Clara couldn’t believe that she’d forgotten about Warren. She jumped to her feet and jabbed the alarm bell.
“Help!” she cried. “We’re stuck! Let us out!”
She alternated between pressing the alarm bell and slamming the metal door with the palm of her hand. Panic coursed through her, mixing with utter disgust at herself for forgetting about Warren.
“Clara, Clara!”
Francesca stood beside her and eased her hand away from the alarm button.
“Breathe,” Francesca said. “You have to breathe.”
It was only then that Clara realized that she was panicking and her breathing was coming in short pants. Francesca took both of her hands and cupped them in her own.
“Look at me,” Francesca said.
Clara looked up. She could hear her heart thudding, deafening her to almost everything else.
“Focus on your breathing.”
Clara did as she was told. Trying to ignore the fact that her shaking hands were encompassed in warm, soft hands that she had dreamed of touching her. She sucked in a shaky breath and then slowly blew it out again. She repeated the process a few times before she felt better and extracted her hands from Francesca’s. To stay in that position would be dangerous.
“Who is Warren?” Francesca asked.
“My cat. I only got him a couple of weeks ago. He’s a rescue cat and now I’m stuck here, and he won’t get his dinner.” Clara felt awful, not only for not being there for her new pet but for forgetting he existed entirely.
Francesca looked relieved. “Oh, thank goodness it’s only a cat. I thought he was a baby or a boyfriend.”
“I’m gay,” Clara said.
“Well, in any case, I’m sure your cat will be fine.”
“It’s taken me ages to build up his trust,” Clara said. “He hated me for a week.”
“I’m sure he didn’t hate you.”
Clara lifted her sleeves and showed off her impressive collection of scratch marks.
Francesca’s eyebrows lifted. “Okay, yes, he hates you. Why did you get a cat who hates you?”
Clara lowered her sleeves. “No one else would have taken him home. He’s this grumpy old man who doesn’t need anyone.”
“Which proves that he’ll be fine having dinner a little late. If indeed that ends up happening, we may be out of here in ten minutes. We simply don’t know.”
“But he’d just started to trust me,” Clara said, knowing that she sounded whiny. “And I’d forgotten about him. You asked if anyone was expecting me home and I said no. Warren would be expecting me home, but I’d forgotten all about him. I’m a horrible cat mum.” Clara sagged against the wall and fell into a sitting position. The day could literally not get any worse. She’d had a terrible morning, been sacked from her job, was trapped with someone who she was currently experiencing a very complicated mix of emotions about, and had now forgotten about Warren. A cat who only last week she had promised to do anything for.
Francesca sat next to her. “When I asked if anyone was expecting you at home, I obviously meant a human who would notice you hadn’t come home and might be of some help to us. Not a grumpy cat who clearly hates you. I wouldn’t beat yourself up too badly about that.”
Clara tried to control her breathing. Francesca Burford was sitting next to her. She could smell her perfume and even her shampoo. Now was not the right time for her years old crush to start to reassert itself.
“Buffet,” Clara blurted out.
“Sorry?”
“I named him after Warren Buffet.”
Francesca chuckled. It was a low rumble that caused a flutter in Clara’s stomach. “Didn’t he have a name before?”
“No, well, I don’t know. They didn’t have any history on him. I tried a few names, he answered to Warren.”
“Must have been fate then,” Francesca said.
“Do you have any pets?”
“I used to. I had a dog called Molly. She was absolutely insane. A spaniel who acted as if she’d drunk a vat of coffee every day.”
“Did she pass away?”
“Oh, no, my ex took her. She had more time for Molly than I did, so it made sense. I see her now and then.”
“I’m sorry. Breakups are hard.” Clara looked down at her hands in her lap, anything to change her focus away from Francesca sitting next to her.
Her emotions were all over the place. She’d gone from being bitterly disappointed that her idol was in fact a bit of a monster to wondering if she was wrong. Francesca’s impassioned speech to keep her in the sector had all the hallmarks of someone who really cared, someone who Clara felt she recognised.
