35

I’ve often thought that they should ease you back in to work gently after you’ve been on holiday, you know, let you work two or three hours a day at first, adding a few more each day until you’re back to normal hours. To go from lazing around, cocktail in hand and the only decision being how long you spend tanning one side, to having to use fully articulated sentences and, in my case, potentially helping to secure millions of pounds’ worth of funding for a charity, is a major shock to the system.

And that’s without factoring in a break-up. I don’t know how I’m going to get through it. It’s not only about putting up with my mind replaying what happened over and over, but it’s also having to be normal and polite to my work colleagues, and doing actual work on top.

I get out of my car and walk towards the depressing sixties concrete monstrosity of a building that I work in. It looks dark and gloomy any day of the week, but it’s looking even less inviting today under the dark and cloudy sky. It’s as if the weather is matching my mood.

I’m momentarily dazzled by the ultra-bright strip lighting of the reception as I walk in. My eyes sting, still raw from all the crying I’ve done over the last two days.

I managed to keep it together on the flight home, but walking into my house – my cold, empty house – tipped me over the edge. Will had been and gone while I was on the flight home. He hasn’t told me where he is, and I have no inclination right now to find out. I’m too hurt, angry and fragile, and a little thankful that I don’t have to see him while I get my head straight.

‘Hey Lexi, how was your holiday?’ asks Nancy, one of my colleagues, as I walk into the leisure department. ‘You look a fabulous colour. Take it the weather was nice?’

‘Uh-huh, weather was great,’ I say, in total honesty.

I continue walking over to my desk and as I go through the motions of switching on my PC, I look over at the piles of papers that have been left for me while I’ve been away, and then my eyes fall on the photo frame in front of me.

I look up at Will’s face as he smiles away as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. His skin is the same olive colour it was when he stormed out yesterday. It was taken on our first holiday together in Zante, all those years ago. It was when I first realised I loved him.

Next to that frame is a photo of him and me at one of his friend’s weddings. We’re looking blissfully happy, and I remember at the time thinking that we’d be next.

I blink rapidly, trying to stop the tears from forming. What the hell am I going to do with the photos? I can’t keep them on my desk. I don’t want them acting like a constant reminder that my personal life is in ruins.

I look around and wonder if I can hide them in a drawer where at least I won’t have to look at them and I then I can take them home tonight.

‘Hi Lexi,’ says Mike, just as I’ve picked up the photo frames.

‘Oh, hiya,’ I say, trying to smile up at him as he sits down at the desk next to me.

I feel like I’ve been caught red-handed and in a panic I bring the photo frames up to my lips and breath on them to steam them up. I give them a quick wipe over with the sleeve of my jumper, transferring a grimy layer of dust on to my sleeve, before placing them back in their original positions.

That’s perfect. Just what I wanted to do, see them more clearly. ‘So, was the holiday good, then?’ says Mike as he stands up from his chair.

‘Yeah,’ I say, putting on the best fake smile I can muster.

‘The cricket was good, wasn’t it? That England game against the Windies. Were you there?’

My heart sinks. That was the game Will pretended we were going to on the day he was going to propose.

‘No,’ I say, the words catching in my throat as the memories of the real story – the lost tickets and the jet ski excursion – flood my mind. The tears are going to start to fall any second. I can just feel it.

‘Oh. Well, you’ll have to tell me about the ones you did see later on. I’m going to make a cuppa. Do you want one?’

‘Yes, please,’ I say with relief.

Mike gets up to get our drinks and I immediately pick up the photo frames and shove them in a drawer.

It’s one thing telling my best friends about the break-up, but at what point do you mention it to work colleagues?

Do I slip it into casual conversation? By the way, I’m single now. Will’s moved out. Or, do I just go for the ghosting option? Pretend he doesn’t exist. Don’t mention the break-up or Will and hope that eventually everyone will cotton on without me having to spell it out?

‘Hello, Lexi.’

I jump out of my skin and slam my draw shut as I look up and see Robin sitting down at the desk opposite me.

‘Hello,’ I say, in as composed a way as I can. ‘I thought you were going to be gone when I got back.’

I could really have done without being sat opposite him today as he’s another person I’m going to have to pretend to.

