I know this girl has a file of this saved somewhere. But where?
I'm opening and closing files on the laptop, determined to find the one I'm looking for.
Fingers thrum the desk. The brain does its best to work out what she'd have saved it under. I tried one other but it wasn't that. I'd give up, except I so badly want to sign off on this design's final part of the project. So I start sending my Assistant a text. Only to realise she's yet to respond to any of my messages this week. Not even the one asking which hospital her mom was at so I could send them some flowers.
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Instead, I dial her number, but again, no answer. No option to leave a voice message either. I'm finding it very strange. I know I told her to take all the time she needed for her mother but this level of dark is concerning. The fingers of my left hand thrum out my leather desk mat again, but this time for a different reason.
I pick up my laptop, my handbag, car and office keys and walk down to reception.
Finished already?
John, the oldest security guard asks, when he sees me coming down the corridor with my stuff.
Yes, a very short one today.
Well, the weather is good. No point staying indoors when it is so nice outdoors.
It is exactly what I'm about to do, but John, can I ask you something. Has Monique, by chance, been in this week?
His eyes narrow as if to read through his memory of the week. He wags his head at me. Says no.
But didn't you say she's on holiday?
Yes, I did, but just thought I'd ask.
Why? Is something the matter?
No. No. Just asking. Thank you anyway.
Though, you can't really miss Monique can you? Away from you, she's the next best dressed in this building.
The younger security guard next to him nods in agreement. Adds we're both always so nicely dressed. That we brought colour to the building and no pun intended.
You're such sweet talkers. Anyway, I'm leaving. Take care of yourselves now and I'll see you both next week.
As I walk away, I wave them both with my free hand over my head.
You too my dear, go enjoy yourself now. Let that husband of yours take you out for a nice lunch. You work too much.
I hear you, John. Have a good weekend.
I'm ever so grateful my back is turned because the one cup of coffee I've had all morning is ready to resurface itself at the word husband as I go down in the lifts. In the underground car park, I rest my stuff in the booth and steady myself upright on the car until I feel strong enough to swap my strappy sandals out of my weekend bag for the loafers I'm wearing, tan and matching my handbag. But Monique's Houdini act continues to plague me as I key in my destination's postcode. I'd prefer not to lose a husband and my Assistant in the same month. Though the husband had become more and more manipulative, so if you ask me, worth losing but not in the shitstorm I did.
I shake my head, breathe. But I can't seem to shake off my concern where Monique is concerned and driving out the car park, I skid some tyres when the guardrail clears in the opposite direction of that instructed.
Make a U-turn when possible... Turn around... Recalculating...
I switched the damn thing off before it gave itself a hernia because I at least knew where I was going.
There's nowhere near Monique's place to park, so I park at the end of her road and walk back. Ring her doorbell. I've dropped her home a few times but this is the first time I've climbed these stairs. I know she lives with another two twenty something year olds. And that they're a bunch of fun listening to Monique talk about there weekend antics but that's it. I'm looking around the front of the house for signs of life, when a young woman (similar age as her), hair in ice-gold-and-green braids, answers the door.
Hi, I say, is Monique in?
Instead of answering me, she calls for her friend Shaniqua, who appears at the end of the hallway. The two of them size me up. No one has answered my question yet. And although I may already know the answer, I ask again. 'Is Monique in?'
'Nah, she not in.' Ms Shaniqua says when Ms 'Irie Hair' turns back to her. Okay, I say. Do you know when she'll be back? Once again, Ms 'Irie Hair' turns back to Shaniqua, who says she doesn't know. I feel a big island arrow aimed at my small island frame, so I tell Ms 'Irie Hair' I like her hair to diffuse the launch. No response, just a look down her nose at me, though I stood three clear inches above her.
'Can I help you with anything else?' Stepping back from the door, ready to shut it.
'No, that's okay.' Knowing very well I'd overstayed my welcome on those front steps. But just as I turned off, I quickly turned back to a door nearly shut.
