| |
Monday morning arrives with the promise of a headless chicken impression. I wish we could have stayed in Suffolk just a little while longer. But the sea air at least cleared my head enough to make some decisions. I need to sort my life out. I need to keep moving.
I log on to my online banking and transfer two hundred and fifty thousand pounds from my savings to my current account. And then to Bells’s.
It makes me sick to do it, but I mean it when I say I’m done. I’m done trying to convince people of who I am. And who I’m not. Especially people who should already know. I take a scan of the letter she sent me and forward it to the accountant via email, with a note explaining that E:Vents is no longer a partnership. It’s the most sickening email I’ve ever had to write. My hand is shaking as I click send, but I refuse to cry anymore.
Adapt or die.
Next, I pull up Google and search local events companies. There are tons of them! I need coffee.
***
“Okay. I get it. You don’t like coffee,” I gasp as I heave again into the toilet. When I’m sure I’m done, I stand up straight and flush. “Summer didn’t either.”
What the hell am I doing? I’m not keeping it.
I flick the lock open and wash my hands before I make my way back to my desk, ready to seek and find a good local events company I might be able to subcontract. And judging by the hundreds of search results, this could take some time.
––––––––
Several hours later, I’m sitting in another reception area, waiting for another director.
“Hi. Eva, is it?”
“Hi. Yes, that’s right.” I reach out and shake the hand of the man who runs the fourth events company on the short list, and after declining his offer of coffee, follow him into his office, glad to sit down again. It’s been a bloody long day.
“How can I help you?”
“If I said I wanted to organise a birthday party for my daughter, how soon could you do that?”
“Ah, well...it depends. We’re actually closing down at the end of next month, so it would depend on how soon is soon.”
“You’re closing? Why?” He nods.
“I’m retiring. To New Zealand.”
“Oh.” I gaze through the internal window at the office full of staff. Every one of them still knee-deep in something at nearly 07:00 p.m. “So...all these people...? Need a job?”
“Most.” His expression is almost guilty as he gazes out to his staff. “I did ask Alyssa there to take over, but she’s young. She said she’s not ready.” His brow creases. “Why? Are you in recruitment?”
“Not exactly.” I take a deep breath and tell him what I’m beginning to think.
––––––––
Glenn looks up from E:Vents’s website, his shaggy eyebrows raised in high arches. “You’re E:Vents?”
“Yes.”
He directs his attention back to the screen. “I’ve heard a lot about you ladies.”
“Well, it’s just me now. Bells is...on maternity leave, so I really need some help. I was hoping to subcontract, as I said, but this seems like the perfect solution.”
“It does,” he agrees, clicking on something else.
“And if you have any ongoing contracts, we could draw up an introducer agreement.” He pushes away from his desk, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands over his round belly.
“Eva. This all sounds good. Can I think it over this evening? I need to talk to my wife. If she’s happy, I’ll talk to the staff in the morning, and I’ll get back to you by lunchtime. How’s that?”
“Great. Thanks, Glenn.”
“Are you feeling okay? You look a bit pale?”
“Yeah, fine. Just been a long day.” I give him a weak smile and stand, ready to leave. He holds out his big, warm hand, but there’s concern in his old eyes that I can’t stand.
“Thanks for coming in, Eva. I’ll speak to you again tomorrow.”
“Speak then.”
I leave Glenn’s office at almost 08:00 p.m. and make my way to the train station on foot, rather than by Tube. I could do with a walk.
––––––––
I cut down side streets and alleyways. Cobblestones and paving stones. Delicious smells waft past me from the many restaurants and eateries along the way, and I realise I haven’t eaten a thing today. That’s not going to help with the throwing up, is it? my head snipes.
By 08:35 p.m. I’m sat on the train that will take me back to my station, and pick up the discarded newspaper on the seat beside me. That rational part of my brain is fully aware of what I’m doing. I’m not giving myself a chance to think. Or feel. What’s the point anyway? And I read every word I can, until my station is announced. When I fold it closed and then in half, I can’t remember a single syllable of what the hell I just read. But it doesn’t matter. That wasn’t the objective.
––––––––
I push open Mum’s front door with leaden arms. “Hey, Mum,” I call quietly, hoping Summer is fast asleep. It’s late.
“In the kitchen.” I follow her clipped tone, and she’s sitting at the table, her fingers laced together in a fist so tight they’ve gone white.
“You okay? Is Summer okay?” I put my bag on the floor and pull out a chair when she nods.
“You’re my daughter, and I love you... but Gary, Eva?” she blurts as I sit opposite her. I freeze.
“What?” I breathe.
“Gary! How could you! How could you do that to Bells! To Will!”
“Mum... I didn’t...”
“Maria has been crying down the phone to me for hours. When she wasn’t screaming at me. Bells is in bits. She’s five months pregnant, Eva! What the hell were you thinking!”
There really is no point trying to explain. I learnt that the hard way. The painful way. She’s already made up her mind. My own mother thinks her daughter is that kind of person. Of all the people in the world, she should know who I am.
I drop my eyes, unable to look at her, and just wait. Wait for her to stop yelling. Stop crying. Stop accusing, and when she’s quiet for long enough that I’m pretty sure she’s done, I simply pick up my bag and stand. I go collect Summer from her bed and load her into the car without another word. What is there to say to a woman who isn’t listening? Who shouldn’t have to fucking ask?
Nothing at all.
––––––––
My heartbeat hurts. Breathing hurts. My body and mind are wound so tight I feel strained. Restrained. My hands are tied. It doesn’t matter what I say or do. Every one of them believes that. That!
Keep moving forward. Keep moving. If you sit still for too long, you’ll be vulnerable. Get to safety first.
