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I shrug my shoulders.
‘Candice just takes so much longer to say,’ he persists, and I’m not sure if he’s kidding or not.
‘Well you could take it up with my parents, but they’re dead,’ I tell him harshly, in an attempt to shut the conversation down.
‘Rough,’ he replies, and I don’t know if he’s referring to my orphan status or my manner.
Before I got involved with Will – when I was young, sweet and approachable – I didn’t attract much attention from guys. As a shy and unremarkable teen with only female friends, I had no confidence to talk to boys and in turn they had no desire to talk to me. Back then I would have given anything to be catcalled, even if it was just a tramp drunkenly yelling at me to show him my tits, that would’ve been enough. I mean, I wouldn’t have shown him, but it would’ve been nice to be asked. I think that’s why I was so blown away when a handsome, grown man like Will wanted anything to do with me. Now that I’m happy (ish) with Will, the last thing I want is men coming on to me, but now that I’m not interested in anyone else, I seem to have my pick of the fine, eligible bachelors of Manchester. Why yes, I am being sarcastic. Catcallers in the street, drunks in bars, well-travelled IT freelancers – the harder I try to seem uninterested, the more people seem to try. It’s weird.
When Geordie Shore first asked me out, I didn’t get a chance to reject him before Will intervened, but after that I made sure he knew I wasn’t interested. Could I have been interested were it not for my relationship with Will? I’m not certain, but what I am certain of now is that he has become this huge pain in my arse. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t flattered when he showed interest in me, because he’s undeniably gorgeous, but he upsets Will when he hits on me, he stops me getting my (admittedly near non-existent) work done, but worst of all he just irks me in a way that I can’t even explain.
There’s something about the way he looks at me that I just don’t like. I’m a very closed book; I keep myself to myself, but with the new guy it’s like that doesn’t matter. I feel like he looks through me, like he can see all my secrets and there’s nothing I can do about it.
‘I might go grab a doughnut,’ the new guys announces to fill the silence. ‘Can I get you one?’
‘No, thank you,’ I reply, my eyes fixed firmly on my screen.
‘Don’t tell me you don’t like doughnuts?’ he gasps, faux dramatically for effect.
‘I don’t really eat junk,’ I tell him. It is technically true that I am trying not to eat junk. It’s not fun at all and sometimes, when I’m having a rough day, I’d love nothing more than to work my way through a baker’s dozen, but I don’t. OK, I maybe sneak one now and then, but after last night, I need to behave today.
‘Healthy eater?’ he asks, nodding towards my body. ‘Well, you look good for it.’
‘Thank you.’ I look up at him, and smile briefly.
He smiles back before dashing out of the room. The staff room isn’t far and soon enough he’s back with four doughnuts on a plate, each a different flavour, but all absolutely delicious-looking. At least two of them clearly involve chocolate and I feel my breathing quicken as I eyeball them longingly. I try not to make eye contact with delicious food, lest I fall off the wagon and eat everything that crosses my path on my way to the ground. I know that as soon as I hit the floor – like when Will makes any kind of remark about my weight – it will hurt so much, and no food is worth that, right? What is it they say? Nothing tastes as good as thin feels. Whoever came up with that phrase has obviously never tasted a chocolate and peanut butter doughnut.
‘Right, two each and you can have first pick,’ new guy says as he pulls up Caroline’s chair, placing the plate on my desk and pushing it towards me. Oh God, what the hell is wrong with me? Why am I so weak for food? My mind is telling me no, but my stomach is telling me hell yes.
‘Just one,’ I say, convincing neither myself nor the new guy that I’ll stop after just one. I mean, look at them! I grab the chocolate and peanut butter one and start delicately nibbling away at it, instead of trying to stuff it in my mouth whole like my instincts are telling me to.
‘I’ll take the raspberry ripple one,’ he says, stabbing it with his finger before eating it off like a lollipop. ‘Your move,’ he says, his mouth full of food.
I make sure to empty my mouth before I speak.
‘It’s going to have to be the pink, glittery glazed one,’ I sigh.
‘I knew it,’ he says, clapping victoriously, absentmindedly forgetting the doughnut in this hand. He laughs and licks jam from his hands like a messy little boy. ‘I knew you’d go chocolate and then sparkly – proper girly girl, aren’t you?’
I shrug my shoulders.
‘Have you ever been to Thailand?’ he asks.
‘No,’ I reply, my instincts telling me not to get into conversation with him, to just eat my doughnut, feel ashamed of my lack of willpower and get on with pretending to work.
‘I went last year, amazing place,’ he tells me. ‘There’s this thing they eat, it’s high-protein and low-fat – you might like it. They’re pregnant crickets.’
I snap my head upright, taking my eyes off my blank screen to look at him in disbelief. I swallow hard to empty my mouth.
