A Midwinter Match Read online

  I tried not to let my impatience at her learned helplessness show on my face. This was my job. This was what I was good at. ‘You’ll know more about it than you think, Samantha. You ran a home. And I bet the children were never late for school?’

  She gave me a look over her coffee. It was a mixture of pride, horror and a dawning realisation. ‘No, of course not. Clean uniform, dinner money paid upfront. I had to be organised.’

  ‘There you go, then.’ Inwardly I smiled. She was getting more confident by the second as she became aware that motherhood was a good preparation for quite a lot of jobs. ‘Okay. Well, how about I find a course for you? Basic accountancy, financial management, that sort of thing. A qualification in those will help your employment prospects and, in the meantime, you could go back to the agency and see if they’ve got any cleaning work for you.’

  She sighed. ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Honestly, Samantha, if you just get your skills up to scratch, I’m sure you’ll find something really quickly. You’re smart, you’re presentable, you’ve got loads of experience at managing a house and children.’ I didn’t want to overdo the praise, in case she started to wonder why, if she was so great, she couldn’t find employment that lasted longer than a week.

  ‘Do you think so? Adrian always told me that I couldn’t manage to keep a goldfish alive for more than a weekend,’ she said sadly.

  ‘Your children are all fine though, aren’t they?’

  ‘Oh yes! Rachel’s just gone into her second year at Edinburgh. She wants to be a vet.’ Samantha rummaged in her bag. ‘Look. This is her before she went back… and this is her brother, he’s just graduated. He got a First! He’s already got a placement in Liverpool… and this is our Jessie, she’s expecting her second baby. Lovely house, isn’t it?’

  I sat through the photo roll of what felt like Samantha’s entire family. I knew she drew her self-esteem from the success of her children so didn’t feel that I could stop her without knocking her back and making her feel inferior again. But all the way back to my office after I’d sent her on her way, I cursed the kind of husband who keeps his wife bound to the house and reduces her confidence. Presumably, in the erstwhile Adrian’s case, to stop Samantha finding out about his affair. I’d ended up picking up the pieces of too many of these relationships.

  I went in through the front door, greeted Karen on reception with a big smile that I didn’t really feel but was part of my work character, and then walked through from the smart, tidy part of the building. Past the double doors that led to the main office, where staff helped clients fill in difficult paperwork, past the smaller offices where CVs were drafted and printed and where we accessed help for those who turned out to have left school with only a passing acquaintance with the written word.

  The desks were crowded, the YouIn2Work crew doubling up with the Back To Employment staff, until we could all shake down and work out who was going to be doing what. We’d always handled the York and North Yorkshire area, and now, with the merging of the establishments, we were handling Leeds and West Yorkshire too. Some staff had already left and, from the noise level and general fractious atmosphere behind these doors, I gathered that others may also be on their way out.

  As could I be, if I didn’t pull out all the stops. The tight corset of anxiety, its laces loosened a touch by medication, redoubled its efforts to restrict my breathing.

  I gritted my teeth as I walked along the corridor to the unfashionable end of the building where my office – no, my and Zac Drewe’s office stood. Down the crooked little access way with the shiny lino and the smell of flaky paint, with the huge, old-fashioned metal radiators giving out either enough heat to cook a duck or feeble dust-smelling warmth, depending on the caretaker’s mood. Down into the windowless depths, where the building had been extended into three neighbouring plots, back up three flights of stairs which still only took me to street level. It was a long walk, smelling of old lunches for most of it, and, with only the infrequent glimpses of the grey November dusk lighting the way, it was like some kind of fried food-scented labyrinth. I half expected to meet a marching cohort of Roman soldiers or a Minotaur with a taste for McDonald’s, but all I actually met, was Michael.

  ‘Ah, hello. Um.’ He always behaved as though he couldn’t remember my name, but, since he managed to introduce me to people and always came to tell me when we’d had good feedback, I knew that wasn’t the case.

  ‘Hello, Michael.’ I went to walk past him, but he put out a hand to stop me.

