Cubicle two was becoming my home away from home. I would go for a pee, and then lay my face
against the wall, calculating how many minutes I could afford to be away from my desk before it
became a hanging offence. That afternoon I’d clearly taken my vice too far, because when I swung open
the door, I found Julia standing on the other side, looking worried.
‘Hi,’ I said, crossing purposefully to the sink and turning the taps on full blast. ‘Rachel,’ she said
hesitantly, her anxious face reflected in the smeared mirrors. ‘Are you alright? You seem so quiet
today.’ The truth was, since my morning session with Amber, I’d lost all of my remaining ability to
pretend I was handling my job. Emails swam in front of my eyes like they were written in Chinese, and
I’d dumped every single incoming call, even though there were urgent decisions on the project that
needed my input. I’d been watching my phone all day, but there’d been nothing from Arthur. Perhaps
Amber would leave it alone. Or perhaps he cared so little that he’d simply slink away into the shadows
like we’d never been a thing.
‘I’m okay,’ I said, leaning over the sink, trying to ke ep my face hidden. She considered me – my
hunched shoulders, my puffy eyes. ‘I know we’re not, like, friend, friends – but I do care about you,’
she said. ‘I know it’s not been easy with Duncan, but is everything okay with your new guy? It sounded
really exciting...’ I felt my face flush with humiliation.
‘Julia, trust me, I’m fine,’ I said, sharp. ‘I don’t need anything from you.’ ‘Fine,’ she said, equally sharp.
‘I was just trying to be a human being.’ ‘Julia...’
I turned, but the door was already slamming behind her. Why had I been so unnecessarily rude to her? It
was shame, pure and simple, but there was no way I could humiliate myself by telling her that. Now all I
could do was hope she didn’t revenge herself by dripping poison to Duncan. I pulled off my usual trick,
staying an hour past home time to try to convince Duncan that I was a reformed character. Julia had
barely looked at me for the rest of the day, rejecting every conciliatory cup of tea I tried to make her and
leaving without so much as a goodbye. Eventually I gathered up my things, already bargaining with
myself about wine. Red was less toxic than white, I told myself, and if I bought a bottle, I’d only drink
half of it before I stuck the cork back in the neck and went to bed. It was fine – I needed something to
sip with a Netflix binge. Something that would ultimately help me sle ep.
Arthur rang me as I was almost at the tube. Ironically it was the first call he’d ever made to me: up to
that point, it had all been game playing, non-committal texts. I snatched up the call before I could think
too hard about how angry the contact would make Amber. ‘What the fuck, Rachel?’ ‘Hi,’ I said, my
voice shaking. In that moment, all I wanted was comfort. Any kind of comfort. Even this counted.
‘I thought we agreed we weren’t going to talk about it?’ he said. ‘And now you’re making out to Amber
I’m some sort of fucking abuser?’ ‘I didn’t say that to her, and I swear to you I didn’t tell her. She
guessed.’ Arthur snorted with frustration. ‘Arthur, can we talk about it properly? I can come and find
you now.’ It makes me shudder, remembering how low my desperation took me. ‘Please!’
‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea,’ he said, sounding incredibly pompous. ‘I don’t really like the version
of me that’s been painted.’ ‘That’s exactly why I need to talk to you. Face to face.’ With the dating
history I’d had, I knew enough to know that a man like Arthur was far too opportunistic to resist a
woman offering herself up to him on a plate.
Soon I was back in his local, a large glass of red in my hand that I’d paid for, a stream of apologies
pouring forth. ‘I’m sorry, okay? All I did was tell Hannah, and that was only because... I was excited.’
Arthur refused to look at me, his face still set with anger. I reached a tentative hand out and stroked his
forearm through his jumper. It was pitiful.
‘We agreed it was private,’ he snapped. ‘I don’t like my business being discussed, let alone with her.’
There was venom in his voice that I hoped wasn’t meant for me. ‘I know,’ I said. ‘It was stupid and
disrespectful of me. I’m really sorry.’ Arthur finally turned to look at me, his expression black. ‘I’m not
sure we should carry on. I mean I really like you, Rachel, but... it’s not like either of us are in the space
for a relationship right now.’
I interrupted him. ‘That’s not true! I know Amber thinks I’m too vulnerable, but – it’s really helped me
get stronger, beginning to date again. You’re so different from the kind of men I was with before I
started healing...’ Arthur had a strange smile on his face. ‘What?’ I said, unnerved. He waved a hand. ‘I
shouldn’t. It’s not for me to... The therapeutic relationship has to be sacrosanct.’
‘Arthur?’ He gave me a long look, his anger eventually getting the better of him. ‘I just don’t think her
motives are quite as pure as she’s making out.’ ‘Please stop talking in code!’ ‘It’s totally inappropriate
for me to tell you this, but...’ ‘What are you saying?’ He paused. ‘She was my girlfriend at college. She
was at the poly, couple of years below me. We lived together for a year or two. I mean, it’s aeons ago
now, but... I know what she’s like. She can’t bear to feel like she’s lost a battle, even if she hasn’t.’
I could barely form a sentence.
‘Amber was your girlfriend?’ I could almost feel him inside me now, the sense memory of it. It was
enough to make me retch. ‘Amber? But – isn’t she way younger than you?’ Arthur snorted. ‘I’d say
she’s no stranger to a needle. What is she now – early fifties?’ I sat there trying to absorb what he’d
said, my world spinning another re volution. I pushed my chair backwards, the wooden legs screeching
loudly against the pub floor.
‘You should’ve told me,’ I said, standing up. ‘Both of you should’ve told me!’ ‘It was years ago,’
protested Arthur. ‘Come on, Rachel, calm down.’ ‘No!’ I said. ‘It’s gross. I would never have done that
if I’d known...’ Darkness descended on Arthur again. ‘You were hardly fighting me off,’ he spat. ‘Fuck
you,’ I said, pulling on my coat. He reached for me, but I shook him off.
‘Rachel, I’m really sorry if you feel like I deceived you,’ he said. ‘I don’t feel like it – you did deceive
me.’ ‘Look, I promised I wouldn’t talk to you again,’ he said, wheedling now. ‘Can you not—’ ‘Just
fuck off,’ I said, gulping the dregs of my wine. ‘I never want to see you again.’ I left him beached at the
table, vain and hopeless, and st epped out into the night.
It felt as though there was no one left. No one but me.