‘I’ll see you there, then.’
‘Um … Will Mr. Eden be attending, too?’
He pauses as if surprised. ‘No,’ he says very firmly. ‘Mr. Eden is an employee who has very little information about the accounting side of things. As I explained before, and will prove during our appointment, this whole situation is an error made by a trainee, which can be rectified quite easily.’
‘Fine. I’ll see you Monday. Please don’t be late.’
He coughs uncomfortably. ‘Of course.’
‘Goodbye, Mr. Broadstreet.’
‘Goodbye, Miss Savage.’
I end the call and schedule the appointment into our diaries. Afterwards, I call my mother and confirm that I’ll be picking her and my father up at twelve. Then I call down to John to remind him that I’ll need to borrow the ‘official business’ car at eleven thirty. I lean back in my chair. Dom will not be at the meeting. Thank God. I honestly don’t think I could act normal if he was there watching me with those eyes, knowing he’s been inside me.
As planned, I pick my parents up at twelve and we have lunch at a local pub. The food tastes like what it costs—£5.99 for two courses and £9.99 for three—but my father seems to be glad of the change of scenery, and my mother’s in a good mood. So, it’s a nice, easy lunch.
After that, we all troop back into the car and I drive to Tesco to do the weekly big shop for my parents. Because I felt bad yesterday that I could never take them to a place like the Rubik’s Cube, I start picking up stuff that’s more expensive than I’d normally choose and place it in the trolley.
My mother touches my arm. She looks worried. ‘That’s too expensive for us, darling. Just the economy version will do,’ she says.
‘No,’ I say with sadness in my heart. ‘I want to treat you and Dad to something better than economy this week.’
‘But, darling,’ my mother whispers, ‘you’ll leave yourself short.’
I smile at her. ‘It’s only this one week, Mum. N
ext week we’ll go back to the economy stuff, OK?’
I fill the trolley with fine ham, expensive cheeses, two good cuts of sirloin, some of Tesco’s finest desserts, a lovely boxed Tesco’s Finest carrot cake, all butter croissants, branded ice cream, two duck breasts and organic walnut bread. The bill, when it’s rung up, is shocking. It’s almost double what I usually spend shopping for economy stuff. My mother gives me a ‘let’s put it all back’ look, but, ignoring her, I slide my credit card into the reader and key in my PIN.
I return to work at two p.m. to find a large brown box inside an Argos plastic bag. For one second I think my mother has sent me a gift. She does buy stuff from there, but then why would it arrive on my desk when I’ve just returned from spending time with her?
I walk toward the bag with a frown on my face. I take the brown box out of the bag and open it. Inside, there’s another box, only this box is from an expensive boutique. I quickly drop it back into the brown box and put everything back into the Argos bag. My face feels hot and my heart is beating fast in my chest.
Now I know exactly who the package is from. I stuff the bag under my table, switch on my computer, and stare blankly at the screen. It occurs to me that whoever he got to send the box to me went to a lot of trouble to make it seem as if I was just receiving some cheap thing from Argos. For that I’m grateful. The last thing I need is my work colleagues thinking I’m being bribed by tax evaders.
Lena, from down the hall, puts her head around my door. ‘You got your package then?’
‘Um … yeah.’
She comes in. ‘So what’s in it?’ she asks nosily.
‘Oh, just my mother sending me something for the flat. Probably crockery.’
‘Oh.’ She scrunches up her face as if to say, ‘Nothing interesting, then.’
I shrug as if replying, ‘That’s life, what can you do?’
She brightens. ‘Do you want to come with us for a drink tonight?’
‘Uh … No. Not tonight. I’m a bit tired.’
‘Oh, come on. It’s Friday.’
‘I know, but I’m too tired.’
‘You sure?’