focused on all she had lost, her past life and her future one, her dimorphic existence, not the progression of the current days and hours, which seemed unbearably long and pointless.

Noting her lack of enthusiasm, her father said, ‘I've spoken to Thompson. They're at a standstill. He says there's no point us waiting here in case of arrest. We can always come back.'

Amy nodded, looking at Bug-Eye.

‘Where's Alex gone?' her mother asked.

‘I don't know,' she said, and burst into another interminable round of tears, feeling quite revolted at the sound of herself.