Page 48 of Isn’t It Nice We Both Hate the Same Things

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Responding to Dave’s message seems to unlock something between us.

Something I didn’t intend. He takes it as evidence – as confirmation – that I want regular communication.

Maybe he thinks I miss him (I don’t), maybe he thinks I want us back (also don’t), but as we progress through the week, his messages grow frequent.

How have you been?

I’m looking forward to seeing you on Friday.

I’m sorry about Graham.

I’m sorry about Genevieve.

The anniversary is this weekend, that must be hard.

God, I’d forgotten how chatty he gets over messenger. Only once do I respond.

Have you visited her?

It silences him, as I suspected. Because if there is one thing guaranteed to mute him – render him incapable of responding – it’s her . I don’t need to name her for him to know who I’m talking about.

I check my phone a few times throughout the morning, watch as the three dots appear. Then disappear. Then reappear. It’s a dance, one that repeats itself many times. I think of him trying to work through a response and then imagine him changing his mind over and over again.

‘Charlie? Hello?’ Dora waves a hand in front of my face, blocking my view of my phone.

I look up, realise how much time has passed, and apologise. ‘Shit, sorry.’ I toss my phone to the side of my desk and return to work.

At the end of the week, on the day I’m scheduled to see Dave, it is also Graham’s final shift at the station.

We all agree that his exit has come far too quickly. Even Ivan, who thinks him past his expiration date, looks glum. Graham progresses through the final segment of the morning – his goodbye – and we’re all utterly bereft.

‘Well, this is it,’ Graham says. Hunched in his studio chair, running a hand over his head. He takes a breath, to calm himself. ‘My last show here at the station, after thirty years. Can’t believe it.’

Behind us, a crowd has formed. People from all areas of the building – every department. Marketing, Creative, Reception, HR, Finance, Tech – even the executive board make their way down to watch Graham’s sign-off.

‘These have been the best years of my career,’ he says, choking a little. Then he corrects himself. ‘Of my life.’

Another deep breath. He doesn’t like people seeing him upset, and so I imagine it’s killing him right now that he can’t hold it in. And it’s killing me , to see him in there, saying goodbye. Makes me angry all over again, that he’s been fired. That someone will step into his role. Sit in his chair.

In my back pocket, my phone starts ringing. Dave . Likely checking that I’m still coming.

Graham continues. ‘I’ve loved every minute of this job. And I’m grateful to all of you out there, in your cars, in your homes. Listening to this crusty old geezer.’ He throws Ivan a look and we all laugh.

‘How does he know I call him that?’ Ivan whispers.

‘My team,’ Graham adds, looking across at us. Giving us a nod. ‘Charlie, Dora, Ivan, the whole crew there. They do so much of the work for me and I’m so thankful. And I know that the new host, whoever they may be, is going to step in and love this place just as much as I do.’

Once the final song of the morning is underway, Graham takes off his headphones, placing them on the desk in front of him for the final time.

Forty-five minutes later and Graham still hasn’t left the studio.

At first it was sweet, him sitting there, subdued, as if saying goodbye to the place.

We all gave him a moment, said nothing. Just waited.

And then, after the rest of the crowd grew bored and walked back to their desks, we assumed he just wasn’t ready yet.

Wasn’t ready to leave. Wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

But it’s been almost an hour, and I’m running so late to see Dave. I can see my phone on my desk, buzzing like mad.

‘Now it’s just sad,’ Ivan says. ‘Do you think he’s going to stay there until his replacement starts?’

‘Poor guy,’ Dora says. ‘He’s been broadcasting from that chair longer than I’ve been alive.’

Christ .

‘Charlie just rolled her eyes,’ Ivan says, laughing. ‘You made her feel old.’

‘Oh. Sorry.’ Dora lets out a squeaked laugh and then lowers her voice. ‘Seriously though, he’s been in there for ages.’ She’s got a scone on her desk, recently heated in the microwave, that she’s spreading jam and cream atop.

I’m trying not to look at Graham, but I also can’t stop looking at him.

He’s just not doing anything. Just sitting there, looking at the controls in the room.

At his microphone. At the notes in front of him, now irrelevant.

It’s incredibly sad. I couldn’t possibly leave when he’s looking like that. Dave will have to wait.

