‘It's...’ I gulp, remembering the words.
‘It's bad,’ Jazz interjects. ‘We called him a shit head.’
‘And....an interfering old man twat,’ I say, my body still feeling like a zombie’s.
‘Ok. Well, at least it's straight to the point,’ he smiles.
‘God, he was a cock,’ Jazz says remembering.
‘Oh God,’ I grimace. ‘And I insulted his hair.’
‘In her defence, I did make her drink Sambuca before she wrote it,’ Jazz explains.
‘Ah, is that another reason you don't do shots anymore?’ he smiles playfully.
I can suddenly remember it off by heart. The pain resurfaces for a second before I push it back down and lock it away, where it belongs.
‘I heard about your new girlfriend. Funny coz you didn’t mention it when you broke my heart,’ I say out loud. Ryan looks up at me as if he’s not sure whether to leave. Jazz grimaces and downs her Pina Colada. I smile and take another gulp of my cocktail.
There's silence as they both look at me, their faces full of awkward pity. The atmosphere has quickly changed and I’m now aware of how pathetic I look.
‘It's...funny really,’ I say wanting to diffuse the atmosphere. I want it to be back to us laughing again.
‘Really? Because it sounds kind of...awful,’ he says, his eyes sympathetic.
Jazz orders another round of cocktails even though I’m nowhere near finishing mine.
‘No, honestly I’m fine,’ I say, surprised at the sudden moistness at my eyes. Why the hell do I feel like I’m going to burst into tears? I’m well over this. It's the damn drink. Why do I keep drinking!?
‘Come on. Tell me.’ He puts his warm hand on mine, sending shivers down my spine.
‘Don't push her,’ Jazz warns, shooting him a sharp look.
‘It's just...it’s just that I really didn’t see it coming. I thought he was going to propose and instead I got dumped,’ I blurt out, the words almost choking me.
‘Oh,’ he says, biting his lip. ‘I...don't really know what to say.’
‘I told you not to push her dickhead!’ Jazz shouts, shoving him.
‘No, it's cool. I’m over it now. It was ages ago. I don't really like to think about it.’
He stares at me, trying to figure something out. ‘You really didn’t see it coming?’
‘What the fuck did I just tell you!?’ Jazz shouts, banging her fist on the table.
‘No, Jazz its fine.’ I take a deep breath. ‘I thought we were happy. But then he suddenly decided that he didn’t want the boring life of a couple. And I mean, I can't really blame him. We were so young when we got together. I just...’
‘What?’ he encourages, seeming completely intrigued by my pathetic little life.
I can't remember the last time someone, anyone, took this much interest in me.
‘I just wish I’d listened to everyone when they’d told me I was too young to be settling down with someone and I should have been out partying.’
‘Yeah you should,’ Jazz says under her breath.
‘So you’ve been making up for it ever since?’ he asks, his cheeky smile returning.
‘Not exactly,’ I laugh.
‘I keep moaning on at her that she lives like an old granny; staying in and being boring,’ Jazz explains. ‘So now I’ve made her move in with you guys and start to try new things.’
‘Oh, so that's why,’ he says, seeming to be putting the pieces together in his head.
I suppose it isn’t every day that a complete nutcase moves into your house.
‘And how’s it going? Trying new things I mean.’ he asks.
‘Awful,’ I laugh. ‘Everything I do seems to turn into a disaster.’
‘You can say that again,’ he winks, staring at me intently with his big brown eyes.
I take another gulp of drink, feeling myself blush. Maybe it won't be that bad to fancy someone a little bit. It might actually be good for me. He might be like medicine to me, a bit of a remedy. I just hope he doesn’t turn out to be poison.
* * *
In the morning there's a note from him left on the kitchen table.
‘Poppy,
My number is 07836 784 893. Please put it in your phone. It will stop me worrying so much.
Ryan’
Chapter 9
Imagine writing me a note. I don't know whether to be seriously offended or pleased that he seems to care about me. And why does he seem to worry about me? It's weird. Why do I even care? It's just nice that someone does. And maybe it helps that the someone in question has a jawline that I can’t stop imagining touching.
‘Poppy,’ Hugh says, suddenly at my desk. ‘Can I see you in my office for a moment please?’
