Page 3

Willow

“Table for two booked under Lambert.”

Sliding into opposite benches of the booth, I quickly glanced at my phone while Jack slid his coat and suit jacket off.

Four missed calls.

Thirteen unread messages.

I sighed, dread building in my chest. I placed my phone in the darkest depths of my bag, shoved my own coat down my arms and placed that on top of my bag beside me with hopes it would minimise the impact of any vibrations.

Mirroring Jack, I pretended to peruse the menu despite knowing exactly what I was going to order, the only thing I’d eaten in a restaurant for six years – a jug of water and a salad. Today’s salad of choice? Tomato. Jack ordered half pint of cider and marmitako.

Orders placed, conversation quickly veered to the Estates Gala.

The event was planned for the first Friday of the year, three days from now and I’d taken the lead, planning as much as possible.

The table plans were finalised – despite the many requests for additional plus ones and competitive feuds to change the plan – the silent auction donations ready and decor arranged with a perfect balance of glitz and respect for the cause of the event.

I was exhausted but thrived on event planning and organisation, the prime reason I’d never taken Jack up on the offer of estate agency training or a major promotion. This fit me perfectly.

Staying away from any promotions or increase in pay kept my life easier – I didn’t expect anyone else to understand.

I knew I was more than capable of being in a corporate job rather than assistant, but I got by and was content.

If it were to get out that I was lined up for a promotion, I’d never hear the end of it.

Any big changes were best to be avoided.

“Jesus, did you work through the night to get this sorted?!” Jack guffawed as he flicked through the folder. Little did he know, I had. Multiple nights. It was easier to focus on that over everything else.

“Something like that,” I replied with a tight smile.

“Well, you’ve exceeded my expectations, thank you.” I avoided his attempts for eye contact by looking at my hands in my lap. While a compliment from anyone felt uncomfortable, a compliment from Jack felt like the most special gift and had the power to make my knees buckle.

Such a cliche – my boss making me blush.

He leaned forward in his chair, arms bracketing his drink, clearly convinced his compliment was buffered, instead of overwhelming. “I mean it Willow, you’re incredible, an asset to the team. I’d be fucking lost without you.”

The blush was in full effect, but it wasn’t going anywhere if I didn’t stop the stream of compliments now. “Thank you, Jack. I appreciate it.” He smiled and exhaled as he relaxed, content he had broken down a barrier.

“I wish I was joking, as soon as she hit fourteen, she realised what shoes were. What happened to good old Clarks ?! A-and at fifteen she clocked onto how to twist her old dad around her little finger to get what she wanted, fucking puppy eyes.” Reflecting on how quickly the past twenty years of parenthood had gone with his only child, Fran, I laughed so hard my sides hurt.

My blazer was off, the comfortable conversation had me sitting back and relaxing.

“Sorry to break it to you old man, but a girl is only going to want Clarks as a first shoe or the trainers that flash when you jump. You’d think you’d be preparing from the second your little girl was handed to you for all the guilt-tripping that would come, so that one’s on you,” I replied, bringing my glass of water to my lips as Jack raised an eyebrow at me.

“I’m not sure whether I should ever let you two meet or keep you as far apart as possible – I’d lose every battle.” He breathed out a chuckle, which I reciprocated.

We fell into a natural silence before Jack looked around at our empty plates and called for the bill. I rose from my seat. I’d given out long ago trying to go Dutch on our work meals, both Jack and Mike demanded all food-based ‘meetings’ would be put on the company card .

“I’m just popping to the ladies, won’t be long.” Jack nodded as I collected my bag and turned for the bathroom.

I shut the cubicle door and dug my phone from the depths of the bag while I peed.

Nine missed calls.

Twenty-one unread messages.

I groaned with frustration, elbows on my knees and clunking my phone against my forehead.

The phone vibrated against my skin, I didn’t check the message or the recipient – I didn’t need to.

I wiped, flushed, and pulled up my underwear and trousers.

Another vibration from my phone, which sat on the top of the bag, the screen facing towards me had lit up.

A message from someone I was happy to hear from.

Elle: Hey, Willie. Still okay for me to pop round later for a try on session?

