Somewhere Only We Know

by Cathy Bramley

Genres: Family Life; Action & Adventure Romance; Clean & Wholesome Romance; Contemporary Romance; Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

'Tender and emotional, just absolutely beautiful' JOSIE SILVER

'Heartbreaking and hopeful' SARAH MORGAN

She thought their love story was over.
The world had other plans...

When Magnolia Jones finds her daughter's travel journal, she can think of no better way to honour her life than setting off on the gap year trip that twenty-three-year-old Brontë had dreamed of taking.

It was meant to be Brontë's adventure, but perhaps following her daughter's footsteps around the world is exactly what Magnolia needs to piece her broken heart back together and begin to heal.

As her travels take her further away from home, memories of a long-ago summer come flooding back. Magnolia barely recognises that girl she used to be - the dreams she had, the freedom ahead, the midnight kisses on the beach with curly-haired, brown eyed Jackson.

Maybe, just maybe, in this magical place that is somewhere only they know, Magnolia is about to discover that her journey isn't over - it's just about to begin...

More praise for Somewhere Only We Know:

'A heart-breaking yet hugely uplifting novel about finding yourself after loss' EMILY STONE

'An injection of pure of happiness and escapism!' KIRSTY GREENWOOD

'An emotional journey which will have you reaching for tissues and your passport, this book is a beautiful exploration of grief and hope. The perfect cocktail of heartbreak, nostalgia and romance in an idyllic setting' VERONICA HENRY

'Poignant and inspiring, Somewhere Only We Know broke my heart and then healed it. Absolutely stunning!' KIM NASH

'Maggie was the perfect protagonist to travel the world with' CESCA MAJOR

'Emotional and evocative, the perfect escapist read. I loved it' ALEX BROWN

'A wonderfully different and uplifting novel - thoroughly enjoyable' KATIE FFORDE

'A gorgeous story that swept me away. I loved it!' SOPHIE COUSENS

Publisher: Orion

Print pages: 384

Sample

‘Mum!’ Brontë waved a hand in front of my face. ‘Stop grinning at me.’

‘Never.’ I helped myself to another California roll from the box. ‘It’s such a nice surprise to see you. I’ll fall asleep with this smile on my face.’

Tonight I was supposed to be at book club. This month’s choice had gripped me to the last page. The story was a warning to slow down your life and pay attention to the people you love. But then Brontë had invited herself over and I chose to heed the book’s lesson and put her first.

My daughter snorted softly. ‘Nutter. I’m happy to see you too, and be home.’

I knew that one day another house would be her home and her visits would be less often. I didn’t want to think about that yet.

We were sitting at my kitchen table with the doors open to the garden. It was a summer’s evening in the Cotswolds and we’d started off outside, but a breeze had blown us back inside.

I sneaked another look at her while we took turns to spear sliced ginger onto chopsticks and plunge them into wasabi. Our taste buds were similar; we both adored strong flavours, the hotter the better.

Her face held the gifts of youth which we take for granted until they begin to elude us: smooth skin, bursting with collagen, a scattering of freckles highlighting her cheekbones, teeth sparkling white. When she smiled, I saw my younger self reflected in her features, but her liquid brown eyes and dark curls she owed to her father. I delighted in her vivaciousness, and I knew that even when she was older, a mother herself maybe, I’d never tire of looking at this girl of mine.

‘So.’ Brontë looked at me from under her lashes, cheeks flushed. ‘I have news.’

I put down my chopsticks, heart already fizzing with pride.

‘I knew it.’

She laughed. ‘You always know it.’

‘The spontaneous dinner date, the sushi, you paying for the sushi.’ I listed the clues. ‘I learned the language of Brontë Jones a long time ago. I’d say I’m fluent.’

Sushi had been her go-to celebratory food since her tenth birthday when instead of a party, she’d opted for a trip to Tate Modern for the two of us, followed by sushi for lunch. Never one to follow the crowd, my daughter.

