Anne, the middle-aged receptionist, smiled as Josie walked in. ‘Hello, dear! Haven’t seen you for a while,’ she said. ‘Lovely weather, isn’t it?’ she added, waving her through the barrier.
Josie’s heart beat fast as she smiled back and strolled as casually as she was able to the lift. So Anne clearly didn’t know anything had happened between her and Pete. Josie was relieved, but surprised too. She knew all too well what office rumours were like. One word at the water cooler was enough to set off a whole chain of whispers from desk to desk. Hadn’t Pete told
anybody
? Hadn’t Sara suspected anything when he suddenly took time off to go on his shagging holiday, wherever that had been? Or had the shagging holiday been booked in all along?
Josie’s stomach lurched as the thought struck her. Oh God. Had he really been so calculating? Had he pencilled it neatly in his office diary – ‘May 20,
Chuck Josie
. May 21,
Hols
’?
The lift pinged as it reached the ground floor, and she stepped into it. Come on. Don’t think about that now, she told herself.
Going up . . .
She got the shakes as the lift began slowing to a smooth halt at Pete’s floor, and doubt swamped her all over again.
What was she doing? What the
hell
was she doing? She was acting like a maniac! This was a mistake. As soon as the lift stopped, she would press the Ground Floor button and slink out of the building and home. The whole thing was the most stupid idea she’d ever had!
Ping!
‘Level three,’ the automated
voice
cooed at her. ‘Doors opening.’
Josie stabbed at the Close Doors button but the lift paid no attention, and the doors parted in front of her.
‘Hello, Josie! I didn’t know you were popping in today!’
And there was Sara, standing right in front of her, waiting to use the lift herself. Spotted.
Oh balls. Oh
bollocks.
‘Hi, Sara,’ Josie said weakly, making no move to get out. ‘Actually, d’you know, I’m not sure I locked the car properly, so . . .’
‘Doors closing . . ,’
‘Oh, stupid bloody lift,’ Sara said, jabbing at a button in front of her.
‘Level three. Doors opening,’ the lift repeated in its smarmy robotic
voice.
‘I’ll go and tell Pete you’re here,’ Sara said as the silver doors slid back once again. ‘He’s been working flat-out this week, I know hell be dead pleased with an interruption.’
Josie stared after Sara as she trotted towards Pete’s office. She had to go through with this now, didn’t she? If she dodged downstairs and out of the building, Sara would definitely smell a rat. And Pete would get to hear that she’d been sneaking into the office and . . .
‘Doors closing . . .’
But she couldn’t do it. She just couldn’t!
‘I’ve got to go,’ she called desperately to Sara as the doors began shuddering together all over again. ‘Sorry – I just remembered I—’
‘Going down . . .’
Josie leaned against the wall of the lift as it swished downwards. Oh God. Oh God. She’d made such a fool of herself!
I just remembered I . . .
What? Just remembered what? She’d had absolutely no idea what was going to come out of her mouth next, the excuse had just started spilling out of her in her overwhelming urge to run away.
She put her head in her hands. She was such an idiot! To think that she’d been on the verge of going into Pete’s office to try and seduce him, to win him back! Like that would have worked!
‘Doors opening. Ground floor.’
She all but ran back to the car, head down, arms across her chest, not meeting anyone’s eye.
Josie went straight to the kettle, direct as a heat-seeking missile. And then, when her hand was on its white plastic handle, halfway to the sink, she hesitated, catching sight of the wine glasses stacked neatly in the washing-up rack, from where she and Nell had tucked away a nice crisp end-of-holiday bottle of white the night before. It seemed ages ago now.
She licked her lips. It was only eleven o’clock. It was too early for alcohol. She had the boys to pick up soon, and the whole afternoon to get through with them . . .
She stood there, quite still, weighing it up. No. She shouldn’t. The playgroup staff would smell it on her breath and then the rumours would get even wilder.
She’s
taking it hard, you know. Oh yes, drinking before breakfast, I heard!
She tore her eyes reluctantly from the wine glasses winking in the sunlight. Mother’s ruin and all that . . .
