Page 69 of The Tapes
I smile while digging my fingernails into my palms, forcing myself not to say anything. I’ve worked with him long enough to know what to say.
‘You’re right,’ I tell him, even though he’s wrong. ‘I’ve learned so much from you. I was upset about my dad and you’re the last remaining father figure in my life. I took it out on the wrong person.’
He’s nodding along enthusiastically, scratches his balls for good measure, then plucks a cigar from his top drawer. He uses it point at me, before lighting. ‘That is very big of you,’ he says. The room immediately stinks of that earthy, slightly sweet smell. Mark probably shouldn’t be smoking indoors but it’s not the time to get all HR about things.
‘Lots of people say I’m a father figure,’ he says. ‘I suppose I was an influencer before anyone knew what one was. I’ve always been wise for my age but if that’s a crime, then shoot me now.’
He has a puff of the cigar and pats his chest. I laugh along, just about holding back the vomit.
‘I’ve always told people you’re wise,’ I reply – and Mark nods knowingly.
‘Of course. Look, I was gonna put up the ad on Monday but, seeing as you’re here and you’ve said sorry, I suppose we can start over.’ He nods towards my old office. ‘I’ll put you back on three months’ probation. You can have your old salary and we’ll take it from there. How does that sound?’
‘Wise…?’
He grins. ‘Good girl.’
He puffs on the cigar again as I try to figure out how to twist the conversation the way I want it. ‘My missus could learn a thing or two from you,’ he says, unexpectedly.
‘How?’
‘Y’know. Typical woman. Gets all emotional about stuff. You should’ve heard her kicking off the other night. We weresupposed to be at her mum and dad’s anniversary dinner – but I couldn’t be bothered. She told them I was ill – but then her dad was on a run to the offie and saw me in a beer garden with my mates. It all got a bit… aggro.’
I don’t tell him that, in a way, Ididhear her ‘kicking off’. I suppose that’s what the ‘they can’t prove anything – just tell them I was with you’ was about.
Mark’s still talking. ‘Her mum’s like you. Hormonal and stuff. Just try not to bring it to work in future, yeah?’
I force away the shudder as I agree that, yes, I won’t bring my hormones to work any longer. I don’t tell him that I won’t be working here for long; but that I need those keys back.
‘I’ve been struggling when I think about Owen, too,’ I say.
Mark had been about to inhale from the cigar but a cloud skirts across his face. ‘Poor kid,’ he says, and some of the bravado has slipped.
‘Someone said you played football with him…?’
There’s a twitch of the eye, as if he’s wondering whether someone’s been gossiping – except that Instagram football photo is out there. ‘That’s why I went to the pub that night instead of the in-laws’ anniversary,’ he says. ‘I’d only been with Owen the night before, played footy with him, and then he was gone. Life’s too short for anniversary dinners when you’ve got your mates.’
I’m not sure whether that’s the conclusion most would reach but he probably has some sort of point about prioritising the important things.
‘He left his wallet,’ Mark says. ‘I brought it in to return it, before I knew anything that happened. Can’t remember where I put it.’ He suddenly spins in the chair, almost overbalancing and nearly stabbing himself in the face with the cigar. Once he’s regained some composure, he places the cigar carefully in the ashtray and opens the unlocked safe.
‘That reminds me,’ he says. ‘I let the police into his locker. They were looking to see if there was a reason he did what he did. They found this in there.’
He passes across Mum’s tape. I stare at it for a moment, before taking it, then opening the case to make sure the cassette is inside.
‘It has your name on it,’ he adds, and I sense him wanting an explanation that, despite my grovelling, I can’t bring myself to give. This isn’t why I asked Mark to meet me here, nor anything I expected. I thought the tape was lost.
I thank him, then put the tape in my bag, already desperate to listen to it again. ‘I know it’s Saturday,’ I say, ‘but I figured I could do a few hours this afternoon to catch up on everything I missed the last few days. It’ll get me ahead before Monday.’
Mark waits and, for a moment, I figure he’s going to demand details about the tape. Instead, he slowly starts to nod. ‘I can’t hang around,’ he says, while stubbing out the cigar. ‘You’ll have to lock up yourself – which I guess means you can have these back.’ He opens his top drawer and pulls out the keys and fob I left in the mailbox, then slides them across the desk. I catch them a moment before they slip over the edge.
We stay in position for a short while as he probably wonders if I have a bit more praise for him. When he decides we’re done, he pops himself up. ‘Things to do,’ he says.
And then, somehow, I have the office to myself. Mark disappears in his BMW. I wait until he’s out of sight before dropping Owen’s wallet down the side of the safe. Mark will find it at some point and assume that’s where he left it.
He’s a creep – but thanks to Mum’s tape, I know he isn’t the Earring Killer.
The cassette Mum mailed to her old friend sat dormant in a box for thirteen years and, though the contents aren’t quite thesame as the one I originally listened to, it’s notthatdifferent. More importantly, it doesn’t cut in and out.
