Tom tips his head to one side, considering my question for a moment. ‘You once forgot to buy me a birthday present. It was my twenty-second birthday, if I remember rightly.’
I want to raise a smile and any other time I would probably find this funny. It’s a standing joke that I didn’t get Luke a birthday present one year, but that was the time when Luke and I had been on a bender and I’d blacked out, staying in bed for three days, completely missing his birthday. ‘No, I’m being serious, Tom. What about sleepwalking? Did I ever do that when we were at Oxford?’
‘Not as far as I know. What’s up?’
‘You sure I never sleepwalked? Remember that time, not long after we had graduated and I said I’d had a really weird dream … you know, the one that I often have …’
‘What, that really weird dream?’ says Tom. ‘The one where you thought you’d …’ He dabs the air with his fingers, obviously not wanting to say it out loud. He means the dream where I woke up and was convinced I’d had sex the night before, although I couldn’t remember who with and I was also convinced I’d taken part in some sort of Playboy photoshoot.
‘Yeah, that one,’ I say, so Tom doesn’t have to say it out loud. Somehow it makes me feel so embarrassed it’s almost as if it had actually happened.
‘Are you feeling okay?’ asks Tom. ‘Do you think you’ve been sleepwalking? I mean, all that business with the dream; you weren’t very well that week at all. Do you remember?’
‘Yeah, headaches, shakes, stress, all that. I think it was my body’s way of telling me I was worrying too much. What with exam results and trying to find Alice.’
‘Perhaps, it’s all getting a bit too much for you again,’ says Tom.
It’s now that Leonard picks his moment to come into the kitchen. ‘Ah, was looking for you two,’ he says. He stops and considers us both. ‘Okay, what’s up?’
Leonard is so perceptive; he somehow knows when something’s not right. It’s as if he can see exactly what’s going on inside my head sometimes. ‘Trouble at mill?’
‘Yeah, you could say that,’ I reply. I give them a very much abridged version of events regarding the day out at the Sea Life Centre and the destruction of Luke’s painting. ‘I think Luke is more upset that I’ve destroyed his work rather than the reasons behind it.’
Leonard holds up his hand. ‘Stop. You’ve just incriminated yourself when you’ve done nothing wrong, or at least there’s no proof.’
I check myself. ‘Luke is more upset that I may have destroyed his work.’ I look at my business partners, who are both my friends and confidants. ‘I seriously think I might be cracking up.’
‘It’s bound to be difficult, for everyone,’ says Leonard. ‘These things rarely pan out like they do in the films. It actually takes a lot of hard work on both sides.’
‘What did you both think of Alice at the weekend?’
Tom speaks first. ‘She seemed very nice.’
‘Jesus, nice! What is it with everyone saying she’s nice?’
‘Maybe because she is?’ says Tom. ‘Okay, a less-bland description. She seemed a bit nervous, but she also seemed very happy. Genuinely happy. When I spoke to her, she was very pleasant and couldn’t speak highly enough of you and your Mum. And Luke.’
‘Exactly. Luke. I swear she has a crush on him.’
‘Is it unrequited?’ says Tom.
‘Unrequited? I should bloody well hope so,’ I say, slightly peeved that Tom might even think Luke is interested in Alice. I’m allowed to think that privately, but somehow I don’t like anyone else thinking it. My defensive hackles rise an inch. ‘She’s just a bit full on, that’s all.’
‘Sorry, didn’t mean to offend you,’ says Tom, raising his hands in surrender. ‘I was just thinking out loud, you know, being flattered by someone else’s attentions, who isn’t your wife. I’m sure Luke’s not like that at all. He’s got too much at stake.’
I shoot Tom a look. I’m not entirely sure what he’s implying.
‘Sometimes it’s best just to apologise and leave it at that,’ says Leonard, slapping his hand down on Tom’s shoulder. ‘I don’t think you’re helping now.’
‘Sorry,’ says Tom, with an apologetic expression.
‘Forget it.’ I wave it away as if it’s nothing.
‘I thought Alice seemed like a very agreeable young lady, who was perhaps trying a little too hard to be accepted,’ says Leonard.
‘So, you two don’t think she could have wrecked the picture, then. Which means, if it’s not her, then it must be me. It’s official. Luke’s right. I am fucking nuts.’ I put the coffee cup down. ‘I’d better get on. I’ve got some court papers to file and some correspondence to deal with for the McMillan case.’
I leave the kitchen, aware that I haven’t exactly crowned myself in glory. Having asked for their opinions, I now appear to be sulking because I don’t like the answers. Ain’t that the truth?
And then, as if my day can’t get any worse, I can’t find the McMillan file. I took it home with me to have a look at some of the previous statements on Sunday afternoon. I think back. I remember taking it out of the filing cabinet and I’m pretty sure I put it in my briefcase. In the end, I didn’t look at it on Sunday. So, where the hell is it? It should be in my case.
I take another look and a surge of panic wells up inside me. I do not lose files. I am organised. I’ve never lost a file before in my life. I wrack my brains, trying to remember what was in the file. We’ve no doubt got copies of all correspondence on the digital files, but I’m not sure about originals. Shit, I’d have to reapply for certain legal documents. That won’t earn me any Brownie points, and then there’s the costs, not to mention the time delay.
I buzz through to Sandy. ‘Hi, Sandy, how much of the McMillan file do we have on digital?’
‘Probably about eighty per cent. Why, is there a problem?’
I don’t want to admit I’ve lost a file. ‘I’ve left the file at home. Where is the digital file stored?’
‘I’ll send the link through.’
‘Thanks.’ I didn’t miss the note of surprise in Sandy’s voice at my oversight.
The link comes through in less than a minute. I’d be lost without Sandy at times. God help me if she ever decides to look for a new job. I click on the link and open the yellow folder icon. I’m greeted with a blank screen and a message, which reads ‘this folder is empty’. That’s odd. I return to the link and go through the whole process again, only to receive the same message. I buzz Sandy again.
‘I’m getting an empty folder. Is that the right link?’
‘Er, it should be. Let me check.’ I can hear her tapping at the keyboard. ‘Right, here’s the file … open … oh, that’s odd. Let me try again.’ A sinking feeling drags from my chest to my stomach. ‘I’m sorry, Clare, I don’t know what’s wrong. The file’s empty. It shouldn’t be. I updated it last week.’