‘Yes, just finishing up. I’ve got a couple of notes that I wanted to go through with you, actually, and then my report will be ready to go back to the exec’s office. I should be out of your hair by lunchtime.’

Phew, I think. I’m sure I can put my best poker face on until then.

‘Have you got time to go through the information with me now?’

‘Yeah, I was about to tackle my in box, but it’s probably best to help you before I get stuck into that.’

The sooner I help him, the sooner he leaves and I can relax my facial muscles. I’ll be left here with Mike, and he’s not the most astute of men when it comes to reading body language. Anything to do with emotions or feelings usually have him running to the kitchenette to make coffee.

‘OK,’ Robin says, standing up and taking hold of the back of his chair. ‘I’ll come to you.’

I’m a bit taken aback. Why does he need to come to my desk? Why can’t I shout the information over to him?

I sigh as quietly as I can.

‘I take it you’re pleased to be back after your holiday?’

‘Of course I am. Ready and raring to go,’ I say, sounding like a cheerleader at a funeral.

‘And I take it you had a good time? Enough sightseeing thrown in with your cricket?’

‘There wasn’t much sightseeing,’ I snap, ‘but not so much cricket either. Just a really lovely, romantic trip.’

I’m blinking rapidly, trying not to cry at the memory of how good it was before it all went wrong.

‘Is that so?’ says Robin, staring into my eyes as if he’s burrowing down into my soul.

‘Yes.’

I’m sure the weak wobbly voice is going to give me away.

‘Then why have the photos of you and Will disappeared from your desk?’

I follow his gaze. All that’s left where there was once a collection of photo frames are fluffy lumps of dust and dirt that had resided there unnoticed, probably for years.

‘Goodness, you’re like the council’s answer to Sherlock.’ I take a screen wipe out of my top drawer and try to remove the dust. ‘Perhaps I wanted to update the frames with super-romantic photos of my holiday.’

‘Or perhaps you’ve taken them away because things didn’t go so well when you were away?’

‘I – We –’ I stutter, but it’s no good. As a single tear rolls down my face, I tell him everything he needs to know.

‘FYI, it wasn’t the photos that gave it away. It’s the look you’ve got.’

‘The look?’ I ask, as I try to wipe a tear away with my finger as subtly as possible.

‘Yes. Your skin might be glowing with your tan, but your eyes look like you’ve done twelve rounds with Mike Tyson, and your jumper’s on back to front.’

I look down, about to tell him he’s wrong, but he’s bloody right. The V-neck that’s supposed to be on the front of this jumper appears to be missing.

I hastily pull my arms out of my jumper and spin it round.

What sort of a man notices a thing like that? He’s clearly far more observant than Will is, or I am for that matter. I’m sure I would have looked in the mirror before I left the house this morning. I can’t have been paying attention to what I saw.

‘I’m sure you are better off without him,’ he says, shuffling his papers like they do at the end of a news report. ‘And you’re not old, so you should be fine to meet someone and have kids.’

He’s smiling as if he’s trying to lighten the mood, but it’s something I’d not even thought of. What if I am too old? I know I’m thirty-one, not fifty-one, but what still?

I start to do some fast-thinking maths, figuring out that if I met a new man next year when I’m thirty-two, we could only date for around two years, be engaged for another year, then we could totally have a honeymoon baby and I’d be a mum at thirty-six. That’s about normal these days, isn’t it?

My biological clock starts to tick loudly in my head. What if I don’t meet anyone in a year? It’s going to take me time to mend my broken heart and get over Will. Then I’ve got to find someone new who I want to spend the rest of my life with. What if we then date for a few years and he’s not right either?

Oh God.

Or worse, what if I don’t meet anyone at all?

I’ve been so focused on my break-up with Will that I haven’t considered a future without him.

I start to practically hyperventilate and I see a flash of panic in Robin’s eyes.

‘Don’t worry,’ he says, placing a hand on my shoulder. ‘Women like you don’t stay on the shelf, trust me. Now, let’s take a look at these figures, shall we?’ he says slowly, as if he’s treading lightly. ‘I want to make sure I’ve got all the facts right for my report.’

He pulls a sheet of paper to the top of the pile and starts to read off things. I struggle at first to concentrate.