‘Excuse me, they’re what?’
‘Yeah, they’re crickets that are full of eggs. Apparently they raise them on a farm, feed them well so it makes for a yummier cricket.’
‘That’s disgusting,’ I squeak. It annoys me that I find him so interesting when I try so hard to ignore him. ‘Did you eat one?’
‘Of course,’ he tells me as he spins around in Sweet Caroline’s desk chair. ‘YOLO – that’s what the kids say, right? Also, when in Thailand… It was just one of many culinary delights they have over there.’
Unfazed by his disgusting story, I grab my second doughnut and start munching away.
‘Do I want to know?’ I ask, unsure if I do or I don’t.
‘Oh, you’d be amazed what they’ll put in their mouths over there,’ he replies with a cheeky wink, and I no sooner crack up laughing when we are interrupted by someone joining us. It’s Will.
He stands in the doorway, looking at me, then Geordie Shore, then me again.
‘Well, it looks like you two are having fun,’ Will says. ‘Remind me, do I pay you two to work or to sit around eating and laughing together?’
‘It’s my fault,’ the new guy says, still twirling in his chair like he couldn’t give a fuck, whereas my body has gone rigid with fear. Not for my job, but because I’m terrified of upsetting Will. ‘Caroline called for me. I’m just waiting for her to get back.’
‘Tell you what, you get back to work and I’ll have Candice call you when Caroline gets back. And you,’ he points at me, ‘my office, now.’
Will storms into his office and slams the door behind him.
‘Ah shit, I’m sorry,’ new guy says to me softly. ‘Didn’t mean to land you in it. You’re going to get a ticking off now, aren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ I reply. ‘But I’m used to it.’
Chapter 5 (#ulink_c5546566-72f4-51f6-a701-f57170612d08)
I sit down in the chair opposite Will’s desk and anxiously nibble a fingernail, terrified of his reaction. With each second that ticks away, the anticipation of what he might say fills me with more and more fear, and I can feel my doughnuts doing somersaults in my stomach – minus the half of the pink one that is still in my hand, because I panicked and brought it with me. At least I think that’s what happened, unless I subconsciously just really, really want it.
Will glances towards it, a disapproving look on his face.
‘I only had the one,’ I say defensively.
‘Candice, you have chocolate on your face, and that is not a chocolate doughnut in your hand,’ he says with a sigh. ‘Why are you lying to me?’
‘OK, so I had two, but I’m going to the gym later and – ’
‘What else are you lying to me about?’ he asks, interrupting me.
‘What? Nothing!’ I insist, almost offended. I try so hard to be the perfect girlfriend for him, no matter how tough things get. I can’t believe he’s so upset about a few hundred calories. OK, I mean, it’s probably like seven hundred for both but…shit, seven hundred. When you stop and think about it, it’s bad, isn’t it?
‘It’s not the doughnut,’ he insists. ‘The new kid’s not going to be a problem for us, is he?’ Will asks.
‘The new guy?’
‘Yes. I see the two of you talking a lot, laughing and joking together…’
Will struggles to hide his jealously, but like a good girlfriend, I do my best to put his mind at rest. He really doesn’t have anything to worry about, and I’m not about to pretend he does to try and force his hand into going public before he’s ready.
‘Of course not. It’s always him talking to me – usually talking at me. I hardly give him the time of day.’
Will narrows his brown eyes at me thoughtfully.
‘I could get rid of him.’
I can’t help but giggle, because that almost sounded sinister. Of course, this is Will we’re talking about, and in his voice it couldn’t be clearer that he’s talking about sacking him, and not having him bumped off.
‘Don’t be silly, it’s not worth the trouble,’ I tell him, grabbing his hand.
Will squeezes my hand and gives me a smile.
‘Well he’s only working for us on an ad hoc basis, on the new network and website. We spoke about more work after that, but he didn’t seem keen. From the look of his CV, he doesn’t stay anywhere long but he’s good at what he does. Great, in fact. He’s quite the colourful character.’
I’ve picked up on as much from the stories he’s told me, and the things I’ve heard him telling others. He’s certainly an interesting one.
Safely in the privacy of his office – except I don’t feel that safe in here, nor does it feel that private any more – Will walks around the desk and massages my shoulders. But not before taking the remainder of my doughnut and throwing it in the bin. I watch solemnly as it lands with a thud, and as I momentarily consider if it might still be edible, I realise that I need to up my diet game, because that is a disgusting thing to think.
‘Look, I understand that you’re upset because I made you hide under the desk and I’m sorry,’ my lover finally apologises to me for the events of the previous day, like it’s some silly man crime he’s committed. Not noticing a new haircut, keeping his socks on during sex, leaving the toilet seat up, oh, and having you hide under the desk while his secretary is in the room. Standard stuff.
