The One That Got Away (18 page)

He laughs, as if now I’m just being stupid. ‘Why not? It’s true! Well, perhaps not at this precise moment, but you still look
pretty good to me.’

He knows full well why he shouldn’t call me that. Because that’s what he used to call me when we were together. I was BG and
he was GB – gorgeous boy. Now, it just sounds horribly twee and embarrassing. I take a step back from him, but he pretends
not to notice. ‘I’ve got to ask though, what are you doing here?’ he repeats curiously. ‘You work in Brighton, don’t you?’

Yes, I do. I’m just up in London making sure I haven’t caught a sexually transmitted disease from you.

‘It’s none of your business.’ I’m almost rude, but it doesn’t faze him in the slightest, if anything it only spurs him on.

‘Fine,’ he says lightly. ‘Be like that then, but at least let me take you somewhere decent to wait this out,’ he
motions up at the swollen, dark sky as if he needs to protect me from impending threat. ‘We can have a coffee and you can
tell me how sorry you are for barring my number.’

Even I’m astonished by his brazen lack of shame. ‘I did it because I don’t want you to call me, or text me.’ I can hear the
mounting frustration in my own voice. ‘And I’m really confused by what part of that you don’t understand. How many times do
I have to tell you I’m
married
!’

He snorts dismissively and lightly shakes his head. ‘So you keep saying. Come on, you still haven’t heard what I have to tell
you.’ He takes a step away as if he fully expects me to just follow him …

… but I resolutely stay fixed to the spot. ‘I don’t want to see you again.’

He frowns. ‘But I want—’

‘What?’ I explode. ‘What is it you want, Leo? Because it’s always about you isn’t it? What YOU need, what YOU have to talk
to me about. Tell me,
what do you want
?’

‘You,’ he says flatly. ‘I want you.’

‘No you don’t!’ I take a step towards him in exasperation. ‘You think you do, but you don’t.’

‘Don’t patronise me!’ He is suddenly angry, and I step back again quickly. ‘I do want you,’ he insists stubbornly. ‘You can’t
tell me how I feel.’

I shake my head in disbelief and then I realise that actually, I don’t have to stand there and listen to this. Not any more.
I turn on my heels and begin to walk smartly away from him.

‘I love you!’

The words echo up the street after me and shocked, I stop and am unable to prevent myself from half turning back to face him.

We just stand there, looking at each other. Everything else keeps moving around us, cars, people impatiently navigating the
two immobile idiots in the street. He doesn’t break my gaze.

But I say nothing, I just turn and hasten away from him as fast as I can.

He can’t seriously think that is going to change everything?

‘Hello?’

Dan’s voice cuts into my thoughts and I make an effort to drag myself back to our sitting room.

‘I said you’re quiet,’ Dan repeats patiently. ‘Everything all right?’

‘Yeah, I’m just tired.’ I scratch my nose and wriggle down a little deeper into the sofa as I stare at the TV. He keeps looking
at me steadily.

‘And a bit worried about work,’ I add. ‘No one’s placing any orders at the moment. We’ve got an emergency meeting tomorrow.’

That’s actually true. Antony emailed me, apologising
for disturbing me on a day off, but explaining that he had no choice, the whole division are required to be present, which
has the distinct whiff of redundancies about it.

‘What sort of emergency meeting? A “man the boats” sort of meeting?’

‘I think it might be,’ I admit.

Dan sighs, then reaches out and rubs my leg consolingly. ‘Well, if it happens, it happens,’ he says pragmatically. ‘We’ll
manage, don’t worry. It’s all going to be fine,’ he looks at me sincerely and I’ve honestly never wanted to believe anything
more in my life.

Before we go to bed, I give my emails one last check before shutting everything down. Dan comes in to find me smiling at an
amusing Richard Branson one Pearce has sent me.

‘What’s so funny?’ he smiles in the doorway.

‘Something from Pearce,’ I’m about to show it to him when I remember just in the nick of time what Pearce’s message says above
the attachment:

This made me laugh. Hope you had a nice day off. Whatcha get up too? See you tomorrow for doom day. P xxx

Dan of course doesn’t know I’ve taken a day’s holiday, so I have to quickly close the document.

‘Oh,’ he says, disappointed. ‘Can’t I see?’