I smiled as I read the text.

Elle was my best friend of over twenty years.

We met in the school library with my head stuck in Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events .

She marched up, pulled the seat out next to me and thumped her hardback library book all about the Great Barrier Reef on the desk.

She opened the book, stood it up on the table in front of her and ducked down, turning her head to whisper at me, “Did you know there’s fish at the bottom of the ocean with torches hanging off their heads?

They’re called angel fish which is stupid because I thought angels were meant to look pretty. They’re fugly.”

I was surprised. As a rule-abiding child, if I was told libraries were a quiet place, I was going to be quiet. But this blonde-haired, hazel eyed girl with a huge gappy grin – she had lost three baby teeth at the same time – won me over before she’d warmed her seat.

I typed out my reply.

Me: Yep. Just finishing a meeting. Will be back by six .

Just as I pressed send, a call came through and my phone buzzed in my hand.

My heart rate sped up, like it was beating outside of my chest. My breath shallowed as my thumb hovered over the red button to ignore the call.

The longer I held off answering, the worse it would be.

Stopping my racing thoughts, I quickly clicked the answer button, paused with a deep breath, and answered the call.

“Hello?” I squeaked out

“Willow.” My name spelled out in a slow, northern grumble. The hairs on my arms and neck stood up.

“Cain. Hi.”

“Good of you to answer the phone. I could have been worrying about you.” His voice remained neutral which only made my anxiety worse.

“Were you worrying though?” I was surprised by my sudden braveness.

“I said I could have been worrying. Not that I was. You don’t listen.” Taking a sharp inhale, I stopped myself from biting back, it wouldn’t do me any good.

“I was in a meeting, I told you that.”

“You didn’t.” Now who wasn’t listening. I had. I’d even put it on the household calendar that only I looked at. But the have-you-haven’t-you argument wasn’t worth the energy

“Sorry. It was for a property sa—”

“Why were you at a property sale? You’re admin not an agent,” he sneered. Phone to my ear, I exited the cubicle until I stood before the ceramic sink, swiping my tongue over my teeth and rolling my eyes

“I was taking minutes.” A white lie. I’d always attended meetings similar to this one – a second point of view and set of ears. “And then another meeting to finalise plans for the gala on Friday.” He grunted, he knew there was nothing he could say, he was just in one of those moods.

Unfortunately for me, finding his moods tiresome was problematic. He could always sense it and worked it to my disadvantage.

It was hard to pinpoint the moment my personal life became unrecognisable, but now it was like I was looking through a magnifying glass from a distance – everything blurry and obscured.

The bathroom door opened, snapping me out of my depressing thoughts. A lady in her mid-thirties and a little girl passed behind me and into a cubicle

“Cain, I’ve got to go. I’ll be back soon,” I mumbled into the phone

“Make sure you are,” he snapped, before cutting the call.

I closed my eyes, relieved the call was over and dreading the return home. A toilet flushed somewhere behind me and my eyes snapped open, shoving my phone in my pocket and returning to the restauran t

Jack was leaning back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, typing on his work phone.

As I approached, his head lifted, and his face broke into a huge grin. That smile as enough to shatter minds, hearts, and the oldest of stained glass windows.

“Ready to go? I can drop you off at home if you’d like?”

Jack was generous, he always had been. If days were busy and full of meetings, he’d let us finish early to ensure we had a healthy work-life balance.

It was done with the best of intentions for his staff.

Unfortunately, it often led me to finding ways to work or read in coffee shops, or even just aimlessly wander about until I could face what lay waiting for me.

Tonight though, I had Elle visiting. That was enough to raise anyone’s spirits.

“I’m good, if you could drop me off at the metro, I have a few errands to run,” I lied.

I hated lying to him, but after six years working for Jack, I’d never found the words to explain the discomfort that surrounded my home life.

Jack’s smile faltered as his eyes dotted around my face, checking to see if I was sure. Was he disappointed I wasn’t taking him up on his offer? His smile tightened, but his eyes turned into something more comforting and understanding, warmer, if possible.

“Of course.”

My gut lay heavily with dread as we exited the restaurant.