  ‘Er, I know this is a bit of a difficult situation,’ he said. ‘Never wanted to make you have to justify your existence here, Ruby.’

  I smiled a fake smile that I hoped he wouldn’t see through. ‘Oh, it will be fine.’ My cheeks practically creaked with the effort, but that was me. Smiling through it all. I was famous for it.

  His face, which always somewhat resembled a bed that had been occupied by a restless sleeper, relaxed. ‘Hugely relieved to hear that,’ he mumbled. ‘Been worrying about you. After that… little incident earlier in the year. Thought you might have left us then. Off to pastures new and all that.’

  It hadn’t been a ‘little incident’, it had been a virtual breakdown. Gareth’s deception, followed by his leaving to set up a lovely shiny new life with no forwarding address, which meant that all the debts incurred from having to resell the house were mine, had left me temporarily unable to do much more than some light paperwork. I hadn’t been able to face clients without wailing for weeks. And ‘pastures new’? I couldn’t even think about application forms or essays on ‘how I deal with conflict’ without wanting to hide under a blanket. This job had been my security through it all. The rock I had clung to. The rock I could not lose.

  ‘No, that’s all over now,’ I said briskly. ‘Much better. Up and running.’ I realised I was copying his speech patterns, and forced myself to stop. ‘Honestly, Michael. I’ve got this. I’m sure Zac is very…’ I groped for a word that wasn’t prejudicial or outright rude, ‘very efficient, but I think we have the edge in emotional support.’

  ‘Right. Right.’ He smoothed back his hair. ‘That’s the ticket. Just wanted to… yes.’ He looked quickly over his shoulder in the direction of my – of our – office. ‘He’s quite bright and breezy, though, isn’t he?’

  ‘I’m sure he’s good at what he does.’ I could hear the edge in my voice, subtly implying that he may not do quite enough to hang on around here. We dealt with more than the practicalities of talking clients back into work. We counselled them. They left feeling worth something, as though they could be a vital cog in an, as yet undiscovered, machine. Despite his ‘I am a refreshing, honest and sincere man’ persona, I still couldn’t quite believe that this was the real Zac, and was slightly worried that there was an air of ‘machete and deep wells’ in him somewhere.

  ‘Always had a soft spot for you.’ Michael gave me a distracted smile. ‘Wouldn’t want to see you…’ He paused. ‘Good reference of course. If necessary.’

  There was nothing I could say to that. I left him wandering his way back towards the more familiar territory of his own office, and wondered, had he been coming down here to warn me? Did Zac have a track record I didn’t know about?

  I could hear his voice as I passed the interview room. ‘It’s no good, Bob! You have got to apply for more jobs or they will take away your benefits!’

  Mumble mumble, presumably the chastened Bob.

  ‘That’s as may be, but it won’t cut any ice with those who make the payments. If you can’t show that you are actively looking for work—’ There was a sudden slam, as though Zac had dropped a pile of filing onto a table. ‘Can you not just have singing lessons in your spare time, if you want to work in music?’

  Another moment of mumbling, the sound of a chair dragging on lino and footsteps.

  I didn’t want to be caught eavesdropping and dashed the few metres along to the office, where I hurtled in, sending boxes flying. I’d forgotten about the Gr
eat Marshmallow Delivery stacked randomly all over the floor. It looked like one of those detective shows, where the cops drive through a mass of obstacles during their chase of the bad guys, only with less car and more cardboard.

  ‘Ow.’ I wasn’t really hurt, just startled.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Zac came in behind me.

  ‘Yes, I…’ I was about to explain that I’d just been taken by surprise by the Great Wall of Cardboard, but the concern in his voice disarmed me for that second and I found, to my horror, that there were tears in my eyes that I couldn’t even begin to find a reason for.

  Before I knew what was happening, Zac was bending over me, and he smelled of something nice. Nicer than the Lynx body spray that Gareth had poured all over himself, convinced that it made him irresistible in bed. I realised that this was the first time I’d been this close to a man since Gareth, and I was tired and had had a shock, so I sniffed hard and forced the brightness in my eyes to be enthusiasm rather than upset.