Normally I paid for our takeaways. Brontë had recently graduated and was saving every penny for her move to London. This time when she’d offered, I let her pay. There was a feeling of self-worth that came from being able to treat someone. I understood that.

‘I think I can still surprise you,’ she replied, tilting her chin with a touch of defiance I recognised as my own.

She swallowed hard, her fingers reaching for the Tiffany pendant that I’d bought her for her twenty-third birthday in April.

Her obvious nervousness at whatever she’d come to tell me made me want to squeeze her tight. I loved that she shared so much with me, that I was the first person she called with news. She’d achieved so much, knocked it out of the park on every challenge she’d set herself. School, art college, uni and, last week, she’d landed her dream job.

‘Let me guess,’ I said, topping up our soda glasses. ‘Saatchi & Saatchi want you to start earlier?’

Bronte let out a shaky laugh. ‘Not exactly, but you’re in the right area.’

She’d set her heart on working in Saatchi’s art department since attending a guest lecture one of their directors had given at university. The selection process for their graduate scheme had been brutal, but her talent shone through and they’d offered her a junior position starting in September. I couldn’t have been prouder.

‘Okay.’ I raised an eyebrow, my mind racing through the possibilities. ‘Um … I give up.’

‘Wait there.’

She scrambled up from the kitchen table, darted out into the hall and returned carrying the hobo patchwork bag she’d picked up from a yard sale. It suited her style, but reminded me of something my mother had had in the eighties. I tried not to go back to those times if I could help it; my relationship with my own mother was the opposite of the bond Brontë and I shared.

‘So here’s the thing.’ She sat, plonking the bag on her lap. ‘I’m going to be working until I’m an old woman. Like, I don’t know, seventy or something.’

I nodded. ‘You and me both, kiddo. And that’s all right.’

I liked working, being busy and useful and knowing that I would be able to support Brontë financially until she could support herself. When she left home for uni I immersed myself even deeper into my career, filling the aching gap she’d left behind. I was in my mid-forties now and couldn’t imagine feeling different any time soon.

‘Yeah, I know.’ Brontë frowned. ‘But there’s so much world to see. And if I don’t go and explore now, I might never get the chance.’

‘Of course you will!’ I argued. ‘You’re so young! You’ll have time off, holidays … and you’ll get used to making the most of weekends.’

‘Listen, Mum, I’ve decided to go travelling in January,’ she blurted out. ‘Take a gap year. Before I start work – my graduate job, I mean. Obviously, I’ll need to work in a bar or something to save up. I’m going by myself initially and then I’ll meet Harry midway through – he’s got an internship first. I should have enough cash by January. The flights are the main problem. I need to book them now and I was wondering if you could lend me the money. I’ll pay you back.’

‘Whoah, slow down,’ I cried. ‘A gap year?’

She nodded, willing me with her eyes to support this crazy idea. I had not expected this; I was staggered.

‘What?’ I couldn’t believe my ears.

‘Where’s this come from? Harry? Has he put this into your head?’

I’d always liked her boyfriend until now. He was a lovely lad, and they were well suited, and had been together for three years all through university.

‘Mum!’ Brontë looked appalled by the suggestion.

‘Sorry, sorry.’ I pressed my hands on the table and took a deep breath. I never spoke to her like that. Ever. ‘It’s a surprise, that’s all.’

‘To answer your question, Harry has nothing to do with it. This is something I’ve wanted to do.’ She glanced at me then looked away. ‘Ever since I read your diary from 2000.’

‘My …?’ A rush of heat flamed my face.

Her eyes widened in panic. ‘You said I could have it.’

‘I remember.’ I’d only ever kept a diary once, and it was too full of memories to throw away. She’d found it amongst my things when she was looking for photos for an art project a couple of years ago. I’d let her keep it. The things I’d written about were as important for her as they were for me. The last thing I’d expected was that it would trigger a desire for a gap year.

