Page 6 of The Retreat

Imogen stood at the bus stop with her hands in her pockets, shoulders hunched. Two minutes to wait for her ride home.

She took out her phone again and opened her banking app. It was still there; it wasn’t an illusion. One thousand pounds. Enough to cover the rent for this month. After the way she’d barely scraped by last month, it was good to know she wouldn’t sweat the next rent day.

Still, given what she’d lost, it wasn’t much. Because now she had no job, no backup plan. What would happen after that?

The bus picked her up, and she sat on the top deck, staring as the streets blurred by. Shops, buses, faceless people.

She looked at her phone once more. And the number had already shrunk. A debit for her phone contract had been taken. Not a lot, but a reminder of the clock already running out. Not that she needed it.

***

At home, she sat on her springy sofa and contemplated what had happened. Doubts were beginning to creep in. Should she have let herself be bought off like that? What about the principle of the thing?

Who was she kidding? Principles were for people who could afford them. That didn’t include her. Particularly not today. She hadn’t really had any choice but to accept that money, had she? Just a shame her dignity had gone so cheap.

Part of her wondered if she should just send the money back. Another part of her knew the first part was full of shit. She couldn’t do that.

All she could do now was feel lucky that Talia’s boss or whoever she was had shown up. Otherwise, she might not even have what she had. That was what had compelled Talia to offer a cash settlement for her little tantrum. Imogen quite liked the memory of watching Talia sweat like that. Because every other memory of Talia felt complicated and shameful.

Five Years Ago

Imogen handed Flora a cup. ‘Milk, half a sugar,’ she said.

Flora smiled. ‘I really should drop that last half sugar.’

Imogen shrugged. ‘It won’t kill you.’

Flora chuckled. ‘A perfect cup of tea and affirmation of my choices? You really are the perfect employee.’

Imogen tried not to blush and failed as she scuttled off back to work.

She’d been at Flora’s modern art gallery (Arcadia, situated in the heart of the art district) for two months, and she still felt the awe of proximity. Flora McKay was a name in the art world—not quite famous, but known. She had that effortless confidence that Imogen found a little terrifying, and she knew her shit as well as everyone who was anyone in their world.

But she was kind. Surprisingly kind. She remembered the artist Imogen had once mentioned liking in an offhand way. She complimented her instincts for composition when hanging an exhibition. She made her feel seen. That was not something Imogen was used to feeling, especially not in a space like this.

It was Imogen’s first paid art job. She was finally putting her passion to use, not to mention her art history degree. She still couldn’t quite believe it. Her life was finally starting at twenty-seven because Flora McKay had taken a chance on her. Her gratitude to Flora was boundless, as was her admiration for the gallery owner. She wanted so much to be liked by Flora, to please her.

So when it happened, the argument, it cracked something open.

Imogen hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. She’d been carrying a framed piece to the back stairwell when she heard voices.

‘I just think it’s convenient,’ Flora was saying. Her voice was low but tight, like she was trying not to shout. ‘Every time things get difficult, you vanish into work.’

‘I’m not vanishing,’ Talia said. ‘I have deadlines. That’s not the same thing.’

‘You’re never home.’

‘That’s not true.’

There was a pause. Imogen stood frozen with the frame pressed against her chest.

‘I didn’t mind it, at first,’ Flora went on. ‘I thought it was temporary, that once this case was over, you’d—’ She cut herself off. Then, quieter: ‘You’d make time for what matters.’

Talia sighed. ‘Flora—’

‘No. I’m not trying to fight. I just… I miss you. And I don’t know what I’m meant to do with that.’

‘You think I don’t miss you too?’ Talia’s voice was weary. Not sharp, not angry, just tired. ‘I’m trying to build something here. Something for both of us.’

Flora didn’t answer right away. When she did, it was more clipped. ‘It doesn’t feel like it’s for both of us. It feels like you’re working hard to be anywhere else.’

There was another silence.

