The Little Things (13 page)

‘I’m talking about something I suspected months ago but have only
now
managed to prove: it was James who persuaded Keith Blanchard to sack you.’

‘That’s ridiculous,’ I whisper, but, in all honesty, I’m less surprised by this allegation than I should be. ‘How could he? He didn’t even know him
before—’

‘Oh, he knew him. They were going to the gym together for months before the reshuffle. The harder Keith’s abs got the chummier they became.’

‘That doesn’t prove anything,’ I whisper, looking up as James drags my bag onto the belt and manicured lady starts printing off a tag.

‘No, but the email I’ve finally found after months of looking does. I have access to all Keith’s emails, but this one had been archived on the computer on his desk. I
knew
I’d seen something from James months ago regarding the reshuffle and the Dubai move, just before you were sacked. I hadn’t read it properly at the time, I’d thought
nothing of it. But, when I started to suspect something, I tried to dig it out. But it had disappeared.’

‘So how did you get it back?’

‘George in IT. We’ve been seeing each other. I wanted to tell you in Camp and Furnace, only I wasn’t sure then if it was really going anywhere. Well, now it is. Only,
we’d both be sacked if anyone knew I was telling you this, Hannah.’

‘Telling me what?’

James spins round and frowns, suspicion hovering on his brow.

‘What James wrote to Keith Blanchard just before you were sacked. Listen to this.’ She clears her throat. ‘“Dear Mr Blanchard, Thanks for the strenuous gym session this
morning – I think I might have finally met my match!” Smarmy git,’ she mutters.

‘Will you get on with it?’ I urge her.

‘“You will veritably recall that during our discussions we got on to the subject of the impending company reshuffle, the expansion into the Middle East and the cost-saving strains
and pressures the company is currently under. You were very interested in some of my ideas about how we could achieve some challenging savings while simultaneously achieving all the company’s
goals in the Middle East. You asked me to write to you outlining some of these in detail.”’

Julia pauses. ‘The email goes on and on and on and basically covers everything from sacking Bernard to buying cheaper staplers. But this is the bit I really wanted to read to you:
“Currently, our marketing department is very top-heavy. Employing Hannah MacFarlane, Gary French and Marie Ellison when she returns from maternity leave is expensive, unnecessary and a
three-headed luxury the company can ill afford contemporaneously.

‘“I happen to know that Hannah MacFarlane has aspirations to take up the role you and I have discussed many times
for myself
– as Head of Middle East, based in
Dubai.

‘“Hannah has many good qualities, which I know you’re aware of, but in my humble opinion she does not have the killer instinct, drive and sheer business acumen to pull off such
a move. She would, however, make an able deputy if you felt I needed one.

‘“I do realise, however, that this might make for additional, unnecessary expenditure – and would be a ‘nice to have’ rather than an essential. Please rest assured
that I am perfectly capable and willing to fulfil the Middle East role alone.”

‘Basically, Hannah – your darling fiancé, in a roundabout way – was the one who masterminded his own departure for Dubai, and advised Keith that, if you weren’t
going to come with him, you were entirely expendable.’

I stand, dumbstruck as the lady behind the counter prints off a label for me and attaches it to my suitcase, which starts trundling towards the conveyor belt.

‘STOP!’ I shriek. Both she and James turn to look at me, shell-shocked. ‘STOP THAT BAG!’

I shove the phone in my pocket and dive towards the suitcase, preventing it from disappearing onto the conveyor belt.

‘Madam, can I ask you to get your knees off this equipment?’ asks the lady behind the counter. ‘This bag has now been checked in,’ she adds.

‘I’m afraid you’ll need to check it
out
,’ I tell her.

James grabs me by the arm. ‘What are you
doing
? Have you lost your tiny mind?’ A vein is break-dancing in his neck.

I clench my teeth together and think about how to word this carefully. I can’t let him know about the letter because it’d get Julia sacked. ‘Tell me, James, do you have any
theories that might explain your stratospheric promotion? Given that, you know, your career was going nowhere until very recently?’

He looks taken aback. ‘Keith Blanchard just . . . recognised that I had some untapped potential.’

