Page 51 of The Last Train Home
Chapter 35
Tom
February 2007
‘You’ve got to be joking, Samantha,’ I say down the phone as I’m heading away from work to Gianni’s to grab a panini for lunch. ‘You can’t go on a work trip the weekend we move house. It’s just not on. Tell them. Tell them you’ll have to reschedule. I can’t move house on my own.’
‘You won’t be on your own – you’ll have the removal company.’
‘You’ve got to be joking,’ I say again. ‘What will I do with Teddy while I’m moving house?’
‘He’ll be at nursery that Friday,’ she replies.
‘But the nursery’s closed at the weekend, so I’ll have to look after him and try and sort out boxes?’
‘Tom, don’t give me this. Do you think I want to go away for a weekend for work?’
Yes, I think.Yes, you bloody do.
‘There’s nothing I can do,’ she says. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Fine. OK. We’ll talk about this later,’ I respond as I enter the shop. I’m raging. How can she think this is remotely acceptable? We’re supposed to be a team. I didn’t even wantto move house, but Samantha wanted somewhere bigger. It’s 2.30 p.m. The day has run away with me. I think this is the latest I’ve ever eaten lunch at work, but I’m up against it and only remembered that I needed to eat when my new assistant, Debbie, offered to go and buy me something to eat. I said I’d go, because I needed to get away from the stress for a few minutes. And then Samantha piled a whole lot more on me.
I’ve got a face like thunder when Gianni serves me. He raises an eyebrow.
‘Woman trouble,’ I volunteer, for no reason at all other than not speaking felt odd. Then I remember why I’m there. ‘Double-meatball melt, please, and you choose all the salad bits,’ I say, swishing my hand around in front of the salad bar and hoping Gianni can work out what goes best in the sandwich.
‘Women are always trouble,’ he says sagely. ‘Even when they’re not trouble, they’re trouble.’
I look to the side, trying to work that one out. I’m not sure it’s true, but I’m annoyed and not inclined to contradict him.
‘Always trouble,’ he says, nodding emphatically again. Discussion closed, I guess. ‘Or …’ he starts back up again. I brace myself. ‘If we don’t wish to tar all women with the same brush, maybe it is that you and I do not choose the right women.’
I look at the salad bar as he loads up the sandwich. I’m thinking about what he said. I don’t think that’s true, either. I don’t choose the wrong women. Samantha’s not wrong for me. We just bicker a lot. We’ve got a baby. It’s hard going. And she keeps dicking off on work weekend trips. This isn’t the first, but she’s going for a partner’s positionat her law firm. I didn’t ask her where the trip was or what it’s even for.
Gianni says something else that I miss and I look up, wondering what else he’s going to say that might add fuel to the fire already raging in my head. ‘Sorry?’
‘I said, four pounds and fifty pence, please.’
That’s gone up since yesterday.
‘Right. Yeah.’ I hand over the cash and walk out with the sandwich. I don’t think I’m going to go back there again.
It’s when I turn the corner that I finally see her. Abbie – after all this time. She stops in front of me and I struggle to catch my breath.
‘Hello, stranger,’ she says, and I’m too stunned to speak. Not that I can, because I’ve got a meatball and a giant lump of bread still in my mouth.
I swallow and the bread scratches my throat all the way down. ‘Hi,’ I say in a croaky voice and then recover. ‘You’re a fine one to talk. Where the hell have you been all this time?’
‘I get sent all over the world now,’ she says. ‘Far too busy for the likes of you.’
I’m glad it’s as easy as this, because we’ve been chatting a bit on text, but we’ve never managed to pin down a date to meet up. ‘I wasn’t sure you even worked there any more. I never see you.’
‘I got moved,’ she says with a sigh. ‘Office refurb. Partitions flippin’ everywhere now. I’m over on the other side. Miss my window view.’
‘How have you been?’ I ask.
‘I’m good. How are you?’
