The drive home had been awful. Long, and stuck in traffic. Lauren didn’t feel buoyant with the hope of a new year. She felt foggy. She had to stop four times for coffee and bought a bag of doughnuts to eat in the car. All that ‘New Year, New You’ rubbish, and the truth was she was a twenty-nine-year-old soon-to-be-divorcee with nothing much going for her. May as well eat the doughnuts. Leaving powdered-sugar finger marks on the steering wheel felt symbolic. She was making a mess. She was allowed to make a mess.
Lauren kept thinking about Veronica, how her eyes had lit up at the roller-coaster, how Cass’s gaze had softened as she stroked her hair. How Darren was already engaged. He must have been cheating for a good long stretch. It was hardly the biggest lie, in the grand scheme of things. Why hadn’t she looked more carefully at the list in the Big Book, before handing it over? Perhaps there were things she still wanted to do. She should have apologised. Cass had, and yet, was that ever going to be enough? How did words suddenly wipe away all the damage? Everything hurt. There was too much to think about, and in the end, the concentration she needed for driving took over. When she eventually made it home, she collapsed into her bed and slept, relieved that she was too exhausted to think anymore.
*
Lauren hated her work clothes. She always felt like she was pretending to be a grown-up. She’d tried to copy her colleagues, but it never looked right. She was still young, and yet she dressed more maturely in the hopes that people would take her seriously. She felt a hundred years old. The only way to get into work most days was to trick herself into it, repeating something comforting in distraction. Before Christmas it was, Holiday soon, holiday soon. Before that, it was simple pleasures like Thai food for lunch or Shopping after work. Now, there wasn’t really anything to say.
It’s okay, it’s all okay, she settled for repeating before brushing her teeth, looking at those red-rimmed eyes in the bathroom mirror. She repeated it as she walked to her car, as she drove to work and as she buzzed herself into the office. As she sat down at her desk, she silently congratulated herself on tricking her body into work. She would only have to do that every weekday morning for the rest of her life.
She had dreamt of Cass, unsurprisingly. She had dreamt that Cass and Veronica went on their adventures, and kept sending her postcards. At first they had read, Wish you were here, but soon they turned cruel. We didn’t want you anyway and we’re having more fun without you, was scribbled on the backs of rolling hills and seaside scenes. They had kept coming, the postcards, shooting through the letterbox with vicious intent, until she was drowning in a sea of pictures, bleeding from thousands of tiny cuts that never should have hurt at all.
‘Morning,’ she said to passing colleagues, and they nodded back as they sat at their desks. She went through her paperwork, opened her email inbox and started to sift through the responses.
‘Lauren,’ her boss, Glen, walked over. ‘Happy New Year.’
‘Happy New Year. Good Christmas?’ she replied softly. Glen looked rather like an overbaked ham – rotund and a deep pink. Lauren often worried about his blood pressure, but then he’d say something awful and she’d hope he’d keel over. It was a complicated relationship.
‘Yes, yes. Very good and all that. Look, I’ve had Mrs Keener on the phone already this morning, and she left eight messages over the holiday.’ He leaned on the edge of her desk and looked down at her, an expression of disappointment on his face. ‘She says the process has taken too long, and we’re risking her losing the house she wants. I’ve had these conversations about time management with you before.’
Lauren felt her neck grow warm, and noticed an orange stain on the collar of Glen’s grey jacket. ‘There’s been absolutely nothing else I could do, you know what it’s like this time of year. I’m waiting on data from the registry, I’ve had to email her buyers three times with the forms – and it was Christmas. We’re still on track for within ten weeks.’
Glen didn’t look convinced. ‘Look, Lauren, I know you work hard, but you need to be a bit better at keeping your clients happy. We don’t have this with Nadia or Mairead, and they are both in their early twenties. They’ve picked up that their clients will be happier if they’re kept in the loop. The more unhappy a client is, the more likely we’re going to get negative reviews, even when the purchase goes through without a hitch. Chat to Mrs Keener, let her know what the hold-up is and that she’ll get the house she wants.’
Lauren bit her lip. She’d already called Mrs Keener three times before Christmas, assuring her that everything was running smoothly, letting her know what stage the process was at and what they were aiming for next. She’d let her know it was her number-one priority, that she would highlight any issues along the way and that she wanted her to have a good Christmas. And still the woman called.
‘Glen, you know there are certain clients who are more anxious and more pushy – there always are,’ she said. And it’s funny how they always seem to be passed on to me. She looked across the room at Nadia and Mairead, their stylish black dresses with tailored jackets and statement necklaces. They looked at her, then looked away again.
‘Yes, and I know that when our clients leave bad reviews, it’s bad for my business.’ Glen stood up. ‘I’d like you to take responsibility for your workload, Lauren. These are people’s homes. If you’re not going to take it seriously, we’ll have to reassess your place here.’
Lauren blinked as he walked off, leaving her papers in disarray on her desk as he stood up from it. What was with the universe right now?