She pulled two books from her bag and pushed them across the table. One was my old diary, the other was a notebook covered in her illustrations. A map of the world with dotted lines leading away from the UK. Aeroplanes, backpacks, turtles, flowers, beach towels and palm trees … She referred to them as doodles, but her drawings were much more than that. Brontë’s Gap Year was written across the front, each letter of each word in a different colour. The cover alone was a work of art; I could only imagine how detailed the inside would be. The pages had that tell-tale waviness to them which told me that she’d painted on them. This book – this plan – must have been weeks, possibly months in the making.

‘I’m confused,’ I said, attempting to stay calm. ‘This is the first I’ve heard about you wanting a gap year.’

‘Because you’ve always told me to put details into my plans, otherwise they’re just dreams. So I wanted to get everything lined up, my itinerary finalised first. Can I show you …?’

‘Finalised?’ I launched into her before she ended her sentence. ‘Darling, you’ve accepted a job, you can’t walk out before you’ve even started.’

‘Actually, I haven’t accepted,’ she said, shrugging her shoulders. ‘They gave me a week to respond.’

‘I’m speechless.’ I dropped my head into my hands.

‘So I have responded.’ Brontë’s voice cracked, and she paused to sip her water. ‘And I’ve asked them to let me defer for a few months. Possibly a year.’

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. ‘They’re one of the biggest creative agencies in the world, with their pick of young hopefuls. I doubt very much they’ll be willing to make a concession for someone who has apparently changed her mind about joining them.’

‘Perhaps they’ll think that I’ll come back a more rounded person with a new perspective on the world.’ Brontë fingered the cover of the notebook. ‘I’ve got some cool places on my list; would you like to see?’

‘Or they might think that once you’ve had a taste of travelling, you’ll struggle to settle into work,’ I said, deliberately ignoring her question.

She gave a sigh so full of sadness that I almost backed down. But this was a mistake. She’d had her sights set on this company for so long. I wondered whether it was a case of cold feet.

‘You did it,’ she countered. ‘You had your trip to Bali. And don’t you dare tell me that you regret it because your diary tells me otherwise. Look.’

She flicked through the pages of my old diary until she came to a photograph of me. My heart stuttered in my chest; it had been years since I’d seen this. I was in a bikini on white sand at the edge of turquoise water. I looked tanned and beautiful, and although you couldn’t tell from the picture, I was posing for Jackson, my arms reaching up to the sky, one foot kicking up behind me. But the most striking thing was the smile lighting up my face. This was a girl having the time of her life. Even without knowing anything about her, you could see she was in love.

Brontë was staring at me, waiting for an answer.

‘Of course I don’t regret it! But this isn’t about me.’

The photograph had unnerved me. My words came out sharper than I’d intended and Brontë flinched.

‘All I want is the opportunity to look as happy and free as you do there. A break between education and my working life, that’s all. I want my Bali moment.’

‘And you can have it, I’m sure,’ I said, tempering my tone. ‘But you don’t need to take a gap year to do it.’

‘Fine.’ She closed the lid over the remaining sushi and shoved it in her bag. I ached with regret that the evening had taken such a turn. ‘I hoped you’d support me. I guess deep down, I knew you’d be like this. So closed. All you think about is work. Your career, my career. But you know what? There’s more to life than work.’

‘Wow.’ My hackles rose. ‘That’s easy for you to say, but growing up with no financial security wasn’t easy. Neither was having a mother whose responsibilities didn’t even stretch to making sure there was food in the cupboards. I’ve thought about work to make sure you never have to feel that way, to make sure you know the value of being independent, to give you the opportunities I never had.’

Brontë began to stack the used crockery. ‘And yet as soon as I make an independent decision you throw it back in my face.’

‘That’s not fair!’ I snapped. I was offering my opinion. That was all.

‘Nothing’s fair, Mum,’ she snapped back, jerking to her feet. ‘It’s not fair that you didn’t get to graduate from university, and it’s not fair that you had to look after Auntie Kat while you were a kid, or that you had to work two jobs to put a roof over our heads. But I can’t be the one to right those wrongs for you. You’ve got to stop expecting me to follow in your footsteps. Or at least the footsteps you never got to take. Independence means me going my way. Doing what I want without being pressured to live the life you should have had.’

