‘Ava, you really should go home. You’ve not been right all week.’ Sally’s concerned voice comes through the cubicle door. I heave myself up on a sigh and flush the chain before exiting to splash my face and wash my hands.
‘Stupid bug hanging around.’ I mutter. I glance at Sal and admire her grey pencil skirt and black blouse. She really has transformed. The dowdy A-line skirts and high necked shirts are a distant memory. I haven’t asked, but with this consistent new attire, I assume dating is going well. ‘Are you still seeing that internet bloke?’ I ask. I would refer to him by name, but I have no idea what he’s called.
‘Mick?’ She giggles. ‘Yes, I am.’
‘And it’s going well?’ I turn and lean against the sink, watching as she starts brushing down her skirt, then proceeds to smooth her high ponytail.
‘Yes!’ she squeals, making me jump. ‘He really is perfect, Ava.’
I smile. ‘What does he do?’
‘Oh, some sort professional nonsense. I don’t pretend to understand.’
I laugh. ‘Good.’ I was just about to say be yourself, but I think it’s a little too late for that. She certainly isn’t the old Sal anymore. I hear my phone shouting from my new desk. ‘Excuse me, Sal.’ I leave her in the mirror, re-applying her red lipstick.
Approaching my new, L-shaped, hardwood desk, I ignore the deep seated disappointment because I’m not hearing Angel, but I can’t ignore my exasperation when I see the caller is Ruth Quinn, my tiresome but infectiously enthusiastic client, whom I have spent way too much time on this week.
‘Hi, Ruth.’
‘Ava, you still sound terrible.’
I know, and I probably look terrible, too. ‘I’m feeling much better, Ruth.’ That’s because I’ve just emptied my stomach again.
‘Oh good. Can we arrange a meeting?’ She doesn’t sound so concerned for me, anymore.
‘Is there a problem?’ I ask, hoping to God there isn’t. I’m trying to keep this project as smooth as possible because even though Ruth seems pleasant enough, I predict a tricky customer if things don’t go her way.
‘No problem. I just want to clarify a few details.’
‘We can do that over the phone.’ I prompt.
‘I would prefer to see you.’ she informs me. I sag in my chair. Of course she would. She always prefers to see me. Her final invoice is going to be astronomical. One hour here and two hours there. She’ll have spent more money on my time than on the actual works. ‘Today.’ she adds.
I sag further on an audible groan. I am not ending my shitty week with Ruth Quinn. I practically started it with Ruth on Tuesday, and I’ve had a mid-week interlude on Wednesday. Anyway, it’s three in the afternoon. Does she think she’s my only client? I wouldn’t mind, but she spends ten minutes clarifying what has already been clarified, then the next hour feeding me endless cups of tea and trying to convince me to join her for drinks.
‘Ruth, I really can’t do today.’
‘You can’t?’ She sounds irritated.
‘Monday?’ Why did I say that? I’ll be starting my week off with Ruth Quinn again.
‘Monday. Yes. We’ll do Monday. Eleven okay?’
‘I can do eleven.’ I flick through my diary and pencil her in.
‘Lovely.’ She’s back to chirpy Ruth. ‘Have you anything nice planned for the weekend?’
I stop writing, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. I don’t have anything nice planned for the weekend, apart from nursing my breaking heart, but before I can really consider what I’m about to say, I come right out and say it. ‘No, nothing much.’
‘Oh? Me either.’ She’s going to do it again, I know it. ‘We should do drinks!’
My forehead hits the desk. She either can’t, or simply won’t, take a hint. I pull my heavy head up. ‘Actually, Ruth. I said nothing much, but I’m visiting my parents in Cornwall. It’s not much really, not fun, anyway.’
She laughs. ‘Don’t let your parents hear you say that!’
I force myself to laugh along with her. ‘I won’t.’
‘Well, have a nice weekend doing nothing much with your parents, and I’ll see you on Monday.’
‘Thanks, Ruth.’ I hang up and glance at the clock. Another hour and I can escape.
* * *
I drag my exhausted body up the stairs to Kate’s flat and head straight for the kitchen, opening the fridge and being immediately confronted with a bottle of wine. I just stare at it. I don’t know how long for, but my eyes are fixed on the damn thing. It takes the sound of a very familiar voice to pull my eyes away, and I turn, seeing Kate, but hers wasn’t the familiar voice that caught my attention. Dan walks in. They both look as guilty as sin.
‘What’s going on?’ I ask, slamming the fridge door. Kate flinches, but remains quiet. My brother doesn’t, though.
‘None of your business.’ he snipes, slipping his hand around Kate’s waist from behind, and then kissing her cheek. This is the first time I’ve seen or spoken to him since my wedding, and it’s not playing out to be a happy reunion, either. He frowns at me. ‘Maybe I should ask you what’s going on. Why are you here?’
I freeze in position and flick wide eyes to Kate, catching her very faint head shake. She’s not told him. ‘Just swinging by after work.’ I return my eyes to Dan. ‘When are you going back to Australia?’
‘Dunno.’ He shrugs, brushing my question off rapidly. ‘I’m off.’