It wasn’t that she hated conveyancing, necessarily. It was just that she had been training, all those years, because she wanted to be a human rights lawyer. She loved looking for the details in a story, the titbits in the paperwork that could build a case for innocence, or a suspicion of conviction. She didn’t necessarily want to stand up in court and speak for anyone, but she’d wanted to be part of change. She’d wanted to protect people. She took in information like a sponge and all those years working towards this big goal that no one thought she could achieve, it was meant to be for something.
But she had been stressed and anxious, and everyone told her it was too much for her. Her mum, Darren, her course tutors. No one seemed to like her having feelings about anything, it seemed. It was better to sit at this desk in this awful place where everyone seemed to think she was an inconvenience, because she wasn’t twenty-four and wearing a tight skirt and telling clients lies to keep them sweet.
It had been okay, when she had Darren. They were planning a family. That was what people did – they had families and bought homes, and had dinner parties and called their parents. They spent money on new curtains and had a box hidden under the bed with baby onesies and tiny, adorable shoes. Because they made plans for the future, and their plans sustained them.
But there were no plans. Her life spread out before her like a carpet being unrolled. Anything could happen, and that knowledge didn’t bring the same joy it had years ago. It was terrifying. The future was vast and unyielding.
She could go on this trip. She could. She could call Cass, arrange the time off. She might even laugh the way she used to. Her entire life she had been the stable one, the sensible one. She had given up their travel plans because she had to study, and then she had a job, and then there was no Cass to hold her hand along the way.
What if she went?
It was impossible to comprehend, for more than a five-minute daydream. She had to stay and tidy up her life. She could already hear her mother’s judgemental tone as she accused her of running away. It was best to stay and stick it out. Better than being the unnecessary third wheel on a mother-daughter bonding trip. Seeing Cass’s love for her daughter was a fresh knife wound every time Vee smiled. Searching the little girl’s face for echoes of her father, conjuring images of the night they made her. The trip would kill her.
No, better to be safe. To stay still. Lauren’s hand paused over the telephone, fingertips hovering over the keys. Mrs Keener or Cass? It was hard to tell who she was meant to call. One call for one direction, and one for another.
Coffee first, that would help. She launched herself across the room, nodding back to Hellos and Happy New Years until she was sure her face would crack with the effort of smiling politely. When she got to the coffee machine, thankfully there was only Nigel.
‘All right, cracker, happy New Year and all that.’ He grinned at her, then paused. ‘God, you look like absolute shite, y’all right, love?’
Nigel was in IT. He had no time for anyone’s politics, and his main concern was insuring that no fraudulent activity was happening through the company. Luckily, most of the older bosses didn’t really understand what he did, so he’d throw some tech jargon at them and they’d go away. Lauren wished she could do that.
‘Um, yeah, cheers, Nige,’ she tried to laugh, getting herself a mug out of the cupboard. ‘Although, I suppose, if you were gonna recommend your divorce lawyer, I wouldn’t say no.’
His eyes softened, and he nodded. ‘Sorry, mate, that’s crap. I’ll send you her number, she’s a world-class beast, razor-sharp jaws. Goes in for the kill, if that’s what you’re looking for?’
‘I don’t know what I’m looking for.’ She shrugged, pressing the button on the coffee machine. ‘A way out, I guess.’
He scratched his head, his red hair becoming even more fluffy with the movement. ‘You were always too good for that estate-agent prick anyway. Thought he was God’s gift, didn’t he?’
‘Apparently his girlfriend – sorry, fiancée –agrees,’ Lauren snorted, keeping her eyes on the entrance to the kitchen. Nadia would have a field day with this information.
‘Shut the front door! Motherfucker!’ Nigel hooted, then made a face. ‘Sorry. Want to get a drink later? Drown your sorrows? I think I was drunk for a month when Angela left.’
She smiled at him. ‘Thanks, but I’ve spent enough time drunk. Time for me to dry out.’
‘Okay, well I’ll send the number over. Take the bastard for all he’s got. And keep your chin up.’
Nigel nudged her as she left, and she felt deeply grateful. He was probably her only friend at work. Everyone else was so focused on seeming like the best, on making their money and winning awards – it didn’t seem right. To listen to people moaning about a hundred-pound fee on the million-pound mansion they were selling, when every morning Lauren passed a homeless girl on her way from the car park to the office.
Maybe she should take Darren for everything. Keep the house, take his car. If the fact that he was cheating and already engaged wasn’t enough, the secret love child with her best friend was surely great grounds for divorce. She laughed out loud at the thought of it, clapping her hand over her mouth. Oh God, she was losing it.
The phone rang, and she answered. ‘Lauren, it’s Mrs Keener on the line for you. She sounds quite upset.’
Oh great.
‘Thanks, Kemmy, put her through.’
She waited for the click, and took a breath, making her voice bright and bold.
‘Good morning, Mrs Keener, happy New Year.’
‘Is it? Is it a happy new year when I still don’t know when I’ll be into my house, and might end up being homeless? Is that a good start to the new year?’
