about to close down the screen when she thought maybe she should hit ‘images’ for the hell of it. She clicked
on it and, just like that, there she was. ‘Cassandra Richards’ brought up a picture – several times, actually – dotted among various other Cassandra Richardses, some of whom Jen recognized already from her trawl.
It was her, there was no doubt about it.
Jen clicked on one of the pictures and then gasped as she saw the text beneath it. It was a spread from a regional magazine. One of those pages of photographs from some kind of social gathering, a charity event or the opening of a new bar. Jen
had never understood them. Who was looking at them? How crucial was it to anyone to see what the people from their local car dealership wore to a party? Cassandra stood next to a man, both smiling at the camera, glasses of champagne in their hands. ‘Cassandra Richards, Senior Property
Agent at Masterson Property in Brighton, and Andrew Burford from the London Head Office’ the caption declared.
The girl who was working behind the counter came over to tell Jen that her time was up.
‘Two more minutes,’ she said, waving the girl away. ‘I’ll pay.’
She tried to take it in. Cass was a senior member of staff at Masterson Property. Charles’s company. Of course, that made sense, in a way. He had to have met her somewhere. But it also made it far
more complicated. Even if they ended their relationship, they were still going to see each other. There were no guarantees.
Jen scanned the page again, looking for a date. It was right there in the top left-hand corner: 9 May 2011. More than two years ago. Cass was already working for Charles two years ago.
She was going to be late back to work. She printed off the page, paid for her extra time, and left.
Jen raged the whole afternoon, swinging between anger and confusion about what it all might mean. Had Charles been seeing Cass all that time? Did that mean it was serious? More than just – she used ‘just’ in the loosest possible
sense, meaning it only comparatively – a fling. Of course, they might have worked together for years and their relationship had only turned into something else more recently. She hated not knowing.
A wolf in sheep’s clothing, that’s what Charles had turned out to be. A snake in the grass. She often found herself thinking in idioms when she was stressed. Better late than never. He who laughs last laughs longest. It takes two to
tango. Her mind would throw one out for every occasion. She usually had the sense to keep them there, to not let them out of her mouth.
She was crashing pots and pans around the kitchen, trying to take her frustration out on the dishwasher, when Jason appeared and unravelled himself from his
scarf and jacket. He always arrived home from
work a mess after his bike ride, but today, because it was raining, he looked like a rather mangy otter, freshly dragged from the river. Jen tried to ignore the lake that was forming around his feet.
‘What’s up with you?’
She gave him a hug to hopefully demonstrate to him that he wasn’t the cause of her mood, and to give herself a moment to think. Now they were both dripping. She could have gone straight from her kitchen and won a wet T-shirt competition. If
what they were judging you on was how wet you could get your T-shirt, and nothing else, that was.
‘David. He’s trying to change all the rotas. He thinks it’s not fair that some of us always get to do the most popular shifts.’
In reality, it was Jen who had the final say on the shifts each receptionist worked. David had never been anything other than sympathetic about the fact that Jen wanted her hours to fit around her family. Even now she had no children at home, he
was still happy to let her cherry-pick. She made a mental note to be extra nice to him, to make up for her slander.
‘He’ll never do it. He won’t have the guts.’
‘Well, he’d better not,’ Jen said, getting into her
on it and, just like that, there she was. ‘Cassandra Richards’ brought up a picture – several times, actually – dotted among various other Cassandra Richardses, some of whom Jen recognized already from her trawl.
It was her, there was no doubt about it.
Jen clicked on one of the pictures and then gasped as she saw the text beneath it. It was a spread from a regional magazine. One of those pages of photographs from some kind of social gathering, a charity event or the opening of a new bar. Jen
had never understood them. Who was looking at them? How crucial was it to anyone to see what the people from their local car dealership wore to a party? Cassandra stood next to a man, both smiling at the camera, glasses of champagne in their hands. ‘Cassandra Richards, Senior Property
Agent at Masterson Property in Brighton, and Andrew Burford from the London Head Office’ the caption declared.
The girl who was working behind the counter came over to tell Jen that her time was up.
‘Two more minutes,’ she said, waving the girl away. ‘I’ll pay.’
She tried to take it in. Cass was a senior member of staff at Masterson Property. Charles’s company. Of course, that made sense, in a way. He had to have met her somewhere. But it also made it far
more complicated. Even if they ended their relationship, they were still going to see each other. There were no guarantees.
Jen scanned the page again, looking for a date. It was right there in the top left-hand corner: 9 May 2011. More than two years ago. Cass was already working for Charles two years ago.
She was going to be late back to work. She printed off the page, paid for her extra time, and left.
Jen raged the whole afternoon, swinging between anger and confusion about what it all might mean. Had Charles been seeing Cass all that time? Did that mean it was serious? More than just – she used ‘just’ in the loosest possible
sense, meaning it only comparatively – a fling. Of course, they might have worked together for years and their relationship had only turned into something else more recently. She hated not knowing.
A wolf in sheep’s clothing, that’s what Charles had turned out to be. A snake in the grass. She often found herself thinking in idioms when she was stressed. Better late than never. He who laughs last laughs longest. It takes two to
tango. Her mind would throw one out for every occasion. She usually had the sense to keep them there, to not let them out of her mouth.
She was crashing pots and pans around the kitchen, trying to take her frustration out on the dishwasher, when Jason appeared and unravelled himself from his
scarf and jacket. He always arrived home from
work a mess after his bike ride, but today, because it was raining, he looked like a rather mangy otter, freshly dragged from the river. Jen tried to ignore the lake that was forming around his feet.
‘What’s up with you?’
She gave him a hug to hopefully demonstrate to him that he wasn’t the cause of her mood, and to give herself a moment to think. Now they were both dripping. She could have gone straight from her kitchen and won a wet T-shirt competition. If
what they were judging you on was how wet you could get your T-shirt, and nothing else, that was.
‘David. He’s trying to change all the rotas. He thinks it’s not fair that some of us always get to do the most popular shifts.’
In reality, it was Jen who had the final say on the shifts each receptionist worked. David had never been anything other than sympathetic about the fact that Jen wanted her hours to fit around her family. Even now she had no children at home, he
was still happy to let her cherry-pick. She made a mental note to be extra nice to him, to make up for her slander.
‘He’ll never do it. He won’t have the guts.’
‘Well, he’d better not,’ Jen said, getting into her
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