‘If you don’t let me go, you might well come in one morning and find me hanging from the ceiling.’
‘Amy!’ Her father looked horrified at her words. ‘Don’t say that, love. Look, it’s early days, we’ll sort something out. Tomorrow we’ll get that lady round again, you need to talk to her…’
‘Dad, you’re not listening,’ she told him. ‘Unless you tie me up and lock me in, I’m going. This is what I have to do.’
‘No, Amy, you’re not,’ he said.
She stormed out, and headed up the stairs, and a few seconds later he was behind her. ‘Look, get a good night’s rest, and we’ll talk about this in the morning.’
‘Okay,’ she said, knowing all conversation was pointless.
She waited till four a.m. She figured that after what she had said her dad would be paranoid about her leaving, so he wouldn’t get to sleep for a while. She wasn’t wrong. Even though the house was quiet and dark, the keys to the front and back doors were all missing, even the ones she’d put in her bag in the hall.
She left two notes on the kitchen table. Then she climbed out of the kitchen window, her shoulder throbbing, pulling her small bag through with her. Just a few clothes, her passport and bank cards, Alex’s letter and Bug-Eye. She had no idea where she was going; but she knew she needed to go – her sanity depended on it.
As she moved through the back garden she hesitated, then diverted her course for a moment. Her eyes were adjusting to the dark, and the moon was three-quarters full, so she could recognise the outline of the little garden quite clearly. She could still remember the first time she had seen it, when she was six years old, on a night like this. Her dad had brought her here in her pyjamas, and as they had drawn close, she could see a few tiny lights near the ground. She had blinked sleepily, trying to make out where they were coming from, though the light only served to cast all about it in shadow. It was only when they’d been less than a metre away from treading upon those little beacons in the darkness that the wondrous moment of clarity had occurred. There, within an enormous willow-woven basket, was a tiny, exquisitely crafted garden, perfect in every detail, from its minute thicket of trees in one corner, to its flower-lined paths and a small wishing well in the very centre. On another grassy knoll was a tiny bird table and bird bath, each less than the size of a postage stamp. ‘So the fairies can come and visit,’ her father had told her.
As she thought back to the joy she had felt then, she wanted to sit down and weep, but instead she pulled the little wishing well out of the centre, and put it in her bag. A talisman to ensure that she was linked to home. To her parents. To her dad. She didn’t know why she felt as if she needed it. She didn’t imagine that she was going away for long, just for a short time while she got herself together.
Then she headed up the side path, taking care that the gate clicked softly, and soon she was walking along the road, away from home. She had made her escape.
55
The pub was dark, and full of nooks and crannies that made it hard to find people. Mark was hoping he’d done the right thing in coming. He was never all that enthusiastic about socialising with work colleagues, but Susan was nice enough, and her husband, Terry, was a banker who was often prepared to pass on invaluable advice on shares, and talked of little else, so Mark knew at least there would be someone to listen to. He felt he should make an effort to be sociable for such a significant New Year’s Eve.
It looked like half the office had turned up – minus David and Neil and his father, of course, who he knew for a fact were all attending a well-known barrister’s dinner party tonight and toasting the Millennium with sherries and glasses of Cristal. He was a bit dismayed to see that some of the secretaries were also here. Mark didn’t think it was a great idea to fraternise with subordinates, it made it more difficult at work, but Susan had always been a soft touch with everyone, bosses and cleaners alike.
He waved his hellos to people and got a drink. By the time he sat down, the only space available was next to Charlotte, who seemed quite tipsy already as she leaned over him and slurred hello, giving him an expansive view of her considerable cleavage in a low-cut sparkly top. Then Risto joined him by pulling a chair up to his crowded booth, and they tried to make small talk over the din of chatter.
Mark had half an eye out for Chloe, but didn’t think she was coming – he had heard her mention to Susan that her brother had invited her to a party, so she probably wouldn’t make it. Yet part of him was hoping she would turn up.
He did feel badly about avoiding her. He could tell she was confused, but he didn’t know what to say; and he felt that if he spent too long in her company, he might succumb to her sweet charm and end up back at square one. And his father was right. They were still young; there was so much time ahead for all that; but only one chance to send his career hurtling skywards and set himself up for life. He didn’t just want to be a run-of-the-mill solicitor – he wanted accolades, mentions in parliament, everything. That’s why he’d stayed behind in the office to offer sincere apologies to both David and Neil, and to promise that he would never let them down again.
Yet, he missed her. He’d wanted to contact her on Christmas Day, at least, but he knew that any gesture he made might be seen as reconciliatory, which would start them down the wrong path once more.
Charlotte was patting him on the knee and trying to tell him something. He smiled and played along, though he couldn’t really make out what she was saying. She leaned closer to him, and her hand slid a little higher up his leg. Mark turned to look at Risto, but he’d moved off to the bar and become embroiled in a discussion there. Everyone else in their booth was in deep conversation.
Mark thought about moving her hand off his leg, but was momentarily stunned by the vast cleavage positioned right under his nose, pushing against his chest. As her hand reached almost up to his groin, which was stirring despite his best intentions, he finally heard her as she slurred ‘handsome’ against his cheek, and then her face was blurrily in front of his, her breath saturated with wine, and to his surprise she leaned forward and kissed him.
56
Chloe was not having a good New Year’s. She had popped in to see some friends earlier on during the night, then headed to Anthony’s Millennium bash, which he’d been going on about for at least six months, and which she’d originally planned to invite Mark to, before he had stopped speaking to her. Over Christmas she had decided she needed to forget about Mark, but even having come to this decision she couldn’t dispel the hurt she was feeling at things ending so abruptly, and without Mark having the good grace at least to explain where they stood.
On arriving at the party she’d found out Mark wasn’t the only one blanking her. After a cursory hello, Anthony had proceeded purposefully to ignore her, which had become quite embarrassing in front of his friends, who tried to make small talk with her for a while, their eyes glancing over her shoulders as other people came into the room, unsubtly looking for their getaway. She was put out, to say the least. If anything, she shouldn’t be speaking to Anthony after what he’d done.
After an hour of this, Chloe had had enough and stalked out. But she didn’t want to be at home alone for the Millennium, particularly as both her housemates had paid to go to swanky dos, and would be full of it when they got in. She decided she might as well show her face at Susan’s bash, as she was now much closer to that than anywhere else. It began to rain as she made her way there, so she ran along the pavement in the gloom, trying to dodge all the swaying, merry people calling out their New Year’s greetings to anyone around, and pushed her way into the packed pub. It was hard to see anyone, but she finally spotted Risto in conversation at the bar. He raised his eyebrows and smiled at her, using his thumb to point behind him as he carried on his discussion.
She made her way over and then stopped in her tracks.
She’d thought New Year’s Eve couldn’t get any worse, but this topped it off.
Right in front of her was Mark, his lips locked with Charlotte’s.
In a daze, Chloe turned away immediately, but before she could make her escape she heard someone say, ‘Hey, Chloe!’ from behind her.
She swung round again awkwardly and waved hello to the people at the table, now looking at her, then at Mark
