silence drags and drags, until I have no more things to empty from the bag. It’s painful. At least, it is for me, and when I’ve slowly folded the carrier bags into neat little squares, I cave, unable to take the discomfort any more.
‘I’m sorry about this morning, Mrs Potts.’ I turn and rest my bum on the counter, wincing at the flash of pain. ‘I broke my phone last night and had to order a new one.’
She’s across the room on her tiptoes, trying to get something down from the top shelf of a wall cupboard. ‘What, dear?’ she says, shifting a bag of sugar back further with her reaching fingers. ‘Bugger.’
I scoot over and grab the packet for her. ‘I said I’m sorry about this morning.’
‘What about this morning?’
I slowly retract my hand when she’s taken the sugar, confused. ‘For being late.’
She bursts into laughter and trots across the room, leaving me bemused as I watch her potter around happily. ‘You silly girl,’ she says. ‘I’ve been in town all morning fetching some shopping. If you hadn’t mentioned it, I would never have known.’ She laughs some more, and my confusion begins to subside, something else taking over. ‘Although your honesty is appreciated.’
She hasn’t been here all morning? She hasn’t been worrying about me? The fact that Mrs Potts isn’t suspicious should be a relief. But it isn’t. I’m too mad to appreciate it. He lied. The dirty scoundrel lied through his teeth.
Mrs Potts turns and smiles at me. I might look completely composed on the outside, but on the inside I’m ripping everything in sight to shreds, and a few things out of sight, too. Namely, Becker Hunt.
‘Are you okay, dear?’ she asks. Okay, maybe I’m not so composed.
‘Yes,’ I squeak, pointing to the kitchen door. ‘I’d . . . um . . . better get on.’ My legs are itching to break into a run, but I manage to hold them off until the kitchen door is shut behind me, and Mrs Potts is out of view. Then there’s nothing holding them back. I’m sprinting down the corridor towards Becker’s office like a madwoman, knowing I need to rein myself in, but unable to find the self-control to do so. He lied to me, the conniving bastard. Played with my conscience.
I don’t bother ringing the bell when I get to his office door, I just steam right in, my temper getting the better of me. ‘You lying arsehole,’ I blurt through my laboured breathing, slamming the door behind me.
Becker looks up, and it takes a few moments to register something that I should have checked first: he isn’t alone. ‘Mr H,’ I breathe, my eyes widening. Becker’s leaning over the desk, his palm is resting lightly on his grandad’s shoulder, where he’s seated in Becker’s chair. Both men are staring at me, one shocked, one annoyed.
‘You just can’t find the staff these days,’ Becker says quietly, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes. A derogatory statement like that from him would usually have me preparing to attack, but I’ve just noticed someone else in the room, too.
Brent slowly turns in his chair, a stunned look on his face. ‘Good morning, Eleanor.’
Oh fuck. What the hell is he doing here?
‘Morning,’ I reply, taking the handle of the door, desperate to escape the three sets of eyes all focused on me.
‘I think that’s my cue to leave,’ Mr H says as he rises from the chair, giving me a knowing look and Becker a pat on the shoulder. A pat that’s a bit too firm to be mistaken as fond.
‘No, really, I’ll go.’ I open the door. ‘I thought you were in the courtyard.’
‘I was heading that way until I found Becker and Brent in the corridor.’ Mr H makes his way around the desk and holds out his hand to Brent, who takes it quickly and gives it a firm shake. ‘Good to see you, son.’
Brent stands in a gesture of respect. ‘And you, Mr H.’
I definitely don’t miss the look of condemnation on Becker’s face at their exchange as he rounds his desk, and it makes me wonder whether his grandad is aware of the animosity between these two and the game they’re playing. ‘You don’t need to leave, Gramps.’ Becker shoots me a filthy look that I accept willingly. I deserve it.
‘Oh, yes’ – Mr H points his walking stick at me – ‘I think I do.’