—
And now it’s nearly an hour later. It didn’t take long for Demeter and Alex to arrive in Chiswick. Nor for them to join me in a little café, listen to my playback, and realize the truth. As the recording ended, none of us said a word. I felt quietly vindicated. Alex looked chastened. But Demeter…Demeter looked properly shocked.
In a way, it should have been a sweet victory for her. We should have been whooping. But how can you whoop when you’ve just learned that so many people are out to get you?
At last Alex drew breath and said, “OK. Let’s take this to Adrian.”
“Yes,” said Demeter, her tone strangely flat. “Let’s.”
And I didn’t say anything, just got up with them from the table.
That’s where they are now: in with Adrian at the Cooper Clemmow offices. I’m sitting outside Adrian’s room, in his private reception area, waiting for them. Adrian’s assistant, Marie, is at her desk nearby, typing away. She looked pretty surprised as we all marched in, but she hasn’t asked me a single question about it. She’s discreet like that, Marie. I have no idea what’s going on in there, but I can only imagine. And then, as I’ve almost drifted away into a trance, I hear my name being called.
“Cat?”
“It’s Cat!”
It’s them. Rosa, Flora, and Sarah. They must have caught sight of me as they were on their way back in from lunch, and now they’re all coming toward me, their expressions wary and hostile.
“What are you doing here?” demands Flora accusingly as I get up from the sofa. “Are you waiting for Adrian?”
“Are you talking to Adrian about Flora’s job?” Rosa shakes her head. “Because that’s not on. You shouldn’t go over my head.”
I give her a withering look. “You’re not running the department. So it’s nothing to do with you.”
“She will be,” says Sarah loyally.
“I doubt it,” I retort, and Rosa draws breath in anger.
“God, Cat,” says Flora, shooting me a look of dislike. “What is your problem?”
“What is my problem?”
And as if on cue, Adrian’s door opens. As he steps out, with Alex and Demeter, he looks profoundly shocked and upset. His iron-gray hair is rumpled and his face is craggy and he’s saying, “It beggars belief. It fucking beggars belief—”
He breaks off as he sees Rosa, Sarah, and Flora, all standing there before him, and his face becomes even craggier. His eyebrows draw together and for an instant I think he’s going to bellow. But instead he looks levelly at each of them in turn and says, “We’re going to talk. Don’t go back to your desks, any of you. Stay here.” He gestures to the seats in the reception area, then turns to Marie. “Clear the rest of my day.”
“Of course,” she says, in that unflappable way she has, and picks up the phone.
Rosa is staring at me in sudden, startled comprehension. Her face has gone a bit green and I almost feel sorry for her. Almost. Flora is gaping at Demeter as though she’s come back from the dead. Sarah is still baring her teeth in that defiant way she has, but I can see a twitch at her eye, and her hands have started to clasp and unclasp. I have no idea what she’s thinking right now….And you know what? I don’t care.
I turn away from the little group to Demeter, who’s looking a bit shell-shocked and sheeny-eyed after her meeting.
“Are you OK?” I murmur.
“I’m fine. Or, at least, I will be fine.” She closes her eyes briefly. “Katie, I don’t know what to say. You’re amazing. If it weren’t for you…I mean…Come here.” Demeter pulls me into an impassioned hug. “Thank you,” she says into my ear. “Thank you a million times over.”
As we draw apart, I can see Flora staring at the pair of us, flabbergasted. Unlike the other two, she doesn’t look properly scared yet. I don’t think it’s quite dawned on her fully what’s happening.
“I don’t get it,” she blurts out. “Are you two friends? Have you been friends all this time?”
“Well…not exactly friends,” I say, just as Demeter says, “We’ve had our ups and downs.”
I have a flashback to Demeter groveling around the swamp, covered with gloop and nettle stings. I glance at her—and I can tell she’s having a similar memory.
“I think our shared love of yoga really bonded us,” Demeter adds, deadpan. “If you can call it yoga.” She raises her eyebrows at me, and I don’t want to start laughing but I just can’t help it. The more I think about what I put Demeter through—the sack, the stones, sweeping out the stable—the more my stomach heaves.
“I’m sorry,” I gasp. “I’m so sorry, Demeter. I can’t believe I did all that.”
“Nor can I,” says Demeter, and she suddenly erupts as well. As I catch sight of Flora, she looks even more gobsmacked than before.
“Demeter and I have to talk,” Alex says, coming over. “But then we both want to buy you the biggest drink you can consume without actually being poisoned. Meet you back here in an hour?”
“Great!” I nod, trying to ignore the gazes of Flora, Rosa, and Sarah. “See you then.”
“And again, thanks, Katie.” Demeter grabs my hands for a final squeeze. “Thank you so much.”
“You still can’t get her bloody name right, can you?” says Sarah, and I wheel round in surprise. Sarah is gazing at Demeter, trembling with contempt and defiance, even now. “It’s Cat.”
“No it’s not, Sarah.” I flick her the most cutting look I can muster. “It’s Katie.”
I step past the lot of them, my head high, and feel a lightness take hold of me as soon as I get out of their toxic atmosphere. As I reach the glass doors, it’s as if a delayed reaction hits me. It’s all good! We’ve done it! Demeter’s vindicated!
I practically skip down the steps to the street, a huge smile licking across my face. I’m wondering how to fill the hour till I see Demeter and Alex again, and already looking forward to our drink, when my phone buzzes with some new message or other. As I pull it out I wonder—half-hope—if Demeter’s already summoning me back to the office.
But it’s not from Demeter. It’s from a digital branding agency called Broth, which I applied to weeks ago. My breath catches as I fumble to open the email and skim the words:
Dear Ms. Brenner…recent application for the post of junior associate…impressed by your application and would like to discuss this further…please call to arrange an interview…
And I stand transfixed, clutching my phone, my blood dancing in my veins. An interview. An actual interview. Oh my God!
I start next month. The salary’s pretty much what I was on before and the offices are in Marylebone, and I’m thinking about living somewhere west this time. I’ve been looking in Hanwell, which is quite cheap.
They were really friendly, the two women who interviewed me. They loved my portfolio and said I had to join their pub quiz team. It’s a great place to work—I can tell that already. And they phoned to offer me the job while I was on the train back home. They really want me! I’ve got everything I ever wanted. So I don’t know why I don’t feel more euphoric.
OK. Full disclosure: I know exactly why I don’t feel more euphoric.
First of all, two weeks have passed, but I haven’t seen Alex since we were in London together. After that extraordinary, heady day, I ended up staying the night at his place, and it was so exactly what I’d always dreamed of that I felt like I must have taken some mind-altering drug. He lives in this big, light flat in Battersea, with a balcony and a view of the river (if you lean over the balustrade to look), and we had sex all night with all of London’s lights twinkling along as accompaniment. And then we had the perfect morning-after breakfast of croissants and more sex. And then he said he’d call, but—
OK. Stop.