Page 12 of The First Time I Saw You
‘How can you stand there all high and mighty? You left, Soph, in the middle of the fecking night, no call, no explanation and the next thing I hear is . . .’ he air-quotes, ‘“Goodbye and all the best.”’ He opens the fridge and grabs another bottle of beer. ‘And then, then . . . I find out that you’re heading up the team analysing our data! And you turn up, looking like . . .’ he gestures up and down at me with his beer bottle, ‘that, and tell me that my idea, my big idea that was going to save our company, was actually used to buy it out!’
‘I told you, we already had the plans for the software. It wasn’t your big idea, we’d already pitched it.’
‘So why not just say that?’
‘Because I couldn’t!’ I shout at him. ‘Can we, God, can we sit down? I’m knackered, and my feet hurt.’ I take off my shoes and tread barefoot through the hall and into the lounge, the cool floorboards easing my soles. I sink into the pale-blue sofa and continue to drink my wine, waiting for him to follow me. Leaning my head back, I roll it to the left and right, trying to ease some of the tension.
‘Why did you leave, Soph?’ His voice is quiet, like he almost doesn’t want me to answer. I sigh.
‘I didn’t know you worked at Greenlight until then.’
‘You did! I told you about work, talked about it all the time. I—’
‘You talked about computers all the time and you never called it Greenlight.’
‘I did, I . . . shit. I always call it—’
‘Emerald City,’ we say in unison.
‘But you must have guessed, must have—’
‘Why? Because there is only one loan company in Washington?’ I laugh. ‘Believe me, I’ve replayed our conversations a million times, and you might find it hard to believe, but I simply never clicked. Besides, if you think about it, we didn’t really talk about work that much.’
‘You could have just told me.’
‘No, I couldn’t. I’d have had to come off the project.’ I smile at him. ‘Conflict of interest.’
‘But nobody knew we were together. It was just us.’
‘I couldn’t risk it.’ I shake my head, feeling the effects of the wine as I do. ‘And then if you came out with your “big idea” they would have thought that I’d told you. I’d have lost my job.’
‘So, the job meant more to you? More than what we had?’ I look away from the hurt look on his face, his eyebrows creased, and eyes softened. I drink the rest of my wine.
‘Yes.’ He looks as me disbelievingly. ‘Don’t look at me like that. I’ve worked hard to get where I am. You don’t know what it’s like to have nothing, Samuel. You have a huge family that loves you, you can walk into anywhere and light up the room with your smile and crap Irish jokes; I’m not like you. I need my job.’
He leaves the room and returns with another beer and the bottle of wine, then fills up my glass and puts the bottle on the floor. ‘So that’s it? That’s why you left?’ He sits next to me and leans his elbow on the back of the sofa and his head on the heel of his hand. ‘Because of my crap Irish jokes?’
I laugh and shake my head sadly. ‘If they knew that we were, you know, I’d never have been able to close this deal, and I’d never be able to make partner.’
‘And me? Did you care at all what I was going through? That I had no idea what I had done wrong?’
‘I never stopped thinking about it. So here we are . . . a sulky Irishman and – what was it? Ah yes, the biggest bitch you’ve ever met.’
‘Yeah, sorry about that. I’d had a few jars.’
‘It’s OK. I mean, not OK, but I understand why you would think that.’
We sit quietly for a few minutes; my stomach is churning from drinking the wine so quickly. ‘Oh!’ I get up and smile at him. ‘I have something for you.’
‘P45?’
‘Funny. Wait there.’ I go back into the kitchen, grab my handbag and return to the lounge. It smells of him: the same fabric softener and remains of this morning’s aftershave. ‘Open your hand and close your eyes.’
‘I’m still pissed off at you. You know that, right?’
‘Fine, but just do it.’ He leans forward and puts his bottle on the floor, then closes his eyes. I resist the urge to kiss him and instead, put the box into his hand. ‘OK, open it.’
‘You’re not proposing, are you?’ He looks down at me and I realise that I’m kneeling on one knee.
