Page 31 of The Last Train Home
‘Do you want to tell me what’s going on here?’ he asks eventually.
‘I was having a very bad day.’
‘No kidding,’ he says. ‘The footage was time-stamped 5.32 a.m. How had your day gone so badly wrong, so early in the morning?’
I think he’s attempting humour, and then it dawns on me that this is none of his business. He cannot possibly be disciplining me for this?
I attempt a tone that’s not inflammatory. ‘Am I in trouble?’ I ask as if I’m twelve years old and petrified about getting suspended from school. ‘It happened outside of work and outside of working hours,’ I rush on. ‘I know I punched the building, but I’ll be honest, I didn’t actually realise it was our building until it was over. I only live around the corner, and I was running past and … I’m assuming there was no damage.’
‘Of course there was no damage, and of course you’re not in trouble. But security picked up on this at the time and recognised you immediately. As your line manager, they toldme, but I chose to sit on it. I thought I’d rather keep an eye on you from afar, see if you caused me any level of concern or if that was just a one-off. But it’s been a little while since this night, and you don’t seem yourself any more. I would be a fairly terrible line manager if I didn’t check in on you about all of this, as I’m wondering if you’re not actually OK. So that’s what this is.’
‘Good,’ I joke. ‘I was starting to worry I’d need a lawyer.’
Derek smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
‘That’s nothing,’ I say, gesturing to the TV. ‘Don’t worry about it. I’m fine. More than fine. If I’ve been a bit off, then I apologise. I’ll fix it. And I’ll fix the issues with my team.’
Derek nods, unconvinced, but at least he’s willing to change the subject. ‘Perhaps you could all go on a team-building day, white-water rafting or something.’
‘Sounds fantastic,’ I say.Shoot me now.
Chapter 21
Abbie
December 2005
I didn’t mean to play hard to get with Sean. That wasn’t my intention at all. But in between him texting me a few weeks ago and today I’ve been far busier than I expected.
I moved in with Natasha at the start of this month and we’ve enjoyed endless drinks after work whenever we’re both in, on our new balcony – despite the fact it’s bitterly cold now – in our new flat, with views of the river. I cannot stop saying that to anyone who listens: ‘my new flat, with views of the river’.
And work has been a bit frantic. My promotion means I get to travel, for work, on company expenses. Travel that someone else pays for … I can’t get my head around that. I can eat and drink whatever I want (within reason; it turns out that caviar and champagne are on the ‘no’ list). All I have to do is submit receipts and someone puts money in my bank account. I’ve only been away twice, and just for two days here, two days there, but it’s addictive and I can’t wait to go again.
Sean and I have texted back and forth a bit and it’s getting flirtier. I quite like it. We’re going to meet tonight for adrink. He suggested our work local, but I don’t really go in there any more. I don’t want to risk running into Tom. Every time I think about that night in his flat – me standing in my knickers while he rejected me – I close my eyes to shut out the humiliation. And then the usual cascade of sadness falls onto me, which is the order of it all when I think about losing Tom: humiliation, followed by sadness at missing him, every single time. Because I have lost him. I have. We’ve lost each other. He must feel it too, if his frequent I’m sorry text messaging was anything to go by. But that’s all stopped now.
No, I can’t run into Tom ever again, which might be a bit impossible if I start dating his friend. But we’ll cross that bridge if, and when, we come to it.
We meet in a cellar bar, where upturned whisky barrels form tables and red candles are held in old wine bottles. There’s sawdust on the floor. I can’t tell if this is an ironic-themed bar. It’s dim, dark, muted, a bit sexy and we’re on our second bottle of wine. We’ve not eaten, but the girl behind the bar keeps bringing out those little dishes of wasabi nuts, which I assume are free. They’re making my eyes water, but I need to keep eating them because I’m so hungry.
We’ve accidentally ended up playing a game where we position beer mats on the edge of the table, flick them up into the air and catch them with the same hand. It’s tougher than it looks. Sean’s a pro, which is why I suspect he started showing me how to do it.
‘So where are they sending you next then?’ he asks.
‘Andorra,’ I say, focusing on flicking my mat. I knock it with my fingertips and it flies towards his face, hitting him on the nose. ‘Sorry,’ I giggle.
‘Wow! To do what?’ he says, handing the mat back for me to try again.
‘Interview the tourism minister and talk about ski resorts for an online feature about Christmas sales predictions.’ I neglect to tell him that I had to look up on a map where Andorra was.
He nods, expecting more. There is no more. That’s about the whole of it.
‘Great,’ he says, catching my mat for me again. ‘When are you going?’
‘Next week.’
He makes a huge jokey show of looking put out. ‘It takes weeks for me to get you on a date and I can’t even arrange a second one in a week’s time because you’re away.’
He’s cute. He’s making me feel important, which is very sweet of him. But it’s just drinks. For now. We’ll see how we go. The reality of sitting here, leaning awkwardly across this whisky barrel with Sean, makes me feel a bit like I probably shouldn’t be on a date with one of Tom’s friends. Although I don’t know why I feel that. I’m certainly not worried about hurting Tom, because he wouldn’t care at all, I think. He rejected me. Not the other way round. But it still feels a bit odd. So I reason this is probably a two-date thing and then we’ll call it a day. But it’s fun to go out. Now I think about it, we’ve not mentioned Tom once. He’s like the elephant in the room. Maybe not to Sean. Maybe it’s only me.
