The Banker's Niece 35: Jane's list unravels

It’s 7am and still dark outside. Jane sits at the kitchen table nursing a double espresso and a piece of toast and honey and listening to snow sliding off the roof. With any luck this means a thaw is underway and she’ll have a trouble-free journey to work (with Joe, all being well).

    Beside her plate is the shorthand notebook with yesterday’s list and as she glances at it she wonders when to ring Henry. She wants to get the call over with but if she rings too early he might be out with his dogs. Then she’ll have to speak to Mrs Henry and she can never think of a single word to say to the poor woman. She’ll have a shower, put on her work clothes and ring him from her study. That way the timing will be right and she will feel business like.

    As Sharon promised, the black hole didn’t kill her. In fact, once she’d stopped panicking and remembered to breathe, something new began to coalesce, some new part of herself that held on to her while she was plummeting. And afterwards, when the agony finally stopped, it soothed her to sleep.

    She wonders if this new part of herself is related to the one who’s poked her in so many unexpected directions over the past year – to the Mind Body Spirit Fair, to Sharon, to the job at Courtney Press, to Exmoor even – and, if so, whether it’s a part she can trust.

    Even if it is a ‘higher’ part, as Sharon would say, her life isn’t exactly easy-peasy at the moment. In fact, she feels this morning as if she’s holding on to it by her fingertips.

   

‘Jane,’ barks Henry in the sergeant-major telephone voice that reminds her so much of her mother.

    It’s 7.15. She was halfway up the stairs on her way to the bathroom when she heard the ring. She had to run down and take the phone in the kitchen, next to the remains of breakfast, still unwashed and wearing her dressing-gown. And he’s got in first. It’s infuriating.

    ‘Oh Henry,’ she says, ‘I’m so glad you rang. I’ve been meaning to –’

    ‘Jane,’ barks Henry again. ‘I’ve been thinking about our business relationship and decided it’s time –’

    ‘Yes,’ says Jane. ‘I agree. I –’

    ‘- for us to part company. We’ll call it your resignation, and I’ll give you a reference if you need one –’

    ‘I was going to –’

    ‘I’ll pay you till May and you can work out your notice at home as you’ve obviously been under stress of some kind.’

    ‘I –’

    ‘I’ll send Sam over this morning with some files.’

    ‘I –’

    ‘Oh, and by the way, you were right about one thing. Colin is a little shit. He’s defecting to another publisher. Bye.’ He slams the phone down.

    Damn. Damn. Damn. She’s lost again. How can she be so feeble? How can Henry be so obnoxious?

    Her chest is heaving like that of a bull about to charge. She isn’t even pleased about Colin. And, anyway, why was Henry telling her? She can’t believe he was doing it out of kindness. Did he think it was her fault that Colin's defected and that she should have lent her body to Colin for the sake of the business?

        

She showers in a fury, forgetting which bits she’s done and which she hasn’t. She jams her finger up her nose when spreading cleanser on her face and spears herself in the gum with her toothbrush.

    Half an hour later, cleanish and clothed - in whatever came first out of the cupboard; she couldn’t begin to put an outfit together with her usual focus – she stomps down to the kitchen and decides she’s due another espresso.

    That should give her the strength to tackle the rest of her list, even if the most important item has gone kaput.   

As the last drops of espresso dribble from the machine to her cup, a knock sounds on the back door. It slides open and William enters, still in his manure-spattered overalls.

    He looks – and smells - like a ten-year-old boy. What was she thinking trying to seduce him yesterday?

    ‘Oh,’ she says. ‘What d’you want? I was going to text you.’

    He takes a step backwards and nearly falls off the doorstep. ‘I, er, I, er, wanted to check you were OK.’

    ‘Sit,’ she says, pointing at a chair.

    ‘You’re not OK,’ he says, obeying her.

    ‘Coffee?’ she barks, hearing herself sounding like Henry or, worse, her mother.

    ‘Er, yes, if you like.’

    That is the wrong answer. She’s doing him a favour, not the other way round.

    She froths some milk, adds it to the espresso she’d intended for herself and plonks the cup in front of him.

    ‘Eggs?’ she snaps, whisking over to the back door which William has left open and slamming it shut.