‘Someone should definitely go in there,’ I say.

Ivan and Dora look at me, expectantly.

‘Yeah, okay.’ As I rise, Ivan goes back to his computer screen.

Dora, who I suspect was born forty years old, takes a bite out of her scone and moans a little. ‘How good is a scone? I cannot wait to retire. I would eat them all day.’

Inside Graham’s studio, I notice he’s tidied up.

Papers and briefing notes, usually strewn around the table, are all stacked neatly in one pile.

The desk looks cleaner, like he’s wiped it down.

And the spare pair of trainers that had been sitting in the corner of the studio for months are now gone. Tossed away, perhaps.

On the wall beside him sits a poster of the show – Graham in the forefront – and I wonder how long it’s going to be until the station takes that down. Tomorrow? Or when his replacement starts?

‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘I know I’ve been here a while.’

‘Came to see if you’re okay.’

I realise he’s not okay. Far from it. On the verge of tears.

‘This place has been my life for thirty years.’

‘I’m sorry.’

He looks around, does his best to pull himself together. ‘Will you tell me something that’s guaranteed to cheer me up? Please.’

‘You’ve worked here longer than Dora’s been alive.’

He splutters out a laugh for a moment, and then swallows it. A few seconds and he’s reserved again – hunched, overcome with sadness.

‘You told me you’d be fine.’

‘I am fine.’ A brief moment and then he reiterates. ‘I am fine, really. This just isn’t how I thought things would end. And I’m allowed to be sad.’

‘You’re running away.’

His eyes narrow.

I double down. ‘You’re running away instead of giving yourself a chance,’ I say, firm. ‘And I refuse to believe this is the end of your career.’

‘No one is going to hire me after this. I’ll be left to desiccate.’

His self-pity sparks something in me. Infuriates me, right down to my bones. ‘I’ll give you one more minute of whingeing, and then you can shut the fuck up, honestly.’

This alarms him, jolts him upright.

‘You have lost all ability to see how loved you are,’ I say. ‘The self-pity is embarrassing – pull it together. Something will come up. Something you’ll love.’

He goes to speak, a mischievous grin forming.

‘And I don’t mean a sixth wife.’

He laughs, then rises and pulls me into a hug, letting out an exhausted sigh. ‘I’m going to miss you.’

‘You’ll be having far too much fun.’

‘I’m thinking of getting a hair transplant in Turkey.’

His flight leaves this weekend. He’s letting me stay at his place for another fortnight while they try to find a buyer, and I’m still deciding where to live. Still can’t bring myself to rent a place alone, but am dreading being in that mansion by myself until I figure things out.

‘You’re far too old for that.’

‘But not too bald, right?’ he says, and then he laughs into my shoulder. When we pull away, he smiles. ‘I hope my replacement tanks the ratings.’

‘No, you don’t.’

He looks away, through the glass and out to the team. All of us, who have been with him for years. Who have worked our hardest, to bring this show back from the brink.

‘I’m going to miss you most of all.’

Back at my desk, I realise just how late I am to see Dave. Unacceptable levels of late.

‘Your phone has been going off ,’ Ivan says, his eyes not leaving his computer.

And he’s right. Over fifteen missed calls, and just as many text messages. Fuck.

Checking you’re on time? I’ve got to leave for work soon.

Charlie?

Are you still coming?

Seriously?

You said you’d be here by now, where are you?

I need to leave for work in 5.

Honestly ridiculous.

You owe me this.

You were already planning to leave, did you know I knew that?

I’ve known this whole time.

Before you found out about me, before you snooped through my things, before you deserted me in that hospital bed, you were already planning to leave me.

Don’t act like this is all my fault. Don’t act like I’M the bad guy for hiding ONE tiny secret from you.

Oh god. The office chatter around me seems to still while I read the last two. While I process. While I attempt to piece together how he knew – how he found out.

Before I ended things with Dave, I only ever told one person that I was thinking of leaving him.

One person.

I swallow hard, feeling my throat close up. Suddenly, my body is hot and my mouth is parched.

I only told one person .

Right now, I should be explaining to him why I’m not going to make it today. Why I got held up. I should be telling him to shove his attitude, and to stop being an arsehole.

Instead—

How did you know I was planning to leave?

His response is immediate.

Genevieve.