‘Only, it struck me recently that my departure from the firm was extremely convenient for you. It wasn’t something that you . . .
suggested
, was it? Clearly, you’re
entirely within your rights to. I just want to know where I stand.’

His response is astonishing. He huffs and puffs, saying things like, ‘Well of all the things!’ – his eyes darting around and refusing to make contact with mine. Eventually, I
grab him by the arm and force him to look at me. ‘You did, didn’t you?’

He swallows. ‘I never thought he’d
actually
sack you,’ he splutters. ‘I was hoping I’d just persuade him to let you come with me. And I knew that, if he
wouldn’t go for that, we’d sort you out with something in Dubai anyway. Look, it’s all worked out for the best, hasn’t it? We’re on our way now, Hannah. That’s
all that matters.’

I step back, fury rising up inside me as I pick up my passport and remove my engagement ring, plonking it unceremoniously into the palm of his hand. ‘Actually, James, I’m going
nowhere. You’re on your own.’

I realise this sounds rather more melodramatic than I’m used to, but nothing less than the
Dynasty
treatment seems appropriate.

At that, I pull out the handle of my shit suitcase and trundle out of the terminal into glorious spring sunshine. And realise I have the hint of a smile on my face.

I arrive at the sports day just in time to say hello to Norman the lollipop man, who’s taking it easy until he returns to duties – but
is
well enough to
come to see the children in their big races.

The school playing field is a huge green space, flanked by gnarly woodland and domineering oak trees. Although I’m used to seeing it empty at home time, today it is alive with the sound of
cheering children, all dressed in their little white PE kits. The first person I spot is Brigitte, who is backing out of the mums’ and/or significant others’ race.

‘I cannot run,’ she explains.

‘Oh dear, are you injured?’ I ask.

‘No, I look like constipated chicken when I try. It’s too humiliating.’

I laugh. ‘Fortunately, being humiliated is my speciality,’ I tell her.

I line up at the start of the race behind Suzy, who’s third in line on the red team. She’s wearing jeans, a Superdry T-shirt and a pair of trainers – a sure sign that, whatever
she says, she wants to win this.

I tap her on the shoulder, resulting in the sort of double take you’d expect if Elvis Presley had just lined up behind Cleopatra in the queue for the obstacle race.

‘What the hell are you doing here? You’re meant to be on a plane to Dubai.’

‘I decided against it,’ I reply coolly, rather enjoying the moment.

‘Well, I hope you don’t want to keep your job with us.’ She frowns. ‘You do realise I was joking about you being better than Brigitte? She’s awesome.’

I roll my eyes. ‘Gee, thanks, sis. Yes, I know you were joking. I also know I was engaged to an absolute tosser.’

‘Oh, you’ve finally realised, then?’

Now I’m shocked. ‘I thought you loved him.’

‘James? Pompous arse. Justin and I did our best to hide it for everyone’s sake, but we were glad to see the back of him this morning. Do you know he complained to the staff at my gym
about there not being enough Viper bars, not selling kiwi-and-papaya-seed smoothies in the bar and their subscription being inordinately expensive?’

‘But he’d got in for free, hadn’t he?’ I ask.

‘Exactly!’

‘Hang on a minute. You were going to stand back and let me get married to a man who you hated – without ever telling me?’

‘You’d never have married him,’ she replies confidently. ‘Besides, there’s absolutely no point in telling someone
not
to be in love with a person. If
they’re wrong for them, that’s something they need to work out all by themselves. I can’t pretend I’m not glad you have, though.’

At that, the whistle blows and Gill – who’s in the same team as Suzy and I – sprints towards a hessian sack, before proceeding to hop in it towards the first obstacle. The
children’s response varies from Cup Final-level hysteria to abject uninterest.

By the time I’m at the front, watching Suzy crawl commando-style under a precariously low bar, I’m starting to feel a little nervous. And that’s before I spot Michael at the
sidelines glaring at me in complete bewilderment.

‘Why are you here?’ he mouths, his face breaking into a wide smile.

But I don’t get a chance to answer him. Instead, I’m racing towards the sack and scrambling into it. It is then that I learn my first lesson in taking part in the school sports day
as a grown-up. There’s no way to retain even the most infinitesimal shred dignity.