But if she was already ruined, then what was the point of holding back? After what she’d so nearly done, why not go for all-out annihilation? What else did she have left to lose?
She shuddered at the thought. What had she been
thinking?
Her cheeks flooded with colour at the vision of herself, done up like a dog’s dinner, all set to go and humiliate herself in front of the Mortimer Insurance staff.
She put down the kettle abruptly and reached for one of the glasses. Sod it Sod what the playgroup workers thought. She’d just have one little . . .
Ring-ring!
The noise of the phone made her jump, and she snatched her fingers away, feeling absurdly guilty.
Ring-ring!
Her heart quickened as she went to the living room and picked up the receiver. ‘Hello?’
It’s Barbara.’
‘Oh. Hello, Barbara.’ Josie rolled her eyes, wishing she’d necked the wine there and then while she had the chance. She needed something to get through a phone call with her mother-in-law, that was for sure.
‘I have already left several messages,’ Barbara said, without preamble, ‘so I was wondering why you hadn’t phoned me back. I do have rights, you know. I am their grandmother.’
Josie rolled her eyes.
How are you, Josie?
Hows it all been, since my crappy son walked out on you, Josie? Goodness, it must be hard for you. I do sympathize! Oh, and how are my darling little grandsons? You’re bringing them up so nicely, you know, have I ever told you that?
Right. Like Barbara even knew how to formulate a sentence without some kind of criticism.
She gritted her teeth. ‘The thing is, Barbara, we’ve been away. All right? Only got back last night. So . . .’
‘Away? What do you mean, away? I’ve read about this in magazines. Suddenly the grandparents get cut out of the picture! And . . .’
‘Do you know what? I don’t actually have to listen to this,’ Josie said, interrupting her in full flow. She suddenly felt very tired and irritable. ‘And right now, I don’t want to either. Goodbye.’ She jabbed at the Talk button decisively, cutting her off. The receiver purred its dial tone as if amused.
Bloody hell. Bloody hell! What was Barbara like?
Her
rights, indeed. Of all the sodding nerve!
Josie crashed the receiver down and stomped towards the kitchen. She
would
have a drink now, and it would be all Barbara bloody Winter’s fault if she turned into a raging alkie. So there!
She paused in the doorway as the phone started ringing again. Go away, Barbara. Not interested. Go and tell it to Roy, see if he wants to listen. Or, if you’re that bothered, tell the answerphone, get it all off your chest. Then Josie would be able to delete Barbara’s rantings with the press of a button, without having to hear a word of them. Sometimes technology was wonderful.
The answerphone was doing its thing. ‘You have reached Pete, Josie, Toby and Sam . . .’
She really had to change that soon. It made her flinch every time she heard Pete’s name spoken so cheerfully by her own voice.
You have reached our happy little home . . .
Not any more. What should she change it to?
You have reached Josie, Toby and Sam. Leave us a message. If you want Pete, the wife abandoner, you’ll have to try him at Liars R Us on . . .
She stopped at the sound of the new voice that was speaking – ‘Mrs Winter? It’s Maddie from the playgroup’ – and made a dash for the receiver.
‘Hello? Maddie? Yes, I am here. Sorry about that. Is everything all right?’
‘Well, no, actually,’ Maddie replied. ‘Toby seems a bit off-colour, and we think he should be home. Would you mind coming to pick him up?’
‘Toby? What’s wrong with him?’
‘His temperature’s up, and he’s been very quiet. Not like Toby.’
‘No. Poor thing. I’ll be two minutes, Maddie. Thank you.’
Josie wriggled out of her seduction top as she hung up, and headed upstairs half naked. There was no way she was going to collect Toby looking like a prostitute, that was for sure. She pulled on some jeans and a T-shirt, then grabbed her door keys and raced out. Poor old Tobes, no doubt the excitement about going on holiday had caught up with him. All the late nights he’d had, too. And even though it had been fun for him and Sam in Devon, he was probably missing his dad.
She’d think about that later, though. Much later.
