Chapter Four
I was glad to get back to work on the Monday morning. Weekends were never that great, anyway. What with visiting Mum and Olivia, and Great Uncle Charles, I barely had any time to myself. Not that I had anything to do, if I'd had any time, come to think of it. I'd spent the last few months painstakingly redecorating the flat, unable to bear the magnolia-painted woodchip a moment longer. Trouble was, with the flat done, I had nothing else to fill my time.
I hated to admit it, but I was bored.
Sitting at my desk, in the small room adjoining Jack Carroll's office, I sipped coffee and pondered whether, or not, to risk a biscuit. It was stupid, and something I would have to get over, but I'd been a bit wary of eating anything since my near-death experience in the pub.
Last night had been punctuated by horrific nightmares, and I'd woken up several times, convinced I couldn't breathe. I'd had to open a window, at one point, and lean outside, taking deep breaths of cold, night air to convince myself that I was fine. I couldn't shake the awful realisation that, if I'd choked on something while alone in my flat, I would have died. No one to perform abdominal thrusts on me at home.
Life, I'd suddenly realised, was a fragile thing. For the first time in my life, I'd become aware of my own mortality, and it scared me rigid.
Determined to put it out of my mind, I took another sip of coffee and reached into my top drawer, where I'd stashed a glossy interior design magazine. It always soothed me to flick through its pages, choosing the sort of soft furnishings I'd have in Fox Lodge, and trying to decide whether to go for a modern, or traditional look. They were important decisions, after all. Fox Lodge would be a perfect house. A sanctuary from the world. My home.
I glanced up casually, when the door opened, expecting to see Jack's smiling face. Instead, a stranger stood there, examining the pictures on the office walls, hands in pockets, looking relaxed and proprietary, somehow, as if he had every right to be there.
"Can I help?"
He turned to face me, and I felt a momentary flutter of appreciation. Very nice. Glossy, raven curls, firm chin with a neat coating of rather sexy stubble, dark eyes ...
My mouth dropped open in shock, and the flutter turned into a Mexican wave. "You!"
"Hello, Marley." Christopher Carroll looked me up and down, frowning a bit, then said uncertainly, "How are you feeling?"
How am I feeling? I thought bitterly. You mean, after you broke my heart? After you trampled all over my life? How dare you even ask me that question?
"Did you go to the hospital? I did say you ought to get checked out, just to make sure."
My heart thudded as realisation dawned. Seriously? Of course! No wonder he'd seemed so familiar. How had I not recognised him? But then, he seemed taller and a bit thinner than he used to. His face had hollowed out a little, and there were fine lines around those eyes. As for the hair—it had always been cut short. Those unruly curls had been well and truly tamed at his father's orders, unlike how they looked then, as he stood before me.
Besides, I'd hardly been able to focus at the pub, having nearly choked to death. Bloody hell, and I'd thought he was Jesus. He was the very opposite.
Trying hard to steady myself, I swallowed and, taking a deep breath, said coolly, "So it was you. You saved my life."
"Oh, you know." He shrugged. "It was just lucky that I was in the right place, at the right time."
How could he be so calm? I could barely breathe, and he was just standing there, all cool and unflustered, as if our meeting up again hadn't shaken him, at all. Well, there was no way I’d be letting him know how much his sudden reappearance had affected me.
I stood up and held out my hand for him to shake, even though I'd rather have wrapped both hands around his neck and squeezed, very tightly. "I wanted to thank you, but by the time I realised what had happened, you'd already gone. I didn't recognise you at the time, what with the beard and all that hair."
He shook my hand, with apparent reluctance, and didn't reply. I hoped he couldn't feel me trembling.
Hastily, I withdrew my hand, in case it became obvious, and we just stood there for a moment, staring at each other in awkward silence. I realised suddenly that I hadn't asked him what he was doing in my office. "Are you here to see Jack? He's not arrived yet." I glanced at the clock on the wall, my eyes narrowing as I realised it was half-past eight. He was late. Not like Jack, at all. "Perhaps I should call him, tell him you're here. Would you like to take a seat, Christopher?"
He winced. "Kit, please."
"Huh?"
"My name. No one calls me Christopher, anymore. It's Kit."
Weird, but it felt like a personal attack on me, on our relationship. He'd always been Christopher to me. It was as if he was warning me that that part of our life was well and truly over, and the past was out of bounds. As if I needed any warning.