I was six when I last competed in a sack race and seem to recall I was sufficiently small to be able to cheat both effectively and secretly – by
running
inside my sack.

Even if I wasn’t now old enough to have grown some scruples, my feet are so big they can’t run anywhere. Instead, all I can do is leap up and down like an electrocuted trout,
pounding across the field. The twins, I’m rather proud to say, go
wild
.

‘Auntie Hannah, you can win!’ shrieks Leo – as I realise I’m neck and neck with Laura. Something primeval takes over me.

I decide to really go for it.

I scramble out of the sack, red faced and leaking sweat, before racing to the bar, where I fall to my hands and knees like a pantomime horse trying to keep up at the Grand National.

I tumble under the cargo net, then grab a skipping rope, racing to the next stage, where I pick up an egg and spoon. And this – the bloody egg-and-spoon – turns out to be my undoing.
It turns out that any innate talent I have at running and balancing simultaneously is so minimal that the red team would’ve been better fielding a drunk, demented tortoise.

And, as I repeatedly drop my egg and have to go back to the start, I watch as Noah’s and Leo’s little faces turn from excited pride to a look that says, We’ve never met this
woman in our lives.

Finally, I plonk the egg on the spoon, and, with intense concentration, start walking. Fast. I am mere inches from the finish line, when I glance up and see that I am neck and neck with a woman
I’ve never seen before. I have literally no idea who she is, but decide with the burning intensity of Rocky Balboa that I
have
to win.

So, with the end steps away, I make a rash decision, though calling it a decision gives the impression that I actually think about what I’m doing. I don’t. I just dive.

On the plus side, I technically land at the finish line at the same time as my nemesis, meaning that in the worst-case scenario, I’d be walking away with a respectable second place. If
only I
could
walk away – because, instead of jumping up triumphant, I am left clutching my insides and realising that I appear to have punctured several internal organs with my own
elbow.

I start crawling on my hands and knees, desperate to avoid the limelight – but, instead of being able to cower in the bushes and pretend none of this has happened, I’m aware that
concerned teachers and parents are descending on me to offer assistance.

‘Oh, I’m fine, honestly,’ I croak brightly, attempting to give off the refined air of a Jane Austen character after fainting at afternoon tea. But mostly hoping they’ll
all just go away.

Then Michael is next to me. ‘All I can say is, “Wow!”’

‘Yes, I didn’t go to Dubai,’ I say breathlessly.

‘I was referring to your egg-and-spoon skills, actually.’

I laugh. ‘It’s your fault for encouraging me. I’d never have dreamt of doing it otherwise.’

‘I didn’t encourage you to try and kill yourself.’ He grins, helping me up.

‘Oh, it was just a little trip,’ I say lightly, wondering if I might have broken a few ribs.

‘So you think you’ll live?’

‘I think I will.’

‘Good. Will you come to dinner with me, then?’

A smile flickers to my mouth. ‘I think I will.’

His fingertips touch mine, ever so briefly. But we don’t kiss. We can’t – I’ve already drawn enough attention to myself during the egg-and-spoon race, so smooching on the
school playing field would be a move too far.

But later that night, after a quietly exhilarating dinner at a restaurant ten minutes’ walk from Suzy’s house, he turns to me under the moonlit sky and gently pulls me towards
him.

I drift into his kiss as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. And, as his lips caress mine, I realise something with a delicious shiver.

My knees have gone weak.

Dan and Gemma have found their dream first home, but the asking price is the stuff of nightmares.

The only way they’ll ever save for a deposit is by returning, rent-free, to Dan’s childhood home.

Obviously, no one wants to move back into a bedroom still adorned with Kylie posters, with a mother who never seems to go out and whose culinary skills are noted for their
spectacular gastro-intestinal effects.

But it’s only for six months. Even they can manage that. Surely…

Dan

When a man loves a woman, there are moments when she’ll nudge him out of his comfort zone. Most of the time, he can live with this. He’ll man up and remind himself
what she is to him: his Ingrid Bergman in
Casablanca
. His Patricia Arquette in
True Romance
. His Princess Fiona in
Shrek
(though somehow she never appreciates that
comparison).