Still Me
Page 61
‘Where to, lady?’ The driver looked behind him.
I looked at Josh. ‘Can you stay with me?’
‘Sure. Where are we going?’
I saw the wary glance of the driver in his rear-view mirror. A television blared from the back of his seat and a television studio audience burst into applause. Outside, everyone started to honk their horns at once. The lights were too bright. New York was suddenly too loud, too everything. ‘I don’t know. Your house,’ I said. ‘I can’t go back. Not yet.’ I looked at him and felt suddenly tearful. ‘Do you know I have two legs in two places?’
He tilted his head towards me. His face was kind. ‘Somehow, Louisa Clark, that doesn’t surprise me.’
I let my head rest on his shoulder and felt his arm slide gently around me.
I woke to the sound of a phone ringing, shrill and insistent. The blessed relief of it stopping, then a man’s voice murmuring. The welcome bitter smell of coffee. I shifted, trying to lift my head from the pillow. The resulting pain through my temples was so intense and unforgiving that I let out a little animal sound, like a dog whose tail had just been trapped in a door. I closed my eyes, took a breath, then opened them again.
This was not my bed.
It was still not my bed when I opened them a third time.
This indisputable fact was enough to prompt me to attempt to lift my head again, this time ignoring the thumping pain long enough to focus. Nope, this was definitely not my bed. This was also not my bedroom. In fact, it was no bedroom I had ever seen before. I took in the clothes – men’s clothes – folded neatly over the back of a chair, the television in the corner, the desk and the wardrobe, and became aware of the voice growing nearer. And then the door opened and Josh walked in, fully suited, holding a mug with one hand, his phone pressed to his ear with the other. He caught my eye, raised an eyebrow, and placed the mug on the bedside table, still talking.
‘Yeah, there’s been a problem with the subway. I’m going to grab a cab and I’ll be there in twenty … Sure. No problem … No, she’s on that already.’
I pushed myself upright, discovering as I did so that I was in a man’s T-shirt. The ramifications of this took a couple of minutes to seep in, and I felt the blush start from somewhere around my chest.
‘No, we already talked about that yesterday. He’s got all the paperwork ready to go.’
He turned away, and I wriggled back down, so that the duvet was around my neck. I was wearing knickers. That was something.
‘Yeah. It’ll be great. Yup – lunch sounds good.’ Josh rang off and shoved his phone into his pocket. ‘Good morning! I was just going to get you a side order of Advil. Want me to find you a couple? I’m afraid I have to go.’
‘Go?’ My mouth tasted rank, as dry as if it had been lightly powdered. I opened and closed it a couple of times, noting it made a faintly disgusting smacking sound.
‘To work. It’s Friday?’
‘Oh, God. What time is it?’
‘A quarter of seven. I have to shoot. Already running late. Will you be okay letting yourself out?’ He rummaged in a drawer and withdrew a blister pack, which he placed beside me. ‘There. That should help.’
I pushed my hair back from my face. It was slightly damp with sweat and astonishingly matted. ‘What – what happened?’
‘We can talk about it later. Drink your coffee.’
I took a sip obediently. It was strong and restorative. I suspected I would need another six. ‘Why am I in your T-shirt?’
He grinned. ‘That would be the dance.’
‘The dance?’ My stomach lurched.
He stooped and kissed my cheek. He smelt of soap and cleanliness and citrus and all things wholesome. I was aware that I was giving off hot waves of stale sweat and alcohol and shame. ‘It was a fun night. Hey – just make sure you give the door a really good slam when you leave, okay? Sometimes it doesn’t catch properly. I’ll call you later.’
He saluted from the doorway, turned and was gone, patting his pockets as if to reassure himself of something as he left.
‘Hold on – where am I?’ I yelled, a minute later, but he was already gone.
I was in SoHo, it turned out. One giant angry traffic jam away from where I was meant to be. I caught the subway from Spring Street to 59th Street, trying not to sweat gently into yesterday’s crumpled shirt and grateful for the small mercy that I was not in my usual glittery evening clothes. I had never really understood the term ‘grubby’ until that morning. I could remember almost nothing from the previous evening. And what I did remember came to me in unpleasant hot flashbacks.
Me sitting down in the middle of Times Square.
Me licking Josh’s neck. I had actually licked his neck.
What was that about dancing?
If I hadn’t been hanging onto the subway pole for dear life, I would have held my head in my hands. Instead I closed my eyes, lurched my way through the stations, shifted to avoid the backpacks and the grumpy commuters locked into their earphones, and tried not to throw up.
Just get through today, I told myself. If life had taught me one thing, it was that the answers would come soon enough.
I was just opening the door to my room when Mr Gopnik appeared. He was still dressed in his workout gear – unusual for him after seven – and lifted a hand when he saw me, as if he had been trying to locate me for some time. ‘Ah. Louisa.’
