‘I’ll definitely do that.’
His phone rings and she waits for him as he talks, until he holds up a hand to her, indicating that this call might actually go on a bit. She excuses herself, leaving her champagne glass behind.
Becky walks out into the office again where Siobhan is filling a cardboard grocery box full of her personal stuff.
‘Aren’t you working out a notice period?’
‘No. I said I didn’t want to. He said that was fine.’
‘Have you got another job?’
‘I don’t know what I want to do next.’
‘I just don’t understand why you’re leaving if you’re not going anywhere.’
‘Well, I am.’
‘Come on. We’ve known each other for years. Why have you resigned? Tell me. Is it just because you’re jealous?’
‘Yes, that’s it. I just wish it was me toasting my nearly green-lit, massively hypocritical film.’
‘Wow,’ says Becky. ‘That’s kind of rude.’
But Siobhan won’t meet her eye. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not going to make a fuss. I’d like to get a reference out of this and I know how things work.’
‘What’s wrong with you?’
Siobhan plucks files out of her drawers and hurls them in fanned piles onto empty production desks. ‘I can’t work at this company any more.’
‘Is this about Matthew?’
‘No. It’s about you. I did your expenses. While you were off in Kent being “treated” by the boss.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Going through your Uber business account was interesting. You know there’s a map of every bloody journey you ever take? It shows the time and date and a line showing which route you took. You, Becky, got an Uber from your flat to a wine shop very near Matthew’s house on a Sunday afternoon recently. Ringing any bells yet?’
Becky stands very still. Tries not to give Siobhan anything.
‘Which Sunday, you ask,’ Siobhan continues. ‘Yes, the same Sunday that Amber Heath says our beloved leader pinned her down on his kitchen floor and raped her. What’s next for Becky’s Uber account that evening? Less than ten minutes later you’re in a different one, taking off about a hundred yards from Matthew’s house, heading home. Almost like you’d popped in, and then made a very hasty exit. Almost like you walked in on something and ran away pretty sharpish.’
Becky wills her muscles to be corpse-still, her eyes pond-still, but she feels the tremors – feels the concentric ripples on her surfaces.
‘I went over to deliver a bottle of wine, to thank him for his support,’ says Becky. ‘I went to the front door but the lights were all out. So I took it away with me. I took it back home. I didn’t go inside at all.’
‘Somebody did.’
‘Allegedly. Wasn’t me.’
‘If you say so.’
‘Leave me alone, Siobhan,’ says Becky slowly. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘I am leaving you alone. Look at me. I’m filling my box. I am getting the fuck out of here.’
‘Matthew wants to know if you’d like a leaving drinks?’
‘Ha. Yeah, I don’t think so. I might have one too many and end up in a room with one of you poking me while the other swears blind that it isn’t happening.’
Becky slaps her open palm hard across Siobhan’s face.
Siobhan holds her own hand against her cheek like she is checking it is still there.
‘If you come after me, Siobhan, I will destroy you. Do you understand?’
Siobhan looks nothing but sad. ‘Of course I understand that. I know exactly who you are, Becky. But in this moment, I can choose to leave and there is nothing you can do about it. I will not be an accomplice in your stinking, fake success. I will not stand by and watch a film about a strong woman being made by a woman as weak as you.’ She looks down at her cardboard box. ‘I don’t even want any of this shit. Just send me my money.’ Siobhan throws her key-fob into the box, turns and leaves.
Chapter 27
When Becky gets home she locks the front door and closes all the windows. She sits cross-legged on the bed with her laptop open. Later Adam’s parents, Maisie’s grandparents, will come over to celebrate Maisie’s big day. They’ve agreed to do all her presents then. Becky loves Grandpa and Grandma T. She loves how much they love her daughter and she admires their calmness and their deep devotion to each other. Those are the foundations for a man as thoughtful and kind, as loving and generous, as Adam.
Becky turns over Adam’s arguments about Scott. The recklessness of confronting him. She knows he’s right, of course he’s right. She tries to picture the moment: Maisie discovering that Adam is not her father. The unknitting of an entire childhood. The destruction of half her story – who she got her sense of humour from, the shape of her nose, the bend of her calves, her intolerance for tree pollen, her capacity for hard work. This from Dad, that from Mum. The two halves that make her: all tainted, all broken.
Becky hates that there are secrets. Whose fault is this? Is it hers? Did she somehow prey on Adam? Did she use him? She blinks at the memory of those early days of feeling so exhausted and so sad that she could barely make it out of bed, let alone make any kind of decision. Adam had put the idea to her. An easy path. A lie told out of love. His gift and his choice. Surely his parents would love him more for such a kind and selfless act? But might they love Becky less, this girl who’d taken most of a life from their too-kind son? Who’d robbed them of children with Grandma T’s eyes, with Grandpa T’s youthful head of curls, and all the history that they carried in their blood, the connections made from life to life in a chain of descent that Maisie should have carried beyond them, bearing a spark of them past their deaths and
