‘I need to start looking for another job,’ I say. We’re lying under the duvet, away from the fierce cold of the air conditioning. Me nestled under his arm, my head on his chest.
‘She’s not going to find out it’s you.’
I sit up and look at him. ‘Just in case. It’s better to jump ship now, isn’t it?’
He shrugs. ‘It can’t hurt, I suppose.’
He looks at the clock on the bedside table. ‘Time to get up.’
The way it always works after – after – is that I leave first. There’s no need for me to have a shower because I’m not going home to anyone who isn’t supposed to know what I’ve been doing. I once asked Patrick if Michelle didn’t find it odd that he sometimes got in from work smelling fresh and clean – and of a different shower gel to the one they had in their own bathroom – and he told me that he makes sure that doesn’t happen. He just uses water, no soap. Dries his hair thoroughly. He has it down to a fine art. He’s a pro.
Once I’ve left, then he leaves too. Apparently he doesn’t even tell the people on reception he’s checking out after all. They have his card details, everything is paid for. Better that he doesn’t draw attention to himself by fabricating an emergency. Especially as we’ll be back again in a few weeks, no doubt. We try not to go to the same place too often.
‘There’s nothing going at Home Improvement is there?’ I ask casually as I start to get dressed.
He laughs as if I’ve made a joke. ‘Hardly.’
I stop tugging at the zip on my skirt and turn to look at him. ‘I’m serious. That’d solve everything.’
Patrick sits up. Pours himself a glass of water. ‘Where’s this come from?’
‘Nowhere. I was just thinking that you might have something, that’s all. If I end up having to leave Castle when I’ve only been there a year. Forget I asked.’
‘That really wouldn’t be a good idea,’ he says, hammering the point home.
‘I said forget I asked. It was just a thought.’
‘It would be madness.’
‘All right. Jesus. I wasn’t suggesting you make me your right-hand woman. I just thought you might know of something somewhere across the company …’
He’s out of bed now. Covering himself with a hastily grabbed towel. It’s as though a wall has gone up between us. A part of me wishes I’d never started this, but another part is furious he’s reacting like this.
‘… after all, it’s not just me who’s responsible for what we’ve been doing.’
When he speaks again it’s slow and considered.
‘We’re pushing our luck as it is. We’ll give ourselves away if we’re together in front of other people.’
I respond in the same considered fashion. ‘We wouldn’t be together in front of other people. You’d be in your office and I’d be working as the production secretary on some crappy show.’
‘I don’t get involved in who the producers employ at that level. I couldn’t give a shit who types up their progress reports or answers the phones, so long as they do it correctly.’
‘God, you’re a patronizing shit.’
He ignores that. ‘Imagine how it would look if I started micro-managing like that? Apparently I already have a reputation, so … what? They’re really going to believe I was so impressed with your admin skills that I had to make sure you worked for the channel?’
‘I’m not asking you to recommend me. I just meant tell me if you hear of anything, that’s all. If Tamsin finds out about this I’m the one who’ll be fucked at work, not you. I just thought—’
He cuts me off. ‘Tamsin is not going to find out. And if she does then I’m the one who has the most to lose. So she might not give you a good reference. Big deal. I’ve got a wife to worry about.’
‘Fuck your wife.’ I shout. Followed by, ‘You’re the one who’s done this to her, not me.’
I wish I hadn’t said it immediately. Not that I don’t mean it – well, not the fuck her bit. The other thing – the fact that ultimately he’s the one who decided to risk it all, to betray Michelle, yes, I do believe that. Probably best not to have said it, though, because he’s now looking at me like I’ve expressed a desire to run her over and mount her head on my living-room wall. Now there’s a thought.
‘I think it’s time for you to leave.’ His expression is cold. I know that, as far as he is concerned, I have pushed it way too far. I don’t want to go with it like this. I feel as if I might never hear from him again. And that’s not an option I’m willing to consider.
Before Patrick I was used to dating lads. Banter, partying and drinking. Both ducking out if things got too complicated. But my relationship with him is real. It’s adult. It’s special.
‘Sorry. I didn’t mean that. At all.’
He’s immoveable. ‘I’ll be in touch.’
Desperation hits me. I don’t want this to end. ‘Can’t we make a date now?’
‘I’ll call you.’
‘Please, Patrick. I shouldn’t have said it. I felt backed into a corner …’
‘Forget it. I’ll call you, OK. Now I’m going in the shower. You need to go.’
‘I could join you. It’s still early,’ I say in a rather pathetic, flirty way. I want to find a way to erase the last five minutes. I don’t want to end the evening like this when our whole relationship is only held together by a wispy piece of string in the first place.
‘I have to get going. It’s OK, don’t worry about it.’
He puts a cursory arm around me and I try to find his mouth with my lips. He pecks my cheek and pushes me gently away.