Page 99 of Someone Else's Shoes
‘Take it,’ says Phil, who has seen everything.
‘I really –’
‘Take it.’
She answers the call, looking away from Phil, though she can feel his eyes burning into the back of her head. Her voice, when she speaks, is too high, too false. ‘Joel!’
Joel’s voice is low, conspiratorial. ‘Sorry to bother you on a weekend, Sam. But, look, it’s a bit weird but some Israeli guy came to the office on Friday. Asking questions about you.’
‘What? … Israeli?’
‘Yeah. I didn’t really get it. He spoke to Martin, who said you’d left and then he was off. I don’t know what questions he asked, I just – I got a bad vibe off him. Martin only just told me – I don’t want to freak you out – but he says there was something off about it. Just thought you should know.’
‘That’s odd. Okay. Thanks.’
There is a short silence.
‘And I wondered if –’
‘Got to go,’ she says brightly. ‘I’ll – see you at work! Thanks for passing that on!’
She rings off before Joel can say anything else. She stuffs her phone into her pocket and tries to rearrange her face into an expression that is not guilty, not slightly flustered.
‘So, we’ll – we’ll talk later?’
Phil looks at her and his whole bearing suggests he is under a weight that is almost unbearable.
‘We will, Phil. We’ll talk when I’m back. I just – I have to do this.’
‘I’m going away,’ he says, turns and walks back to the kitchen.
Sam goes very still. ‘What?’
‘I’m going away. I can’t – I can’t deal with this any more. I need to get my head straight.’
She walks down the hallway so that she can see him, standing, his back against the worktop. ‘What do you – where are you going?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Phil, this is ridiculous! You can’t just walk out. Please don’t. We have to – Look, I’ll be back later and we’ll talk, okay? Just let me get past today and we’ll sort this.’
He shakes his head. And when he speaks, he seems genuinely bewildered. ‘Twenty-three years, Sam. What is there to talk about?’
Michelle on Reception has always liked Jasmine, so when she offers to look after the front desk for ten minutes, so that Michelle can take a cigarette break, she clearly regards it as just another extension of Jasmine’s kindness, her generosity to other members of the Bentley staff. Plus, Michelle happilyleaves the desk empty most days while she sneaks a Marlboro Light and this way she’s less likely to get into trouble with Frederik. The desk is one of the few areas in the lobby not monitored by CCTV.
Nisha stands a few feet away with Sam, keeping lookout, as Jasmine scans the list of reservations until she finds what she’s looking for. She blocks out a room, makes a few quick changes on the screen, whips a key from the board of hooks behind her head, and is standing back from the desk, smiling blandly, when Michelle returns, smelling vaguely of cigarette smoke. She checks her lipstick in a small hand-held mirror and snaps it shut as she slides in.
‘You’re a lifesaver, Jas. I can’t believe Lena didn’t turn up for her shift again. Honestly, if they ask me to pull another double I’m going to walk out.’
‘Anytime, my darling. Anytime,’ says Jasmine, and sweeps out from behind the desk. Michelle looks at her quizzically. ‘Funny, I didn’t think you were on tod–’
‘Perfume. Frederik is going to smell your cigarette.’ Jasmine pulls a bottle of unidentified scent from her handbag and squirts two blasts at Michelle, who, distracted, coughs and mutters a weak ‘Thank you,’ as Jasmine shoves it back into her bag and disappears.
Nisha and Jasmine lead Sam through the side door and down the back staircase to the staff changing room, where they put on their uniform of dark shirts and trousers. Sam has been silent since she arrived, her face pale and drawn, and Nisha wonders if it’s nerves. She’s going to have to pull it together if she’s to get this thing done. She’s the kind of woman who might well buckle, suddenly announce that she couldn’t tell a lie, or burst into tears.Please don’t let her fuck this up, she wills some unknown deity.I need my shoes.
‘You okay?’ she says tersely to Sam, as she does up her trousers.
‘Fine,’ says Sam, who is sitting on the bench, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her knuckles are white.
