“Yes, good.” He nods, surveying me with those quick, clever eyes, then takes a deep breath as though he wants to say something awkward.
Immediately, alarm bells ring all over my body. I’m not doing that. I’m not standing here listening to him dole out platitudes while my cheeks burn and my mouth goes to sawdust.
“So,” I say shrilly. “Actually, I’m not in the mood for coffee after all.”
“Cat—”
“See you later.” I walk briskly out of the kitchen, like someone who has a super-brilliant life with lots to get done. As I reach the corridor, a lift is waiting with its doors open, and, without thinking, I get in. The doors close and I utter a tiny scream, my hands clamped over my face, still holding the Ansters Farm brochure.
But then, within ten seconds, I’m pulling myself together. I’m not going to lose it. Not over a man. It’s fine, I tell myself sternly. Everyone has the odd embarrassing moment in their life and I just need to get this in perspective. What I’ll do is: I’ll go up to the top and then back down again, and that will give me some breathing space.
The lift travels up to the top floor, where Demeter gets in. I find myself eyeing her curiously—she really looks in a state. Her makeup isn’t quite as immaculate as usual, for a start. Her eyes are distant and she keeps muttering something to herself. She doesn’t even seem to notice me as she jabs the button for our floor.
And I know this isn’t the best time. But something’s coming over me, a need to be something. I’m still smarting from Alex’s pity. So he’s sleeping with Demeter—so what? It doesn’t mean I’m a tragic nothing. Standing there, watching Demeter scrolling agitatedly through her phone, I have this desperate, overwhelming urge to prove myself.
“Demeter.” I rouse her from her reverie. “Can I give you this?” I hold the brochure out and she takes it automatically.
“Cath.” She peers at me as if she’s only just realized there’s another person in the lift.
“Yes! So, let me explain what this is—”
“Cath…” Demeter wrinkles her brow as though the sight of me is throwing her into fresh disarray. “Cath…” She scrolls back and forth on her phone even more dementedly, frowning at her screen as though it’s in Ancient Greek. “I did talk to you. We did talk?”
She really seems quite crazy. Flora says the truth is, she’s not up to running a department, and to look at her now, I’d have to agree. I mean, what’s she on about? Is she worried about not communicating with the junior staff?
I nod reassuringly. “We’ve talked loads.” Then I gesture at the brochure, trying to get her to focus on it. “So, this is a project I’ve…well, masterminded, I suppose….”
Demeter’s gaze sweeps over the brochure, but I’m not sure she sees it.
“Because, Cath, what I want to say to you is…” Her eyes zoom in on my face as though finally she’s found her topic. “What I really want to say to you—”
To my shock, she stops the lift, then turns to face me.
“Demeter?” I say uncertainly.
“Cath, I know it’s difficult for you to hear this,” she says, in those firm, strident tones of hers. “But it will turn out all for the good. In fact, this could be the best thing that ever happened to you.” She nods emphatically. “The best thing.”
OK, she really has lost it. I don’t know what she’s on about.
“The best thing?” I echo. “I don’t quite—”
“You just have to stay positive, OK?” She gives me an encouraging smile. “You’re so talented and bright. I know you’ll do well in life. I know you’ll get there.”
There’s an angle to this speech that is making me feel…not worried, exactly. But—
Worried.
It’s almost as if—
“Get where?” I say, more desperately than I meant to. “Positive about what? What are you talking about?”
There’s a long, still silence in the lift. Demeter looks at me. She looks at her phone. The wild, starey look has come back to her eyes, a hundredfold.
“Fuck,” she says, almost in a whisper.
I have no idea how to respond to this. But there’s a new sensation creeping over me. It’s gray and clammy. It’s foreboding.
“We haven’t spoken.” Demeter knocks a fist to her head. “I didn’t think we had, but…” She peers at her phone and her eyes dim. “I’m going insane.”
“Spoken about—” I can’t finish the sentence. The words feel like glass marbles, crowding my throat, making me choke.
For thirty seconds, there’s silence in the lift. I feel almost light-headed. This can’t be happening; this isn’t happening….Then, as though breaking the spell, Demeter thumps the lift button and we start to travel again.
“We need a meeting, Cath,” she says, in the briskest of businesslike tones. “Why not come to my office straightaway?”
“A meeting about what?” I force myself to say the words, but Demeter doesn’t answer.
“Just come along,” she says, sweeping out of the lift.
And I follow.
—
I think there must be a script to these things, and Demeter follows it to the letter. “Difficult times…current financial challenges…department contracting…budget constraints…been such a wonderful addition…so deeply and personally sorry…wonderful reference…anything we can do…”