***
“Muma, I don’t feel good,” Summer groans as she stumbles into my bedroom around 06:30 a.m. the following morning and immediately throws up, all over the carpet.
Great. Thanks.
“It’s okay, sweet pea.” I lift her and walk her to the bathroom quickly, depositing her in front of the toilet just in time for the next round of vomit.
When she’s done, I encourage her to rinse her mouth and brush her teeth, before I lay her back in bed. Her skin is clammy and pale. She looks so small. I hate it when she’s ill. I’d take it from her ten times over rather than see her suffer. If only that’s how it worked!
I perch beside her and stroke her hair until she’s asleep, and then make my way to the kitchen for cleaning materials, and a beaker of water that I leave by Summer’s bed.
I check on Summer once more, before I go back downstairs after cleaning up my carpet. Then I call preschool to let them know Summer is sick.
Next, I email Claire, asking her to go into the office and cancel anything in my diary for the next couple of days. Then, I email Glenn to let him know I’ll be working from home today. I’m not ready to see Mum again just yet. Not even for Summer. “Okay,” I take a breath and psych myself up for another day.
God, I miss coffee.
––––––––
Around ten, I make my way upstairs to check in on Summer. She’s awake.
“Hey, sweetheart. How are you feeling?” I swing the door wide and wander over to her bedside.
“Hungwy.”
“Yeah?” She nods, half-enthusiastically. “Just toast then, monkey. If you can keep that down, I’ll consider expansions at dinner time.” I run my hand over her soft blonde hair and lean in to drop a kiss on her head. Her temp feels better.
“Okway, Muma.” She nods and scratches her nose.
“You can stay in bed, if you want, or we can bring your duvet downstairs?”
“Can we watch a fiym?”
“A film?” Oh, God, I have so much to do. “Sure. What do you want to watch?”
“You can chowse.”
“Come on, then.” I give her a smile and flip back the duvet, so that she can climb out, and scoop it up into my arms. “Let’s get you cosy on the sofa, and I’ll make the toast.”
––––––––
We watched Mary Poppins. Classic. I absolutely loved that film as a kid, and when Summer jumped up from the sofa to sing and dance along with Dick and Julie, it was confirmed that she’s feeling better. “Come on, Muma!” she squeals, and tugs at my hands until I’m on my feet for a rendition of “Step In Time.”
When my mobile rings, I excuse myself, while she prances around my kitchen broom, and glance at the screen. Glenn.
“Hi, Glenn,” I puff.
“Good morning. Is this a good time?”
“Yeah. Yes! I was just playing with my daughter. Did you speak to your wife?”
“I did. And I’ve spoken with the staff this morning. We’re all agreed that it’s a good idea in principle. Of course, we’d need to hash out some details.”
“Of course.” Yes! At last! Something...
“Do you have a lawyer?” Good.
“Um, no, actually. The guy I would usually use is...” Blaming me for his marriage troubles? “...unavailable. But I’ll call another one.”
“Great. If you want to get that sorted on your end, and let me know when we can meet up, I’m very keen to have this all straightened out ASAP, for the staff. They have mortgages to pay.”
“Of course. I’ll come back to you as soon as I can. I have a very full diary and no way of keeping all my appointments, so I’m just as keen as you are.”
“Great. I’ll leave it with you, and hope to speak later.”
“Okay, thanks, Glenn.”
I hang up and immediately Google corporate lawyers. Within the hour, I’m perched on the edge of the dining table with the kitchen door pushed half-closed, wincing at the quotes. “Holy shit!” I mutter as I hang up with the third extortionist. “Daylight fucking robbery.”
I need to get the lawyer situation sorted, so I’m going to have to bite the bullet. But, really? Five hundred quid per bloody hour? I pull up another site and scan the legal waffle, as I reach for the freezer with my other hand, and fumble blindly for the tub of ice cream.
I tap ‘contact us’ and tap again when my phone pulls it through to dial.
“Hello, JC Law. How can I help you?”
“Hello. I’m looking for a corporate lawyer to help with a takeover of a company’s staff and books. Is that something you can do?”
“Can I take your name, please?”
“Eva Adams.” I sit, bracing for the price.
“What business are you in, Ms Adams?”
“Events.”
The lady on the phone gasps. “As in, E:Vents?”
“Yeesss?”
“Oh! My goodness! I have your card! I was at your Easter event with my son. He hasn’t stopped talking about it.”
“Oh! Wow. Really?”
“I actually called you yesterday, but your receptionist said you weren’t available.” Well, this isn’t how I expected this conversation to go. At all.
“I’m home with my daughter. She’s sick...” It’s half-true.
“And you’re expanding?”
“Kind of. Hopefully. Is that something you can help with?”
“Oh! Yes! Definitely.” I’m pretty sure she’s nodding. I can hear her hair rubbing against the receiver. “I run a very new firm, Ms Adams, and we were hoping to speak with you about some kind of event, but yes, I can help you with the legal work.”
“And...how much do you charge?”
“Well...” she says slowly, and my face crunches into a grimace. “If you’re willing to organise an event for us, we can offset the costs for you. But to give you a rough idea, we charge £200 per hour, or I can offer you a flat rate of £500 for the day, which is eight hours.”
“Oh.” I sag in relief. “That’s great. How soon can you squeeze me in? It’s time-sensitive. The guy is retiring to New Zealand.”
“Tomorrow morning? I can do first thing at 08:00 a.m.?”
“Right. Pencil it in, and I’ll confirm with Glenn. You have my office address on the card?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Great. Let me just make sure that time works for everyone, and I’ll get back to you. Can I take your email, please?”
“I’ll send you over a welcome packet and you can reply to that with as much detail as you have.”
“Okay.” I breathe out long and slow again. “Thank you.” And I eye the melting tub of ice cream.