I woke with an odd sensation in my stomach. James had slept in the guest room, and I hadn’t objected. He’d needed time to cool off and think – we both did. But once the sun came up, the little tiff, or whatever it had been, felt silly. I pulled my dressing gown tightly around me as I went to see if he was still sleeping in the spare room. Strangely, the bed was made. Not ‘James’ made, but fifteen-pounds-an-hour ‘maid’ made, with perfectly placed scatter cushions that James would never have thought to put back on. Yet, Janine hadn’t been few a few days. How odd. Perhaps he’d ended up crashing on the sofa. I went downstairs to investigate. There was no sign of him there either, so I went to put on some coffee and spotted a note on the breakfast bar.
Gone for a run then popping into work. Needed to clear my head – we’ll talk later. J x
A run? With a hangover? I shook my head. Despite everything, I had to admire that. With all that had gone on, I’d neglected my own exercise routine. Once he’d had his space, he’d be fine. The whole Megan thing was concerning me more. The image of her contorted face was ingrained in my mind and I couldn’t shake the guilt in knowing I’d caused that. She didn’t deserve the betrayal I’d caused and I didn’t deserve a friend like her.
I couldn’t manage breakfast so had my coffee then busied myself with household chores to take my mind off the whole Megan, Sam, and James thing from the night before. As I went to shove some washing in the machine, I noticed a load already done. I was surprised James could even work the darn thing – I’d seen no evidence in the past – but since I’d emptied it the day before, it must have been him. I pulled out the washing. ‘Black and white – together. James, you idiot!’ I mumbled. Just as I was sorting what it was, the intercom went. ‘Bugger.’
I threw the pile down and answered it. It was James’s mother. Double bugger.
‘Frances, how lovely of you to drop by,’ I said sweetly as I opened the door.
She looked me over disapprovingly and I bristled. ‘Not dressed yet?’ She shook her head as she barged past. ‘Where’s James?’
‘He’s gone out for a run, then he’s popping into work.’
She didn’t reply, but instead gave an irritating smirk that said it all – she might as well have said ‘that’s ma boy’ and punched the air. She made me feel sick, or perhaps I actually just felt sick. I wasn’t sure. ‘I was just catching up on some washing,’ I said.
‘Don’t let me stop you.’ She shooed me towards the kitchen and followed behind me to the utility room. ‘Oh, Charlotte, you’ve put a white shirt in with blacks!’ she said, incredulously.
I started to separate them to see why on earth James had mixed the washing like that. ‘Actually, it wasn’t m—’ It wasn’t just any old collection of black and white clothing; it was one of his dry-clean-only Hugo Boss suits. Why the hell had he thrown all his clothes in the washer? He must have thrown up all over himself.
‘Well, that’s ruined,’ Frances said disapprovingly, holding up the crinkled, crisp jacket; its arms now hanging shapelessly at different lengths. ‘A powerful man needs a powerful suit.’ She tutted. ‘It’s merely your job to deposit and collect it from the dry-cleaner’s.
She made my blood boil. I’d had enough. ‘Well, maybe a powerful man shouldn’t stagger home in a drunken stupor and throw his vomit-stained, dry-clean-only clothes in on a sixty-degree wash!’ I threw my hands in the air. ‘And, besides that, it isn’t my job to take your son’s suit to the dry-cleaner’s, Frances, it’s not nineteen-bloody-fifty!’
Frances looked a little taken aback. After a moment, she took a deep breath. ‘I’ll catch James on his mobile phone since you’re a little out of sorts today.’ And with that, she left.
I slumped against the washer; my whole body was shaking. I’d never stood up to Frances before. I’d always bitten my tongue to keep the peace. It didn’t feel as good as it should have. With everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, I could have probably powered a small village with the energy generated from the turning waterwheel in my stomach. I took a deep breath. I needed to compartmentalise my brain. I marked Megan as ‘urgent’, Frances as ‘to deal with at a later date’ and James, well, had some explaining to do when he got home.
I threw his misshapen suit and now-grey shirt on the draining board and continued my chores. As the day passed, I checked my phone frequently to see if Megan had been in touch but she hadn’t. At quarter past three, just as I was making a cup of green tea, my phone buzzed. I dashed to it like a child to a Christmas present. My chest thumped. To my surprise, it was James.
What on earth did you say to my mother?
My heart rate picked up until it reached my ears, deafening me with each beat. It wasn’t the conversation I was expecting to have and struggled to decipher my emotions. I wasn’t sure if I was angry, shocked by his tone, or scared I’d upset him. I wasn’t sure of anything at all other than the fact I suddenly felt very sick.
