He was right, of course, although I didn’t think that at the time. It would be no fun walking into that building and remembering all the times we’d had sex in there. Possibly a little inappropriate, but Clark was always keen when it came to sex. We’d made love in every room, office and store cupboard in the place, which had once been a three-storey, Edwardian home of ample proportions but was now a rather old and bad, conversion, with offices exactly as they were when they were installed in the 1970s refurbishment.
I told Clark – and everyone else in the building at the time, due to my slightly raised and possibly a little hysterical tone – that he could take his job and shove it up his … Well, I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you where.
I’m still cringing at my behaviour that day, just one week ago. Not only did I scream like a demented woman, I also ran my hands over his desk and knocked everything to the floor. And then I stamped on it all. Several times.
That wasn’t the sort of thing I would normally do. I think I must’ve had a mini-breakdown or something. I really do. Although it might have been due to the second bottle of wine I’d drunk at lunch after Clark had broken his devastating news and left me sitting in the restaurant, my mouth opening and closing unable to manage even one syllable in reply. He also left me with the lunch bill, so I’d returned to the office to tell him what a pig he was … and a few more things besides.
Barratt, Rose & Corne didn’t have security guards. It wasn’t really the sort of place where people usually caused trouble … or stole things, but I can tell you that Roger Barratt and Kenneth Rose are really very strong.
I regret giving Kenneth that black eye. I’m not a violent person. Truly, I’m not. He simply got in the way of my somewhat heated ranting and gesticulations.
I suppose I’m lucky they didn’t call the police. And it was very kind of them to send my personal belongings on to me. And to pay me for the month. And not to deduct anything from my severance pay to cover the cost of the damage I’d caused.
A loud snore and the slap of flapping ears made me glance over my shoulder.
‘You’re awake now are you, gorgeous? You’ve slept the entire way here. Even my phone hitting you on your tail didn’t wake you. Welcome to Seahorse Harbour.’
A muffled bark was the reply. Merry isn’t the most talkative spaniel on the planet. But she is the most beautiful. I think so anyway. And definitely, the most loyal. And now it was just me and Merry against the world. At least that’s how it felt.
Actually, that’s how it had felt ever since Mum and Dad died. Merry was the last Christmas present they gave me. I often think they knew something I didn’t and had bought me Merry so that I wouldn’t be entirely on my own. Mum had died on New Year’s Eve and Dad, just four weeks later.
Oddly enough, Merry never liked Clark. The first day she met him she raised the right side of her mouth and growled at him and she’d been doing that ever since. I’d tell her, lovingly, to be nice, and she’d go and sit in her basket and nuzzle her way beneath her blanket where she’d keep her gorgeous, brown eyes fixed firmly on us, the entire time Clark was there. The minute he left, she’d dash up to me for a snuggle as if she wanted to be sure that I was okay, after which she’d either stay cuddled up with me, or return to her bed and go to sleep, happy in the knowledge that Clark was no longer around.
I never felt completely alone with Merry by my side, although this would be the first Christmas that it would be just Merry and me. Clark and I had started dating the week after I joined the firm the first December after Mum and Dad had passed away, so that first Christmas, Clark and I spent in the throes of passion. This year, Merry and I would be on our own.
But we were going to see Aunt Elsie, so we wouldn’t be entirely on our own this Christmas. Assuming she was happy to see us, that is. Perhaps I should’ve told her I was coming. Perhaps I should’ve thought things through and not made yet another spur-of-the moment decision.
As I mentioned earlier, Aunt Elsie was my aunt by marriage, not by blood and we’d never been close. Her late husband, Eric, who died in his early thirties, was Mum’s younger brother. But Mum and Dad always said that Elsie was a truly wonderful person; she simply wasn’t good at maintaining relationships. Of any sort. At least she and I had that in common.
‘Elsie is a free spirit, sweetheart,’ Mum would often say, with an oddly affectionate smile. As if Elsie held a very special place in Mum’s heart. ‘She loves us all, but she loves us from a distance. But you can be sure of one thing. If ever you need her, Elsie will be there for you.’
Mum said that several times during her brief illness, and Aunt Elsie had said almost the same thing when I’d seen her at the funerals. At Dad’s funeral, she had made a point of seeking me out and telling me that I wasn’t alone, that I could always count on her and that she would always be there for me. She’d even suggested I might like to go and stay with her for a while. To be honest though, I’d hardly seen her while my parents were alive and she was as good as a stranger to me.
In retrospect, perhaps that’s exactly what I should’ve done. Instead, I’d told her I would be okay and that I needed to be on my own.
She’d made me promise to contact her if I ever needed anything but until now, other than the odd letter, and birthday and Christmas cards, I never had. She’d written to me a few times but my replies had been brief and I think she realised I wasn’t really interested in building a relationship with her.
I don’t know why I felt that way. She seemed kind, caring and genuinely concerned about me. But grief does strange things to us and Aunt Elsie was so full of life, so positive, so … enthusiastic and eager to please that I just didn’t want her around. I think I wanted to wallow in my melancholy and as ridiculous as it sounds, I’m not sure Aunt Elsie would have let me do that. I got the distinct impression that she was one of those annoyingly happy people who isn’t fazed by anything in life.
‘I know it doesn’t feel like it right now,’ she had said at Dad’s funeral, ‘but time is a great healer and life does go on. Things will get better, you’ll see. And remember, Lottie. You’ll always have me. We’re family. I’m only a phone call away and my door is always open for you. Always. No matter what.’
I remembered those very words the day the Christmas card and round robin letter landed on my mat.
I’m not a person who has that many friends but the ones I do have were all spending the holidays with their families. One or two of them had invited me to join them, but somehow it didn’t feel right. And when I read the hand-written note Elsie had added to my letter, I knew exactly what I was going to do. I was going to spend Christmas in Seahorse Harbour and finally go and visit her. Because I really needed family now for some strange reason, and Aunt Elsie was the only living relative I knew.
Assuming, of course, glancing at my rear-view mirror, that Aunt Elsie wasn’t in the shimmering black and gold coffin I’d just seen being removed from that magnificent coach.
No. Aunt Elsie wasn’t in that coffin. I must try to be positive. That was my new mantra. I’d adopted it a couple of days ago after reading in a magazine that we attract to ourselves what we give out. So if you send out only negative emotions into the world, it’ll send you back a whole lot of crap, but if you send out joy and kindness and love, the world will send you all those things right back.