‘I’ve shut it down now. I’ll show you tomorrow,’ I say
and, before he can argue, I stand up and switch the light off.

In bed, he starts trying to kiss me while I’m reading my book.

‘That’s nice.’ I reach my hand behind me to stroke his neck, then twist to look at him. I love him so much. He kisses my mouth
and then begins to slide his hand up my leg. I know what that means and I really, really wish I could, but … I half smile
at him apologetically. ‘I can’t Dan, not yet.’

He groans. ‘Still? Really?’

I nod – feeling utterly ashamed of myself.
Why
couldn’t they have just given me the test results today? Was that really too much to ask?

‘OK,’ he smiles at me ruefully, which makes me feel even worse. ‘Another cold shower for me in the morning!’

I turn away and start to try and read again, but I can’t concentrate. All I can think about is Leo stood there in the street
holding his umbrella and shouting ‘I love you!’

Five years after we’ve separated he tells me the one thing I cajoled, pleaded and begged him to say while we were together.
I can still remember the first time I pathetic ally reduced myself to asking him outright if he loved me – and how it felt
when he said evasively, after a pause, ‘define love’.

I let my book fall from my hands in disgust and try to get comfy. I suppose it’s fair to argue I should have realised if you
have to ask someone that question repeatedly, the answer is probably no, they don’t. I know Leo didn’t love
me – and that’s OK, no law says he had to, and of course, he turned out not to be right for me anyway …

Dan, having heard my book drop to the floor, stretches a hand out and turns the light off. Then he reaches out for me in the
dark, pulls me into his arms and kisses my neck again. ‘Love you Moll.’

… because that’s how easy it is, when it’s real. It’s not a struggle, or a painful battle of wills. It’s just obviously there.
I really don’t think Leo has actually experienced what love is, he can’t have, and I’m sad for him for that. But I’m not going
to let him ruin what I
know
I have with Dan, any more than he – and I – have already.

It was bad enough when I saw him running towards me earlier … He seemed genuinely amazed to see me, but … I mean, what were
the chances of that happening?

Actually, what are the chances of that?

I haven’t seen him for years … and yet I just bump into him a week after our disastrous night, when he’s been texting me repeatedly
asking to meet? I stare at the wall in front of me. Really?

But then I don’t see how he could possibly have had any idea that I was going to be there. No one except Joss knew about that
appointment, and I booked it in a false name. There’s no way he could have known.

It can’t have been fate – surely? The prospect of that really
is
terrifying.

By the time I’m on my way to the emergency work meeting the following afternoon I’ve still heard nothing
from the clinic, and am becoming seriously agitated. What if I still haven’t heard by the end of the day? Will they only let
me know within working hours? That’ll make it Monday! How am I supposed to explain that to Dan? I’ve also realised that I
can’t do anything about changing my phone number until I’ve got the results back through, which means every time my phone
goes, I’m torn between leaping on it to see if it’s the results, or ignoring it in case it’s Leo again.

Of course it bleeps away unhelpfully on the passenger seat pretty much constantly for the whole journey with nothing but a
succession of false starts. Dan to say he is going to take me out to dinner tonight and I’m not to worry, whatever happens
at the meeting we’ll deal with it together – Mum telling me to call her back, she hasn’t heard from me since Sunday, am I
OK? Abi to check I am still on for Saturday’s baby shower – which I’ve forgotten about completely – Joss to see if I’ve had
the all-clear … But there is still no
actual
call by the time I arrive at the roadside hotel.

In keeping with the subject matter of the meeting ahead, it’s even more of a craphole venue than usual. The conference room
is buried right at the back of the building, down slightly claustrophobic halls carpeted in shiny red nylon; the static crackles
under the soles of my boots. The whole place smells faintly of stale chips; through the emergency exit at the end of the hall
I can just glimpse the bins below the kitchen vent, which is pumping clouds of greasy steam up into the dour sky.

Peering through the glass panel in the door I can see the meeting hasn’t started but pretty much everyone is here. I keep
my eyes to the ground as I slip into the room and then into the seat Pearce has saved for me. Sandra leans over quickly and
says in a low voice, ‘Do you know anything?’ I shake my head and she sits back worriedly, too preoccupied to bother with being
a bitch today.

