‘Clerkenwell. Don’t look at me like that. You have to speculate to accumulate.’
‘But—’ I stop before I cross a line I can’t return from. Taking on a third café when my second was foundering would terrify me, but I guess that’s why Melissa’s in business, and I’m not. When I moved in next door to Melissa and Neil I was doing a bookkeeping course through the Adult Education programme. I’d been rubbish at maths at school, but Matt only had the kids on Wednesday evenings, which meant it was that or upholstery, and I couldn’t see me making a living from re-covering chairs. Melissa was my first client.
‘I’ve done the business accounts myself up till now,’ she said, when I told her I’d signed up for the course, ‘but I’ve taken on new premises in Covent Garden, and I could do with freeing up some time. It’ll be payroll and receipts – nothing too complicated.’ I jumped at the chance. And although it was only a year before another client – Graham Hallow – offered me a permanent job, I’ve carried on doing the books for Melissa’s and Melissa’s Too.
‘Melissa’s Three?’ I ask now. She laughs.
‘And four, and five … the sky’s the limit!’
I’m not due into work until lunchtime, but when I arrive at eleven Graham makes a show of looking at his watch.
‘Good of you to come in today, Zoe.’ As always, he’s wearing a three-piece suit, with an actual pocket watch tucked into his waistcoat. ‘Professionalism breeds confidence,’ he explained to me once, perhaps in an attempt to encourage me out of my M&S trousers and into something similarly old-fashioned.
I don’t rise to it. My two hours’ leave was authorised and signed off by Graham himself before I left on Friday. ‘Would you like me to make you a coffee?’ I say, having learned a long time ago that the best way to extinguish Graham is by being unfailingly polite.
‘That would be most welcome, thank you. Did you have a good weekend?’
‘Not bad.’ I don’t offer any detail, and he doesn’t ask. I keep my personal life to myself, nowadays. When Simon and I first got together, Graham dared to suggest it was inappropriate for me to date someone I’d met through work, even though it had been months since he’d come into the office, enquiring about commercial rental rates for a piece he was writing.
‘But it wouldn’t have been inappropriate for me to date my boss?’ I responded, folding my arms and looking him straight in the eye. Because six weeks after I’d found out about Matt’s affair, when I was a quivering mess and didn’t know which way was up, Graham Hallow had asked me out, and I’d said no.
‘I felt sorry for you,’ he said, when I challenged him all those years later. ‘I thought you needed cheering up.’
‘Right. Thanks.’
‘Maybe that’s what this new bloke thinks, too.’
I didn’t take the bait. I knew Simon didn’t feel sorry for me. He adored me. He bought me flowers, took me to nice restaurants, and kissed me in a way that made my knees buckle. We’d only been seeing each other for a few weeks, but I knew. I just knew. Maybe Graham had felt sorry for me, but he never quite forgave me for turning him down. No more letting me leave early if the kids were unwell, or cutting me some slack if the trains were late. From that moment he played by the book, and I needed the job too much to risk breaking the rules.
Graham drinks his coffee, then puts on his coat and disappears. There’s nothing in the diary, but he mutters something about seeing a man about a dog, and frankly I’m just glad to be on my own. The office is unusually quiet for a Monday, so I start a long overdue spring clean, feeding papers through the shredder and moving ancient spider plants to dust behind them.
My phone beeps, and I pick up a text from Matt.
KT okay?
He shortens everyone’s names like that. Katie is KT, Justin Jus, and I’m only ever Zoe when we’re arguing.
I suppose Simon would be Si, if they had that sort of relationship.
Haven’t heard from her, I reply. Not sure if that’s a good sign or not!
Did she feel confident?
I think for a second. Optimistic, I put.
How about you? x
I register the kiss and ignore it. I leave the conversation hanging, carrying on with my dusting, and a few minutes later he phones.
‘You did it again, didn’t you?’
‘Did what?’ I say, knowing full well what he means.
‘You put a downer on her audition.’ His consonants are muffled and I know it’s because he’s put a cigarette between his lips. Sure enough, I hear the metallic snap of a lighter, and he takes a long drag. It’s been almost twenty years since I smoked, but I feel a physical pull as he inhales.
‘I didn’t,’ I start, but Matt knows me too well. ‘I didn’t mean to, anyway.’
‘What did you say?’
‘I just mentioned that secretarial course I told you about.’
‘Zo …’