And the most significant.
Because Becker Hunt said it.Chapter 8Becker left me to snooze while he took a shower, and I don’t think my secret smile left my face the whole time that I listened to the water raining down on him. After smothering my face in kisses that had me giggling like I’ve never giggled before, then flipping me over and giving my arse a welcome-back slap, he dressed and left me in his bed.
That smile of mine was still with me while I showered and dressed, but it slowly dropped away with each step I took down the stone staircase. And now it’s gone completely, and I’m sitting on the bottom step, spinning my phone in my hand, a little nervous. I can hear activity in the kitchen from two old people that I can’t wait to see . . . but also can.
It’s only just occurred to me, after leaving the blissfulness of Becker’s apartment, that I have no idea what to say to Mrs Potts and old Mr H. What has Becker told them? Do they know why I wasn’t in work yesterday? My thumb replaces my lip for something to nibble on, and I peek down the corridor to the kitchen door, wondering what to do.
My phone jumps to life, ringing in my hand, and my arm jolts upward in fright, sending it sailing through the air. ‘Shit,’ I curse, scrambling to gather it up when it lands a few feet away. Lucy’s name flashes up at me, and my hand retracts like it’s been electrocuted. My fist balls and comes up to my mouth, my teeth clamping over it as my face screws up in dread. She doesn’t know I’m back. How am I going to explain? I don’t know, but speaking to Lucy means delaying having to face Mrs Potts and old Mr H. So I take the call.
‘Hello.’
‘Morning,’ she sings. ‘When are you coming home?’ Home. The small word makes me smile, but every muscle in my achy body tenses, and my arse is suddenly burning again. Oh yes, I’m home.
‘I’m back.’
‘You are?’ she blurts out, surprised.
I hum my confirmation. It’s a cop-out. A guilty sound. And she doesn’t miss it.
‘Where are you?’ The suspicion in her tone cuts right through my conscience. I can’t lie.
I wince before I answer, preparing myself for her reaction. ‘At work.’
‘What?’ she shrieks, and my face screws up again, knowing she isn’t done. ‘For the arsehole?’ she asks. ‘The womanising prick?’ She goes on. ‘The—’
‘Yes,’ I grate, clenching my phone so hard to my ear, I’m in danger of crushing it with my bare hand.
There’s a brief silence. She’s thinking. ‘We need to talk,’ she says, and I laugh sarcastically because she’s right. There’s no way I can analyse this crazy shit storm alone. I need her. Even if just to hug me. ‘Lunch?’
‘Um,’ I look towards Becker’s office, then back to the kitchen. I have no idea how today is going to pan out. I need to talk to her desperately, but I also need to figure out some stuff here, namely Mrs Potts and old Mr H. I also have work to catch up on.
‘Please,’ she murmurs dejectedly.
I frown down the line. ‘What’s happened?’
‘I’m just feeling needy.’
‘Because?’
‘Because Mark’s department is having a night out, a certain someone is going, and I’m not.’
A certain someone. ‘Printer-room girl from floor eighteen.’
‘Yes,’ Lucy squawks. ‘Yes, she’s fucking going, and I don’t trust her one little bit, Eleanor. Not one little bit. She’s been sniffing around, making excuses to be near Mark’s desk, and it always happens to be when I’m not around. I come back, and the girl on the desk next to me tells me. Every fucking time. I’ve started to hold in my pee all fucking day so I don’t have to leave my desk, and I only go out for lunch when Mark does. I’m going fucking insane.’
I recoil, keeping my phone at a safe distance while I let her rant settle. She sounds borderline psychotic, but I hold my tongue, keeping my thoughts to myself. ‘But Mark’s really into you,’ I point out the obvious with nothing better springing to mind, and anyway, my observation is valid. I’ve seen how he is with Lucy. She’s just being paranoid. ‘Talk to him. Tell him it’s bothering you.’
‘I’d rather talk to her,’ Lucy gripes. ‘With my fist.’
An unattractive snort of laughter shoots from my mouth and echoes around the corridor, and I quickly look from left to right, ensuring no one has come to investigate the noise. ‘I’ll meet you outside your office.’ She needs me. I can’t deny her a needed pep-talk, especially after all the moral support she’s given me over the weeks. ‘One o’clock?’
‘Thanks,’ she breathes, relieved.
‘See you soon.’ I hang up and stand up, ready to face Mrs Potts and Mr H, but my steps slow before I reach the kitchen until I’m at a standstill. Then I start backing away, my bravery deserting me. I need information. I need to know the score. I need to know what they know.