She’s saying all this as much for my benefit as anything else. I don’t have any social media accounts even though Marilyn swears you can set your profile to completely private. I still wouldn’t trust it, and who would I have on there? Only Marilyn probably, and I see her most days as it is. ‘Oh shit, I sound old.’ She groans over-dramatically, lifting the mood as only she can. ‘Come on, Lisa, let’s grab us all another wine before the money behind the bar runs out.’
We separate from the others, leaving Toby to continue his obvious hot pursuit of Stacey, and make our way to the bar. I didn’t want to come tonight. No matter how much I’ve tried to shake it, my stomach has been a river bed of slithering eels since finding the rabbit, and the past clings like an oil slick on feathers, breaking my heart all over again. It’s taken everything I have not to spend my time following Ava around to make sure she’s safe, which I’ve worked really hard at not doing now she has more freedom. Trying to hide how I’m feeling is exhausting and if there was any way I could have got out of coming to the party, I would have, but there was no way I’d have got away with it. This is Penny’s once-a-year company and clients drinks and nibbles, and with the new staff, the second branch opening, and my new contract, she wouldn’t have been happy.
In that respect, Julia was right. We may be in a salsa club, but this isn’t a girls’ night out. It’s still, in some ways, work. However, as I lean on the bar next to Marilyn, I’m surprised to find I’m feeling better for coming out. The music is full of life and the words are foreign so I can’t get snared by lyrics of love or loss.
‘God, I could use a tequila shot,’ Marilyn says, and I laugh although I’m a bit surprised. Marilyn drinks more than me – but everyone does. I know what too much alcohol can do to people and none of it is good. I can’t stay alert when I’m drunk and I have Ava to protect. Still, Marilyn’s not a drinker drinker. I can’t remember the last time she did shots. Her eyes shine a little too bright. How many wines has she had?
‘You okay?’ I ask. She doesn’t answer.
‘Well, well, well,’ she says, as she looks at something over my shoulder. ‘Look who’s showed up. Mr Millionaire himself.’
I glance back. Simon Manning is standing in the doorway, dressed down in dark jeans and a V-neck T-shirt. My wine glass is suddenly too big and slippery in my hand and it feels like the party pauses for a moment. It’s rare for major clients to come to these things. Penny always invites them but it’s mainly staff who turn up – now two branches’ worth – and some of our longest-serving temps. Penny does a separate private dinner for the top-level clients.
The room is quite dark and he probably doesn’t realise he’s ‘making an entrance’ as he stands there, backlit, and peers around trying to recognise anyone. Finally he moves. My breath catches.
‘What a surprise,’ Marilyn drawls. ‘He’s coming this way.’
I look behind me, expecting to see Penny nearby, but she’s over by the side tables where Julia is talking to James from the new office.
‘Lisa.’
I have no choice but to look at him. He’s standing close, barely a foot away, and my nerves jangle and I feel awkward as his aftershave and body heat fill the gap between us. I’m no aftershave connoisseur, but he smells good. Fresh and citrussy, but not overpowering. I hate myself for noticing.
‘Hello, Simon.’ She reaches forward and shakes his hand, as ever saving the day for me as I flounder. I take the moment to try and gather myself. I need to stop behaving like a stupid teenager. ‘Welcome aboard, I hear.’
I wish I found it as easy to talk to people. Marilyn is so confident. Friendly without being flirtatious. An open book. I can’t be like that. I don’t think I’ve ever been like that.
‘Well, Lisa sold the company so well I couldn’t say no,’ he says. They’re both looking at me, expectant. I can’t stay silent forever. Where is Penny?
‘I’ll be sending some more figures over to you on Monday.’ It’s all I can think of and sounds so bland even I’m cringing.
‘It’s Saturday night.’ He takes the glass of wine Marilyn has somehow spirited out of thin air. ‘Let’s forget about work. Can you salsa? I’m terrible but willing to give it a go if you are.’
My feet are suddenly glued to the floor. There are a few people taking advantage of the expert on hand on the dance floor, but not many. Not enough to stop us being the centre of attention if we joined them. My mouth opens and closes silently as I panic, a drowning fish, trying to find a way to say no which won’t sound rude, although a part of me thinks it would be fun to let myself go to the music if I was a different person. If I was Marilyn maybe, or Stacey, or Julia. But I’m not. I’m me, and I don’t want him to want to dance with me. And yet, even as I think it, I know it’s a lie. I hate the snake in my belly that wants all of life’s excitements.
‘Simon!’ Here she is, Penny, breezing through us. I could cry with relief as I take a step backwards, giving her space. ‘How wonderful of you to come!’
Marilyn smiles and gives him a shrug, pupils as the teacher arrives, but I’m already walking away on shaking legs.
‘Told you he likes you,’ Marilyn says as she catches me up.
‘Leave it alone.’ My words come out with more bite than intended and she doesn’t follow me when I go to the table at the rear of the room where we left our things, but instead goes to join Eleanor who used to sit opposite us before she went to the new branch.
I should apologise. I don’t though. I want to text Ava. To check she’s okay. I want to stay here, hiding at the back in the dark. I want the earth to open up and swallow me whole. To bury me in the cold and damp. To be with Daniel and Peter Rabbit in the ground.
I sit down before my legs give way, and I take deep breaths. I can’t keep texting Ava. I’ve already sent three. I have to let her be free and be young. I have to. But it’s so hard. Exhausted as I am by my fear, it refuses to leave me.
While breathing slowly, I focus on the present. Marilyn and Eleanor are laughing about something. Toby has dragged Stacey on to the dance floor. They’re both good dancers, but she’s keeping a distance between their bodies and I feel a wave of something close to maternal pride. She may not be the brightest bulb in the pack, but she knows better than to be a notch in his bedpost.
I grow calmer, knowing I’m lost in the shadows. No one is seeking me out. I can’t see Penny and Simon from here, but I know she’ll be attached to him for the rest of the evening. I push away the memory of his body heat and aftershave, intent as it is on clinging to me.
A glint of metal distracts me to my right. Someone crouching down by the tables along the side. Julia? Yes. Rummaging in her bag. Lines tighten across my forehead, my instinct for wrongness kicking in. That’s not her bag. It’s Penny’s. The Dolce & Gabbana gold clasp is flashing as lights from the dance floor catch it. Julia’s bag is smaller, barely big enough for a wallet, phone, keys, perhaps some lipstick. Not an expensively practical middle-aged woman’s bag. I can’t remember how I know this, but I do. I always take in the details of a person. My brain is trained that way.
Definitely Penny’s bag.
I can’t see what Julia’s doing and so I work my way round the edge of the room until I’m closer. She gets up and glances around, unaware I’m watching her, before striding confidently to the bar. I follow, moving faster to catch up, and when I’m only a few feet behind I see the crumpled twenty-pound note in her hand. My heart thumps, banging a truth into me. Money stolen from Penny’s purse. It can’t be. Surely not. I want to doubt the instinct I have for both detail and trouble. I don’t want to know this rotten-apple worm of fact which will squirm inside me every day at work. But if it’s Julia’s own money, why has she taken it out of her purse already? She’s got her little bag with her – with her own wallet in it – so why is she holding a twenty-pound