My stomach drops and my body starts to tremble. I get up from my desk as calmly as possible and follow him into the small room at the end of the corridor. I should have bought a rape alarm.
‘Please take a seat,’ he says professionally.
Maybe he’s changed. Maybe yesterday has shown him that I’m not interested and that we can only have a professional relationship.
‘Poppy, I was very upset by your behaviour yesterday,’ he says, while he squeezes a stress ball menacingly.
‘Well actually Hugh, I was very upset by your behaviour,’ I say, my teeth almost clattering from nerves.
‘Oh really?’ he says, shocked. ‘Well then maybe you shouldn’t dress so provocatively around the office. You’ll give all of us men the wrong impression,’ he smiles insincerely.
‘Wrong impression?’ I ask puzzled.
‘Yes. That you’re up for it.’ He narrows his eyes at me like I’m some slut from the street.
I swallow hard, feeling the strong urge to burst into tears.
‘Up for it? I was wearing a wrap dress for Christ’s sake!’
‘Exactly,’ he nods. ‘Anyway.’ He gets up and moves to sit on the desk directly in front of me. ‘I feel like you and I have got off on the wrong foot.’
God, his crotch is so close to my face. This is awful. How the hell did I get myself into this situation?
‘Ok,’ I say carefully, shifting uncomfortably in my chair. Where is this leading?
‘I’m your boss. My Father has agreed for me to set your KPI’s and objectives and I do hope that I’m not unhappy with you. It would be really awful for you to lose your job.’
‘Sorry? Are you...threatening me?’ I swallow hard and take a deep breath, praying the tears stinging at my eyes don't escape.
Please tell me this isn’t happening. This sort of thing doesn’t happen in real life does it? This is the kind of crap you see on soap operas.
‘Of course not Poppy. I’m merely advising you to keep me happy,’ he says, with a bloodcurdling grin.
My body shakes all the more violently as his stare moves to my boobs and he licks his lips.
‘And right now I need these people’s personnel files.’ He hands me over a sheet of paper scribbled with people’s names. He sits back and smiles, as if the previous conversation didn’t just happen. ‘That's all.’
I run from his office straight to the toilets, tears already starting to fall down my face. How can this be happening to me!? I have to leave; I can't work here anymore under him. He’s going to make my life hell. Absolute hell on earth.
I burst through the toilet door and jump when I see a familiar body shape standing by the sink crying. She instantly straightens herself up and wipes the tears from her face.
‘Cheryl? Are you ok?’
‘Oh yes. I’m fine,’ she says, wiping a tear from her red blotchy face.
‘Well you obviously aren’t. What's wrong?’ I ask, quickly cleaning up my own tears.
‘It's nothing, honestly. I just...I don't want to talk about it.’ She turns to look back at the mirror, removing the mascara smudges from under her eyes.
Ok. Well maybe she does just want to be left alone. She’s upset as it is now, let alone if I start pestering her for information. Even though I’m seriously curious, I must remember that this isn’t gossip. This is her life.
‘Ok. Well if you need anything.’ I open the door to leave.
‘He’s having an affair,’ she blurts out.
I let go of the door and stare back at her in disbelief.
‘What? Who’s having an affair?’
‘Well my husband, obviously,’ she snaps, her face hard.
I must remember that she’s in emotional pain. Try not to let the fact that she’s an obnoxious bitch play a part in how I react.
‘Are you sure?’ I say carefully.
‘Of course I am,’ she growls as another tear escapes. ‘Well at least...I think I am.’
‘Well, you don't sound very sure,’ I challenge.
‘Look all I know,’ she says, her voice breaking and her chin beginning to quiver ‘is that he’s lost all interest in me since I’ve had Matilda.’
‘But that might just be – ‘
‘I’m not finished,’ she bawls, shooting me an irritated stare. Don't hold it against her. Just smile.
‘Then a few things have made me wonder. He’s suddenly in a really good mood all the time and buying me presents.’
‘But that's good isn’t it? Maybe he’s making an effort?’
‘Poppy. I’m still not finished,’ she says sharply. ‘If you’d just stop interrupting like this I could have already told the story.’