Josie panted along the road towards playgroup. It was only a few minutes from her house, luckily, and it wasn’t long before she was ringing the bell to get in. Maddie answered and took her through to where Toby was slumped on a sofa, not joining in with the singing like all the other children.
Josie went over and stroked his hot head. His eyes had lost their usual cheeky sparkle and there was an ashen look to his face, despite his tan. She cuddled him close to her. ‘Let’s get you home, pumpkin,’ she said, stroking his sweaty hair. ‘Sit there a moment and I’ll get your sun hat.’
Sam – unusually for him – was less pleased to be taken out of playgroup early. ‘Oh-h-h-h,’ he moaned, huffing out his bottom lip. ‘Do I have to go? I never finished my frog painting.’
‘Finish it another time,’ Josie told him. ‘Come on, Sam. I need to take Toby home, and I can’t drag him out again to get you later on.’ She ruffled his hair but his eyes were unusually mutinous. ‘Come on,’ she said more coaxingly. ‘I’ll put CBeebies on . . .’
That did the trick. ‘O-k-a-a-ay,’ he sighed.
They walked home together slowly. Toby wanted to be carried, but he was so heavy she couldn’t manage it the whole way. ‘Come on, tired boy,’ she said, lugging him on to her shoulders after he’d dragged his feet a whole ten metres. ‘You just need a good sleep, I think. Too much excitement lately, hmmm?’
Back home, she put on CBeebies as promised and busied herself tidying up the living room. The embarrassment of being caught by Sara earlier had ebbed away, but she was still conscious of it prickling uncomfortably under her skin. Had Sara told Pete she’d been in the building? Oh yes, of course she would have done. Sara had always been the one to sidle up to Josie at the company’s Christmas parties and fill her in on all the gossip about everyone. Sara didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘discretion’ – she’d have trotted straight round to Pete, pencil-skirted bottom wiggling with importance as she click-clacked through the office . . . ‘Josie’s just been in! Looked all flustered and ran off, though. Bit odd, I thought! All dressed up she was, too; were you two meant to be having lunch together or something?’
The colour surged back into her cheeks as she tried to shake the scene from her head, but it was no good: she couldn’t stop herself imagining the shocked expression on Pete’s face as he heard that she’d actually been there, had had the nerve to swish up to the third floor of Mortimer Insurance and—
She broke off from her thoughts at a sudden cry from Toby, and turned to see him frozen on the sofa, a glazed look in his eyes.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked, going over to him. She felt his forehead. Burning up now. ‘Toby?’
He made no response, just seemed to be staring over her shoulder. She put a hand on his back, but he didn’t react. ‘Toby?’ He felt rigid, almost as if he’d stopped breathing. Something was wrong. Something was badly wrong. Suddenly Josie could hardly breathe herself for fear.
‘Toby!’ she said, louder, more urgent. ‘Darling – can you hear me? Toby?’
His cheeks were hot and red, his pupils dilating, his gaze fixed and unresponsive. Oh my God. Josie’s heart leaped into her mouth. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ she said in a frightened
voice.
‘Oh, Toby! Don’t mess about! Can you hear me? Can you hear Mummy?’
‘Mu-um,’ Sam moaned, his eyes glued to the TV screen. ‘I can’t hear the telly.’
His
voice
sounded far away, she could hardly focus on what he was saying. ‘Toby!’ she screamed as his body started jerking. His arms and legs twitched uncontrollably, his eyes started to close. Josie felt a cold fear flood through her and lunged for the phone, dialling 999 with a shaking finger. ‘Ambulance, please!’ she gabbled. It’s my little boy – he’s having a fit! He’s very hot and he’s just . . . jerking, his arms and legs. He can’t hear me, he’s not saying anything.’ Her
voice
rose in a wail. ‘What shall I do? Help me!’
‘We’ll send someone round,’ the man on the other end of the line said, and took her address. ‘You need to cool him down. Get his clothes off, get him on the floor – don’t hold him, it’ll only make him hotter – fan him with a newspaper or something. And don’t put anything in his mouth . . .’