Christopher's eyes narrowed suddenly. "I know this must feel a bit awkward. After all, it's been a long time, hasn't it, since our ..." He gave an apologetic smile. "You know— thing?"
A wave of nausea washed over me. I needed to sit down. Without preamble, I plonked myself into the chair and stared at the monitor. "Sorry, just need to finish this," I managed, tapping on the keyboard and producing a string of unintelligible words. "I was in the middle of something. Don't want to forget it."
"I haven't offended you, have I?" Christopher said. "Mentioning it, I mean. Perhaps I shouldn't have. It was so long ago—a teenage romance. I expect you're married, or engaged, or something by now. You never said, by the way, did I hurt you?"
I felt a brick sitting in my chest. Had he hurt me? He'd almost destroyed me.
"I had to use a lot of force, I'm afraid. Whatever it was you were choking on took some shifting."
"That's okay." I realised my voice sounded croaky and cleared my throat. "I got a full check-up. No broken bones. Throat was a bit sore yesterday, and I ached a bit, but I'm fine."
"Excellent."
"And no, you haven't offended me. Like you said, it was a teenage romance. Nothing serious. You know."
"Yes." He nodded. "I know. I'm sure we're mature enough to put it all behind us—whatever it was."
I stopped typing and stared at the gobbledegook on the screen. Stabbing the delete button, I said coldly, "As I said, Jack's not here yet. If you'd like to wait in the office, I'm sure he won't be long." I gave him a smile as frosty as the tone of my voice. No way would I let him know what he'd just done.
"Well, that's where you're wrong, I'm afraid," he said, opening the door to Jack's room and marching in. "Jack won't be back for a while. A good, long while."
"What? What do you mean?" I followed him into the office, watching in irritation as he plonked himself down in Jack's chair. "What's going on? What are you doing here?"
He looked up, no hint of an apology in his face. "Jack's in America."
"America?" I dropped into the seat on the opposite side of the desk and stared at him in astonishment. "What's he doing there?"
Christopher shrugged. "He decided to treat his wife and son to a holiday. They've hardly seen anything of him lately, he's been working so hard, and they all thought it was time they spent some quality time together. He'll be away for a couple of months, I'm afraid, but don't worry. I'm in charge, in the meantime."
"I don't believe you." I really didn't, either. Jack and I had a good working relationship. If he'd been planning to take time off to go on a jaunt to America—America! I'd always wanted to go there—he would have warned me. He'd have given notice, put things in place. "He wouldn't just take off like that. He'd have informed me, and we'd have gone over plans for while he was away."
"Maybe it was on a need-to-know basis."
Okay, he was really getting on my nerves, sitting there all smug and clever. "Not being funny," I said, "but have you any idea how to run a sweet factory?"
The smug look, I noticed with some satisfaction, disappeared. "Afraid not. Well, not much. Still, chocolate's in my blood—makes things very messy when I cut myself shaving, I must say, hence the stubble—so I'm sure we'll figure it out as we go along."
There was no we about it. It was his problem. If Jack Carroll hadn't even bothered to tell me he was off on a holiday, or that his patronising git of a brother would be stepping in to take over, why should I help him figure it out?
"I can see you're not impressed," he said, folding his arms and surveying me through eyes so dark, they were almost black. "Nevertheless, Marley, you're going to have to get used to it. From now on, and for the foreseeable future, you're my secretary, okay?"
"PA, actually," I said haughtily.
He raised an eyebrow. "First I've heard of it. Now, how about you start by putting those magazines away and making me a strong cup of coffee? I've a feeling I'm going to need it."
I had a feeling he wasn't the only one. In fact, skip the coffee. Right now, I'd give my right arm for a vodka. A very large vodka.
How the hell was I going to work with Christopher Carroll, when just being in the same room with him was bringing back such terrible memories, that all I wanted to do was go home, lock the door, and cry?
***
"I can't believe it," Olivia said, as we sat in the canteen together, tucking into jacket potatoes topped with cheese. "Jack's usually so responsible. Fancy him clearing off like that, and to America, of all places."
"Never mind where he is," I said.
Although, the fact that it was America was galling, to say the least.
He would, Christopher had assured me, be away for Christmas and New Year, so he would be living the dream. My dream. Christmas in New York!
