Page 102 of When We Are Old

On a count backwards from five I pushed away from the desk. “Right then, tell me all.”

Fred shifted a little and cleared his throat. “Can we talk about what happened the other week first?”

Oh God, no. Please let’s not talk about that—ever.

“I’m sorry.” He had the grace to blush, but it had no heat compared the flare of fire on my cheeks. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“So you don’t love me then?” My heart beat fast. Please for fuck's sake say no and don’t make this weirder than it is.

“No. I think I was hungover and if I’m going to be honest, a little jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“You’ve kind of always been ours.” He shrugged and pushed a hand through his hair.

I peered through the glass wall of the office to the reception area where Natalie was watching us while pretending to reapply make-up. “I’m not a company mascot, Fred. I’m the boss.”

“I know.” He stubbed the toe of his trainer against the floor. “My bad. Boss Lady.” His lips curved into a smirk.

‘Oh, for fuck's sake, can we just move on? This is as awkward as hell.”

He flashed me his wide smile and I breathed out a small smile of relief. “Let’s move on.”

“And never ever mention it again.”

He motioned zipping his lips.

“Right, McDougall. Don’t freak out, but I’ve got some ideas.”

He nodded and slipped into the chair at the round meeting table, while I breathed out a massive sigh of relief. Please, please, could I try to get my life back onto a normal path?

Automatically, I rested my hand on my stomach.

Wasn’t there a very real chance normal was gone for good?

I needed to talk to Matthew.

“Natalie.” I waved at her through the glass. “Get some coffees from downstairs. It’s time for a staff meeting.”

Her skin paled and I shook my head. “Don’t worry, you’ve still got a job.”

I looked at Fred and knew I was making the right decision.

“There are going to be some changes to management.

Please don’t let me regret this.

My phone vibrated in my back pocket and I eased up onto sore knees to fish it out before it rang off, narrowly missing hitting my head on a beam in the attic.

I didn’t know why I was the one in the attic. Ma said it was because I owned most of the stuff up there, but really, I’d found an awful lot of crap up here I didn’t think had ever been used. Some stuff still in boxes like it had been bought from a shopping channel and never seen the light of day. The electric fly killer looked particularly lethal and not just for flies.

Slowly, I was putting all of Paul's stuff—well our stuff from our life before—into a pile I could go through with Hannah.

When Paul had died, I’d not wanted to throw anything away. Hannah had been so young, it wouldn’t have been fair, but I’d been lumbered with bags of shirts and ties, and suits that I doubted she gave a shit about.

Maybe it had been me unwilling to throw things away, holding onto my guilt as I’d been.

Ange’s photo flashed on the screen. “Hey,” I said, scrambling back down onto the dusty floor.