Her heart was being pulled in multiple directions. From feeling distraught that someone she had looked up to for years wasn’t what she had expected, to nervous excitement that she was now sharing a confined space with someone she’d crushed on for years. And maybe, just maybe, Francesca was the person she’d suspected her to be all along. She was certainly funny in a deadpan kind of way. Passionate, intelligent, and caring. All the things Clara had hoped for once upon a time.
“Sorry I freaked out about Warren then,” Clara said.
“No need to apologise. It’s a stressful situation.”
Clara agreed. While she was trying to appear unaffected, nothing could be further from the truth. She was stressed and frightened. Getting stuck in the office at the weekend when no one would notice was bad, but she’d been stressed long before she’d arrived in the office that morning.
Yet another discussion with her mum about her complete lack of a social life had led to a sleepless night and a bad morning. Being distracted by the knowledge that her mum thought she was going nowhere with her life had led her to burn her toast, drop toothpaste on her top, and spill an entire cup of coffee.
She hated arguing with her mum. Hated it all the more because it highlighted that her mum thought so little of her accomplishments. Clara had worked hard to get where she was. But all her mum saw was Clara’s proximity to Francesca and assumed that had always been Clara’s goal. Which Clara found pretty offensive as it belittled her interests, education, and hard work and made her out to be nothing more than the holder of a childish crush. Because of that, they had been arguing more and more. Supposed motherly concern and Clara’s knee-jerk reaction to any criticism collided almost weekly. So obviously this was the day that she’d first bump into Francesca, when she was at her absolute worst.
“I could have handled you firing me better,” Clara said.
“I think we agree that I shouldn’t have fired you.”
Francesca was clearly happy to leave it there. But Clara wasn’t. Now that her anger at finding out that Francesca wasn’t the perfect goddess that she’d expected had worn off, she was able to see her own actions for what they were.
When Francesca had approached her, Clara had stumbled a little and then been embarrassed at her reaction. Rather than calmly explaining to Francesca that she hadn’t stolen the pen, and had no idea it was her pen, she’d reacted sarcastically and defensively. The situation had quickly escalated when Clara knew that she could have just as easily turned it around and smoothed everything over. If only it had been any other day.
“I’d had a really terrible morning. You shouldn’t have fired me, but I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. I’m sorry.”
Francesca laughed. “We’re not going to go through a series of deathbed confessions, are we? I know it’s a dire situation to be stuck in here, but I think we’ll be okay.”
“I’m being serious.”
Francesca’s laughter stopped. “I’m sorry. You don’t need to apologise. I’d also had a terrible morning. We were both in the wrong but we’re past that now. Aren’t we?”
“I just want you to know that I’m not always like that,” Clara said.
“You did go off like a firecracker.”
“You can talk!” Clara turned to face her. “You were all red eyes and flailing arms.”
“I did flail a lot, didn’t I?” Francesca chuckled. “You were more verbally devastating. I enjoyed your ‘excuse me?’ You got a lot of syllables into that.”
“Been practicing that since high school,” Clara said.
They both laughed. After a while, a comfortable silence filled the lift and Clara realized that her predicament could have been much worse. She could have been stranded with someone else. Or worse, alone.
“I’ll tell you about my bad morning if you tell me about yours?” Francesca said.
“No, thanks. It’s embarrassing,” Clara said.
“And here I thought we were becoming friends,” Francesca said. “Well, mine is embarrassing too, but I’m happy to share.”
Clara smiled. “Because we’re becoming friends?”
“Precisely.”
“Fine, but don’t expect me to reciprocate,” Clara said.
“It wouldn’t matter if you did, my morning was far worse.” Francesca smoothed out some creases in her dress.
Clara grinned. Francesca was trying to calm her. She cared enough about Clara to want her to be comfortable despite the pretty dire situation they were in. A touch of humour, a dash of sarcasm, a pinch of competitive bravado. Maybe Francesca was the woman she’d crushed on all these years. She pushed the thought aside, rekindling those feelings now was the last thing she needed.
“I was dumped last night, in a most humiliating way,” Francesca said.
Clara tried to not react. Shock that Francesca had been dating and she didn’t know mixed with confusion as to why someone would dump such a woman.
