The Undomestic Goddess
Page 19
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“So where is she?” His voice travels across the concourse.
Panic hits me like a lightning bolt. I have to get out of his line of vision. I have to hide. Now. I edge behind a vast woman in a beige mac and try to cower down so I’m hidden. But she keeps wandering about, and I keep having to shuffle along with her.
“Did you want something?” She suddenly turns.
“No!” I say, flustered. “I’m … er …”
“Well, leave me alone!” She scowls and stalks off toward Costa Coffee. I’m totally exposed in the middle of the concourse. Greg Parker is about fifty yards away, still talking on his mobile phone.
If I move, he’ll see me. If I stay still … he’ll see me.
Suddenly the electronic Departures display board renews itself with fresh train information. A crowd of waiting travelers grab their bags and newspapers and head toward platform 9.
Without thinking twice, I join the throng, hidden in their midst as we sweep through the open barriers and onto the train. It pulls out of the station and I sink into a seat, opposite a family all wearing London Zoo T-shirts. They smile at me—and somehow I manage to smile back.
“Refreshments?” A wizened man pushing a trolley appears in the carriage and beams at me. “Hot and cold sandwiches, teas and coffees, soft drinks, alcoholic beverages?”
“The last, please.” I try not to sound too desperate. “A double. Of … anything.”
No one comes to check my ticket. No one bothers me. The train seems to be some sort of express. Suburbs turn into fields, and the train is still rattling along. I’ve drunk three small bottles of gin, mixed with orange juice, tomato juice, and a chocolate yogurt drink. The chunk of icy fright in my stomach has thawed and I feel weirdly distanced from everything around me.
I have made the biggest mistake of my career. I will have lost my job. I will never be a partner.
One stupid mistake.
The London Zoo family have opened packets of crisps and offered me one and invited me to join in their game of Travel Scrabble. The mother even asked me if I was traveling for business or fun?
I couldn’t bring myself to answer.
My heart rate has gradually subsided, but I have a bad, throbbing headache. I’m sitting with a hand over one eye, trying to block out the light.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” The conductor is crackling over the loudspeaker. “Unfortunately … rail works … alternative transport …”
I can’t follow what he’s saying. I don’t even know where I’m headed. I’ll just wait for the next stop, get out of the train, and take it from there.
“That’s not how you spell raisin,” London Zoo mother is saying to one of the children, when the train suddenly starts to slow down. I look up to see that we’re pulling into a station. Lower Ebury. People are gathering up their bags and getting off.
Like an automaton I get up too. I follow the London Zoo family off the train and out of a tiny, twee country station. There’s a pub called The Bell across the road, which bends round in both directions, and I can glimpse fields in the distance. There’s a coach waiting, and all the passengers from the train are boarding.
London Zoo mother has turned round and is gesturing at me. “You need to come this way,” she says helpfully. “If you want the bus to Gloucester?”
The thought of getting on a coach makes me want to heave. I don’t want the bus to anywhere. I just want an aspirin. My head feels like it’s about to split open.
“Er … no, thanks. I’m fine here.” Before she can say anything else, I start walking down the road.
I have no idea where I am. None.
Inside my pocket, my phone suddenly vibrates. It’s Guy. Again. This must be the thirtieth time he’s rung. And every time he’s left a message telling me to call him back, asking if I’ve got his e-mails.
I haven’t got any of his e-mails. I was so freaked out, I left my BlackBerry on my desk. My phone is all I have. It vibrates again and I stare at it for a few moments. I can’t ignore him forever. My stomach clenched with nerves, I lift it to my ear and press talk.
“Hi.” My voice is scratchy. “It’s … it’s me.”
“Samantha?” His incredulous voice blasts down the line. “Is that you? Where are you?”
“I don’t know. I had to get away. I … I went into shock.…”
“Samantha, I don’t know if you got my messages. But …” He hesitates. “Everyone knows.”