I ran to the downstairs loo and managed to get there just in time before I vomited. When I sat back down shakily at the breakfast bar, I took deep breaths, gathered my thoughts, and calmed myself down. It was almost funny really like fate had been tempted because my life had been so blissful for so long. Maybe it was a test, a hurdle to overcome and then things would go back to normal. They would definitely be back to normal soon.
I had two options. Option one: storm down to James’s office and give him a dressing-down about his attitude and behaviour and tell him I’ve had enough of his working all hours and enough of his bloody mother. Or there was option two: go down to his office with a peace offering and put the whole sorry affair behind us. Only one of these options would restore normality quickly.
After transforming myself into a presentable state, I spent an hour on the internet arranging a special something for James before printing it off and setting off to his office. On the way there I felt much better, excited even. I’d apologise, he’d apologise, and then I’d whip the surprise out of my bag and he’d be so ecstatic. Maybe things would even get a little steamy if nobody else was about, since the office was technically closed on a Sunday.
Once I’d parked and made my way to the Emsworth, Haiden & Haiden offices, I tried the door and was surprised to find it unlocked so instead of buzzing the intercom, I just made my way inside. It would be a better surprise.
The place was deathly silent, and I made a mental note to remind James to lock the door when he was there alone, otherwise anybody could walk in, a robber, a drug addict! Who knew? It was the centre of town after all. As I approached his door, the strong sillage of an unmistakable scent hung in the air – Creed Aventus. He was definitely there. Bubbles of excitement fizzed and popped in my chest. I couldn’t wait to give him my surprise. I placed a hand on the doorknob and took a deep breath.
‘Surprise!’ I said, waltzing through the door with a huge smile on my face that I knew he’d find hard to say cross at.
James’s face fell as he looked up from whatever he was doing on his phone and my stomach sank. That wasn’t the reaction I was hoping for. Perhaps he was still mad.
‘I’ve . . . come to say sorry . . .’ My words faltered a little as his reaction caught me off-guard. I closed the door behind me in case anyone else was in the office and stepped forward.
‘It’s fine. Look, Charlotte, I’m busy here. Can we talk later? I really must get on.’ He spoke quickly and his tone was icy.
I was taken aback; I hadn’t expected him to still be angry – it was just a silly tiff. ‘Of course, I just have something for y—’ The door burst open and cut me off.
‘I’m ready for you to check my clauses—’ a breathy voice said as a flash of flesh and hair burst in. Legs strode apart and not a stitch of clothes, aside from a mac – which she was holding open – and a pair of stilettoes.
‘I think you have the wrong office!’ I blurted at her, shocked. How dare she? ‘Well, does this look like a brothel? Get out!’ I shrieked, glaring at her, but she didn’t move. That’s when I looked at her properly and then at James as the pair of them stared at each other. Blinded by her nakedness, I’d missed her face.
‘Samantha?’
Clasping my hand to my mouth before a scream could escape, I scurried past her, accidentally knocking into her naked frontage as I did. I needed air and there didn’t seem to be any in Emsworth, Haiden & Haiden. I had to get outside.
‘Charlotte!’ I heard James yell, but I carried on. I was practically running at that point and I didn’t look back until I was in my car with the doors locked. Safely alone, I heaved out a flood of tears. My sickness re-emerged as I desperately tried to open the window. I vomited between sobs, but this time nothing came out. My chest felt tight and I was finding it hard to breathe as the image of Samantha’s flesh appeared stage-front in my mind. I could still feel her on me after knocking into her; it was nauseating. The air was hot, and I couldn’t seem to get enough of it into my lungs. It felt like I was going to pass out.
I was having a panic attack. I heaved at the air whilst clutching the steering wheel. I hadn’t had one since I’d sat my exams at university and back then, I’d had a technique taught to me by a lecturer. I tried to remember the method. List five things you can see. My eyes darted about; cars – breathe; lights – breathe; people – breathe; shops – breathe; and a naked fucking bitch . . . Gasp, gasp, gasp.
There was a loud banging sound. Someone was knocking on the window. It was a man, and he didn’t look like an axe-wielding maniac so I let the window down a little further. The fresh air felt good.
‘You okay, love?’ he asked.
‘I will be, thanks,’ I said, waving him off. Can’t a girl have a panic attack in peace?
I got back to my technique. Four things you can touch. The leather seat – breathe; the dashboard – breathe; the walnut panelling – breathe. And the mother-fucking-steering-wheel – I punctuated each word by banging my head against it.
Three things you can hear. The engine noise – breathe; the street noise – breathe; and her honeyed voice – ‘I’m ready for you to check my clauses.’
Two things you can smell. Creed Aventus and some awful floral crap, which still lingered in my nose.
One thing you can taste. Rejection.
Eventually, my breathing slowed and I started the engine and drove home; it was time to prepare dinner.