‘I don’t know how to keep doing this,’ Flora said. ‘I don’t want to feel like I’m the only one working at us.’

‘That’s not fair,’ Talia said.

Imogen heard movement, then footsteps. She realised they were headed in her direction too late to do anything about it.

Talia came out into the stairwell. She glanced at Imogen and offered an embarrassed smile. ‘Sorry,’ she said.

Imogen noticed that her ears were pink. ‘It’s fine,’ Imogen said quickly.

Imogen stayed frozen, unsure how to handle this, but also still holding the piece, which wasn’t small.

Eventually, Talia walked past her, leaving out the back door.

Imogen collected herself and carried the piece into the gallery, trying to look nonchalant.

Flora gave her an awkward smile. ‘I’m sorry you had to hear that,’ she said softly.

Well, so much for nonchalance. Imogen swallowed. ‘No, no, no… I should have been louder. I should have coughed…’

‘You’re at work. You shouldn’t need to worry about walking into a domestic,’ Flora interrupted gently. Her shoulders slumped. ‘We’ve just been… struggling. For a while.’ She sighed, eyes flicking to the door like she half-expected Talia to return. ‘She’s just so… hard sometimes. Maybe I’m the problem.’

Imogen didn’t know what to say. ‘I doubt it,’ she said finally.

That earned her a faint smile. ‘You don’t have to say that. I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. You’re just a bit too easy to talk to, I guess.’

Imogen smiled shyly, looking down.

‘Hey, I know it’s almost time to close, but I wondered if I could ask you a favour?’ Flora began. ‘There’s this piece I’ve just acquired, and I’m thinking of selling it, but it’s still at my place. I could do with a hand moving it. It’s a bit awkward on my own…’

She said it casually, like a favour between colleagues, but her eyes didn’t quite match the tone.

And Imogen said yes. Of course she said yes.

***

Flora’s flat was as immaculate as you’d expect. Cream walls, pale oak floors, soft, abstract artwork hung at perfect heights. The sculpture—a spindly, three-legged thing made of wrought iron and glass—sat in the hallway, partially covered by muslin. But they didn’t go near it right away.

Flora poured two glasses of white wine. Imogen could tell from the bottle that it wasn’t the kind she usually drank, which was always from the on-sale section of Tesco and came with a screw top. This wine was fancy, like Flora.

She offered one to Imogen, who took it with a soft thanks. She watched Flora sit on a sofa, curled into the corner, toes tucked under her. She patted the spot next to her. Imogen joined her nervously.

‘Sorry again,’ Flora said, swirling the wine. ‘I should’ve kept my voice down. I hate that you saw me like that. I don’t lose it often.’

‘You didn’t lose it,’ Imogen said. ‘You just stood your ground.’

Flora gave a little laugh. ‘That’s generous of you.’

She was quiet for a beat, staring into her glass. Then, without looking up, she said, ‘I know she’s cheating on me.’

Imogen blinked. She hadn’t expected the bluntness.

‘She says she’s working late but... And I keep telling myself it’s nothing. I don’t know if she’s actually done anything yet. But I’ve seen the apps on her phone, the women with emoji names saved in her contacts.’

‘That’s shit,’ Imogen said softly. She’d never sworn in front of her boss before, but if there was ever a moment.

Flora looked at her, really looked at her, and for a moment, Imogen felt like she was being studied. She felt herself sit up straighter.

‘She makes me feel small,’ Flora said quietly. ‘Like I’m just this… insecure woman who should be grateful to have someone so driven and smart.’

Imogen was too shocked to respond.

‘I guess I am grateful,’ Flora went on. ‘That’s why I haven’t left yet. What if it’s a mistake? What if she hasn’t…’

Imogen reached out without thinking and touched her hand. Just a light brush. She didn’t expect Flora to take it.

But she did. And then leaned in. Imogen had never necessarily thought of Flora like that. She wasn’t really her type. Her features were big and cat-like: wide-set eyes, heavy cheekbones, and a full mouth. Imogen usually went for petite, delicate types, sharp little elfin faces.

