‘Nicola?’
The knock on the door frame startled her. Though her screen faced away from the door, she quickly shut down the internet search she’d been doing, on jobs for charity executives and trustees. It was early Monday afternoon and she’d just got back from a session at the gym. Trying to exhaust herself into oblivion. It hadn’t worked.
‘What is it, Chrissie?’ She looked up.
‘A man came by to see you. Earlier, when you were out.’
Nicola looked up and frowned. ‘What?’ she said. ‘Who?’
‘He didn’t have an appointment, and there was no meeting in your diary,’ Chrissie said. ‘He said he just wanted to leave something for you.’ She came over to Nicola’s desk and held out a white bag taped shut with a red and gold Christmas bow on it.
Nicola took the bag and held it to her nose. She could smell cinnamon and spice. It reminded her…
She opened it and took out a square box about the size of a small plate. The box had a logo on it: ‘The Braided Loaf’. There was a clear plastic window on top. Inside was a gingerbread heart, decorated with complex swirls of white icing. A Russian church with intricate onion domes, and a flurry of snowflakes falling all around it. Taped on top of the box was a memory stick.
Instantly, her stomach churned with emotions – fear, hurt – and above it, like a bird taking flight – precious, beautiful hope. He took shape in her mind’s eye like a ghost materialising from the ether. His dark eyes, his tall, strong body. The scent of his skin, the taste of his mouth, his warmth, the joy in him… and the darkness. The scars, underneath where no one could see. Scars on his skin, and scars on his soul. He deserved to love and be loved. He deserved someone better than her. He had walked away; she had run. She couldn’t give him what he needed. And yet, he had come to find her.
Nicola stood up instantly.
‘Is he still here?’ Her voice was breathless now.
‘No.’
The word felt like a door slamming in her face.
‘He didn’t want to disturb you,’ Chrissie said. ‘I think he was a little relieved that you weren’t in.’
‘Relieved?’
‘He said he wanted to leave the bag for you. That you would understand.’
Yes, she understood. He had made an opening gambit. Testing and challenging her in that way he had. And, in truth, she didn’t know what, if any, move to make in response.
‘Did he say anything else?’
Chrissie was grinning now. ‘He asked me my name. How long I’ve been working here, and how long I’ve known you.’
‘Yes, he would,’ Nicola found herself saying.
‘He was very friendly. Which was nice. And…’ Chrissie leaned in, ‘very handsome, and quite sexy. Though, I am a bit surprised. He didn’t seem your type.’
‘He’s not my type,’ Nicola snapped. ‘He’s nothing to me.’
‘It’s none of my business,’ Chrissie said, ‘but—’
‘You’re right, Chrissie, it isn’t,’ Nicola interjected.
Frowning, Chrissie put her hands on her hips. ‘But I’m going to say something anyway. Whether you like it or not.’
Nicola leaned back in her chair and put her hand to her forehead, rubbing at the frown lines. ‘Is it anything you haven’t already said a thousand times?’
‘Maybe not.’ Chrissie pulled the door shut, leaning against it. She picked up the box in front of Nicola on the desk and looked at what was inside. ‘But, damn it, I want you to listen.’
Nicola leaned forward. ‘What is it, Chrissie? Do you want me to hold out my wrist so you can whack me with a ruler?’
‘I know about you and Ollie,’ Chrissie said, her voice low. ‘You think you’re being careful, but you forget about us members of the underclass. PAs, post room workers, security guards. We know a lot more than you think.’
Nicola kept very still, not speaking.
‘I’ve known about it for a long time. I never said anything, though I think it’s shameful.’
Nicola opened her mouth, then closed it again. They had always been careful – or she had, anyway. Infrequent liaisons that usually took place well away from the office. Or late at night after most people had left. But, of course, even if her colleagues were gone, there were people around. People that, as Chrissie rightly suspected, they’d paid no mind to.
‘And the thing that gets me – the thing I really don’t understand – is how stupid you’re being if you think he’s going to leave his wife for you.’
Nicola took a breath, trying to summon her usual anger. ‘Whatever you think there might be between Ollie and me, you’re probably wrong. And if – if – there was something, then it’s over.’ Nicola let out a long sigh. ‘So, feel free to update your underground network of cleaners and post room workers.’
‘Well, I hope it’s true. Because there are other rumours going around about him.’
‘Other rumours?’
Chrissie ignored the question and ploughed on. ‘I swear, Nicola,’ she said, ‘what makes me so angry – just kills me, quite frankly – is how much time you’ve wasted. When you started here, I thought you were amazing. A strong, smart woman who could take on all the dickheads and come out on top. I was rooting for you. We all were.’
‘I’m sorry to have disappointed you.’
‘You damn well should be.’ Chrissie’s voice was sharp.
‘So, let me get this straight,’ Nicola said with forced calm. ‘Are you saying that if I hadn’t thrown away three years with Ollie – if instead I’d been out there on match.com or Tinder or scientific dating – whatever it is people do now – if I’d been out there looking for a nice man to settle down with; found him, taken some leave, had a big wedding, got pregnant and had a couple of kids – then you’d respect me now?’
‘I do respect you.’ Chrissie was sounding more and more upset. ‘I just don’t understand why you’re settling for being so unhappy. Someday, I hope you’ll tell me why.’
Nicola swallowed hard. Someday… maybe she would. She knew that Chrissie meant well, though, God knew, any love between them over the years had been of the tough sort.
‘Are you finished now?’ she managed to say.
‘Does Ollie make you happy?’ Chrissie pressed.
‘No, of course not. It’s never been about that. It’s… well… I don’t even know any more.’
‘This man who gave you the gingerbread heart – does he make you happy?’
Nicola thought back to the day they had spent together. It had been fun and confusing; uplifting and frustrating. But somehow, in a single day, he had changed her.
‘His name is Dmitri,’ she said.
‘Does this Dmitri make you happy?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You haven’t given him the chance, have you?’
‘It’s complicated.’
Chrissie laughed. ‘I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.’
An alarm sounded on Nicola’s phone. Time for the next call, the next meeting, the next, and the next…
Chrissie crossed her arms. ‘That’s all I wanted to say. Thanks for listening. Do you want me to ask for a transfer to someone else?’
‘No.’ Nicola silenced the alarm. ‘What I want you to do, Chrissie, is start arranging the Advent Calendar for the twenty-second. I want you to order everything from this bakery.’ She pointed to the name on the box. ‘And book the large conference room. No – the auditorium. I want it to be big – the best. Because I’ll have an announcement to make.’
‘OK…’ Chrissie’s eyes lit up, probably at the mention of Christmas arrangements. ‘I’ll do my best.’
‘And when you’re done with that, I need a Chelsea away kit for a seventeen-year-old boy. Can you get that?’
Chrissie wrinkled her nose. ‘My husband will kill me. He’s a Spurs fan.’
Nicola smiled. ‘Well, sorry about that. Now, I’ve got to go on a call. Thanks for the chat.’
‘Really?’
Nicola gave her a wry sideways look. ‘You’d better go now, before I change my mind.’