‘I see.’ I stood up too fast, panic making my legs feel heavy and my head light. My vision blurred with tears, and there were already tears streaking Brontë’s face. ‘I had no idea you felt like that. I’m sorry I wanted so many good things for you.’

‘I’m sorry too,’ she said stiffly. ‘I’m sorry that I’ve done all this work, put so much into this travel itinerary because I wanted to impress you, so you could see what this trip meant for me. But you won’t even look. Thanks a lot.’

I shook my head. ‘You’ve already contacted Saatchi before speaking to me, so I hardly think my opinion matters.’

‘Of course it matters.’ She glowered at me, putting on her jacket. ‘I want to do this, Mum. And I’d hoped … well, I’d hoped maybe you could join me at the end. You never take your annual leave from work. How about it? Fancy a holiday on the other side of the world?’

My stomach twisted at the idea of her being on the flip side of the globe. I’d only been on a long-haul holiday once. I hadn’t done much travelling since.

I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to calm down. She and I never quarrelled. We were best friends, and this felt horrible and alien. I wanted to make things right between us. I glanced at the book and took in the words Brontë’s Gap Year again. I had to salvage the situation; I didn’t want us to part on bad terms.

‘Will you do something for me?’ I asked, catching hold of her hand. ‘Will you think about it for one more week? Make sure that this is definitely what you want.’

Brontë groaned. ‘I’ve already thought about it.’

‘Please,’ I said. ‘And it’ll give me a chance to get used to the idea too.’

She chewed the inside of her cheek, weighing up my proposal. ‘And if I do that, and still want to go, do you promise you’ll give me your blessing?’

‘I promise,’ I said, although the words stuck in my throat. ‘Let’s have dinner again next week, and if you’re determined to go, we’ll look through Brontë’s Gap Year together. What do you say?’

‘Fine, then. It’s a deal.’ She sighed again, but this time a small smile lit her face, and with it, my heart.

But for Brontë next week never came.

I ran the tap, holding my hands under the stream of hot water, my thoughts a million miles away. January had rolled around and Brontë would have been heading off on her trip. I could visualise her, dashing around at the last second, stuffing phone chargers and toothpaste and one more book into her rucksack. I’d have been following behind, her shadow, blurting out random things such as reminding her not to eat the ice, or to always tell someone in the hostel where she was going, and asking if she had taken a photo of her passport in case of emergency. And she’d have been laughing and rolling her eyes and pointing out that we’d had this conversation many times, that she knew what she was doing, and I should stop worrying and trust her.

I’d have driven her to the airport and hugged her for the longest time and tried to focus not on my fears, but on my pride, on the fact that my daughter was heading off to the other side of the world, alone, full of confidence and excitement and that this was exactly what I wanted for her.

A hot tear tracked down my face and I brushed it away as Anna, my boss, emerged from the toilet cubicle.

‘I bloody hate that man,’ she said with a scowl.

The man in question was Kevin Armstrong with whom we were having a business lunch. He was so awful that this was our second trip to the ladies, both of us needing a breather from his self-obsessed twaddle. He was the procurement manager for Vap-A-Rise, a chain of e-cigarette stores which had sprung up on the high street like weeds over the past few years. We were the lucky people tasked with persuading him to sign on the dotted line for a three-year e-commerce management and training package with our company ShopSwift.

‘Hate is a strong word,’ I replied, pulling towels from the dispenser to dry my hands. A whisper of a remembered conversation made my breath catch.

‘I hate PE,’ Brontë grumbled as I handed over her sports bag one school morning.

‘Hate’s a strong word, darling.’ I kissed her forehead, realising that I barely had to stoop to do so anymore. ‘Think of it as not your favourite.’

‘Physics is not my favourite; PE is actual torture.’ She pulled a face. ‘But I’ll try.’

And she would, I thought; my girl gives everything her best shot.

I blinked away the memory and made room for Anna at the sink.

