Page 107 of Lie For Me

‘Hi, boss. Good weekend?’

‘Yes, thanks,’ Jack said. He paused for a moment, then added, ‘Yes. It was great, actually.’

‘Want a coffee?’ Tim asked. He nodded at Jack’s mug. ‘Or is that a fresh one?’

Jack grimaced at his watery mug. ‘I’d love a coffee, thanks.’

‘No problem, I’ll stick the kettle on.’

Tim slipped back out into the main office.

Jack picked up the wedding photograph and placed it alongside the picture of him and his dad on holiday. He leaned back in his chair and looped his fingers across the back of his head, gazing at the photographs. His eyes fell on the wedding picture, one of the few pictures he had of his parents together. It was a photo of love and hope and risk. They took a chance.

The kettle started to whistle from the kitchen, he heard the clink of mugs and then Tim swore about there being no milk. There was a brief debate about whose turn it was to go and buy some. Tim lost.

Jack opened up his computer and scrolled through his emails until he found the one he was looking for. He took a deep breath.

Dear Steven, he began.

35

There was a knock on the office door.

‘You decent?’ Cassie called.

‘Har-dee-har,’ Lucy shouted. ‘Come in! Why are you knocking on your own office door?’

Cassie flung open the door. ‘Well, you never know with you.’

Lucy huffed.

‘It was once, and I was trying to get my Hallowe’en costume on for the event at—’

‘Yeah. What I saw certainly scared the shit out of me,’ Cassie said.

‘Did you just start this conversation to insult me, or was there some grander purpose?’ Lucy grumbled.

Cassie raised her eyebrows.

‘What if insulting you was my grander purpose?’ She grinned. ‘The printers dropped off the proofs for the Christmas brochures.’

She dropped a packet on Lucy’s desk.

Lucy stared at it but made no move to pick it up. For the past few years, poring over the proofs for the Dulcetcoombe Christmas brochure had been one of the highlights of Lucy’s year. She loved working with the designers to define the colour palette and layout, selecting images and visitor quotes to include, and checking the proofs for errors and corrections. And then, a little later in the year, seeing the finished glossy brochures on display in local shops, libraries and venues. Seeing people pick them up and browse through them, overhearing parents say, ‘We must take the kids this year,’ always made her smile.

But this year, she couldn’t muster the enthusiasm to get excited about Christmas in September. She slumped in her chair and stared listlessly at the volunteers budget on her computer screen that she’d been looking at for the past hour without making a single update.

‘You love Christmas!’ Cassie said.

Lucy shrugged and plucked at a knotted ball of elastic bands.

‘And you love proofs. Christmas,’ Cassie tapped a finger on the envelope, ‘proofs.’

Lucy was unmoved.

‘I’m sure they’re fine,’ she said, shrugging and shifting the envelope to the side of her desk. ‘And I don’t love Christmas anymore. I’ve gone off it. Along with ice cream, puppies and those pictures of babies asleep in flowers. Anything cute and cheerful, keep it away from me—it has no place in my life anymore.’

Lucy saw Cassie eyeballing her desk.

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