Burial

16

On Tuesday morning -- just after the marketing meeting -- Justin came into Nathan's office and perched on the edge of his desk.

Justin was tall and grossly overweight, in trousers that were always a little too short. He had a babyish face and curly hair and (when he chose) the entreating eyes of Bambi.

For several seconds, Nathan ignored him -- concentrating on a printed memo about another increase in paper costs. Then he swivelled round in his office chair.

Justin said, 'Are you okay?'

'What do you mean?'

'Well. You were off your game during the marketing meeting.'

'Look, I didn't mean to contradict you.'

'That's not what I'm worried about. I think I got us out of it. I'm worried about you.'

But Justin hadn't got them out of it: he'd just made a bumbling, mendacious spectacle of himself. Justin was often doing that, and only Justin didn't know it.

Nathan hadn't been paying attention during the meeting, because he was thinking about Holly Fox and, unintentionally, he'd contradicted one of Justin's lies. The lie concerned a chain of newsagents based in the north-east of England. The chain was usually a reliable source of revenue, particularly for the meat-and-potatoes novelty range.

In fact, the large stock returns were a consequence of Justin's failure to complete a renewed terms negotiation with the customer's chief buyer.

The returns were slow-moving stock that, ordinarily, the retailer might have held on to or sold off cheaply. But, as a signal of intent, they had been returned, still shrink-wrapped, to the Norfolk warehouse -- from which point, business between the two companies had been suspended. Justin was trying to keep all this from the board of directors.

The episode had nearly driven Justin to a nervous breakdown.

But now he was saying, 'I'm just worried about you, mate. It's not like you to drop the ball.'

'Really,' said Nathan. 'Don't worry about me.' Then he said, 'How are things with Georgia?'

Georgia was the buyer for the north-eastern chain. If negotiations with Hermes weren't restarted quickly, she'd allocate Hermes' shelf space to their bigger competitors. Getting it back would be humiliating and costly.

Justin said, 'Georgia will come on-line shortly.'

'I think you'd better drive up there to see her, mate. Have a faceto-face meeting.'

'I'll leave her for a few more days,' said Justin. 'To sweat.'

Nathan tried to hide his amusement by turning away and lifting a random sheet of paper from his desk; he pretended to scan it with a distracted frown. He said, 'I'll go up to see her, if you like. See if I can calm things down a bit.'

Unutterable panic flitted across Justin's big baby face.

Then he said, 'I can't let you do that. Not in your state.'

'In what state?'

'Look at you. You're on the edge.'

'Why don't you talk to me about it?'

'There's nothing to talk about.'

'I can't let you see Georgia. Not in your present condition. There's too much at stake. She's an important customer.'

'Okay. Fine. Whatever.'

'Is it a woman?'

'Is what a woman?'

'It.'

'It's not a woman. It's not an anything. I'm fine.'

Justin said: 'What are you doing for lunch?'

This was the question Nathan dreaded above all others.

Justin took lunch in one of a number of local pubs. For the sake of appearances, he'd order a square of lasagne, then ignore it while he worked his way through six pints of lager and a packet of cigarettes.

Often, lunch was followed by an afternoon 'meeting' or two, in the same venue.

He'd return to the office with his tie loose and his shirt untucked and his shoelaces untied.

'I'm sorry,' said Nathan. 'I'm really, really busy. Really busy.'

'Busy with what?'

'I have lunch with marketing.'

'The marketing lunch is tomorrow.'

'This is a pre-lunch lunch. We want to finesse the agenda for tomorrow's meeting.'

'Okay. Let's do that, then.'

Nathan gave up. He said, 'Give me five minutes', then hurried upstairs to the marketing department.

He found Amrita at her desk, eating a Pret a Manger sandwich and typing an email one-handed. Otherwise the floor was empty.

Nathan sat, telling her: 'I'm in trouble.'

Amrita turned on her swivel chair. 'God. I've been meaning to call you. I thought Justin was going to die. The fat lying bastard.'

'The fat lying bastard has invited himself to lunch.'

Amrita laughed, spitting a mouthful of damp breadcrumbs. She tutted and brushed them from her keyboard.

She said, 'That'll be nice for you.'