Mike walks over and offers me a temporary respite as he places a cup of tea down at my desk and engages Robin in a conversation about some rugby game. It gives me a moment to compose myself and to convince myself that Robin is right – that I will have no problem meeting someone.

‘Let’s look at those figures,’ he says again as Mike walks back over to his own desk.

I turn my head and look at him.

‘The figures,’ I say, concentrating on what he’s saying, if only because it’s taking my mind off the sorry state the rest of my life is in.

*

Finally, the clock strikes five and it’s a respectable time to call it a day. I managed to somehow survive without crying and without giving away any details about my holiday to the rest of my colleagues. Robin was the only one to mention the split, even if anyone else had guessed, and when he left the department later on that morning he took my secret with him, meaning I could go on pretending that everything was hunky-dory.

Now I can officially go home and wallow, at least until Cara and Vanessa come over and we start the break-up debrief.

I pick up my handbag and walk out of my floor. I’ve just started walking down the stairwell when I hear my name being called.

‘Lexi,’ Robin’s voice booms from above, bouncing off the sealed walls.

I stop where I am, and hear him clattering down the stairs until he reaches me.

‘How you doing?’ he asks as we instinctively start walking down together.

I can feel the tears start to well up. I was so determined not to cry at work, but the slightest hint of compassion in his voice is enough to tip me over the edge.

‘I’m all right, thanks. How’s it feel, being back on the top floor again?’

‘Feels great to get back there, you know, away from you slackers.’

‘Of course,’ I say. ‘And we’re enjoying getting back to all our tea drinking and sitting around playing with stress balls.’

I’m actually going to miss having him in our department.

‘Well, I thought I’d give you a nod to say that I’ve finished the report, and you’ve got nothing to worry about. I obviously can’t give you any details as it has to go to the councillors first, and what they do with the report is their business, but you’ll be fine. Whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing,’ he says, raising an eyebrow. ‘You know, lack of boyfriend, lack of job would have made for a good clean slate for you.’

‘Yes, lack of job would be exactly what I need when I’ve got to pay the mortgage by myself now.’

I shudder at the thought of anything relating to the house. Although that’s not strictly true. We’ll both have to pay the mortgage until we sell the house. I definitely can’t afford to buy him out and I don’t think he’d have any desire to buy me out – and he’d never be able to afford the repayments on his own.

‘Oh, yeah,’ he says, nodding as if he hadn’t thought that through. ‘But you know, you might not need to worry if you become a bestselling author.’

‘Cos that’s so likely.’

‘Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that. Please don’t hate me.’

This doesn’t sound good.

‘But I sent the first couple of chapters to an old uni friend of mine who works in publishing.’

‘You what?’ I practically scream.

‘I know, I should have asked you, but I’d forgotten all about her working in the industry until she posted something on Facebook about a book launch she’d been at, and I sent it to her on the spur of the moment.’

‘I can’t believe you did that,’ I say, feeling a little violated.

‘I know, and after you trusted me to read it, but don’t you at least want to know what she said?’

‘She’s got back to you already?’

‘Uh-huh, and she told me to pass on her details to you and for you to forward on the whole manuscript.’

‘She what?’

My mouth drops open in shock.

‘She really liked the opening.’

I’m so excited that I can’t help but fling my arms around Robin and wrap him up in a big hug before I pull away all embarrassed.

‘Sorry – I, um – Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome,’ he says, beaming away. ‘I’ll forward you all the information.’

I nod and for the first time all day, my mind’s racing with positive thoughts.

‘Thank you. How am I ever going to repay you?’ I say, realising that right now I’d give him a kidney if he wanted one.

‘You could buy me a drink. It’s my birthday on Friday and I’m going out after work if you’re interested. It’s mainly people from the exec’s office, but Mike said he’d come and you’d be more than welcome.’

‘OK,’ I say, thinking that as well as thanking Robin, it will get me out of the house, the most depressing place on earth at the moment.

‘Great. We’ll be in the King’s Head.’

‘OK, see you then, then,’ I say, with a wave. ‘And thanks again,’ I call.

I walk over to my car, now with something to smile about. What is that they say about one door closing and another opening? I might have broken up with Will, but I could be a step closer to getting my book published.