‘Yeah, well, I have very strong feelings towards our future client, Maggie,’ said Anna, darkly.

‘I hear you.’ I dropped the used towels into the rubbish bin and picked up my bag.

‘I mean where does he get off, telling us that he doesn’t like to do business with women because they’re crap at golf?’ Anna continued. ‘Perhaps I should have let Lee join us after all.’

My hackles rose but I didn’t let it show. Lee Masters was a sales manager like me, and foaming at the mouth that he hadn’t had the chance to seal this deal with Vap-A-Rise. No doubt Kevin would have preferred all-lads-together Lee, but I’d been the one to make the initial contact with Vap-A-Rise and I didn’t give away my sales leads easily. My team handled the higher-value clients with multiple locations. Lee’s team looked after the smaller customers. He was constantly trying to poach my accounts, but to no avail. My strength was client management and Anna knew that. I looked after people, I knew what they needed and delivered it. Lee promised customers the earth to gain a rapport with them. Unfortunately, he didn’t always deliver, and Anna knew that too, and yet somehow he always managed to come up smelling of roses.

‘The idea of Kevin possessing even one iota of sporting prowess is ludicrous.’ I ran a hand over my hair, smoothing any flyaways. I wore it poker-straight, but the slightest hint of damp in the air and the unruly kinks returned. ‘I’d like to show him what I can do with a nine iron.’

Anna paused from applying her lipstick. ‘Do you even know what a nine iron is?’

I gave myself a cursory glance in the mirror. I avoided it as much as possible now. There were only so many times you needed to see your eyebags when they looked like hollowed-out avocado skins. ‘No. But I’m pretty sure he’d know about it if I whacked him in the balls with one.’

She sniggered. ‘Let’s take a rain check on that until we get the deal in the bag, shall we?’

The deal in question wasn’t only worth a significant amount of money to ShopSwift, it was important to me too. It could be my ticket to promotion to sales director and a seat at the boardroom table when Anna’s father Ron retired in a few months’ time. It would be between Lee and me; I really wanted it to be me.

My phone vibrated with a text from the depths of my bag. It was from George, my junior sales executive.

When will you be back? I’ve written an email and I’d like you to read it before I send it.

Twenty-one-year-old George had been with me for three months and still came to me for things which by rights he shouldn’t need help with. But it felt good to be needed, so I didn’t pull him up on it. Besides, what he lacked in experience he made up for in his eagerness to do the right thing. I typed back an update before answering my boss.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll keep my opinion about Kevin to myself – my eye is firmly on the prize. You know how ambitious I am.’ I looked at Anna, hoping that my meaning was clear.

‘You’re the best salesperson we have. But …’ She paused, resting a hand on my shoulder. ‘I worry about you. You are okay, in yourself, I mean?’

I detested that question; what did it even mean?

‘Absolutely,’ I said, heading for the door. ‘Let’s go and wrap this meeting up, shall we?’

An hour later and we were almost finished. Anna had been checking her watch for the last twenty minutes, as keen to get out of here as I was. If it wasn’t for the company we were keeping, lunch would have been enjoyable. Give him his due, Kevin’s choice of venue, the Lock and Barrel, was a lovely pub with an impressive menu and a fabulous view of the canal. A row of narrowboats was moored outside and on the opposite bank, a flock of sheep grazed in the field.

Our waiter appeared to clear the table and asked if everything was okay.

‘It was delicious, thank you.’ I smiled as I handed him my empty coffee cup.

‘You know, you’re a lot more attractive when you smile,’ said Kevin, with a leer.

Beside me Anna sucked in a breath.

And you’re a lot more attractive when you keep your mouth shut, I thought. I could almost hear Brontë’s voice in my ear. Go Mum! Don’t let him get away with that.

‘ShopSwift don’t employ me to be attractive,’ I said instead. ‘They employ me because I deliver results. For our company and for our clients too. Which is why I’m confident that we will not only provide you with the best e-commerce package on the market, but we’ll exceed your expectations. So,’ I leaned forward, fixing him with an intense look. ‘Do we have a deal?’