“I know.” I lean against an old crumbling wall and squeeze my eyes shut.
Panic hits me like a lightning bolt. I have to get out of his line of vision. I have to hide. Now. I edge behind a vast woman in a beige mac and try to cower down so I’m hidden. But she keeps wandering about, and I keep having to shuffle along with her.
“Did you want something?” She suddenly turns.
“No!” I say, flustered. “I’m … er …”
“Well, leave me alone!” She scowls and stalks off toward Costa Coffee. I’m totally exposed in the middle of the concourse. Greg Parker is about fifty yards away, still talking on his mobile phone.
If I move, he’ll see me. If I stay still … he’ll see me.
Suddenly the electronic Departures display board renews itself with fresh train information. A crowd of waiting travelers grab their bags and newspapers and head toward platform 9.
Without thinking twice, I join the throng, hidden in their midst as we sweep through the open barriers and onto the train. It pulls out of the station and I sink into a seat, opposite a family all wearing London Zoo T-shirts. They smile at me—and somehow I manage to smile back.
“Refreshments?” A wizened man pushing a trolley appears in the carriage and beams at me. “Hot and cold sandwiches, teas and coffees, soft drinks, alcoholic beverages?”
“The last, please.” I try not to sound too desperate. “A double. Of … anything.”
No one comes to check my ticket. No one bothers me. The train seems to be some sort of express. Suburbs turn into fields, and the train is still rattling along. I’ve drunk three small bottles of gin, mixed with orange juice, tomato juice, and a chocolate yogurt drink. The chunk of icy fright in my stomach has thawed and I feel weirdly distanced from everything around me.
I have made the biggest mistake of my career. I will have lost my job. I will never be a partner.
One stupid mistake.
The London Zoo family have opened packets of crisps and offered me one and invited me to join in their game of Travel Scrabble. The mother even asked me if I was traveling for business or fun?
I couldn’t bring myself to answer.
My heart rate has gradually subsided, but I have a bad, throbbing headache. I’m sitting with a hand over one eye, trying to block out the light.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” The conductor is crackling over the loudspeaker. “Unfortunately … rail works … alternative transport …”
I can’t follow what he’s saying. I don’t even know where I’m headed. I’ll just wait for the next stop, get out of the train, and take it from there.
“That’s not how you spell raisin,” London Zoo mother is saying to one of the children, when the train suddenly starts to slow down. I look up to see that we’re pulling into a station. Lower Ebury. People are gathering up their bags and getting off.
Like an automaton I get up too. I follow the London Zoo family off the train and out of a tiny, twee country station. There’s a pub called The Bell across the road, which bends round in both directions, and I can glimpse fields in the distance. There’s a coach waiting, and all the passengers from the train are boarding.
London Zoo mother has turned round and is gesturing at me. “You need to come this way,” she says helpfully. “If you want the bus to Gloucester?”
The thought of getting on a coach makes me want to heave. I don’t want the bus to anywhere. I just want an aspirin. My head feels like it’s about to split open.
“Er … no, thanks. I’m fine here.” Before she can say anything else, I start walking down the road.
I have no idea where I am. None.
Inside my pocket, my phone suddenly vibrates. It’s Guy. Again. This must be the thirtieth time he’s rung. And every time he’s left a message telling me to call him back, asking if I’ve got his e-mails.
I haven’t got any of his e-mails. I was so freaked out, I left my BlackBerry on my desk. My phone is all I have. It vibrates again and I stare at it for a few moments. I can’t ignore him forever. My stomach clenched with nerves, I lift it to my ear and press talk.
“Hi.” My voice is scratchy. “It’s … it’s me.”
“Samantha?” His incredulous voice blasts down the line. “Is that you? Where are you?”
“I don’t know. I had to get away. I … I went into shock.…”
“Samantha, I don’t know if you got my messages. But …” He hesitates. “Everyone knows.”
“I know.” I lean against an old crumbling wall and squeeze my eyes shut.
