I don’t, though.
For the first time since I’ve met him, I really don’t believe Ant on that.
“Right, baby,” he says, changing the mood. “What do you want to do today? We have ten hours and fifteen minutes until we have to catch our flight back.”
I grin at him as I run through all the options in my mind, but I’m not the one best placed to make the decision. Ant knows Berlin much better than me, and I know him well enough to know the answer he’d like to hear.
“You choose,” I tell him, and sure enough, he nods his head in approval.
“Well done, princess. That’s my girl.”
Gerwyn
I stare at Finn like he’s just told me the moon is made of cheese.
“That’s what Ant said,” Finn tells me. “He’s transferring back to the UK. He’s leaving in three weeks’ time.”
I hardly saw Ant last night, other than a cursory see you later as he left for the airport with Cass, but I’d have thought he’d have bloody well told me he was setting up back in the Birmingham office, since it’s the revelation of the fucking decade.
“Surely he talked to you about it?” Finn asks, with a confused expression on his face along with mine. “I mean, how the fuck couldn’t he? You’re down as going along with him.”
“What?”
I’m lost for words, because the whole thing has to be a ridiculous misunderstanding. There’s no way it couldn’t be.
“Here, look,” Finn angles his laptop screen my way. “See, there. The date in the calendar. Anthony Bradstone and Gerwyn Rhodes changing base to Birmingham, UK.”
It’s there. In black and white. Added first thing this morning by the announcements department in London. What the hell?
I walk away from Finn’s desk and dial Ant’s number, but it rings straight through to voicemail.
I leave him a message.
“Call me, please. As soon as you get this.”
He’ll know what it’s fucking about.
Finn follows me back across the office, still staring at me like I’ve forgotten my own birthday.
“Ant must have said something,” he says again. “He’s got to have been planning this for some time.”
I’m trying to add it up, but I can’t.
Finn carries on.
“Ant is still going to be heading up our team remotely, yeah, but he’s been given directorship on the UK as well. It’s a massive promotion opportunity, so there’s no way he wouldn’t have known this was happening. He must’ve been in talks with the executive board for months, and you know it.”
Finn’s right on that, so why the fuck has Ant not told me?
Right on cue, a ping sounds from my email. It’s a global announcement titled Congratulations on the new position, Mr Bradstone. My fingers are shaking as I click to open, and there it is, a picture of Ant shaking one of the senior exec team’s hands, with a huge smile on his face like he’s won the lottery. Makes sense, considering he has. He’ll be in charge of the whole of fucking Nevilles soon enough at this rate.
I leave him another voicemail, and my voice is ragged.
“Just fucking call me, will you?”
I try to settle down and get on with work, but people head to my desk one after the other until a whole crowd has gathered, all of them quizzing me on what the fuck I know, but I know nothing. Not one single thing.
Ant’s taken a promotion and requested a relocation and not said a word, despite the fact that I’m down in the calendar as setting back up in the UK team alongside him.
“I’m telling you,” I say to everyone, getting pissed off that nobody is listening to me. “Ant hasn’t said a word to me. I had no idea.”
“He’s still going to be managing us though, right?” Vickie asks, and I shrug.
“Your guess is as good as mine. That’s what it says on the team announcements board, and I imagine they’ve got a much clearer idea of it than I have.”
Melvin actually thinks it’s funny. He laughs.
“You’re moving back to Malvern, mate, and you didn’t even know it. Congrats and see you around.”
Vickie looks sad, giving me a sigh.
“Won’t Ant let you stay here?”
“From the notification in the calendar, I very much doubt it.”
Luckily we have a seminar with the Paris branch approaching on video call, so the crowd disperses. I join the online meeting, but my mind won’t focus, my eyes flitting to my phone screen.
It’s almost lunchtime when Ant calls me back. I jump up from my seat and pace straight across to the smoking exit, already lighting up a cigarette when I click to accept the call.
“What’s up?” he asks me, which is ridiculous.
“How about the fact that I’m moving back to the UK in three weeks’ time, Ant? Don’t you think that might be what’s fucking up?”
He sighs. “The announcements department weren’t supposed to schedule that damn fucking calendar entry yet. Idiots.”