‘Now, Mrs Keener, I know the process can be frustrating, but—’
‘Frustrating! Do you know how many times I’ve had to call your office to find out what’s going on? Do you? Tell me how many times!’ The woman’s voice was starting to get squeaky, and Lauren felt her chest start to hurt.
‘From our records, it seems you’ve called eight times. I was just about to—’
‘Oh don’t tell me,’ she cut her off, ‘you were just about to call me.’
‘Well, we’ve all been off for the Christmas period, as I mentioned when I called on the twentieth—’
‘So you’re allowed to go and enjoy your Christmas when I don’t know if I should even unpack my tree?’ Mrs Keener was clearly enjoying herself, and Lauren felt her breathing become uneven. She hated this. People loved to call up and shout at her. This was why she could never have made it as a big-shot lawyer. Always too soft, too sensitive.
She took a few breaths. ‘Mrs Keener, nothing has changed since I called you. The office has been closed. The process is continuing, and we’re still within the ten-week goal for completion. Your buyers have yet to send back a few of the forms I sent, but that happens at this time of year. If you have their details, maybe you should prompt them.’ Instead of bugging me.
‘Oh so it’s their fault? Typical. I could have you fired, you know.’
It was one of those moments where she knew exactly what Cass would say in response.
‘You know what, lady, you’d be doing me a favour.’ The words were out of Lauren’s mouth before she’d even realised what she’d said.
‘Excuse me?’
Was there a way to spin this, beyond stuttering and apologising? Probably not. But she was damned if she was going to carry on bowing her head to that vile little woman. Cass wouldn’t.
‘Mrs Keener, I assure you, I have done everything I possibly can to speed this up. I didn’t want you to have to call eight times, I didn’t have a great Christmas whilst you were stressed, and to be perfectly honest, if you wanted to get me fired, I would probably thank you for it. I am trying so hard to make sure you get this house sold at the correct price, but it’s not just down to me, it’s down to your buyers, their solicitors, the registry, so many other factors. But I can assure you, I’m doing everything I can.’ She breathed out slowly, hoping the woman had taken enough of that in to back off.
‘Well, if that’s how you feel about your job, why on earth should I trust you with my house? You probably just leave the office at half four and go about your life with no thought at all for poor people like me, stuck in limbo, whilst you’re off gallivanting.’
She snapped. She knew it was coming. Damn. It was like Cass had got inside her head, the memory of a sassy nineteen-year-old controlling what came out of her mouth.
‘Actually, Mrs Keener, I was here until about seven every night in the run-up to Christmas, doing my best for my clients, which is probably why I didn’t notice my husband’s affair with the woman he’s now decided to marry. So perhaps if I cared less about poor people like you making a £650,000 profit on your sale, my marriage would still be intact. I’ll forward you on to Nadia who can have the immense pleasure of dealing with your sale, and I’m sure you can expect it to be completed by spring. Goodbye!’
She slammed down the phone and squeaked. Oh God. Could she legitimately blame Cass for this? Burrowing her way into her head and reminding her of what a pushover she was? Or maybe she was still in shock from Darren and the cheating and Veronica’s existence. Well, if you were going to do it, it was best to go the whole hog.
She downed her coffee, washed up her mug and went into Glen’s office. Twenty minutes later she was walking out with the few personal items from her desk packed in her handbag, and fifteen packs of Post-it notes that Nigel had handed her as she walked to her car, telling her she should at least get something from the bastards. He gave her a hug and said she was certainly starting the new year with a bang.
‘It was my choice,’ she said incredulously, grinning at him. ‘I chose to leave.’
‘Well, good on you, lovely. Smart choice. Bold.’
She nodded in agreement, sitting in her car in a daze. Lauren had made a choice, and the world hadn’t fallen apart. She had changed something. And she was going to do it again. How miraculous.
When Lauren returned home, it was like she was looking at it all with new eyes. The house itself was beautiful, there was no doubt about it. Visitors always commented on how much light there was, how the cream carpets were still fluffy and clean, how the roll-top bath was a delight. They fawned over this symbol of their success.
But still, there was no one here to see when she was sat alone eating a microwave meal and wondering why Darren was home late again. Wondering if this was really all there was. She didn’t love this house. She didn’t love her job, or her life. This house was a symbol of absolutely everything she didn’t want anymore. Cass would have told her that happiness came first, above all – what else was there beyond being happy?
The thought of being free of it brought a smile to her face, and she grabbed her phone and texted Darren.
I’ve taken half the savings from our joint account. You can have the house, sell it, buy me out, whatever. Sort out the divorce, seeing as you’re the one in such a hurry. Have a nice life. :)
With that, she threw the phone onto the sofa, knowing that soon enough it would start ringing. The less she was bothered, the more it would offend Darren. She knew that much by now. He had to be the centre of it all.
Lauren remembered that the first goal in the Big Book was written in her own neat, thin writing: Design a life we’re proud of. For all she cared, this life could burn to the ground. It was time for another. She went upstairs to pack.