'Lunch with me and you. I used you as an excuse. Sorry.'

'I'm not having lunch with Justin. I have a sandwich.'

'Please.'

'Last time, he came back from the toilet with a wet patch on his trousers. I nearly threw up.'

'I know. Really.'

'And he touches my knee.'

'I know.'

'What did you think you were doing, saying yes?'

'He trapped me with his cunning.'

Amrita took another, pointed bite of BUT and said, 'You're not really on top form, are you?'

'What does that mean?'

'You sat through the meeting like this . . .'

She made a dreamy face and rolled her head round on a loose neck.

'. . . like you were somewhere else. You took about ten minutes to answer a question. And you called Justin a liar.'

'I didn't.'

'Good as.'

'He is a liar.'

Amrita crossed her legs, brushed crumbs away. 'Tough tits, I'm afraid. I'm busy.'

'Please.'

'No.'

'Please please.'

'No.'

'PI--'

'No.'

She returned, sandwich in hand, to whatever she was typing.

Nathan wondered how long Justin would keep him this time. Two and a half hours was about average. But Justin was upset, so it would probably be longer.

On Wednesday night, he met Holly in a blue-lit cocktail bar for a pre-dinner drink.

Nathan hadn't known what to wear. In the end, he'd asked Amrita's advice and they'd sneaked out after the marketing meeting to buy him some new shoes and what she called a funky shirt.

Holly sat on a chrome bar stool, stirring a drink set down on the radiant glass bar. She was wearing a little black dress. He sat next to her.

'Hello.'

He wasn't sure if he was expected to kiss her cheek, or what?

Helpfully, she glanced back into her drink and stirred it with a complimentary plastic swizzle stick.

Nathan said, 'Am I late?'

She said, 'Probably not,' and he knew something was wrong.

He set his coat, folded, on the empty stool next to him and ordered a margarita.

She said, 'I'm really sorry. I'm early for everything. I get it from my dad. He's got this punctuality thing.'

', Nathan said, 'Are you okay? Or would you like another drink?' 'I'm okay. I'm fine for the moment. Thanks.'

He could tell this was not her first drink of the evening. I' He said, 'Well, this is weird.'

She looked at him with an expression that Nathan should not have been able to understand. But he understood it, all right.

'What's weird ?'

'I've never been for a drink with my estate agent before.'

She smiled, but there was something dutiful and tired about it.

They watched the barman prepare Nathan's drink. When it arrived, with an unnecessary flourish, he took a sip, then said: 'Are you sure you're okay? You seem a little--'

'I'm fine. Really.'

'Tough day?'

She reached out and, as if he had asked her a child's question, patted the back of his hand. I 'It's not so much that.'

? He took another sip. He wished he'd ordered a gin and tonic. 'You can tell me about it, if you like.'

'Can I have a cigarette?'

'Don't ask me that. You gave up.'

'Go on. Just one.'

He laid the pack on the bar.

'Take as many as you like. But I won't offer you one.'

She took a cigarette, brushed a trailing lock of hair behind her ear.

She tipped her head sideways to light it and exhaled with great, grim satisfaction.

'Look . . .'

'What?'

'I don't really do this.'

'Do what?'

He grinned, as if he were exasperated. But really he was scared.

She said, 'I think you're a really nice man . . .'

'That's because you haven't got to know me yet.'

She chuckled, and then her eyes welled. She took another puff on the cigarette.

Nathan didn't know what to do with his hands. He laid them flat on the bar.

'It's just difficult at the moment,' she said. 'If the timing was better--'

'What? Are you married or something? Have you got a boyfriend ?'

She brushed back her hair again.

'God, I kind of wish it was that. It would be great, if all I had was a boyfriend.'

She stubbed out the cigarette and Nathan said, 'Okay, you've got to help me out here. Just a little bit.'

'May I have another cigarette?'

He pushed the pack towards her with his fingertips. They each lit a fresh cigarette.

Holly said, 'Look. I don't know how to say this. It's a bit weird.

Everyone I know already knows. So I've never actually had to tell anybody about it.'

Indecorously, she wiped her nose with the back of her hand and said, 'Okay. Say it. Four years ago. More than four years ago now, Jesus. Anyway. Four years ago, my sister . . .'

