and I love him. He’s leaving Amy, in about two weeks, he’s just got to sort some stuff out. We’re going on holiday. To Miami.’
There was nothing she could say to convince Jo, and she didn’t even want to try that much. She didn’t know what was going to happen or even what to do. So she just said, ‘Look, let’s go inside. Don’t tell anyone, will you?’
Jo stared at her. ‘Of course I won’t,’ she said eventually.
‘Not even Chris,’ Laura said anxiously. ‘He really mustn’t know, no one can know, Dan’s really paranoid about it.’
‘I’m sure he is,’ said Jo. She opened the door. ‘Fine, then. We won’t talk about it.’
‘Fine,’ Laura echoed.
Amy was standing at the wide bar next to Dan, flinging her hair over her shoulder. She looked up as Jo and Laura walked in, both silent.
‘Danny’s getting some more drinks, girlies,’ she called. ‘Laura, Jo, what do you want?’
Jo didn’t answer, she went over to Chris, bent over and whispered in his ear. Chris immediately got up.
‘Actually,’ Jo said, ‘Chris and I have to go, got to shoot off. Really sorry. See you all soon,’ she finished.
‘Yeah, bye,’ Chris called out.
No one else seemed to notice this remarkably smart exit except Laura, who stood at the bar feeling sick.
‘OK?’ Dan said, nudging her absent-mindedly, his arm still round Amy’s waist. ‘Do you want another drink?’
‘I’m fine,’ said Laura. ‘I’m fine.’
Laura didn’t talk to Jo about their conversation outside the Cavendish. In fact, they didn’t really talk at all after that night. Over the next few weeks they met with the others, sat next to each other, had funny conversations, but the intimacy of their friendship vanished overnight. Laura didn’t worry about it – well, she did, but she knew she could put it right at some point.
She kept telling herself she shouldn’t feel guilty. Jo had totally overreacted, and, in fact, had been completely horrible, when she should have at least tried to understand. No, Jo was making the whole thing into some great big bitchy slanging match because Laura had forgotten her birthday, for Christ’s sake! It was pathetic, that’s what it was, and with things the way they were she didn’t need anyone else being negative or unhelpful. So what if she missed her, if her hand went to the phone several times to call her or text her. So what if one night on the sofa with Paddy, Dirty Dancing came on and Laura was ashamed to find herself almost crying, because it was her and Jo’s favourite film, and they usually had to talk to each other the whole way through, saying the lines together in unison. Sure, Jo was her ‘best friend’, but what did that really mean these days? Especially now she was shacked up with Chris, and hardly had time for Laura anyway, going off to Morocco and places without even telling her. It was fine, Laura told herself. She’d been a grown-up when Jo had got together with Chris. Jo just needed to calm down about her and Dan, and see what it was, that she loved him with all her heart. And then she’d be OK. There would be loads of time to patch things up afterwards, when she and Dan were properly together.
So when she should have been writing her yearly review for Rachel, Laura was booking the Miami holiday online. She extended her credit-card limit, then she took out a loan, not wanting to ask Dan for money. She spent the day sorting out cars and flights and hotels, emailing Dan to get his opinion, waiting in desperation for his replies, soothed and cheered when he would sign off ‘I can’t wait, I can’t wait’, miserable when he didn’t reply. And so it continued, the ringing, the texting, the secrecy, the desperate late-night arrangements that left her exhilarated, terrified, confused, happy, addicted. The holiday became their secret focus, and as the days lengthened and as May shifted into June, Laura didn’t ask what was happening with Amy. They were going in July; she had put the – hefty – deposit down, that was all she needed to know. The itinerary was in her desk, along with the file of emails from Florida hotels and carhire firms.
And then one day, without warning, the axe fell.
‘Laura, can you come in here for a second?’ came Rachel’s voice from the office.
Laura finished the email she was typing, stood up and smoothed her skirt down. It was nearly the end of the day and she was starving. Paddy’s birthday dinner was that evening and a whole bunch of them were going to an amazing steakhouse in Stoke Newington called Jean Michel’s. Laura loved it there, it was food heaven, and in preparation she had eaten only a yoghurt and a banana for lunch.
She was in a good mood, too, though a little hung over. The previous night she had been out with Hilary, who had been ranting about Jo, because she thought Jo had been rude about Hilary’s new boyfriend Richard, whom Hilary herself was pretty rude about too, but that didn’t seem to matter. This ranting had been fuelled by Laura’s incipient issues with Jo and a lot of cheap white wine, which was taking the whole day to wear off. Never mind, she told herself. In two weeks’ time she and Dan would be on holiday, and everything would be sorted out.
Laura poked her head around Rachel’s door. ‘Hi,’ she said.
‘Hi, Laura,’ Rachel said. ‘Come in. Shut the door a moment, will you?’
Laura froze at this request, knowing from long experience that the shut-the-door request either meant a promotion or something really bad. Usually something bad. She racked her brains, running through a list of options about what this could be as she pushed the door slowly shut. She’d done something wrong. Again. Someone had complained. She turned around, genuinely mystified, and then she saw a pile of letters on the desk in front of Rachel. Of course! It was pay-review time. They’d had an email about it yesterday. Laura sat down gratefully, sweating slightly, and promised God that when she got back to her desk she’d work extra hard, finish that report for Rachel she should have done two weeks ago instead of finding a hotel near the NASA Kennedy Space Center for her and Dan (Dan was obsessed with space, and wanted to spend at least a whole day there), which had been her original plan for the rest of the day.
‘Laura,’ Rachel said, smiling kindly at her. ‘You OK?’
‘Yes, sorry,’ Laura said, slightly breathlessly. ‘Just thinking about something. How can I help you?’
That sounded good, she thought. Polite, responsive, involved. They were big on being ‘involved’ where Laura worked.
‘I need to talk to you,’ Rachel said. She fiddled with one of the buttons on her cardigan. She was normally very much in control; this was odd. ‘I’ve – I’ve been worried about you.’
‘Oh?’ said Laura. She crossed her legs and shifted forward in her seat, leaning attentively towards Rachel. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Is everything OK, Laura? At home?’
Laura felt as if she were in an episode of Grange Hill. ‘Eh? You mean – with my mum and dad? Yes, of course it is.’
‘No, I mean with you,’ Rachel said, her smile remaining fixed. ‘In your life. Is everything OK? No…problems?’
‘No, of course not,’ said Laura automatically. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Your behaviour…’ Rachel trailed off, and then gathered herself for the full attack. ‘I’m afraid we are all rather concerned about your behaviour and the deterioration of your performance in the last few months. Laura, I have to ask you: Are you using drugs or alcohol in any way that might affect your work or home life?’
Laura’s jaw dropped. The first thing that flitted through her mind, unbidden, was, How can you say that to me! I’m George and Angela Foster’s daughter! I’m from Harrow!