‘I’m sorry I –’
‘I’d like to talk to you in my study. Now.’
Of course you would, I thought. Of course. He turned and walked back up the corridor. I cast an anguished look at my room, which held my clean clothes, deodorant and toothpaste. I thought longingly about a second coffee. But Mr Gopnik was not the kind of man you kept waiting.
I glanced down at my phone, then jogged after him.
I walked into the study to find him already seated. ‘I’m really sorry I was ten minutes late. I’m not normally late. I just had to …’
Mr Gopnik was behind his desk, his expression unreadable. Agnes was on the upholstered chair by the coffee table in her workout gear. Neither of them asked me to sit down. Something in the atmosphere made me feel suddenly horribly sober.
‘Is … is everything okay?’
‘I’m hoping you can tell me. I had a call from my personal account manager this morning.’
‘Your what?’
‘The man who handles my banking operations. I wondered if you could explain this.’
He pushed a piece of paper towards me. It was a bank statement, with the totals blacked out. My eyesight was a little blurry but just one thing was visible, a trail of figures, five hundred dollars a day under ‘cash withdrawals’.
It was then that I noticed Agnes’s expression. She was staring fixedly at her hands, her mouth compressed into a thin line. Her gaze flickered towards me and away again. I stood, a fine trickle of sweat running down my back.
‘He told me something very interesting. Apparently in the run-up to Christmas a considerable sum of money was removed from our joint bank account. It was removed day by day from a nearby ATM in amounts that were – perhaps – designed not to be noticed. He picked it up because they have anti-fraud software designed to identify strange patterns of use in any of our bank cards and this was flagged up as unusual. Obviously this was a little concerning so I asked Agnes and she told me it wasn’t anything to do with her. So I asked Ashok to provide the CCTV for the days concerned and my security people matched it up with the times of the withdrawals and it turns out, Louisa,’ here he looked at me directly, ‘the only person going in and out of the building at those times was you.’
My eyes widened.
‘Now, I could go to the banks concerned and ask them to provide the CCTV from their ATMs at the times the amount was taken, but I’d rather not put them to that trouble. So really I wanted to know whether you could explain what was going on here. And why almost ten thousand dollars was removed from our joint account.’
I looked at Agnes but she was still looking away from me.
My mouth had dried even more than it had that morning.
‘I had to do some … Christmas shopping. For Agnes.’
I looked at Josh. ‘Can you stay with me?’
‘Sure. Where are we going?’
I saw the wary glance of the driver in his rear-view mirror. A television blared from the back of his seat and a television studio audience burst into applause. Outside, everyone started to honk their horns at once. The lights were too bright. New York was suddenly too loud, too everything. ‘I don’t know. Your house,’ I said. ‘I can’t go back. Not yet.’ I looked at him and felt suddenly tearful. ‘Do you know I have two legs in two places?’
He tilted his head towards me. His face was kind. ‘Somehow, Louisa Clark, that doesn’t surprise me.’
I let my head rest on his shoulder and felt his arm slide gently around me.
I woke to the sound of a phone ringing, shrill and insistent. The blessed relief of it stopping, then a man’s voice murmuring. The welcome bitter smell of coffee. I shifted, trying to lift my head from the pillow. The resulting pain through my temples was so intense and unforgiving that I let out a little animal sound, like a dog whose tail had just been trapped in a door. I closed my eyes, took a breath, then opened them again.
This was not my bed.
It was still not my bed when I opened them a third time.
This indisputable fact was enough to prompt me to attempt to lift my head again, this time ignoring the thumping pain long enough to focus. Nope, this was definitely not my bed. This was also not my bedroom. In fact, it was no bedroom I had ever seen before. I took in the clothes – men’s clothes – folded neatly over the back of a chair, the television in the corner, the desk and the wardrobe, and became aware of the voice growing nearer. And then the door opened and Josh walked in, fully suited, holding a mug with one hand, his phone pressed to his ear with the other. He caught my eye, raised an eyebrow, and placed the mug on the bedside table, still talking.
‘Yeah, there’s been a problem with the subway. I’m going to grab a cab and I’ll be there in twenty … Sure. No problem … No, she’s on that already.’
I pushed myself upright, discovering as I did so that I was in a man’s T-shirt. The ramifications of this took a couple of minutes to seep in, and I felt the blush start from somewhere around my chest.
‘No, we already talked about that yesterday. He’s got all the paperwork ready to go.’
He turned away, and I wriggled back down, so that the duvet was around my neck. I was wearing knickers. That was something.
‘Yeah. It’ll be great. Yup – lunch sounds good.’ Josh rang off and shoved his phone into his pocket. ‘Good morning! I was just going to get you a side order of Advil. Want me to find you a couple? I’m afraid I have to go.’