Kevin gave me a cocky smile, wide enough for me to see that it had been some time since his backside had graced a dentist’s chair. He picked up his brandy glass and swirled the liquid around a couple of times. A double measure of a label which had cost even more than the dozen oysters he’d insisted on ordering at our expense. My dislike of the man was growing exponentially.

‘I’ll sleep on it,’ he said, throwing the rest of his brandy down his throat. ‘Thanks for lunch, ladies. Now I’ll visit the little boys’ room and be on my way. I’ll be in touch in a week or so.’

He pushed his chair back from the table, causing the feet of it to screech across the flagstone floor. He stumbled against the table next to ours and it suddenly struck me that he might be tipsy. We’d had a bottle of wine with lunch; Anna and I had barely touched ours as we were both driving. He’d been sipping a gin and tonic when we arrived, and now the brandy. Anna and I rolled eyes at each other.

‘A week or two?’ I shook my head in despair. ‘This is turning into the longest negotiation in history.’

‘Arsehole,’ she muttered, handing her credit card to our waiter.

‘How do men like that get so far up the career ladder?’ I fumed. ‘How do they get away with saying shit like that?’

‘Because we let them?’ she replied wryly. ‘Although I thought your reply was brilliant, Maggie. You put it much better than I could have done.’

Rubbish. I liked Anna but I knew full well that she wouldn’t have said anything to jeopardise winning this contract.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ I said with a shiver. ‘Two hours in that man’s company and I need a shower.’

Once the bill was settled, we walked out to the car park and bumped into Kevin leaning against the no-smoking sign, a cloud of smoke billowing from his e-cigarette.

‘Are you waiting for a taxi, Kevin?’ Anna asked. ‘Because I’m sure Maggie wouldn’t mind giving you a lift. I’d offer myself but I’ve got another appointment to get to.’

My heart sank. I’d do it, of course, but I’d rather stuff my shoes with stinging nettles than spend one more minute with Kevin Armstrong.

‘No problem, although Uber is probably the quickest,’ I suggested.

My phone buzzed, and I glanced at it, thinking it would be George again. It was my mother.

Hello Magnolia, I hope you’re well, darling? Long time, no see. Are you free at the weekend? Perhaps you could pop over?

I felt my jaw tighten, not fooled by her one bit. She wasn’t interested in whether I was well or not. She only got in touch when she wanted something. Usually money.

‘Taxi?’ Kevin scoffed, shaking a bunch of car keys. ‘Why would I need a ride when I’ve got my own car?’

My reaction was so severe, so instant that I felt every hair on my arms stand on end.

‘You’re not driving?’ I stammered. ‘You’ve been drinking.’

‘Maggie’s got a point, Kevin,’ Anna agreed. ‘You might be over the limit.’

He gave a dismissive laugh and patted his stomach. ‘This body was built to take alcohol. If anything, it sharpens my reflexes.’

The smugness of him. Bile rose in my throat.

Kevin was struggling to stand without swaying. It was people like him who … I shook the image from my head, the one of Brontë in the mortuary, the one which tortured me night after night as I lay awake in the silent hours before dawn. She and Harry had been walking home after seeing a film, two kids minding their own business, when a drunk driver lost control and the car mounted the pavement.

‘Is that right?’ I stepped forward and swiped the keys from him. Any pretence of liking the man had evaporated. ‘Oh dear, look what I’ve got. Reflexes not so sharp, after all.’

‘Give those back,’ Kevin demanded, one hand outstretched, the other clasping his e-cigarette.

I gripped the keys to my chest. ‘Only if you promise not to drive.’

‘What the hell is this?’ His eyes slid from mine to Anna’s. ‘Give me my keys, now.’

‘Maggie,’ Anna warned. ‘Don’t do anything you might regret.’

I pinned her with my stare. ‘Oh believe me, I won’t.’

Kevin lunged at me, but I jumped sideways out of his path and without me to break his fall, he staggered forward and crash-landed on his knees.