Christopher hadn't actually said he was in New York, but there was no doubt about it, really. Nobody going to America over Christmas avoids New York, do they? It was sickening.
I wondered when I'd get the chance to do something so exciting. "The point is, he didn't tell me. I'm his PA. He's supposed to tell me everything, when it comes to this place. How stupid do you think I felt, when his snotty brother turned up, all smug and cocky? I should have been informed. It's bloody infuriating."
"Very irresponsible of him," Olivia repeated. "I mean, it's Christmas in six weeks! We're a sweet factory, for goodness sake. We should be cracking on with the Easter eggs." She giggled. "If you know what I mean. Mind you, we probably won't bother, unless LuvRocks decides to make naughty Easter eggs."
"Don't talk to me about LuvRocks products," I said darkly. "They nearly killed me. If I so much as have to look at one of their penises again, I'll heave."
"By heck, what sort of conversation are you two having?" Don, a plump, dark-haired man with a cheery face, plonked a plate of egg and chips on the table and sat down beside me, as David sat next to Olivia. They both had huge grins on their faces. Don nudged me, then picked up his knife and fork. "I hope you're not going to make me blush."
"Have you not heard about our Marley's brush with death, Don?" Olivia said.
David laughed. "Everyone's heard about that," he said, as Don rolled his eyes. "It's all round the factory, thanks to Sadie."
"Heard you were saved by a proper hunk," Don said, winking at Olivia and David. "Were it him you were on about, eh?"
Olivia nodded. "In a manner of speaking, I suppose we were."
"Give over," I said. "We were just on about Jack Carroll, swanning off to America for Christmas and leaving his big-headed, arrogant brother to run things."
"Ah." He shook his head and squirted tomato ketchup onto his meal. "Weird. Still, I suppose everyone's entitled to a break, and when you think about it, Jack hasn't been away, at all, this year. He's really been putting in the hours, hasn't he?"
"Stop defending him," I said. "He had a couple of weeks off, not that long ago. He may not have gone away, but he was still absent from this place. And if he was planning this trip to America, he should have told me. He's supposed to confide in me. I'm his right-hand woman."
"Get you," Olivia said, laughing.
"It's not all about you," David pointed out, annoyingly. "He never told Don here, either, and as a production manager, you'd have thought he'd have known something."
"So, you knew nothing, Don?" Olivia sounded puzzled. "This is a bit strange, isn't it? Aren't you annoyed?"
Don scooped some peas onto his fork and shrugged. "Jack's been looking really tired lately, and he's not his usual self. If he needs a holiday, well, good for him. Come on, he's a nice bloke. There are worse bosses we could have."
"Tell me about it," I moaned, thinking of the man upstairs in Jack's office. "Christopher Carroll, for one."
Olivia tilted her head to one side, surveying me thoughtfully. "You didn't always think like that about him."
Uh-oh. I was kind of hoping she wouldn't remember all that.
"He was in your year at primary school, wasn't he?"
"Was he?" I looked at her innocently. "I don't really recall him."
Olivia giggled, telling me she'd remembered, and all too clearly. "Yes, you do! Little Chrissie! He was your first love!"
"What are you talking about?" David put down the salt pot with a thump, as he and Don exchanged amused glances. "She went out with Christopher Carroll?"
"Of course not!" I snapped. It was only a half-lie, after all. I really hadn't gone out with him when we were at primary school. Given the way things had turned out, there was no need for Olivia, or anyone else for that matter, to know how our relationship had really started when we were sixteen—naïve, innocent, and totally besotted with each other. It had been a lifetime ago.
"Only 'cos he wasn't interested," Olivia told her husband, with a treacherous lack of discretion. "She had a crush on him for two years. Used to sit there in the school hall, practically breaking her neck just for a glimpse of him. She was the only kid in school who looked forward to assembly."
"What rubbish," I said.
"It's not rubbish!" Olivia said gleefully. "Debbie Jones, who was in my class, had a sister in your class, and she told us all about it. Besides, I remember Mum saying how sweet it was that you were so besotted with little Chrissie."
"Little Chrissie." David shook his head, laughing. "I'm sure he'd be thrilled to hear you called him that."
"I didn't," I assured him. "It was Mum's pet name for him, not mine."
