Alphabet Weekends - Elizabeth Noble [25]
‘Yes, please,’ Karl answered. The panic had drained from his face, but he was still knocked sideways: he kept running his hand through his hair, and nervously scratching his nose.
‘Why don’t you and me go to the canteen, Nat, get some coffee and stuff? Let Karl see Bridget for a minute.’
‘Thanks, Tom.’ And then, ‘Thanks for coming, you two.’
‘You’re welcome. Do you want me to phone Mum and Dad for you?’
‘I’d better ask Bridget. She didn’t want me to call your mum before.’
‘Okay. See you in a bit.’
In the canteen they sat nursing undrinkable coffee in styrofoam cups.
‘Are you okay?’ Tom asked.
‘I’m fine. Bloody hell.’ Natalie rubbed her eyes. ‘It’s all a bit bloody real, though, isn’t it?’
Tom nodded.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘For what?’
‘For being here.’
Tom shrugged.
‘You’re pretty good in a crisis, you know.’
‘I’m pretty good in general.’
‘All right, Mr No Self-Esteem Issues Here. I was paying you a compliment. Accept it graciously.’
Tom doffed an imaginary cap. ‘Yes, m’lady. Thanks, m’lady.’
Natalie stuck out her tongue at him. ‘And I’m sorry about the ballet. Although I’m sure you’re not too gutted.’
‘Well, I’m particularly fond of the second act. There are some particularly moving sections of music, and one exquisite solo performance.’
Natalie guffawed. ‘Get out of it.’
‘But, basically, I already knew the ending. They pretty much all die, you know.’
‘Really?’ She raised her eyebrows.
‘Yep. It’s a real death-fest. Mercutio, Tybalt, Juliet, Romeo… In fact, as the grand fromage says, at the end of the play, “All are punished.” ’ He said it punish–shed, as in garden, and Natalie laughed. ‘I’m not the cultural desert you make me out to be, you know, Nat.’
‘Clearly! You haven’t seen it before, though, have you? Admit it. You’ve never been near a ballet in your life, have you?’
‘That is between me and myself, honeybunch. Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies.’
‘Well, technically, since we didn’t see it all the way through, I should get some more tickets…’
‘I wouldn’t hear of it. On your salary? You’re practically destitute as it is! I’ll live with the disappointment. And who knows? There may be other opportunities as the game progresses…’
‘Right!’ Natalie conceded defeat: she wasn’t going to get him to admit that he hated ballet.
And, besides, half an hour later, B sort of stopped being Ballet and became Babies, as the three of them, Karl, Tom and Natalie, stood around Bridget’s bed admiring her son, who looked smooth, pink and remarkably untroubled by his difficult arrival into their world.
Patrick
He must have given a hundred exit interviews, as they were called. A chance for the soon-to-be ex-employee to say what he thought – gloves off – about the company he or she was leaving.
He supposed he didn’t have to go. But he knew he would.
So he was sitting there, in his suit and tie, waiting for them to see him. Waiting for her.
He fiddled with his wedding ring, pulling it up to the very tip of his finger, flipping it, without losing contact, then pushing it down again. Lucy had never let him take it off; neither had she ever removed her own narrow gold band. She was superstitious about it. She’d never taken Will’s ring off either – until he left her, and then her fingers were still so swollen from carrying Bella that she’d had to go to a jeweller in town and have it sawn off.
He wanted Lucy with him now.
But she wasn’t: she was at home, worrying about him, and he was here, alone.
He tried to marshal his thoughts, but half-sentences kept forming in his brain. Truthfully, he didn’t have much to say. He liked the company he was leaving. He didn’t want to leave. He’d lost.
New boss. New boss hired new personnel person. New personnel person – sorry, human-resources person – was now, effectively, going to get his job. Although, of course, the corporate lawyers would