What Alice Forgot - Liane Moriarty [19]
Where the bloody hell was Nick?
Perhaps Jane had forgotten to call him. She’d been acting so strangely at the gym. Alice should just phone him herself and explain that this was pretty serious and she really needed him to leave work right now. Why hadn’t she thought of that before? Suddenly she was desperate to get herself a phone and hear Nick’s lovely, familiar voice. She had a strange feeling as if it had been ages since she’d spoken to him.
She looked feverishly around the small room and of course—there was no phone. There was nothing in the room at all, except for the basin, the mirror, and a sign about how to wash your hands correctly.
A mobile phone! That’s what she needed. She’d only recently got her first one. It was an old one belonging to Nick’s father and it worked fine, except that it had to be held together with an elastic band. Something told her that she would probably have a more expensive phone by now, and when she opened the zippered pocket at the front of the bag, she saw she was right; there was a tiny, sleek, shiny, silver phone sitting right there as if she’d known it would be. (Had she? She couldn’t tell.)
There was also a leather-bound day planner, which Alice opened quickly, just to confirm that it was indeed 2008, noting with sick wonder that her own handwriting filled the pages. “2008,” it said in no-doubt-about-it black letters at the top of each page: 2008, 2008, 2008 . . .
She stopped flipping the pages and picked up the shiny phone, breathing shallowly, as if a huge metal bar had been plonked across her chest.
Could she even work this strange phone? She was hopeless at working out how to use new appliances, but her elegantly manicured fingers seemed to know what to do, pushing the silver buttons on either side of the phone so it snapped open. She punched in the number for Nick’s direct line and held the phone up to her ear. It rang. Please answer, please answer. She felt like she would burst into sobs of relief at the sound of his voice.
“Hello. Sales Department!”
It was a young girl’s voice, frothy with good humor. Someone in the background was roaring with laughter.
Alice said, “Is Nick there at the moment? Nick Love?”
There was a slight pause. When the girl spoke again, she sounded as though she had just been sternly reprimanded. The laughter in the background stopped abruptly. “I’m sorry, you’ve come through to the wrong extension, but I could put you through to Mr. Love’s personal assistant if you like.”
Alice paused, diverted by the fact that Nick had a “personal assistant.” How posh.
The girl continued, as if Alice had argued with her: “Mr. Love is actually in Portugal this week, so his PA would be the best person to help you.”
Portugal! She said, “What’s he doing in Portugal?”
“Well, it’s some sort of international conference, I think,” said the girl uncertainly. “But if I could just put you through—”
Portugal, and a personal assistant. He must have got a promotion. They’d have to have champagne!
Alice said (cunningly!), “Um, could you remind me of Mr. Love’s position with the company?”
“He’s our general manager,” said the girl in an everyone-in-the-worldknows-that tone.
Good grief.
Nick had the Motherfucking Megatron’s job.
That was more than one promotion. That was a giant superhero leap up the corporate ladder. Alice was filled with giggly pride at the thought of Nick strutting about the office, telling people what to do. Wouldn’t people just laugh at him?
“I’m putting you through to his PA now,” said the girl firmly. The phone clicked and began to ring again.
Another female voice answered smoothly. “Mr. Love’s office, this is Annabelle, how can I help you?”
“Oh,” said Alice. “This is Nick’s wife, ah, Mr. Love’s wife. I was trying to get hold of him, but, ummm . . .”
The woman’s voice turned razor sharp. “Hello, Alice. How are you today?”
“Well, actually . . .”
“As you’re aware,