‘Daisy and Francesca have also said yes to being bridesmaids, and my sister will be maid of honour. So she’ll basically be the one bossing all of you around.’
‘I’d like to see her try,’ Miriam replies with a grin, folding her arms across her chest.
I think back to my conversation with Daisy last week. I knew she’d be disappointed when I didn’t ask her to be my maid of honour, but I couldn’t snub Elizabeth. My sister’s already a bit sniffy with me about something or other. Not sure what. I’m going to have to get to the bottom of that situation. I don’t understand why so many of my friends and family are beingdifficult right now. Is there something about weddings that turns people into a nightmare? I thought I was supposed to be the bridezilla, not everyone else.
‘You okay?’ Miriam asks, noticing my sudden frown.
‘Yeah, just family dramas on my mind.’
‘Oh, that sucks.’ Miriam throws me a sympathetic look. ‘Well, don’t stress about Paul or Charlotte. You’re great at your job, so you’ve nothing to worry about there. Paul wants a successful business and you’re better with the clients than MissHairdo so you’ll always be the favourite.’
‘Thanks. I just want to be made a partner, like he promised when I joined. Otherwise, why am I breaking my back, working all the hours?’
‘You definitely put the hours in,’ Miriam agrees. ‘Trouble is, so does Charlotte – only she gets half as much accomplished in the same amount of time.’
I nod. ‘I wouldn’t mind, only she’s always stirring things. Dropping snide comments into Paul’s ear. It’s really frustrating.’ I give a little growl.
‘Maybe you should call her out on it?’ Miriam says.
I baulk at the thought of causing a scene. ‘Maybe. I just wish he’d realise what she’s up to, without someone else having to say something.’
‘Oh, he won’t realise. He needs to be hit over the head with the truth to see it.’ Miriam mops up the last of the soup with her roll, then wipes her generous mouth with a napkin.
I’m still only halfway through my lunch, but I check the time and note that we should probably be getting back. Too much talking, not enough eating. I dismiss the idea of bad-mouthing Charlotte to Paul. No. I think the best way to deal with Charlotte is to outshine her. I need to get back to the office and work my arse off.
Momentarily buoyed up by my plan of action for the afternoon, I shrug on my coat and we head back. But despite my solution for dealing with my tricky work colleague, the closer we get to the office, the quicker my optimism deflates – working my arse off is my default behaviour and it doesn’t seem to be getting me anywhere. In fact, the harder I work, the less recognition I seem to get.
Chapter Thirteen
NOW
It’s one of those summer evenings when the air is warm on your skin and there’s no hint of a chill. It’s seven thirty on a Friday so Ringwood is busy with people heading out for dinner and drinks. I suppose I’m one of them, but I feel set apart from everyone. Like I’m watching from the fringes. Chatter and light spills out from pubs and bars along with the scent of flowers from hanging baskets and wafts of garlicky food, coffee, and alcohol. It all floats by as I move towards my destination. My trainers are silent on the pavement as I walk through town like a spectre. Invisible.
On the opposite side of the street, a group of women exit a taxi. They’re loud. Happy. Excited. I realise it’s a hen night. The bride-to-be wears a cheap veil. An L-plate hangs around her neck. I walk faster so I don’t have to look at them or think about my own hen weekend. My failed wedding. It’s too depressing a thought.
Attempting to let my mind go blank, my gaze snags on a figure coming towards me. A man in green cargos and a black T-shirt. He’s looking down at the pavement as he walks. His outline feels familiar, but I can’t place him. Until he looks up and catches my eye.
I freeze.
He walks past and I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. I feel winded, like I’ve been punched in the chest.
Was it him?
No. Surely not.
I pivot around to see if it’s true or if my eyes were playing tricks on me, but I can’t spot him any more. He’s disappeared. I blink and take a step in the direction he went, but I catch what I’m doing and stop. I give myself a shake. I’m being stupid. Of course it wasn’t him. It’s dark, I’m tired, and I haven’t seen my ex-boyfriend, Damian, for years.
My mind isn’t exactly the most reliable at the moment. Not after everything that’s happened with Seth. I attempt to shrug off my momentary fears. I have enough to worry about without imagining unwelcome ghosts from my past.
As I draw closer to my destination, I cast a few glances around the vicinity, just to make sure he’s gone. Thankfully, the man – whoever he was – is no longer in sight. I pause outside Hibiscus, my favourite Mexican restaurant, before pushing open the door. Even its cheery bright-blue and burnt-orange walls aren’t able to completely banish my jitters.
I spot Daisy straight away sitting at our usual table in the window, wearing a flowery maxi-dress and gold hoop earrings, her blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders in loose waves. I feel crumpled and worn by comparison in faded jeans and a plain black T-shirt – the first items of clothing I grabbed from the wardrobe earlier today – having come straight to the restaurant after my appointment with the neuropsychologist.
Daisy takes a sip of beer and gives me a wave. ‘Hey, how have you been?’ she asks tentatively as I come over. I grip the back of the chair opposite her, trying to get my breathing under control. To slow my heartbeat and shake off the shock that’s still trying to take hold.
‘Is everything okay?’ she asks, her forehead creasing.
‘Umm ...’ I swallow. I’m on the verge of telling her that I think I just saw Damian.