‘Shit. Ouch!’ He sat back on his heels and looked at his hands. Beads of blood appeared from under the grit. ‘Help me up, for God’s sake.’

‘I’m so sorry.’ Anna leapt forward to assist, taking his elbow. ‘Maggie didn’t mean that to happen, it was an accident.’

He continued to protest and swear as she found a tissue in her handbag and brushed his hand.

Blood thrummed in my ears as I watched them through a haze. His attitude to drink-driving had triggered the rage I worked so hard day after day to suppress. I’d been unable to save my child from people like him, but I’d do anything to prevent someone else from going through this living hell.

I looked down at the car keys in my hand, then across the car park to the canal on the other side of the fence.

Fatigue, anger, adrenaline swirled like a cyclone inside me and before I had a chance to weigh up the consequences, I threw the keys as high and hard as I could. They sailed over the fence and landed with a faint splash in the water.

‘Oh Christ.’ Anna pressed a hand to her mouth, eyes wide with horror.

Kevin loomed over me, his fist clenched. ‘You mad bitch.’

‘Mad? Mad?’ I spat at him. ‘Damn right I am, I’m bloody furious. It’s people like you—’

Anna gripped my shoulder. ‘Go home, Maggie, I’ll deal with this.’

‘She’s going nowhere,’ Kevin blustered. ‘I’m calling the police.’

Anna nudged me in the direction of my car. ‘Please, it’s for your own good. I’ll sort this out.’

I ignored my boss, not taking my eyes off Kevin for one second.

‘Be my guest.’ My body was taut with tension. ‘I dare you. One whiff of your breath and they’ll be very keen to know about your intention to drive.’

‘And this.’ Kevin jabbed a finger at me, spittle gathering in the corners of his mouth. ‘Is why I hate doing business with women.’

‘Why, because we can outsmart you?’ I needled.

It was unprofessional of me, but I didn’t care. I felt untethered, wild and ready for a fight.

‘Go now, Maggie,’ Anna ordered, her voice dangerously low. ‘I’ll see you in my office tomorrow. Nine a.m.’

The look on Anna’s face: pity, disappointment, revulsion sent a wave of nausea from my stomach to my throat.

‘I’m going.’ I turned, my legs shaky with nerves as I walked to my car. I climbed in, lowered my head to the steering wheel and waited for the beat of my heart to slow before setting off.

Oh Magnolia Jones, what have you done?

The next morning, I got to the staff car park at seven-thirty and waited in my car for Anna to arrive. I planned to intercept her before she reached the office. Whatever she had to say, I’d rather no one overheard, especially Lee – not that he ever turned up before nine. By the time her car pulled in, half an hour later, I was cold and my muscles stiff, but I rushed to greet her.

‘Anna! Hi!’

‘Jesus, Maggie.’ Anna clutched her chest as she climbed out. ‘You scared the life out of me.’

‘Sorry, sorry, it’s … well, you know what it is.’ I rubbed my arms to get some life back into them. ‘I’ve been on tenterhooks since yesterday. And when you didn’t answer my call—’

Anna shut the driver’s door and walked to the passenger side to retrieve her laptop bag. ‘Or your emails, or your WhatsApps or texts, or the voice note you sent me four hours ago which woke me up.’ I winced; not getting enough sleep was her main topic of conversation after the diet of her six-year-old and her husband’s inability to stack the dishwasher. ‘Because I said I’d see you at nine.’

‘You did, I’m sorry.’ I registered that Anna wasn’t making eye contact. Not a good sign. ‘I needed to know what happened after I left. And what’s going to happen to the contract.’ I swallowed hard. ‘And to me.’

Anna looked at me properly. ‘You look like shit.’

No surprise there. I hadn’t even bothered going to bed. The idea of lying in the dark staring at the ceiling and dwelling on my increasingly pointless future had been too depressing. Instead, I’d brought my duvet to the sofa, made a plate of toast and watched every single video I possessed of Brontë and cried and laughed and cried some more until my tears ran dry.

‘I know. A lum