When she was younger, she’d always preferred to do things on the spur of the moment, hated having to plan ahead, have her life mapped out for her. Her friends, and Tim for that matter, liked to sort out their calendars for several weeks ahead. Her friends’ lives followed the same routine. Drinks after work on Friday, meet up late on Saturday afternoon for shopping and a gossip about the previous evening, and a discussion about what to wear that evening, probably necessitating the purchase of something new. Recovering from Saturday night on Sunday, maybe the afternoon spent in the pub. Posting up the drunken photos on Facebook to remind themselves that they were having fun. The gym a couple of nights a week to knock themselves into some sort of shape for the holidays, which would be planned months ahead ‘so there’s something to look forward to’.
Alys’s snap decisions – first to leave work and now to go up to Yorkshire – were not as simple as they first appeared, perhaps even to herself. She’d told herself that she was bored in her job, and it was this that was making her feel restless. In addition, though, she had a strange sense of not belonging anywhere anymore.
Late one Sunday afternoon a few weeks previously, as she took the chain off the door to head out to buy some milk, she had realised that the chain had been in place since she went to bed on Friday evening. She’d not left the house, nor spoken to anyone, not even on the phone. Tim was away, and she’d sidestepped texts and emails from friends about meeting up, making vague allusions to visiting family. It was hard for her to acknowledge what lay behind this new tendency to be a hermit. It was true that she’d become increasingly reclusive after her best friend Hannah had gone travelling with Matt, her boyfriend. Their planned six-month trip had already stretched beyond a year. But since Alys had been a teenager, she’d always loved to be out and about, always had a feeling of excitement and anticipation on a Friday evening, wondering what the weekend had in store. Now she couldn’t remember when she’d last felt like that, and she was pretty sure that the reason behind the change lay not with her friends, nor with Tim or with her social life, but in a stupid incident at work.
Her company, publishers of a trade magazine, was small and family run: her boss, Charles, was the son of the chairman. He was funny, Alys supposed, if you didn’t mind being the butt of suggestive jokes. The general atmosphere in the office was so relaxed that she’d never paid his behaviour much attention, apart from sighing and rolling her eyes along with the other girls at his so-called witty innuendos. She’d met his wife at the Christmas party, and his kids sometimes came into the office during the school holidays. So far, so normal, until she’d noticed that whenever he came to look at work on her screen he started off with one hand on her desk, one hand on her chair, effectively trapping her there. The hand on the chair often strayed to her shoulder. She’d learnt to swivel the chair to reach for something, so that he had to move. She didn’t think he suspected that she’d noticed what he was up to.
One evening a couple of months previously, when an urgent deadline meant that they had to work later than usual, he came in with wine, crisps and pizza ‘to keep the troops going’. Alys began to feel uneasy as the others finished their work, packed up and started to drift away. She still needed to put the finishing touches to the cover and it looked as though she would be the last to leave. She’d barely sipped her wine, wanting to keep a clear head until everything was signed off, but she noticed that Charles had kept a bottle all to himself and he was well on the way to finishing it.
‘I’m done here,’ she said at last, shutting down her computer and gathering up her belongings.
‘Wait,’ he said. ‘I just wanted to tell you how pleased I am with how hard you’ve been working to meet the deadlines. Can I buy you a drink to say thanks?’
‘Oh, there’s no need, you’ve already done that,’ said Alys, pointing at her wine glass, now half empty.
Charles wasn’t going to give up so easily. ‘Dinner, then?’ he said.
Alys started to put on her coat. ‘That’s very kind of you, but I really must get going.’ She was already heading for the exit but he was there before her, back to the door, arm stretched across the doorway.
‘You must have noticed how I feel about you?’ He breathed wine fumes into her face.
Alys’s heart lurched. ‘Well, I –’ Was yes, or no, the best answer?
‘You did know!’ he said, triumphant. ‘You were just leading me on …’ Before Alys could protest, he’d pulled her to him and was kissing her hard. Part of her brain was detached, dispassionate, aware of the sour wine on his breath, the prickle of stubble. Alarm bells were ringing in the other half – she needed to make him stop.
She tried to pull away from him, but he was too strong for her. ‘Oh, I’ve been watching you for so long,’ he murmured into her neck. His skin was radiating heat and he was tugging at her buttons, slipping his hand inside the neck of her shirt. Alys felt paralysed. Was this really happening? Could she kick him? Knee him in the groin and make a run for it? Even as she thought these things, images of how the next day would play out were crowding in. Was this going to be the end of her job? The one she took pride in and had worked hard at over the last couple of years, to become part of the close-knit team?
Summoning all her strength she pulled away from him, grabbing his arms and holding them at his sides.
‘For God’s sake Charles, you’re a married man.’ It sounded positively Victorian, but it was the best she could come up with. Could she preserve her job by maintaining his dignity?
He just laughed. ‘And that’s what makes it all the better. No strings attached on either side, eh?’
Alys took a deep breath. There was no way out of this. She was going to have to tell him exactly what she thought of him. At that moment, the door behind him flew open, and a face appeared in the doorway.
Startled, the new arrival said, ‘Sorry, sorry. I thought you’d all left. I’ll come back. Five minutes?’
Alys seized her chance, pushed past Charles and resisted the urge to hug the cleaner. The poor man looked embarrassed enough already. ‘No, it’s absolutely fine,’ she said. ‘I was just on my way out.’ Then she fled, without looking back.
She ran all the way to the Tube and felt blessed when the train arrived at the platform at the same time as she did. She slept fitfully that night, anxious about the next day, about how Charles might react to her. Would there be a trumped-up dismissal? Or another clumsy attempt at seduction?
Nothing happened. Instead of feeling relieved, Alys found herself jumpy and unable to relax. She wanted to discuss it with him and clear the air, but it was too awkward a topic to broach. How would you start? ‘By the way Charles, about last night when you tried it on?’ ‘How’s the wife, Charles? I’d love to catch up for a chat.’
Her inability to take action seemed to have sapped her vitality. Increasingly, she found herself observing, rather than taking part in, social gatherings. There’d been that after-work drink she’d dragged herself along to, a week or so after the incident, when Laura, one of her workmates had asked her, ‘What have you done to upset Charles? I’ve noticed him picking on you for no reason.’ Alys had looked at her in mute astonishment, not sure what to say, indeed, whether it was safe to say anything at all. Laura looked puzzled, then gasped. ‘Oh, you weren’t treated to one of his late-night working specials, were you? Just ignore it and pretend it never happened. I always say it should be written into the contract. Clause 2.5. Permission for Mr Rollinson to try it on at least once without employee inflicting grievous injury.’
Alys was horrified but she tried to give herself a talking-to. Laura had shrugged off Charles’s behaviour – why couldn’t she? She couldn’t get rid of the feeling, though, that Laura should have warned her to be on her guard.
Her feelings started to turn to anger as time