    ‘Oh, no . . . not really,’ he says. ‘I can’t stop long. Things to do . . . you know.’

    The room falls silent.

    Jane can hear the fridge whirring and hot water gurgling round the radiators. She stands with her back to the sink.

    William clears his throat. ‘Something happened?’

    ‘Oh, I’ve only gone and lost my job, that’s all.’

    ‘Oh,’ he says. ‘Sorry.’

    ‘Not your fault,’ she snaps.

    The room falls silent again and then another knock sounds.

Sam enters: black boots, black leggings, black lycra mini-skirt, black polo-necked jumper, caramel leather biker’s jacket, pink hair. Cardboard box of files.

    William leaps to his feet, knocking over his cup of coffee. His face is beetroot. He stares at Sam.

    Sam stares back at him.

    ‘Sam – William. William – Sam,’ says Jane.

    Neither takes any notice of her.

    Jane picks up a cloth and mops the spilt coffee which is already dripping on to the floor.

    ‘I’ll um. I’ll er . . .’ she says.

    Sam and William continue staring at each other.

    Jane flees up the stairs and into her bedroom. Kicking the door shut behind her, she throws herself on to the bed and wraps her face in a pillow. To her fury, sobs break out.

    She hears the back door open and close and breathes heavily into her pillow.

    The phone rings again and she wraps the pillow around her ears.

    The phone refuses to give up. It rings again, and again, and again.

    She wipes her nose on the pillow and hauls herself over to pick up the handset by the bed.

‘Jane,’ says her mother’s voice. ‘I’ve caught you at last.’

    ‘Yes,’ says Jane, surreptitiously swallowing sobs.

    ‘Oh,’ says her mother. ‘Are you all right? Only you sound a bit peculiar and you didn’t answer your phone at the weekend –’

    ‘Fine,’ says Jane.

    Jane’s mother takes a slurp of something. When in doubt, fortify yourself with liquid, preferably artificial: that’s the family’s motto.

    ‘I was thinking, um,’ resumes her mother, her beverage - whatever it was - obviously having done the trick. ‘Um, I was wondering whether to come down and stay with you. I’d love to see Lavinia’s cottage, and to meet your –’

    Jane knows exactly what she’s going to say. She’s going to say ‘your nice new neighbour’ which is what she always calls William, as if she can possibly know what he’s like, never having met him. But he’s nice of course because he’s ‘suitable’.

    ‘No,’ says Jane, finding her voice at last. ‘It’s not convenient. And I wouldn’t get your hopes up about William. We tried to have sex last night and it was a fiasco and now I think he’s gone and fallen for someone else.’ A sob escapes.

    The line falls silent. There aren’t even any sounds of slurping. And for a moment Jane wonders if she’s done it this time, if she’s managed to be so bad that her mother is gone. It’s the crying of course, not the s-word, that will have done the trick.

    Then the most peculiar noise fills the earpiece. It takes a few moments before Jane realises what it is. It’s her mother laughing, but not in a way Jane has ever heard her laugh before. She sounds free. And happy.

    Jane slams the phone down and flings herself back on the bed.

There’s a small tap on the back door. It sounds more like a rabbit than a person, so she ignores it and burrows under the duvet. The last thing she wants to do is venture into the kitchen. God knows what she’ll find there.

    The tap comes again and Jane heaves herself up.

The kitchen is deserted, thank goodness. The cardboard box of files sits accusingly on the table. She opens the door.

    A figure is standing there, looking worried. It’s tiny, with very short hair and, except for the lines on its face and its well-fitting brown coat, could be a young boy. Strangely though, it’s familiar.

    ‘Yes,’ mutters Jane.

    ‘Jane?’ says the figure tentatively.

    ‘I think so,’ Jane answers.

    ‘I’m Chris,’ says the figure, looking at the ground. Her voice is tiny, like her body. ‘Rick’s, um, fiancée.’

    Jane hears the words, but she doesn’t understand them. Who is this Chris? Who is this Rick? What are they doing in her life?

    Chris thrusts a sheaf of papers into Jane’s hand. ‘Read these. Please. They might explain.’

    And, before Jane has time to respond, she’s gone.

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