Actually, do you know what hospital her mom's at?
Her head goes back. So I say never mind if you see her. Can you ask her to call me? Gave them my name.
Oh, we know who you are. Ms Irie Hair says in a not so uncertain terms.
My face falters. I say thank you and disappear down the short flight of stairs. The front door slams as I do. Safe on the pavement, I had to smell myself. Check my yellow romper had not grown a tear or some nasty stain on it (and it hadn't), then look back at the house.
Something..., That was..., Uhm, are those the same set of girls Monique tells me about? With my sunglasses on, I walk back to my car and start the ignition. But instead of driving off, I sit both hands on the bottom of the steering wheel, thumbing it. I'm out of ideas, but I will also run out of time if I continue to sit there any longer.
The Satnav's back on because now I need its help. And this time, I have no plans to give it any hernia-inducing issues.
Where are all these people going in London on a Saturday morning? Don't they have beds to lie in?
I say to no one, some fifteen minutes into my journey as I put some music on for company. But I remember telling Ana I'd call her when I'm on my way, so I do as I hit the motorway.
Yes, there was a last-minute cancellation on the last two nights of their stay. And yours truly got a room.
Ana and Jonno have promised under Scout's honour not to tell James and Jonno assures me James is unaware. That's my job to tell him.
And all week, I've been imagining it, the surprise on his face when I turn up. The anticipation of it consuming my mind, playing out every possible scenario. Just the thought of it now makes my heart race. I'm not sure why, after all, its just James. But then again, we do have history, I argue with myself. But our lives rarely crossed paths unless it was our businesses and that was such a shame. And I'd have to admit it was more me than him. Me trying to make allowances to save a marriage that should have long been cancelled. But there was the other part of me that wanted it to work. That didn't want a failed marriage.
Culture Club pops out my speakers when I hang up, leave Ana and Jonno to finish their lunch. We Miss each other Blind on the way to the South Coast. And now he has me thinking of James again. My fingers move to call him, but nerves imprison my hands, holds my thinking ransom.
Shit, I've missed my turnoff.
I save my Satnav from another hernia and make the roundabout turn it's barking at me as if it's my Drill Sergeant. Why doesn't it have the manners to say please.
Back en route, I set myself free, call James because now I'm dying to talk to him.
Well hello. To what do I owe this great pleasure?
I swear, he picked up before the first ring ended, and I felt so relieved.
Nothing, I'm just saying hi!
Jess, you okay? Tone doubtful.
Okay, you got me. That's not strictly true. Are you going to the Isle of Wight? I ask, fully knowing the answer.
Yes. I'm just about to drive onto the Ferry.
Are you?
Yes.
Okay.
I sense his caution in speaking further and offer that it's just me.
Do you want a lift? I can turn back and come get you.
James, you just said you're about to get on the Ferry.
Yes, but doesn't matter. I'd rather come and get you.
He says as calmly as ever as if he'd only needed to drive back into Portsmouth or Lymington or somewhere like that, not a three-hour trek back into London.
It's okay; I'm only a few minutes away. I may be last on but only a few minutes away.
Do you want me to come out the queue and wait for you?
No, James, that's fine. You can wait for me on the Ferry.
Speak now....my front wheels are going on the ramp.
James, it's fine, honestly, I'll see you on the Ferry. Laughing.
Wait, why are you laughing? Have you driven onto a ferry before?
No, but how hard can it be? Don't we all just roll on, one metal duckling after another?
Alright, I'll see you shortly.
Shit.
What?
Shit
Jess, what is it?
I think I've just passed the same... Sorry, can I call you back?
SILENCE
You're not going to catch this Ferry, are you?
I don't think so.
Jess.
I can feel his disappointment.
I know. I'm so sorry. Listen, let me call you back.
----------------------
I finally find my way to the dock as the Ferry sails away. That ferry now making the distance between me and him a big one again.
PS - Monique's flatmates - what do you think is going on there?