"She probably had hopes of you marrying him and becoming part of the confectionery dynasty," Olivia said.
"I was nine!" For goodness sake, Olivia really could be ridiculous at times.
"And then," she continued, "when you were eleven, he was ripped away from you. You cried for ages when you found out he was going to that posh private school."
"Public school, actually, and don't exaggerate," I said, thinking that, when I had a spare moment, I really must plot some terrible revenge on my big-mouthed sister.
"I'm not exaggerating. I remember it clearly. Fancy little Chrissie growing up to be such a hunk. And he saved your life, too! How amazing is that?"
"Saved her life?"
"Oh, yes. Turns out, Christopher Carroll was the hunk in The Blue Lamp."
"Never!" Don's eyes widened, then he grinned. "Mouth to mouth, were it?"
"Oh, shut up," I muttered.
Olivia watched me thoughtfully. "He was the only boy you ever seemed to genuinely care for. You thought your heart was broken, when you had to go up to St Hilda's without him."
I tutted. "Honestly, where do you get these stories from?" I demanded. "He was a cute kid, and I liked him, that's all. When he left, I never gave him a second thought. You watch too many chick flicks. Besides, he's calling himself Kit these days. How pretentious is that?"
Olivia eyed me shrewdly. "Hmm. If you say so."
My face burned. Did Olivia remember the endless nights I'd sobbed into my pillow, devastated that the boy of my dreams was going away, and I'd never see him again? It had felt like the end of the world at the time, but, seriously, I was eleven years old. Opening your packed lunch to find your mother's made you fish paste sandwiches, instead of ham or cheese, like your best friend has, can feel like the end of the world at eleven. I should know. Dratted Claire Walker and her doorstep granary sandwiches, crisps, and chocolate biscuits. Made my two slices of white bread and an apple look paltry. Serious packed lunch envy. Every. Single. Day.
David shovelled fried egg and chips into his mouth with indecent haste, while Olivia pushed her plate away and said, "Suppose we'd better be getting back to it."
"Give us a chance," he protested. "I've only just sat down."
"That's your own fault," she told him. "I saw you both over there, having a laugh with your mates. You should have started your dinner earlier. Now you'll have heartburn all evening, and it serves you right."
"You're all heart," he told her, shoving chips into a slice of bread and butter and folding it over to make a bulging sandwich.
I watched, appalled at his slovenly eating habits. Honestly! David was a nice enough bloke, but refined he wasn't.
It occurred to me suddenly that I'd eaten my own jacket potato without worrying about choking to death. Christopher Carroll always could distract me from everything else.
"What are you thinking?" Olivia demanded suddenly.
I blushed. Good job she couldn't read my mind. "Er, I was just wondering what we should get Mum for Christmas."
Olivia rolled her eyes. "Crikey, I don't know. Haven't thought about it, really." She glanced at David and grinned suddenly. "I think she just wants something to keep her warm at night."
"Really?" I said, doubtfully. "Like an electric blanket, you mean? Not very exciting."
Olivia rolled her eyes. "Use your imagination, Marley."
I stared at them all. Don took a large gulp of tea, while David nudged Olivia and winked at me. "Are you saying—do you mean, Mum has a bloke?"
Olivia tutted. "Crikey, Marley, you're a bit behind the times, aren't you?"
"What? You mean she has?" Realising I'd squeaked that last sentence, I tried lowering my tone. "Since when?"
"Not a bloke, exactly," Olivia backtracked.
"Well, what, then? A boy?"
"No, I mean, it's not just one bloke."
My mouth dropped open in shock. "What the hell are you saying? What's been going on?"
Olivia giggled. "I didn't mean it like that. She's on a dating website. She's been on a few dates, although I don't think any of them have particularly floated her boat, so to speak."
"What sort of dating website? Is it reputable? Are these men vetted? She could be meeting anyone."
She shrugged. "It's very popular and well-known. Stop fretting."
"Mum's dating?" My voice sounded faint. I'd had no idea. Mum was just … Mum. "I didn't know."
"No, well." Olivia sounded uncomfortable. "Have you ever asked her?"
"Why would I? Aren't you worried about her?"
"She's a grown woman, Marley," David said with a sigh. "Stop trying to control her life, and let her get on with it."
I glared at him. "I'm not trying to control her life. I'm just looking out for her, that's all."
