Page 43 of If We Were Young

I narrowed my gaze, thinking of some way I could accidentally throw something at his face without it being obvious that I’d taken aim. “Is there something wrong, Mr Carling?”

“Not at all. Just admiring what a friendly firm this is.”

We stared at one another and Stewart looked between us. Natalie leant on the cubicle wall, a smile flitting across her mouth.

“Marvellous. Let’s get this meeting rocking and rolling. I am sooo excited, sooo excited.” I brushed past him, ignoring the little shiver ripping along my skin as I met his firm body beneath his suit. What I wanted to know was where the man who used to laugh at suits and people with briefcases had gone. Apparently, he’d been eaten by a managerial monster.

“I don’t like any of these.”

Fred reeled back, and I felt for the guy. His blonde hair was tousled into waves. Nothing unusual there; but his eyes were lined by shadows, and I knew that for once they weren’t put there from being out clubbing or whatever it was he did in his spare time. He’d worked hard on the vision boards he had propped up on the table.

“None of them?” I asked.

Fred still stood suspended between the table and the flip frame holding his sketches. I appreciated every single stroke he’d put into these designs.

Matthew seemed to have different ideas.

It’s why he was a cock.

“Well, hold on.” I held my hand up. “That purple one is brilliant. It’s strong, concise, it’s—”

“Not what I want,” Matthew finished for me.

I stared at him and I’d never been so torn between pure annoyance and utter despondency.

Tears pricked my eyes. There wasn’t a hope in hell’s chance I would let them show.

“Fred, thank you so much. Please could you give us a moment?” I refused to let my voice waver.

Fred sent me a lingering glance which said, ‘are you sure you want to be left with this bad-tempered bastard?’ I nodded and he breathed a low groan of relief and almost skipped towards the door.

He wasn’t stupid.

No one wanted to be in the room with us; even Natalie had given up trying to win over her future husband with mugs of builder’s tea.

When he’d gone, we watched one another. The time ticking slow had nothing to do with the clock on the wall.

“I don’t know why you are here, Matthew. It’s clear you don’t want to be. Please go and use a different firm who can give you what you need.”

The words spelled the end of my business, but I had to say them. I couldn’t sit there under his black-as-night stare a moment longer.

“No. I don’t have time now.”

My head rolled back on my shoulders. He adjusted the sleeves of his pale-lavender shirt and as I lifted my head back straight on my neck again, I caught a flicker cross his face.

As though despondency and annoyance threatened to destroy him as much as they did me.

Words welled in my chest. The fear of them being wrong threatened to lock them away forever but I knew I had to make this work; it had to be a workable situation.

I filtered through every word in the dictionary until I found some that fit together in a halfway useful sentence. “I don’t understand.”

His fingers linked and that pale strip of skin on his left hand drew my attention. What happened? How could I help? Was there anything I could do? All the feelings of old fought against the Matthew I faced down.

“You will have to elaborate,” he said with a sweep of his right hand.

And then I wanted to punch him again.

“I don’t understand the animosity you have towards me, and why if you are feeling it you are still here. We were friends once, good friends. At least I thought we were. I know it was a long time ago now, but I guess I always believed…” I stopped myself from saying anything else.