Lucy in the Sky

as usual.
    Mandy has a team of fifteen young, friendly staff, including people in accounts and admin.
    I make my way over to my desk. It’s far neater than I left it. Bless the work experience girl–or workie, as we call the hoards of them that pass through the office.
    I switch on my computer then go to the kitchen to make afresh pot of filter coffee. Gemma arrives as I return to my desk. ‘Lucy! Welcome back.’
    ‘Lucy!’ Another cry from the doorway as Chloe bustles in with two plastic bags. She has a brand-new Hermès Birkin bag which she got as a freebie so I have no idea why she still needs plastic bags. She cracks me up.
    We all do similar jobs, although I’ve been here the longest and tend to get the bigger accounts, but there’s no jealousy between us.
    ‘How was your holiday?’ Chloe gushes as she plonks her Birkin and plastic bags down next to each other. Gemma wheels her chair over. Chloe is twenty-five and my height at five foot six, slim and pretty with long blonde hair and Gemma is a couple of inches taller than us, attractive and curvy with a choppy dark medium-length bob. She’s twenty-three and has been here for six months, while Chloe joined Mandy Nim a year ago.
    ‘Incredible. I didn’t want to come home.’
    ‘I bet you didn’t. Where in Australia did you go again? Sydney?’ Chloe asks.
    I nod.
    ‘I loved Sydney!’ Gemma went travelling for a year after university, before she joined Mandy Nim. ‘That’s where you’re from, isn’t it?’ she asks.
    ‘Yeah; I used to live in Manly.’
    ‘Manly–phwoar, the surfers on that beach…’
    I blush at the thought of one surfer in particular and busy myself looking in my bag for their presents to distract them from noticing.
    ‘I can’t wait to go to Australia,’ Chloe pipes up.
    ‘When are you going?’ I look up, interested.
    ‘I don’t know. One day!’
    When I hand over their kangaroo pens, they both squeal and proceed to have a mini boxing match, thumbing the tiny mechanism to make the boxing-gloved kangaroos punch at each other. It keeps them entertained for a minute before they turn back to me, laughing.
    ‘So what did you do in Sydney?’ Gemma asks.
    I fill them in briefly on my trip and the wedding, leaving out details about James. And any mention of Nathan, of course.
    ‘Have you any photos?’ Chloe is desperate to see Molly’s dress.
    ‘No.’ I’d realised this on the plane. It pains me but I don’t have a single picture of the wedding–or of Nathan.
     
    My first day passes by in a blur. Jet-lag hits me at about 4 p.m. and Mandy sends me home early. I’m grateful.
    I decide to catch the tube back, which comes as quite a shock after two weeks of living a laid-back holiday lifestyle. I could have just walked home but it’s freezing and I’m tired. Very tired, now. Three stops later and feeling faint from stupidly wearing my winter coat on the tube, I make my way to the exit. Within a couple of minutes I’m back out in front of the terraced five-storey cream stucco house that we call home. The trains from the nearby station are noisy but we’re used to it now. It’s part of the reason why this road isn’t crazily expensive. Terry often says we’ll have to move further out and buy a bigger place when we have kids, and I remind him that I’m only twenty-five, for crying out loud. I just want to stay here in our little one-bed flat for as long as possible. I’m certainly not thinking about having children anytime soon.
    I make my way wearily up the three flights of stairs and unlock the front door.
    ‘Lucy!’ James says, surprised. He’s standing in our living room in his suit and has his mobile phone in his hand. He snaps it shut.
    ‘Hi,’ I say.
    ‘You’re home early.’ He comes over and gives me a kiss.
    ‘Mandy sent me home. I’m knackered.’ I eye his phone suspiciously. ‘What’s your excuse?’
    ‘I had a meeting on Baker Street with some clients–you know, the ones I told you about. It wasn’t worth going back to the office. I’d just finished speaking to Derek when you came in. Do you want a drink?’ he asks, looking back over his shoulder at me as he goes into the kitchen.
    ‘Sure,’ I tell him. His phone starts to ring.
    ‘Oh, bugger off, will you?’ He flips it open.
    ‘James here. No, it was fine. Yes. Yes, that’s right.’ He keeps talking as he walks into the bedroom. I hover by the kitchen door, listening. I can barely hear him so I go out into the living