Don patted my arm. "'Course you are, love, and quite right, too. Nowt wrong with that, is there?" he said, nodding at David and Olivia. "But try not to worry, eh? Your mum seems sensible enough to me. I'm sure she'll be fine."
Really? I wasn't so sure. She was quite innocent, my mum. I didn't want some loser taking advantage of her. If I was being really honest, though, Mum having some kind of love life again was way overdue. She'd been alone for sixteen years, after all, and she was still an attractive woman. Well, she was only in her late forties. She'd had me when she was just nineteen. Far too young to be a mother, although she'd made a pretty good job of it. Much like Olivia, I supposed, who’d only been twenty-two when she had Sam.
I picked up the salt pot, turning it round and round in my hand, deep in thought. What sort of mother would I have made, I wondered wistfully. I probably wouldn't have been anywhere near as competent as my sister. She had the whole maternal thing nailed, and at least she had David to help her, providing he didn't bail on her, of course. Olivia was adamant that David wasn't the type, and I could see why she'd think that. He was dull as ditch-water, but he was as steady and reliable as they came.
But then, hadn't Dad seemed steady and reliable, too? A proper family man, with a neat, little council house, and a job, and a pair of slippers, and everything. Appearances could be very deceptive. It worried me sometimes that Olivia was taking a huge gamble, saddling herself with three children, in the belief that she would always have David around to help. What would happen if he woke up one day and realised he was trapped? That maybe kids and a mortgage weren't his idea of heaven, after all? Could any man really be trusted?
"Perhaps we ought to meet this fella of hers," I began, but Olivia shook her head. "Oh, no. We leave this well alone."
"It's none of our business," David said firmly.
"But—"
Don gently took the salt pot from my hand. "Maybe leave it with your Mum, eh? When she's ready, I'm sure she'll tell you. Now, what were you saying about getting her a nice Christmas present?" He smiled brightly at my sister. "Marley's right, you know. Time you gave it some thought. All mums deserve summat nice."
"Yeah, all right, Don," Olivia said grumpily. "I do know."
"Well, we should put our heads together," I said, determined to shake off my worries—at least for now, and concentrate on Christmas. "Not long ‘til the big day, you know. We're on a countdown now."
"Can we get November out of the way before we even start to think about it?" Olivia moaned. "Honestly, you and your Christmas countdown."
"But it's Christmas!" I said, suddenly optimistic. "It takes a lot of planning, a lot of preparation."
"Do you think you have to tell us that?" David asked, waving his fork in the air as if to emphasise his point. "We've got three kids under five. We start hearing about Christmas in September. They've ticked just about every toy in the Argos catalogue, and every advert on the Disney Channel is for some other flipping thing they've decided they want. At least let us have another couple of weeks without giving in to the madness."
"I love Christmas," I said dreamily. "It's such a magical time of year."
"What, with the birth of Baby Jesus, you mean?" Olivia sounded cynical.
"I was thinking new clothes, presents, and piss-ups," I admitted.
"Thought as much. The only Christmas spirit you care about is Bailey's Irish Cream," Olivia said. "I may take longer to get into the festive mood, but at least when I do, it's for the right reasons. You miss the point of Christmas entirely."
"I do not!" I said indignantly. "I love it all, everything about it. Just because you two are old miseries, it isn't going to stop me from starting my countdown right now." I paused. "I must make a list tonight. Start planning the colour scheme for Mum's tree this year."
Olivia shook her head. "Colour scheme!"
"These things have to be done properly," I protested, though I suspected I was wasting my breath telling my sister that. Olivia's Christmas tree always looked like an explosion in a tinsel factory—clashing colours, garish lights, homemade decorations, and an angel that appeared to have had a stroke, perching lopsidedly on the top branch. No taste, whatsoever. "Besides," I added, because the thought had just occurred to me, "I should celebrate even more this year. Think about it. I've been given another chance at life. I mean, I died."
"Oh, not that again," said David with a sigh.
"Thank God for Little Chrissie Carroll," Olivia said, giggling. "He brought you back from the dead."
"Oh, shut up," I said, but I couldn't deny how galling it was that, of all people, he should be the one to save me. The uncomfortable truth was, as sickened as I was that he'd turned up at the factory and taken over, I owed him. I owed him my life.
Infuriating, or what?