“Did you accuse them of stealing your pen?” Clara said, trying to keep the mood light and deflect from the fact that her mind had quickly drifted into dangerous territory. She wondered how long she had been dating someone, who the person was, and critically if they would get back together again. Not that it should matter to her but it did.
Francesca gently elbowed her in response to her joke. “No. We were meeting at a restaurant for dinner. When I arrived, the waiter approached and we ordered drinks. Then, I could tell that something was wrong. I asked. She declined to say anything. I asked again. Then it all came out like a tidal wave. It had obviously been building for a while.”
The atmosphere in the lift changed and Francesca shifted a little uneasily. Clara quickly understood that it had been an uncomfortable moment for Francesca. Any hint of a joke had vanished.
“She wasn’t quiet about the whole thing,” Francesca said. “The couple at the next table heard a little more than I would have liked. The waiter came with our drinks and practically ran back to the safety of the bar.”
“Sounds horrible,” Clara said.
“Well, it wasn’t pleasant to have a public character assassination and then have a glass of wine thrown in my face.”
Clara’s eyes widened. “She threw a drink at you?”
“Oh, yes. The whole thing was fairly awful. I didn’t have any cash on me so I had to wait for the waiter to be brave enough to return so I could pay for the drinks, that I was now wearing. The restaurant was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Suddenly no one was eating, they were all watching to see what I’d do next. I’m also quite sure I saw someone filming, so that might well end up on the website of a gossip magazine soon.”
“How long had you been dating?”
“Three months. Nothing too serious but I didn’t think it was inconsequential, either. Clearly, I was in a different relationship than her, I thought things were going rather well. But from what she said, it really wasn’t.”
“You had no idea things had gotten to that point? Seriously?” Clara couldn’t help but be surprised by that.
“None.”
Clara pressed away from the wall, turned to face Francesca, and crossed her legs. “What kind of things did she say? What made her blow up like that?”
“Apparently I’m late for things, and I don’t call—”
“Are you?”
“Late for things?”
Clara nodded.
Francesca looked like she was about to issue an immediate denial but stopped herself. She took in a breath, scrunched up her face, and looked to the ceiling.
“I suppose I am sometimes late.”
“Why?”
Francesca looked at Clara with confusion. “I don’t know. I just am.”
Clara shook her head. “No. This is a time sensitive business. If you’re late to a trade, that’s potentially hundreds of thousands of pounds. Being timely is in your DNA if you work in the stock market. Why were you sometimes running late when it came to someone you were dating?”
Francesca swallowed. She looked lost and like she was trying to fathom a particularly difficult crossword clue. “I don’t know. Why was I?”
Clara shrugged. “No idea. Only you can answer that one.”
Francesca’s expression turned thoughtful before she turned her head away. Clara worried her lip. She didn’t know if she’d said the right thing. It wasn’t her place to get involved, but she often struggled to remain silent when she had something to say.
“I suppose I wasn’t very present,” Francesca said.
“Why?”
Francesca looked at her lap and offered a small shrug. “It’s not like it was going to last.”
“Why?”
Francesca smirked. She looked up. “You like that word.”
“You don’t have to answer,” Clara said. “But I think you know more than you’re telling yourself. It sounds to me like you sabotaged yourself.”
Francesca blinked. “Sabotaged myself? And why would I do that?”
“I don’t know that, only you know that.”
“Did you study mathematics or psychology?”
Clara sighed deeply. She’d done it again. She wished she knew when to keep her thoughts to herself.
“Sore subject?” Francesca asked.
“My mum’s a therapist,” Clara said.
“Oh, commiserations.”
Clara laughed. “Thanks. She means well. But I do end up channelling her sometimes. I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologise. I’m a big girl. I can choose not to answer.”
“True. But I’m still sorry that you were dumped. And that you had wine thrown over you.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry for whatever caused your bad day, despite the fact that you’re reluctant to tell me. Presumably because it will pale into insignificance in light of my horrors.” A wisp of a smile danced across Francesca’s face.
Clara rolled her eyes. “You’re competitive. But, like, compulsively so. I’ll tell you, but not because of your frankly terrible stab at reverse psychology, but because it will fill the time and show you that my bad morning was far worse than yours.”