But Flora’s hand was warm in Imogen’s, and Imogen didn’t want to let go.

The kiss was uncertain at first. Like both of them knew they were hovering near a line and trying to convince themselves it wasn’t really there. But then Flora took it somewhere bigger, her fingers sliding into Imogen’s hair. It was so easy to get lost in it.

Before she knew it, they were in bed, naked.

Imogen told herself that it wasn’t wrong if Talia had already betrayed Flora. That this wasn’t betrayal but comfort.

Then the door opened.

‘What the fuck is this?’ Talia asked.

They sprang apart, and Imogen grabbed a sheet to cover herself before she finally looked up. The expression on Talia’s face was unbearable. She was ripped in half.

Her keys were still in her hand. Her eyes flicked between them, taking in every inch of what she needed to know. ‘I sacked off work so we could spend the evening together,’ she said to Flora.

Flora opened her mouth to say something, anything, but there was nothing that would make this look like anything other than what it was.

Talia turned and walked out.

Imogen looked at Flora. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

Flora was pulling her clothes back on hastily. ‘What are you sorry about?’

Imogen didn’t exactly know. Because Flora had started this. All the same, it didn’t feel good to be a part of what had just happened.

Imogen scrabbled into her clothes and ran out of the apartment into the hall. She looked around her, expecting Talia to reappear, maybe slap her. But she was gone.

Imogen kept moving. She was a ways down the street when Flora caught up with her. Imogen hadn’t realised she was chasing her. She’d assumed Flora would be glad to be rid of her, given what had just happened.

‘Imogen, don’t run off.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Imogen said.

‘Stop saying that. You’ve done nothing wrong.’

Imogen couldn’t even respond to that.

‘This was bad, I know,’ Flora said. ‘And I’m sorry I pulled you into the middle of all this. But…’

Imogen was on tenterhooks. ‘But what?’

‘But maybe this was always going to happen,’ Flora said, reaching out a hand to push Imogen’s hair out of her face.

‘Was it?’ Imogen asked, shocked.

‘There’s just something here. Don’t you feel it?’

Imogen nodded. Of course she did. This was Flora McKay. What was she going to do, not fall in love with her?

‘I’m sorry it happened this way. But I’m not sorry it happened. It was wrong with Talia, and I knew that. I think I was falling out of love with her, and I just couldn’t admit it to myself. But you’ve made me see. I can remember now what it’s like to feel deeply.’

Imogen was stunned. She’d assumed this was the end. But was something real starting here? She wished it could have been a better start. But if Talia was cheating anyway, then this wasn’t so wrong. Was it?

Now

Thirty-two-year-old Imogen stared at the message she’d just received from the landlord. Thank you for the payment. The rent was paid early this month. And Talia Knox had paid it.

She couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened in the lobby. The way she’d transferred the money like it was nothing, like it was the easiest thing in the world to throw cash at a problem and make it vanish.

And then there was that name. Alex.

She’d stayed quiet, expecting Talia to correct her boss. But she hadn’t. And Imogen had just stood there, too confused to argue, until she let herself be herded outside like a stray cat that had walked into the wrong flap.

Well, whoever Alex was, it wasn’t her problem. She was done with Talia. Done with all of it.

Let Talia have her secrets. Imogen didn’t have the time to ponder them. She had to get a new job.

Imogen opened her laptop and clicked on the local classifieds. Café shifts, bar jobs, cleaning gigs. Anything. She’d take whatever she could get. Pride was a luxury she’d never really been able to afford, and definitely not now.

Until recently, she’d still been applying for real jobs, art jobs she knew in her heart she was never going to get. She didn’t even have the space to dream anymore. That fantasy was dead. She was in survival mode now.

She typed fast. Short cover letter, attached her CV, hit send. Over and over and over. Something had to come good.