The place was deathly silent, and I made a mental note to remind James to lock the door when he was there alone, otherwise anybody could walk in, a robber, a drug addict! Who knew? It was the centre of town after all. As I approached his door, the strong sillage of an unmistakable scent hung in the air – Creed Aventus. He was definitely there. Bubbles of excitement fizzed and popped in my chest. I couldn’t wait to give him my surprise. I placed a hand on the doorknob and took a deep breath.
‘Surprise!’ I said, waltzing through the door with a huge smile on my face that I knew he’d find hard to say cross at.
James’s face fell as he looked up from whatever he was doing on his phone and my stomach sank. That wasn’t the reaction I was hoping for. Perhaps he was still mad.
‘I’ve . . . come to say sorry . . .’ My words faltered a little as his reaction caught me off-guard. I closed the door behind me in case anyone else was in the office and stepped forward.
‘It’s fine. Look, Charlotte, I’m busy here. Can we talk later? I really must get on.’ He spoke quickly and his tone was icy.
I was taken aback; I hadn’t expected him to still be angry – it was just a silly tiff. ‘Of course, I just have something for y—’ The door burst open and cut me off.
‘I’m ready for you to check my clauses—’ a breathy voice said as a flash of flesh and hair burst in. Legs strode apart and not a stitch of clothes, aside from a mac – which she was holding open – and a pair of stilettoes.
‘I think you have the wrong office!’ I blurted at her, shocked. How dare she? ‘Well, does this look like a brothel? Get out!’ I shrieked, glaring at her, but she didn’t move. That’s when I looked at her properly and then at James as the pair of them stared at each other. Blinded by her nakedness, I’d missed her face.
‘Samantha?’
Clasping my hand to my mouth before a scream could escape, I scurried past her, accidentally knocking into her naked frontage as I did. I needed air and there didn’t seem to be any in Emsworth, Haiden & Haiden. I had to get outside.
‘Charlotte!’ I heard James yell, but I carried on. I was practically running at that point and I didn’t look back until I was in my car with the doors locked. Safely alone, I heaved out a flood of tears. My sickness re-emerged as I desperately tried to open the window. I vomited between sobs, but this time nothing came out. My chest felt tight and I was finding it hard to breathe as the image of Samantha’s flesh appeared stage-front in my mind. I could still feel her on me after knocking into her; it was nauseating. The air was hot, and I couldn’t seem to get enough of it into my lungs. It felt like I was going to pass out.
I was having a panic attack. I heaved at the air whilst clutching the steering wheel. I hadn’t had one since I’d sat my exams at university and back then, I’d had a technique taught to me by a lecturer. I tried to remember the method. List five things you can see. My eyes darted about; cars – breathe; lights – breathe; people – breathe; shops – breathe; and a naked fucking bitch . . . Gasp, gasp, gasp.
There was a loud banging sound. Someone was knocking on the window. It was a man, and he didn’t look like an axe-wielding maniac so I let the window down a little further. The fresh air felt good.
‘You okay, love?’ he asked.
‘I will be, thanks,’ I said, waving him off. Can’t a girl have a panic attack in peace?
I got back to my technique. Four things you can touch. The leather seat – breathe; the dashboard – breathe; the walnut panelling – breathe. And the mother-fucking-steering-wheel – I punctuated each word by banging my head against it.
Three things you can hear. The engine noise – breathe; the street noise – breathe; and her honeyed voice – ‘I’m ready for you to check my clauses.’
Two things you can smell. Creed Aventus and some awful floral crap, which still lingered in my nose.
One thing you can taste. Rejection.
Eventually, my breathing slowed and I started the engine and drove home; it was time to prepare dinner.
Chapter Nine
James arrived home about an hour after me. I assumed he’d seen to his needs before locking up. The very thought made my stomach churn. Flashes of imagination kept bursting into my head uninvited. No amount of veg-chopping had managed to keep them at bay but it wasn’t for lack of trying – I’d amassed enough chopped carrots to supply a school canteen.
‘I have some explaining to do,’ he said, keeping a safe distance from me as he entered the kitchen. His head was lowered but he managed to look me in the eye for a moment.
‘We’ll eat first.’ I placed a steaming plate of lamb chops and vegetables down in front of him. He eyed it with suspicion. ‘It’s okay, I haven’t laced it with cyanide or anything.’
‘I didn’t think that you would have, I just . . .’ He didn’t finish whatever it was he was going to say. It didn’t really matter. Lamb chops were on the Sunday menu this week so lamb chops were served.
We sat at opposite ends of the dining table and ate in silence. I found the meat hard to swallow; it was as though my throat had narrowed, closed up almost, and its walls had turned to Velcro, clinging desperately to everything I tried to force down. I sipped my water, pushed my plate to the side and watched him tuck in heartily. Listening to him chew grated
