‘He could back down.’
‘But you’re not,’ said Sophie, with a knowing look. She had a good point.
Anna was trying to think of another excuse when Hudson strode over with his bag slung casually across his body. ‘You coming, Anna?’ He had one of those smiles she’d only seen previously on film stars. All perfect white teeth and twinkling eyes.
‘Yes, she’s just packing up,’ said Sophie, before Anna could form her excuse.
‘Awesome, see you both over there,’ said Hudson, and he strode off.
Anna slumped back in her chair. ‘What did you do that for?’ Her voice came out whinier than she’d have liked.
‘Because you and Hudson have to find a way to get on and if this is him offering an olive branch …’
‘I’d like to shove it up—’
‘Uh-uh,’ said Sophie leaning over and unplugging Anna’s laptop. ‘Play nice.’
The pub was noisy and busy and Anna was regretting agreeing to go but she had a plan: she’d have one Coke then she’d slip away without anyone noticing. She spotted the usual suspects at the far end of the bar, and with lots of apologies she weaved her way through.
‘Anna,’ called Hudson, beckoning her over.
As she and Sophie reached him, he produced two filled champagne flutes. ‘Here you go, ladies.’
‘Thanks, but I’ll just have a Coke,’ said Anna, getting out her purse.
‘Me too,’ said Sophie, gazing longingly at the glass of fizz.
‘Come on, who doesn’t like champagne?’ asked Hudson, raising both the glasses temptingly.
‘I don’t,’ said Anna.
Hudson proffered a glass to Sophie. ‘I’m on antibiotics,’ she lied. She wasn’t ready to share her baby news yet.
Hudson insisted on paying for their soft drinks and they moved away from the bar to a marginally quieter corner. ‘I need the loo,’ said Sophie and she selfishly disappeared, leaving Anna with Hudson. As if I don’t get enough of him at work, Anna thought.
‘I’m excited about working with you Anna.’ He actually sounded genuine but Anna’s bullshit monitor went into overdrive anyway.
‘Why’s that?’
‘You know so much about the company. You know the right people to engage with and they like you.’
He had clearly been doing some snooping around to find out about what people thought of her. She wasn’t sure if she felt flattered or intruded upon, but she definitely didn’t want to talk shop at the pub.
‘Thanks. Let’s not talk about me. What’s your story?’
He took a slow draw of champagne. He had attractive lips, plump and pink.
‘My dad’s American, my mom’s British. I was born just outside New York in a village called Port Chester. My dad worked in Manhattan. Shortly after 9/11 we moved to England. I went back to the US for university and I’ve been working in the UK for a few years now.’
He had a way of holding her attention and she wanted to know more but didn’t want to appear keen. ‘You’ve not lost the accent.’
‘I’ll let you in on a little secret.’ Without realising it she was leaning closer. She detected a hint of aftershave. ‘I think it’s you who has the accent.’
‘Ha, ha. You’re hilarious.’ She sipped her Coke.
‘Roberta said you’re local. Have you lived here long?’ he asked.
‘All my life.’ She had always been quite proud of the fact she was a Brummy although her short stint at university had watered down her accent a great deal. He held her eye contact and did a good job of appearing interested. ‘My mum and dad live in Hockley.’ He looked impressed, which meant he clearly had no idea where it was.
‘You’ve only worked for the one company then?’
‘In project management, yes.’ He didn’t need to know about the earlier roles as a filing clerk and a serving wench at Warwick Castle.
‘This is my fourth.’ He seemed proud of this. ‘It gives you a breadth of experience you can reapply elsewhere.’
More corporate bollocks. ‘I think loyalty to a company pays off.’
‘I think that’s naïve.’ How had they ended up talking about work again? And why was she getting annoyed with him?
Anna made her excuses and disappeared to the toilet. She had a quick word with herself. She needed to focus on the big issues; getting caught up in petty power struggles was a waste of time and energy. At the end of the day, Roberta was going to judge them both on what they delivered. She redid her lipstick, pulled back her shoulders and went back to the group.
‘… cacky pants,’ said Sophie through hysterical giggles.
‘What’s so funny?’ asked Anna, feeling left out already.
‘It’s a quirk of American pronunciation,’ said Hudson, changing into an English accent. ‘You’d say everyone at the programme board meeting wore khaki trousers but to us they’re—’
‘Cacky pants,’ repeated Sophie and she doubled up again.
‘In my experience people often leave board meetings with cacky pants even if they didn’t arrive wearing them,’ said Anna. ‘Apart from me.’
Hudson’s eyebrows twitched. ‘I don’t doubt that for a second.’
A few days later, with approval from the cat rescue in the bag following their home visit, Anna drove her beloved Mini to the rescue centre. It had been a difficult decision choosing a pet and she hoped she’d made the right one. For the first time in her life she was going to be a pet owner, assuming the time she briefly had a goldfish didn’t count. She’d built him a lovely Lego home, but unsurprisingly the house move didn’t go well for the goldfish. Anna had only been four at the time.
She followed the volunteer past the many cats and tried hard to ignore their sad faces and the guilt she felt for not being able to choose all of them. All the cats at the rescue needed homes but she knew the older ones would always find it harder than the cute mewing kittens. The volunteer stopped at a cage with a sign covering the bio, which read: ‘I’m going to my forever home.’ The cat inside glanced up.
‘Hello, Maurice,’ said Anna. ‘I’ve come to take you home.’ Maurice became very interested when his pen was opened but less so when he was bundled into a cardboard cat carrier scarcely big enough for him.
‘Is that secure?’ asked Anna, as the carrier lurched about.
‘They’re very sturdy. Don’t worry, he won’t be able to escape. Here’s all his paperwork,’ said the volunteer, handing a bundle of papers to Anna. ‘His last owner usually calls once a week. It’ll be nice to tell him that Maurice has a new home.’
Up until then Anna hadn’t thought much about Maurice’s previous owner and she didn’t have time now either as the heavy cat carrier was starting to bounce around worryingly.
Anna put it on the front seat of the car and set off. It was twenty-five minutes to home. She started talking to the box each time it began to jiggle or meow. The meows got more desperate and the box’s movement got more vigorous. He didn’t have much room inside. She was expecting to see a leg burst from each corner, cartoon style, and start marauding around the car. Anna stopped at the traffic lights and pulled on the handbrake.
‘Now listen, Maurice, we’re nearly home. It’s not far away and when we get there I’ll let you out.’ But Maurice had other ideas and, with a startling bang, the top of the carrier burst