  ‘Only you looked a bit…’ His eyes were tracing the lines of my face. I could see them moving, up and down, to my hairline, to my mouth and then back to my eyes again. ‘You seem a bit upset?’

  A deep breath and I centred myself. It was fine. I was fine. Nothing to see here. ‘I caught my ankle on the edge of your desk.’ I refused to let even the tiniest wobble into my voice. This was me, Ruby Oldbridge, and I couldn’t show weakness. Not to a man who could use it to take my job, that’s for sure. ‘Why the hell did you move it?’

  The concern was gone from his voice and his posture. ‘Oh, right. I moved it a few centimetres, just so I could actually get to see out of the window rather than having it there as decoration.’ He gave me a quick look, not sympathetic any more, but not totally pragmatic either, and it disturbed me that I couldn’t read him. ‘It seemed a bit unfair, with that wonderful view out there and all I was getting was the shadow of pigeons as they came down from the roof. Seriously, there’s a lot of pigeons in York.’

  Unwilling but drawn as though he’d commanded it, my eyes went to the window, where the dark poked in around the ancient panes, interrupted by the bulk of the Minster, illuminated by the streaks of floodlighting. A pigeon flew past, on cue. I’d forgotten about the view.

  ‘It’s a bit like having a postcard nailed up across the window,’ I said, swallowing hard again. ‘In spring, there are peregrine falcons nesting up there.’ I nodded toward the huge craggy façade, like a man-made cliff.

  ‘I bet that’s amazing.’ Zac sat back onto the corner of my desk.

  ‘Well, it’s noisy.’ I was just about to add that he would never know because he’d be gone by spring, and I’d be watching the sun edging its way across the buttresses over Priya’s shoulder, with the falcons sweeping and diving and the pigeons in desperate confusion, like I had for the past three years of us occupying this office. But it seemed – what? Unkind? Too pointed?

  My email blipped, a reminder that I was supposed to be sending Samantha the details of some evening classes, so I gave Zac a bright, completely composed smile and went to sit behind my computer and do some work. I saw him shrug, a small, almost defeated movement that made me half-ashamed of myself, and then he sat behind his computer and began rattling at the keyboard, typing furiously.

  I hoped he couldn’t hear me carefully managing my breathing as I sent the email and arranged some more appointments, getting them in the diary before Zac could fill all the slots for the interview room and force me to reserve a permanent table in the coffee shop. Whilst it was warm and steamy in there, it wasn’t the most private place for clients to discuss their personal details, so it was his turn to conduct a session in hissed whispers and crumbs.

  But all this was desperate displacement activity so I didn’t have to sit and think about the forthcoming team building event. Zac’s boxes were heaped hugger-mugger where I could see them out of the corner of my eye. He knew what he was doing, he’d got ideas. All I had was some half-thoughts, which had made me giggle at the time but now, faced with the tried-and-tested potential of the marshmallow and spaghetti tower, seemed weak and self-indulgent. What if nobody else thinks it’s funny? What if they all walk out?

  My breathing stuttered and I gave a little half-gasp, which made Zac pause in his telephone conversation and look at me. I turned it into a cough – breathe – and made my face assume an expression that indicated I was having the time of my life filling in these spreadsheets and forms. I pushed the thoughts of failure as far to the back of my head as I could, where they ground and rotated and polished themselves into perfection.

  I needed distraction and the sending of emails and follow-up paperwork wasn’t providing it. My typing became irregular, my brain and eyes weren’t working together and my mind kept sending my stomach messages about the advisability of this morning’s breakfast bacon. In the end, I stopped typing all together and let my eyes wander to the window as though I’d never noticed it before.

  To the side of the Minster, there was a small strip of street visible, cobbles shining in the illuminated dusk, Christmas lights throwing swinging shadows and sudden bursts of light into darkened corners. The jumble of buildings from all eras gave the roofline the uneven look of a badly trimmed hedge and shoppers hurried along, shoulders hunched under the weight of bags, or hesitated, peering into bay windows heaped with books or toys or knitwear. It looked a bit Lowry for my liking. I preferred the peregrines and the panicked pigeons and the spring.