Pearce says nothing; unsurprisingly even he is quiet. Everyone looks terrified and sits up a little straighter in anticipation
when Antony comes in. He puts his things down on the table and says simply, ‘You will I’m sure be aware of the information
that has appeared in the press recently regarding MediComma. Like many companies, the economic situation continues to have
a very real effect on us. It has been considered prudent that we now adopt a new approach and create a New MediComma world
that allows us to revise the shape of the company.’ He says it all with no conviction whatsoever, as if he’s been given a
press release to read, which he probably has.

Pearce speaks up. ‘So does that mean if the new “shape” is – I don’t know – a circle, some of us are going to be left outside
it?’

Antony gives him a direct look. ‘MediComma unfortunately can’t rule out redundancies at this stage.’

A ripple of fear courses through the room – Kirk looks like he’s going to cry – and of course it’s right at that moment that
my bloody mobile starts to light up with
‘number withheld’. Sod’s law it’s the clinic. I am just about to leave it, let it go to voicemail, when I realise they won’t
leave a message for me because my voicemail says I’m Molly Greene … not Cara Jones. Suppose I can’t get them back? There’s
no way I can wait until Monday, no way. I stand up, and say ‘Hello?’ to everyone’s incredulous stares, Antony included. I
ignore them all, push my chair back and walk out of the room.

Shutting the door behind me I say very quietly, ‘Yes, this is Cara Jones.’

I look back through the glass panel in the door. Pearce is looking at me curiously.

‘Could you say that again?’ I say faintly.

The broad smile of relief all over my face when I come back into the room – despite my best efforts to hide it – is, of course,
wholly inappropriate under the circumstances. Sandra gives me a Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells look and shakes her head as I
sit back down. Even Antony shoots me a look of quiet disbelief.

Well, so be it. I had to find out. Jobs are one thing … I’m not losing my marriage. Not for anything.

‘So the formal announcement will be in tomorrow’s press stating that we are restructuring and may be consider ing voluntary
redundancies as a first stage but that we will be doing our best to avoid compulsory measures as we move into 2010,’ Antony
concludes. ‘Does anyone have any questions?’

‘I do. This wouldn’t be one of those bad practise exercises would it?’ Pearce says. ‘You know, using the recession
as an excuse for making employees paranoid, so they all work harder and accept whatever terms are thrown at them because they’re
just glad to keep their jobs?’

Antony looks at him, like he’s thinking Pearce is sometimes too sharp for his own good. ‘No Pearce. I don’t think it is.’

‘Riiight. But I suppose it’s no coincidence that we were told this at,’ Pearce pointedly checks his watch, ‘half-four on a
Friday night, when there’s pretty much bugger all we can do about it?’

Antony shrugs helplessly. The poor guy looks shattered.

For once after the meeting, no one feels like going to the pub; even though it’s Friday night. It doesn’t seem right somehow.
Instead, we all start to drift back to our cars. I’m back in mine when I get a tap on the passenger window. It’s Pearce. I
undo my seatbelt and lean across.

‘Don’t take this the wrong way,’ he’s trying to look cheery, ‘but for someone who has just been told they might be about to
lose their job, you seemed pretty smiley in there.’

‘I know,’ I groan. ‘That was such bad timing. I was waiting for someone to call me back with some news and … well, I had to
take the call.’

He nods. ‘It was, I take it,
good
news?’

I nod emphatically. ‘Very.’

‘Well, that’s great,’ he makes an effort to look enthusiastic. ‘Congratulations. Have a good weekend won’t you?’

‘Pearce,’ I say, as he starts to straighten up. ‘Are
you
OK?’

He hesitates. ‘You know how sometimes you realise things aren’t turning out the way you want them to? You had a plan in your
mind but somehow you just sort of manage to mess it up anyway?’

I smile sadly. ‘Yeah, I do.’

‘I shouldn’t even be doing this job, this isn’t how I want to spend the rest of my life, so why am I crapping it now that
I’m going to lose it? It doesn’t make sense,
none
of it makes—’

‘Pearce!’

He jumps and turns, revealing Sandra, just standing there, tapping her foot impatiently.

‘You ready to go?’ she says pointedly. It’s less of a question and more a command.