‘Go?’ My mouth tasted rank, as dry as if it had been lightly powdered. I opened and closed it a couple of times, noting it made a faintly disgusting smacking sound.
‘To work. It’s Friday?’
‘Oh, God. What time is it?’
‘A quarter of seven. I have to shoot. Already running late. Will you be okay letting yourself out?’ He rummaged in a drawer and withdrew a blister pack, which he placed beside me. ‘There. That should help.’
I pushed my hair back from my face. It was slightly damp with sweat and astonishingly matted. ‘What – what happened?’
‘We can talk about it later. Drink your coffee.’
I took a sip obediently. It was strong and restorative. I suspected I would need another six. ‘Why am I in your T-shirt?’
He grinned. ‘That would be the dance.’
‘The dance?’ My stomach lurched.
He stooped and kissed my cheek. He smelt of soap and cleanliness and citrus and all things wholesome. I was aware that I was giving off hot waves of stale sweat and alcohol and shame. ‘It was a fun night. Hey – just make sure you give the door a really good slam when you leave, okay? Sometimes it doesn’t catch properly. I’ll call you later.’
He saluted from the doorway, turned and was gone, patting his pockets as if to reassure himself of something as he left.
‘Hold on – where am I?’ I yelled, a minute later, but he was already gone.
I was in SoHo, it turned out. One giant angry traffic jam away from where I was meant to be. I caught the subway from Spring Street to 59th Street, trying not to sweat gently into yesterday’s crumpled shirt and grateful for the small mercy that I was not in my usual glittery evening clothes. I had never really understood the term ‘grubby’ until that morning. I could remember almost nothing from the previous evening. And what I did remember came to me in unpleasant hot flashbacks.
Me sitting down in the middle of Times Square.
Me licking Josh’s neck. I had actually licked his neck.
What was that about dancing?
If I hadn’t been hanging onto the subway pole for dear life, I would have held my head in my hands. Instead I closed my eyes, lurched my way through the stations, shifted to avoid the backpacks and the grumpy commuters locked into their earphones, and tried not to throw up.
Just get through today, I told myself. If life had taught me one thing, it was that the answers would come soon enough.
I was just opening the door to my room when Mr Gopnik appeared. He was still dressed in his workout gear – unusual for him after seven – and lifted a hand when he saw me, as if he had been trying to locate me for some time. ‘Ah. Louisa.’
‘I’m sorry I –’
‘I’d like to talk to you in my study. Now.’
Of course you would, I thought. Of course. He turned and walked back up the corridor. I cast an anguished look at my room, which held my clean clothes, deodorant and toothpaste. I thought longingly about a second coffee. But Mr Gopnik was not the kind of man you kept waiting.
I glanced down at my phone, then jogged after him.
I walked into the study to find him already seated. ‘I’m really sorry I was ten minutes late. I’m not normally late. I just had to …’
Mr Gopnik was behind his desk, his expression unreadable. Agnes was on the upholstered chair by the coffee table in her workout gear. Neither of them asked me to sit down. Something in the atmosphere made me feel suddenly horribly sober.
‘Is … is everything okay?’
‘I’m hoping you can tell me. I had a call from my personal account manager this morning.’
‘Your what?’
‘The man who handles my banking operations. I wondered if you could explain this.’
He pushed a piece of paper towards me. It was a bank statement, with the totals blacked out. My eyesight was a little blurry but just one thing was visible, a trail of figures, five hundred dollars a day under ‘cash withdrawals’.
It was then that I noticed Agnes’s expression. She was staring fixedly at her hands, her mouth compressed into a thin line. Her gaze flickered towards me and away again. I stood, a fine trickle of sweat running down my back.
‘He told me something very interesting. Apparently in the run-up to Christmas a considerable sum of money was removed from our joint bank account. It was removed day by day from a nearby ATM in amounts that were – perhaps – designed not to be noticed. He picked it up because they have anti-fraud software designed to identify strange patterns of use in any of our bank cards and this was flagged up as unusual. Obviously this was a little concerning so I asked Agnes and she told me it wasn’t anything to do with her. So I asked Ashok to provide the CCTV for the days concerned and my security people matched it up with the times of the withdrawals and it turns out, Louisa,’ here he looked at me directly, ‘the only person going in and out of the building at those times was you.’
My eyes widened.
‘Now, I could go to the banks concerned and ask them to provide the CCTV from their ATMs at the times the amount was taken, but I’d rather not put them to that trouble. So really I wanted to know whether you could explain what was going on here. And why almost ten thousand dollars was removed from our joint account.’
I looked at Agnes but she was still looking away from me.
My mouth had dried even more than it had that morning.
‘I had to do some … Christmas shopping. For Agnes.’