  ‘Is there a Christmas party?’

  The question startled me and my fingers typed a line of qwoeuw, which I didn’t think I could possibly pass off as my Application for Funding.

  ‘Party?’

  ‘Mmm.’ The pineapple-spiked hair was back, peering at me over the screen, although the new desk angle meant that I could see more of his face. ‘Party. Awful music, dancing with your boss, trying not to get drunk enough to photocopy your bum – I’m pretty sure you know what a party is, Ruby.’ The bit of his face I could see was grinning again. ‘And, as it’s Christmas, there’s mistletoe everywhere and desperate attempts to lure unfortunates into a seasonal snog.’

  I averted my eyes from his smile. ‘I’m fairly sure that comes under the heading of Inappropriate Office Behaviour,’ I said distantly. Did he think that I looked like the sort of person who’d try to get kissed by coercion? Did I really look that desperate?

  ‘Yes, I know.’ A pause. ‘But is there? A party? Do we get summoned up to the meeting room for warm orange squash and a mince pie and all the bosses pretending to mingle, whilst we all do our best to avoid the IT boys telling us why our machines are running at reduced capacity? Which is, I have to say, not at all seasonal.’

  I tried to look at him without catching the edges of that smile. He looked like the kind of person who would be out every night in the run-up to Christmas. I could just imagine him, bar-hopping with his similarly trendy-haircutted friends, leaning on one another’s shoulders, laughing uproariously at nothing and slapping one another’s backs. He’d have friends called Caz and Dex, who’d have similarly singularly monikered girlfriends with shiny hair and tight dresses and they’d go to posh wine bars and… He was talking to me and I realised I’d missed most of the sentence.

  ‘…exercise, yes?’

  I looked down at my keyboard and widened my eyes in panic. If I said ‘yes’, what was I agreeing to? Exercise could mean anything from a trial run at putting up the Christmas tree in Reception, to agreeing to run a marathon. ‘I… oh, sorry, I’ve just got to…’ And I got up and fled from the office. Even the corridor, which smelled of fish pie, was better than sitting in there with his relentless cheerful attempts to get me to talk. Now I knew how budgies must feel.

  My mobile rang and I bustled further along the corridor to answer it. I didn’t want Zac to think I was hanging about outside the office desperately trying to think up an excuse for dashing out, even if I was, and I silently thanked the caller for the excuse.

  It was Taylo
r. He’d just received a call asking him to attend an interview and he needed me to tell him what to say. He didn’t put it like that, of course, but it was what he meant. He’d been out of work for three years, his anxiety had been keeping him from getting jobs he was well suited for, and he sounded terrified.

  ‘Can I come in now? They want to see me at ten tomorrow and I don’t know what they’re going to ask me!’ The panic was audible. I could almost feel the waves of fear coming down the phone at me.

  It was late. The office would be closing soon. But, if we could get Taylor into work it would help our statistics and it might make me feel better. I balanced heading back for an evening listening to Sophie singing Christmas carols off-key in the kitchen whilst pretending to watch TV with Ed’s silent presence on the ottoman in the background, like The Ghost of Christmas Spreadsheets, and Cav outside the back door oiling his gears.

  I’d been hoping to use the time to try to come up with some extra WOW factor for my team building, although I felt so lacking in any wow of any description that I may even have been driven to asking Ed for advice. Which would have led to my pension looking a lot healthier, but not really much of an improvement in the company bonding stakes. Accountancy, apparently, was not big on wow.

  A brief memory pang hit me, of last Christmas, when Gareth and I had just moved and I’d spent every evening with pots of paint and fairy lights, trying to make the place festively ours. All that time I’d wasted. But right now, wasting time could lose me my job, and Taylor needed me.

  ‘Of course. Come straight through the back door to the interview room.’

  I rang Karen to tell her that I’d set the alarms and lock up after my late session, and went back into the office to read through Taylor’s notes and remind myself of his background.