Page 7 of Somewhere Only We Know

‘Okay,’ she said, once she’d driven out of the car park. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Nothing, honestly,’ I protested.

‘Seriously?’ Anna stared at me grimly. ‘After yesterday’s antics, you’re going with nothing?’

I’d told her as soon as I came back after a short stint of compassionate leave that I didn’t want to talk about Brontë at work, that it was the only way for me to maintain a professional attitude without breaking down every five minutes. But it looked as if I wasn’t going to be able to get away without giving her something.

‘The bog-standard losing your twenty-three-year-old daughter stuff.’ I stared out of the window, avoiding her eye.

‘Want to talk about it?’ she asked gently.

I felt a lump in my throat. ‘Brontë would have been going travelling about now. I can’t stop thinking about what should have been the most exciting time of her life and instead …’

‘Oh bloody hell. I’m sorry.’

‘Instead, people like Kevin Armstrong behave like arseholes, treating drinking and driving like it’s a joke, oblivious to the destruction they cause.’

‘I totally get it.’ Anna nodded. ‘It’s natural to be angry. Anger is part of the grieving process. When my granddad died, I—’

And this was why I didn’t want to talk about Brontë. Because other people felt obliged to share their own stories – which nine times out of ten did not compare to mine at all. Her granddad, for heaven’s sake.

‘I’m aware of the grieving process,’ I interrupted. ‘I’m fine. Of course, I’m sad, but I’m dealing with it.’

‘I don’t think you’re dealing with it at all.’

‘You sound like my counsellor.’

‘So you are getting therapy?’ She looked pleased. ‘That’s great.’

‘No, of course I’m not.’ I folded my arms. ‘I already know what they’d say, and I don’t need to hear it.’

An uneasy silence descended.

‘Look,’ Anna began again, ‘I’m under pressure from the board.’

‘Don’t fire me,’ I blurted out. ‘I know what I did was bad.’

She gave me a sideways look.

‘Okay, worse than bad, it was unforgivable.’ My stomach lurched as I realised the hole I was digging. ‘No, unacceptable. That was what I meant.’

‘Maggie, I appreciate you have experienced a major trauma, but we cannot have our staff, especially senior managers, verbally and physically abusing clients.’

‘Of course not, and I regret what I did.’ I didn’t regret it at all, even now, faced with losing my job. ‘I promise it will never happen again.’

‘Damn right it won’t.’

My shoulders slumped. Of course it would never happen again – because I wouldn’t get the chance. I was out of a job.

We arrived at the drive-through and Anna pulled the car up to the hatch and shouted her order. ‘Flat white with oat milk, please. Maggie, what do you want?’

‘A second chance?’ I said meekly.

She raised her eyebrows and waited.

‘A large cappuccino with an extra shot, please,’ I supplied.

‘Coffee fiend,’ Anna said, chuckling. She paid and we pulled up to the next window to collect our drinks.