The One That Got Away. Annabel Kantaria

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СКАЧАТЬ the story for the first time. There’s a bookmark inside and I know before I turn to that page what I’ll find: it marks a paragraph about love I’d read aloud to George when we were seventeen. It’s only later, when I’m flicking through the book again that afternoon, that I realise the copy George has sent is a first edition. I place it reverentially back on my desk and nod. I’m impressed. The book is a thoughtful gift yet I don’t know if I should thank him. Well, of course I should thank him. But I know what George is like. If he sees any weakness in me, any chink in my armour, he’ll storm into it like the rugby player he used to be. I stick with simple.

      Thanks for the book, I text him.

      You’re welcome, he replies, and I just know that he’s smiling.

      *

      The next day, I’m wrapping things up at work when my phone buzzes. The sound’s loud in the silence of the office. It’s late – dark outside – and everyone’s gone home. I check the screen: an unknown number. I stare at it for a second, weighing up whether or not to pick up. It could be a new client, or perhaps a cold call. I’m about to leave and I don’t want to get into a long conversation. Even as I think all this, the phone stops buzzing. I put it back on the desk, but it starts up again almost immediately.

      I pick up. ‘Stella Simons speaking… Hello?’

      The line crackles a little, then a female voice comes on. ‘Stella! Hello! How are you?’ Pause. ‘It’s Ness.’

      I lean back in my seat, lift my chin and squint my eyes at the blackness outside the office window. ‘Hello.’

      ‘It was lovely to see you the other night,’ says Ness. ‘Really nice.’

      I give a polite laugh.

      ‘Wasn’t it amazing to see how everyone’s turned out?’ she says. ‘And yourself – of course! I’ve googled your company now.’ She laughs. ‘I didn’t realise that was you! Marvellous! I always knew you’d go far!’

      Another small laugh from me.

      ‘I can’t believe it’s been fifteen years!’ Ness continues. ‘Gosh, did you see Julia and Sarah? It’s incredible that they’re still friends! And that their children are friends too! Do you still see anyone from school?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘No, we neither. We don’t have time, really, to be fair…’ Her voice trails off and I wonder if we’re thinking the same thing: namely, that Ness’s time is dedicated almost entirely to looking good on George’s arm.

      ‘So…’ she says, and I close my eyes, sensing that she’s finally coming to the point. ‘Do you think you’ll, um, stay in touch with George now you’ve reconnected?’And, as she asks this, I realise the reason that she’s called is because she’s worried. Insecure. I open my mouth to reply but she doesn’t give me a chance to speak.

      ‘It was so amazing to catch up with you after so long,’ she says. ‘George and I were both so happy to see you!’ She doesn’t sound that happy. ‘I mean… after, you know, what happened all those years ago…’ Her voice isn’t as confident now. She stops and clears her throat, then her words come out in a rush. ‘But I wanted you to know that George and I – we’re, well, we’re good. Really good.’ She waits, but I don’t respond. ‘I mean,’ she continues, ‘I know it must have been hard for you. At the time, and all that. But it was a long time ago! We were children. Nothing but children!’ Her laugh rattles down the phone line. ‘But, you know, difficult decisions were made and we stuck with them. You sleep in the bed you make! Literally!’ She falls silent for a second. ‘Look. I just wanted to say that all that happened back then: I’m sorry. It must have been horrific for you. But I want you to know it wasn’t for nothing.’ She pauses again and I really am struck dumb. ‘Yes. That’s what I want to say. If it makes you feel better, it wasn’t for nothing. I still love him.’ Her intonation makes it sound like she has more to say and I wait but then Ness says, ‘Stella? Are you there?’

      ‘That’s lovely,’ I say. But look, I don’t mean to be rude… if you’ll excuse me, I really have to…’ I don’t bother finishing the sentence. ‘Goodbye,’ I say, and cut the line.

      *

      Some time later, George suggests we meet for a drink in London. I’m surprised he’s so brazen.

      Far too busy, I write. A crazy day of meetings all over town. And it’s true.

      Another time, he writes.

      But, the next morning, as I’m moving about my apartment gathering my things for the day, George messages to tell me he’s arranged a car for me for the day.

      Outside the building, I find a sleek Mercedes with a smartly dressed driver and, again, I’m impressed. It’s actually exactly what I need to get me through the day. Reluctantly, I allow the driver to open the door for me and I climb in with my bag and sink into the coolness of the leather seat. I’m annoyed I didn’t think of hiring a car myself: it’s presumably just an Uber of some sort. Damn it, he’s good. I sit in the back of the car, feeling like this is the most delightful thing in the world as the driver pulls into the traffic, and I toy with my phone: common decency says I should thank George, but you have to understand that I really don’t want to encourage him. I’ve said before: I don’t do married men. And that means I don’t encourage them either. I’m flattered by his attempts to win me over, but there’s more to it than that: a part of me is curious to see just how far he’ll take this without any encouragement.

      A part of me doesn’t want him to stop.

TEN

       George

      Around 10 a.m. I stick my head out of my office and call my assistant. I’ve been in the office since 8.30 and haven’t done a shred of work.

      ‘Rachel! Can I borrow you for a minute?’

      She looks up from her desk. ‘Shall I bring any client files?’

      ‘No. Just yourself and the project book.’

      She raises her eyebrows and goes over to the filing cabinet where she keeps what we call the ‘Project X’ book.

      I pace my office while I wait for her. There are other things I should be thinking about but the need to conquer Stell is consuming me; it’s all I can think about, night and day. I’m treating her as if she’s a major client I need to win over. And, in a way, she is.

      Rachel closes the door behind her. ‘How did it go down? The car?’

      ‘He didn’t say.’ I’m chewing on a little flap of skin at the edge of my nail, careful not to let slip that it’s a woman I’m trying to impress. ‘They have to have liked it, though. Right?’

      ‘I should imagine so. And the other things? The book? Did the world’s pickiest CEO realise it was a first edition?’

      ‘Yes, he said thank you.’

      Rachel smiles. ‘Good. It took for ever to track that down. So – now what’s the plan? Maybe it’s time you tried to have СКАЧАТЬ