Page 41 of One Summer Weekend
Chapter Twelve
I returned to the office with fresh resolve: to spend the week preparing to hand over my coaching assignment, and avoid any calls from Jack – until I was ready.
In fact, it was Wednesday morning before I heard from him; and then, rather than the warmth of his voice, it was the impersonality of an email, sidling into my inbox while I was in a meeting.
The subject line ‘Contract Variation’ gave nothing away:
Dear Alicia
I see from the Coaches for Growth contract (section 11) that I can ask for a different coach. I’m sure you’ll agree that bringing our relationship to an end is the best way forward. This decision has nothing to do with your coaching input to date, which has been highly professional and very productive.
Rgds
Jack
I sat in stunned silence. The email bore uncanny similarities to the one I’d been composing in my head, the one I’d planned to send following my meeting next Monday with Stuart and Gary. I should have been delighted that he’d spared me the bother; but it wasn’t like that at all. My email would have prefixed the word ‘relationship’ with ‘working’ or ‘business’,whereas his didn’t. Which somehow made his message all-encompassing and … final. Especially when I recalled his admission from our tense conversation in the car:I’m finding it bloody hard to separate the coach from the girlfriend.
Ironic, wasn’t it? He was breaking off all contact, just as I was terminating the business relationship in order to become available for something else …
‘You okay?’ Celia slouched into view, and I hurriedly clicked the email shut.
‘Of course,’ I said, brightly. Good grief – forherto notice, I must have looked even worse than I felt. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘That conference at the weekend, shall I confirm your room?’
‘Room?’
‘Judy’s got one at the hotel where the conference is, and I’ll need to switch it into your name.She was booked in for the Friday and Saturday nights – what about you?’
I opened my diary and found the details of the conference. An informal drinks party on the Friday evening, which I had no intention of attending, followed by a 9 a.m. start the next morning; staying over on Friday was a no-brainer. Saturday’s programme kicked off with a keynote speech from a surprise guest, then followeda meandering procession of speakers, breakout groups and panel discussions until the wrap-up at 6 o’clock. The conference would be rounded off with a celebratory dinner. My slot – still badged as Judy, for God’s sake! – was towards the end of the day, and I decided that it would be sensible to book the room for a second night; even if I skipped the dinner, the prospect of an evening journey hometo an empty flat held little appeal.
‘Same,’ I said, ‘and please make sure there’s a bath.’
She seemed about to say something, but didn’t – much to my relief.
When she’d gone, I clicked on the email again and re-read his words. How dare he – howdarehe! The message was clear, and I couldn’t help but take it personally: he’d sampled the goods and found them wanting. Perhaps,despite those assurances to the contrary, he’d even gone back to Karina …
My lips tightened as I stabbed a reply on the keyboard:
Dear Jack,
I note your request for a different coach, in accordance with section 11 (paragraph 2) of our contract with Leo Components, and agree that terminating our relationship is the best way forward. Your new coach will make contact nextweek. This small delay is due to our internal handover processes and I trust it does not inconvenience you.
With kind regards,
Alicia
That should show him. All I had to do now was finish writing up the deep dive, and plan my meeting with Stuart and Gary. In five days’ time, it would be over – and I’d never have to see Jack Smith again.
I hit ‘send’ and got abruptlyto my feet. I needed fresh air, a change of scene, a distraction.
Outside, the fountains danced and sparkled in the sun. I leaned against the warm brick wall of the building, and surveyed the lush green of the lawns and shrubs. Everything looked unbelievably bright and clean andmanicured– when what I longed for were darker colours and rougher edges …
One weekend of strange intimacywith Jack Smith – that’s all it took to disrupt the bland routine of my existence. Barely two days, in a place of wildness – and I couldn’t stop reliving every moment, or fantasising about a different ending entirely. Well, his email had put paid to allthat.
Later, when I turned the key in the door of my flat, I noted – as if for the first time – the regimented neatness, the sterile atmosphere,the seeming absence of human interaction. Except that, since Sunday night, there’d been a small but important lapse, a surrender to sentiment. On my bedside table stood Mrs Tiggy-Winkle, a symbol of all that had gone right with my weekend in the Lakes – until today. Now she was a reminder of all that had gone wrong.
I went into the bedroom and placed her resolutely in the drawer below; outof sight, out of mind.
