Dan asks if I heard Olivia moving around in the night and I say I didn’t. I remember nothing after my head hit the pillow. He says she was up and about through the night, going to the bathroom and back a couple of times. I say I’ll let her sleep before popping some bread into the toaster.
I notice Dan watching but his gaze instantly flickers away. He’s been off carbs for a few months now. Bread, pasta, rice and potatoes are evil, so I tend to make meals for myself and Olivia – if she wants anything – while he’ll drink protein shakes and buy rotisserie chickens.
The toaster pops just as there’s a knock at the door. Dan moves way too quickly for me this time. He mutters a sharp, ‘see you later’, and then he’s gone.
I watch through the net curtain in the living room window as he and Alice stroll along the path. Dan glances back to the house but I’m pretty sure he can’t see me. Alice is in yoga pants that are so tight, she might as well not be wearing them. I’m not sure if she is a natural blonde or if it’s bleached but she has it in a ponytail today and is bouncing on her heels athletically as she walks. She slaps him playfully on the shoulder as they get to the end of the drive, before both getting into Dan’s car. I continue watching until he’s pulled away and disappeared behind next door’s hedge.
It’s hard to resist, so I creep up the stairs quietly, avoiding number seven from the bottom because it squeaks. With the greatest of care, I nudge open Olivia’s door, standing in the frame and watching. She’s wrapped herself in the bedclothes but there’s a pillow on the floor, along with what looks like half her wardrobe. A single leg juts out at an angle, showing off a zigzagging tattoo that loops around her lower thigh. I think this is a new one. Her toenails are a shiny black, but the rest of her is cocooned in the covers, her chest rising and falling oh so slowly as she sleeps.
Olivia has never been one of those teenagers who sleeps all day. We usually see each other in the morning, even if she doesn’t say much. She seems even more vulnerable when I watch her like this.
I close the door and then, when back downstairs, check the Find Tyler Facebook page. The photo from last night is still there – but, even on the laptop with its bigger screen, it’s hard to make anything clearly. It could be Tyler but it could be pretty much anyone. There are no new comments or posts, so I close the site and then check Natasha’s page. She had a home-made fruit salad for breakfast, which is #winning.
Old habits. Hers and mine.
That done, I get ready for work.
* * *
Natasha went out with her boyfriend for dinner last night. I know this because she’s telling Claire in intricate detail about seemingly every moment of it. He dressed up in a suit; she popped to Tanfastic after work. He got his back waxed last weekend; she’s thinking about hair extensions. He ordered a mixed grill – a sure sign of a classy place; she had the mushroom burger. He was drinking John Smith’s; she had a ‘cheeky’ few glasses of rosé. He got up to wee three times; she lost an earring somewhere. Only a cheap one, though.
Pulling off my own ears seems something of an overreaction and I’m not sure this would count as mitigating circumstances were I to burn the entire building down in an effort to make her stop. It doesn’t sound as if Claire’s that interested. There’s the odd ‘yeah’ and ‘right’ but, other than that, it’s a one-way barrage of vacuous vapidity.
Still, I’m the one who spends my time poring over her online updates, so what does that make me?
It’s a merciful respite when Graham walks into the main office. He heads straight for me, crouching and whispering so that only I can hear. ‘I need a word.’
He stands straighter, raising an eyebrow and then heading back towards his own office. Everyone has gone silent, watching as I stand and follow. It’s rare that Graham leaves his office during the day, rarer still he comes and talks to me directly. Something’s definitely not right.
When I get to his office, he’s already behind his desk.
‘Close the door,’ he says grimly.
I do and then take the seat on the opposite side of his desk.
‘You met a potential client named Declan on Tuesday,’ he says.
‘Yes.’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘Has he put in an order?’
Graham glances away towards his monitor and then rests both hands on the desk, fingers splayed. He breathes in heavily through his nose.
‘Not exactly,’ he says. ‘There’s been a complaint.’
Chapter Thirty-Two
I laugh because it’s got to be a joke. ‘A complaint? What would anyone have to complain about?’
Graham doesn’t join in and it’s then that I realise he’s serious.
‘I don’t understand,’ I say.
‘What happened when you met Mr Irons on Tuesday?’
‘Declan? Not much. We… er…’
I strain to remember but it was an unremarkable twenty minutes in among a ludicrously eventful four days. The journey took a lot longer than the meeting.
‘We met at this industrial estate,’ I say. ‘You gave me the address. It was this little office on a rank of three or four. There wasn’t much inside and the other offices were empty. We were the only two people there.’
Graham scribbles something on a Post-it note that I can’t see.
‘And…?’
‘And what? There’s nothing to tell. He told me about his business, I told him about our services, that was more or less it. He sounded interested and I thought he’d be in contact to haggle prices or put in an order. We swapped business cards and I left.’
‘That’s it…?’
I hold my hands out. ‘I don’t know what you want me to say.’
Graham takes another breath, his hulking chest rising high and falling.
‘Mr Irons tells a slightly different tale.’
‘What has he said?’
He nods at his monitor, even though I can’t see what’s on it. ‘He claims you propositioned him.’
The room spins, first one way and then another. Graham zooms out of view and then back into it.
‘Are you all right?’ he asks.
‘I, um…’
‘Do you want some water?’
He doesn’t wait for an answer, clambering around his desk and disappearing into the hallway. He’s back moments later, pressing a plastic cup into my hand. The liquid is icy through the plastic, stinging the tips of my fingers. I force myself to drink anyway but it’s like swallowing a razor. It’s so cold that I gag on the final few drops, spluttering and patting myself on the chest until it clears.
‘You okay?’ Graham asks.
He’s back in his swivel chair on the other side of the desk.
‘Rose?’
It’s the sound of my name that brings me back. Nothing like this has ever happened before. I didn’t pass out… but it was as if I’d frozen.
‘I’m all right,’ I reply gingerly.
‘Can we continue?’
‘Yes. I, um… I don’t know what he means by propositioned.’
‘He says you offered him a lower price in return for what he calls “some mutual fun”.’
Graham reads the last three words from his screen.
‘That’s nonsense,’ I reply, although my attempt to remain calm is failing. I’m a mix of confusion and fury.
‘I’m going to have to read some things you might not want to hear…’ Graham looks up to me over invisible glasses. He’s nervous.
‘Fine.’
‘He says you told him you could, “teach him a thing or two” and that you could “make a regular thing of it”.’
Graham leafs through the papers on his desk and passes me a page.
By the time I’ve finished, I’m shaking.
Graham,
* * *
I have thought long and hard over whether or not I should send this email over the past few days. After agonising with my conscience, I have decided that it would be a disservice to you if I did nothing.
Further to our correspondence from late last week, I was delighted when we arranged a time for your salesperson to explain how our companies could work together. Unfortunately, what transpired on Tuesday afternoon is not anything to do with the way I do business.