Despite Will’s instructions, the new guy didn’t seem anxious to get back to his department in a hurry, as Caroline was expecting him. He explained this again to a furious Will when he came back out to summon me into his office. I suspected that Will was only so angry with the new guy because he was flirting with me again, and not because IT productivity would be down. I worry that he might be able to hear our conversation if he’s still outside and lower my voice.
‘It’s fine,’ I tell him, finally taking my eyes off the bin.
‘Not long until our holiday from the world,’ Will says brightly. ‘I’ll just pop my head around the door at each office, and then the days and nights are ours. I’ve got us booked into some beautiful hotels, and I’ve got some romantic surprises set up. It’s going to be great.’
‘It is.’ I sigh.
‘I love you, Candice Hart,’ Will tells me, before he kisses me. And just like that, I am his again. Any little doubts in my mind or worries that he might not be worth it are wiped out as soon as he shows me any affection. With one kiss, he is out of my bad books.
‘You too,’ I tell him when our lips finally part.
Will pinches my cheek like he always does. I’ve never understood why people do that as a sign of affection because, if anything, it’s kind of uncomfortable – borderline painful – but I’ve come to associate the feeling with Will and what he means when he does it and it makes me feel great.
Our moment only lasts a few seconds.
‘Oh, before I forget, I’ve got Charlie’s leaving card here. I need you to sign it, and get the few remaining people who haven’t done so to do the same. It’s just Rick and the IT team, so if you could get that done ASAP.’
He walks over to his tidy desk and locates the card without much searching, then he hands it to me, before adjusting my outfit a little for me, making sure I’m tidy too. Will kisses me on the forehead before the ringing of his phone drags him back to his desk.
‘Hello, Caroline,’ he answers, so she must be back at her desk, which means hopefully the new guy will have cleared off. ‘OK, send her in.’
‘I’ve called for a meeting with Julie, you know the girl who cleans the offices?’
I nod, uninterested. I don’t know much about Julie, other than the fact that she’s my age, Sweet Caroline’s right-hand woman, and a total bitch. She once would have certainly lost me my job, were it not for my relationship with Will. She was tidying my desk as I was working, and I was panicking to get an email sent before the end of the day. I had two piles of invoices on my desk, one of which needed shredding. She was going on at me to clear them, so I told her which pile needed destroying. Anyway, she shredded the wrong one, and Will hit the roof. I was so certain I carefully told her which pile was for the shredder, but she wouldn’t have it. She started crying and Will fell soft, because he’s useless around emotional women, and the whole situation was just quietly forgotten about. But I know that somewhere there’s a HR record of the events, probably saying it’s all my fault.
‘Well, she’s doing an awful job. Look at this.’
Will runs a finger across a framed photo that sits on his desk. I glance at his finger, which looks absolutely fine to me, but he does have a reputation for being a perfectionist.
‘I’m going to have to have a word,’ he insists.
As I head for the door, Julie walks inside, squeezing past me.
‘Candice,’ she says, acknowledging my existence without a hint of pleasantness.
‘Julie,’ I reply as I go to pass her in the doorway.
‘Breathe in,’ she says with a sweet little giggle as I squeeze past her. Well if she’d just move, I wouldn’t need to.
I close Will’s office door behind me, pissed off at Julie but satisfied with another successful interaction with Will. It’s hard spending so much time around him at work, always so close, but never being able to touch – only when we can squeeze in these brief moments together. That’s all they are though: moments. Now it’s back to work.
Chapter 6 (#ulink_1ec81181-85f3-5a5e-80ff-cc9e346dd3a9)
‘Honey, I’m home,’ I call out, as I do every night, and my dutiful little cat runs up to me and shows me affection, like she always does when I get home. It was Will’s idea that I get a pet, so that I had some company when Amy finally moved out. I would’ve preferred a puppy, but a kitten was less work. Cats are much more independent, and don’t take much looking after. They’re capable of showing affection, but they don’t need to. They’re happy on their own, doing their own thing – the perfect pet for me then.
As much as I love Honey, sometimes I look at her, and feel like she’s the first step to my never-ending spinsterhood, a reminder that I’m going to be forever alone. Deep down, at the back of my mind, I do worry that I’m going to live here at the top of my tower until someone comes to rescue me from a life where I have more cats then I do husbands. Even if I don’t get more cats like the crazy cat lady I imagine I’ll turn into, one cat still makes that a fact. Unless, of course, we’re counting other people’s husbands, but that’s merely a technicality, isn’t it?