She couldn't bear to say the words, any more than Nathan could bear to hear them.

'Well, my sister sort of disappeared.'

It took strength to face her.

He said, 'Oh, Jesus. That's awful. I'm sorry.'

But she wasn't looking at him. He watched her profile. She wasn't seeing the bar any longer. She was seeing Mark Derbyshire's party.

'She went out one night. To a party. And she just never came home.'

'I don't know what to say.'

'The police searched for her. They even thought they knew who did it. But there wasn't enough evidence. And they never found her.

There was no body or anything. So really, we still don't know.'

They sat in silence and watched the barman, a handsome young Australian with an easy smile, shake a cocktail then pour three drinks for a cackling hen party at the far end of the bar.

'Jesus,' said Nathan.

Holly drained her drink. 'I'm sorry to do this to you.'

'Oh my God, don't be sorry.'

She stopped him. 'I had a boyfriend, at the time. Well, I say boyfriend. Fiance. We were supposed to get married. Three years ago, last June. Anyway. The strain was too much. You know, for the relationship.' She said this in an embarrassed, faux transatlantic accent and Nathan snorted in bitter complicity. 'It wasn't his fault, not really. I stopped being his girlfriend. All I could think about was Elise.'

'Well, what did he expect?'

She took his margarita and poured half into her own glass. Neither of them wanted to call back the Australian barman.

'It's easy to say that. But, you know, he's only human. And this thing, it sort of took over our lives: it was like there wasn't anything else in the world. It was impossible to do anything, to go anywhere, to, I don't know, have a conversation about something. It was like it was rude to be happy. So, anyway. We sold the house. I wanted to be close to Mum and Dad, so I left my job and moved back home.'

Nathan drained the last of the slush from his glass.

"I see.

'I'm sorry to lay all this on you.'

'Not at all. Don't be stupid.'

'So. This is really the first time I've done anything since.'

'Gone out with somebody?'

'Gone out, period.'

He stared into his empty glass.

'Right.'

'Anyway. So I told Mum about it--'

'About tonight?'

'Yeah. This is a new dress.'

'It's lovely.'

'Ha. Thank you. Anyway. I told Mum I was going out. I had to. I came home with this new dress and these new shoes. And, I don't know, I was excited. And so was Mum. She had this look in her eyes.

And she asked me who you were, how we met. So I told her, and she asked where we were going and where I'd bought the dress and how much I'd paid for it. . .' She re-tucked the stray lock of hair behind her ear. 'And then we both began to cry.'

'Right,' said Nathan.

Holly laughed at herself as she wept, then took a big, long sniff, and wiped her nose again.

'So you see. I'm sorry.'

'I don't know what to say.'

'It's all right. Nobody ever does.'

The passing barman set down before them two chrome bowls of green olives and peanuts.

'Okay,' said Nathan. 'What do we do now?'

Through the corner of his eye, he could see her as she lifted her handbag from under her coat. She fossicked around inside and withdrew a tissue and blew her nose. Then she quickly withdrew a compact, flipped it open, examined her puffy eyes and smudged make-up in the small mirror, said 'God', closed the compact, put it back in her bag and slipped the bag beneath the coat again.

She stood up, saying: 'I'm sorry to do this to you.'

'It's okay. I understand.'

'Thanks for the cigarettes.'

It sounded like the most desolate thing he ever heard.

He said, 'I'll give you a call.'

She seemed to think for a moment. Then she shook her head and wrinkled her nose.

'Best not.'

She pulled her winter coat over her new dress, then belted it around her waist. She tested the clasp on her handbag, then slung it over her shoulder. She leaned in to kiss his cheek. She had to stand on tiptoes.

She squeezed his hand, and then she walked away.

He watched her go. Then he turned and signalled to the Australian barman to order a long, cold gin and tonic. The barman placed it on the bar with an impact like a gavel. Then he stood, his hands on his narrow hips and his bar towel stuffed into the belt of his smart barman's trousers.

'You all right there, mate?'

'Not really.'

Nathan drained the drink. Then he passed some cash across the bar and - without waiting either for his change or for the Australian to acknowledge the size of the tip - he too gathered his coat and left.