“They’re saying what?” I quizzed, mouth dry.
“They’re all gaggly over you, my lad, think you’re the hero of the bloody year. You’ll never hear the end of it, I tell you. It’ll go down in history as the day our James wrestled a psycho-intruder through reception,” he chuckled.
I could barely swallow. “Where’s Lydia?” I asked. “Is she ok?”
He sighed loud and long. “Ah, poor Lydia. I don’t think she coped so well. She’s gone home sick. Can’t say I blame her either, it was quite a shock to her system. God only knows how bad it could have been if you hadn’t been there, James, Lord knows what the crazy fool would have done to her. I put her in a taxi, don’t worry, she’ll have got home safe.” He raised himself from his seat. “You could give her a call, James, check she’s ok. She didn’t look so good, shock I guess.”
I was dialling her mobile before the door clicked shut behind him, but it was no good. My call went straight to voicemail.
***
Chapter Seventeen
James
I paced my living room and listened to her voicemail click in for the hundredth time. “Lydia, call me, please.”
She wouldn’t, of course, she hadn’t returned a single call all day. I fisted my hands in my hair, and finally plucked up the courage to call Rebecca. She picked up on the third ring.
“Is she ok?” I asked. “Please tell me she’s ok.”
“Fucking hell, James,” she hissed. “What the fuck? No, she’s not fucking ok! Just stay away, will you? She doesn’t need you right now.”
“Fine,” I said. “I know she’s hurt. I know that.”
“You don’t fucking know! You don’t know anything! That girl loves you, James, she opened her poor, bruised little soul right up on a plate, and you shit on her, James, you shit all over her, and now she thinks it’s all her fault!”
“It was Stuart,” I said. “He showed up here, shouting his mouth off. He must have found out from somewhere. I freaked, Bex, do you know how big a deal this shit is to me? Do you?”
“A bigger deal to you than Lydia is, clearly,” she snapped. “And that’s the fucking saddest thing of all. Just leave her alone now, James, please. You’ve fucking broken her.”
“I told her about Rachel, Rebecca, I told her everything that happened, and still this shit landed on my doorstep.”
She laughed, but it was full of bitterness. “You think that was Lydia’s fault? Do you? If you want to blame anyone you’ll have to blame Cara. It was her who let that stupid bitch Steph up with no warning. That’s how this happened, James, one stupid mistake. No trail of stupidity, or attention seeking, or game playing, just one stupid case of bad timing. Cara’s sorry, if you want to know. She hasn’t stopped crying. Blames herself for this whole sorry mess.”
“Take care of Lydia, Bex, please. Tell her I’m sorry.”
She was already gone.
***
I prayed every day that Lydia would be at my desk in the morning, a fresh cup of coffee in hand, but she never was. She called in sick before nine without fail, I saw the emails. Generic she’s unwell shit. It ate at me through every minute, but still I couldn’t break through my own fucking barriers.
What is love, anyway? What does it mean? Did I love Lydia Marsh? Was that even enough?
I drove myself insane, throwing every waking hour into the Salmons project and barely sleeping, pleading that one day soon the ache for Lydia would pass.
But it didn’t. It got fucking worse.
So many times I wanted to turn up at hers, armed with a taxi full of roses and promises of happy ever after, but I couldn’t promise that, couldn’t promise something I was uncertain I’d be able to deliver. I’d baulked at telling Frank about us, even though he suspected already, baulked at the very first fucking hurdle. How the fuck would I ever give her the relationship she deserved? I couldn’t even admit the truth of it to myself, let alone anyone else.
I wasn’t expecting a knock on the door at ten am on Friday morning, and I definitely wasn’t expecting it to be Emily Barron, the scatty blonde girl from Lydia’s team. She took a seat across from me without invite, beaming like a big smiley dullard. I raised my eyebrows in question, not really giving a shit what she wanted.
“I’m here about Salmons,” she said. “I need briefing, since I’m taking over the project management.”
“Sorry? You’re doing what?”
“I’m taking it over,” she repeated. “Now that Lydia’s gone.”