The first thing I do is head for my wardrobe, where I hang up my clothes, before taking a seat at my dressing table. I let my hair down – immediately scraping it into a bun and removing my make-up. Despite it being June there’s a chilly breeze tonight, so I put on a pair of pink flannel pyjamas, which, despite being purchased from Victoria’s Secret, are sexy by no stretch of the imagination. Then I head for the kitchen, throw some diced chicken into a pan and cook it, before throwing in a packet of stir-fry sauce. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with having this for dinner, it’s just that it’s this kind of healthy, low-fat, low-calorie, low-fun stuff that I live on to make sure my new dresses keep fitting me. I am bored of it, but I toss it around in the pan with the wrist action of a professional chef, breaking only to pop out onto the balcony to water my plants.
I never really thought I had a problem with my weight, until that first time Will pointed out that I was making unhealthy lifestyle choices. I wouldn’t say he was keeping tabs on my weight, but he started making helpful suggestions about how I could drop those extra few pounds I’ve been carrying around. At first, I was good at it. It was simple maths, just eat less and move more and those few pounds melt right off. But then, when I wanted to go back to eating ‘normally’ Will explained to me that I would pile it all back on – and more. The diet was OK for a few months, but I miss food so much. Eating steak just reminded me how much I love it, and I miss chocolate more than anything, which is probably why I’m powerless to resist when someone literally offers it to me on a plate. I’m healthier though, right? I’ll live a longer life, even if it will be a joyless one without big bars of Cadbury’s chocolate to keep me happy.
After sitting at the dining table to eat, all alone, I make myself a cup of tea, grab a SkinnyKwik chocolate cereal bar (a poor excuse for the real thing) and get comfortable on the sofa, ready for another night in, all alone.
Netflix has become my best friend. I recently started binge-watching Breaking Bad of a night and, I have to say, I am hooked. It’s a huge shift in genre from the last thing I watched, which was Gossip Girl, but as much as I loved that, Breaking Bad is just something else. Watching the journey Walter embarks on is eye-opening to say the least, and as much as it is reminding me that life can be short, it is also showing me just how much you can change your life. In a way, I relate. No, I’m not embarking on a career cooking meth – even stir-fry is a stretch for my culinary skills. Walter is trying to be this Heisenberg persona to fit in with his new world, just like I am trying so hard to fit into Will’s world. I’ll be interested to see how it plays out for him – and me. It’s hard to imagine anyone can keep up the act of pretending to be something they’re not, not without someone figuring out that they’re a fraud, or them turning into the person they’re pretending to be and losing their identity for ever.
As I sit here on the sofa, alone, cuddled up in the dark, with my new favourite show on the TV, I realise something: my relationship with TV is a lot like my relationship with Will. It takes me on an emotional roller coaster. It can make me so happy and then leave me so crushed in so much as a scene. A happy ending can lift my mood, just like a plot twist can distract me from my thoughts all day, or a sad scene can leave me feeling devastated. A character death leaves me feeling like I’ve actually lost someone. I mourn them. I think about them, about what the show would be like if they were still in it, just like I wonder what my life would be like if I’d made different choices. TV never lets me down, though. It keeps me entertained on these lonely nights. It excites me… I’ve just realised I’m living vicariously through Walter White.
It’s a particularly tense moment of the show, and as I await the fate of a main character, I feel my fists clench and my nails dig into the palms of my hands. The TV is silent, I am silent and just as tension is building my phone comes to life on the table in front of me, lighting up and vibrating with a message, causing me to jump out of my skin. As my heart finally stops pounding, I narrow my eyes, giving my phone a suspicious glance. Who is texting me? People hardly ever text me. Not since I got involved with an unavailable man and alienated all my friends.
I pause my show and grab my phone. It’s Will! That’s so weird; he very rarely texts me. I don’t give myself a chance to worry. I grab my phone and open it.
Will: Hi.
Me: Hey, you OK? xx
Will: I’m good. Steph out. I’m babysitting. What are you up to?
Oh, so that’s why he can text me, because he’s alone tonight. Not that I’m complaining – it’s nice to hear from him.
I’m not quite sure where to place it, but there seems to be a line – a generational gap – where people above a certain age seem to be bad at texting. Perhaps it’s because they were just that little bit too old to get caught up in MySpace and, for some reason, they just never signed up to Facebook like everyone else did. At the moment it’s around the forty mark. Messages are blunt, to the point and without kisses or emoji. Occasionally you’ll see a ‘LOL’ but it’s ten years too late. That’s when I notice the age gap, when he LOLs, when I realise that he’s never going to find a message containing nothing but a banana emoji funny. I remind myself that I shouldn’t find that funny either, because I’m a grown-ass lady.
Me: Just reading a book in bed. You?
Liar. But I’m not about to tell him I’m over-emotionally investing in a TV drama about the drug trade. It hardly screams ‘wife material’ does it?
Will: Just in bed. Thinking of you. What are you wearing?
