Page 8 of The Reno
Then, I would see Aidan staring at Willa as the two of us trotted through the foyer for after-work drinks, not a hint ofhatred on his bespectacled face—instead, a sad sort of longing. But I never pointed this out to Willa. I liked my head on my shoulders.
“Right,” Willa announced, settling into her pink velvet office chair, “we’ll do this properly. Like we can afford HR.”
Was she going to fire me? Oh my god. Was I about to be fired by my best friend? Because that would be a new low.
I blew a curly strand of hair from my face. “Willa. Please. I swear I’ll put together some extra client pitches. I’ll do sales pitches for you in person if you want. Iwillpull myself together.”
I will stop being such a fuck up. Somehow.
“Relax, Kat. It’s nothing bad. Sit down a sec.”
I lowered myself into one of the two chairs opposite her huge desk, which was organised with pastel highlighters and Post-its—the complete opposite of mine, which was littered with wrappers and bits of paper with gum squished in. Willa’s office was painted a muted plaster pink. It was subtly girly—the kind of pink that wouldn’t put off her dad, who might question if she would be taken seriously with Barbie-pink office walls.
Willa flicked her wrist. “Okay. Explain.”
“Explain?”
“The house listing. Every time I look at you, you’re staring at it. In the office. When we go get lunch. Even when we’re at Elias’s, and I know you usually like to stare at Elias.” She raised an eyebrow.
“I think you mean you like looking at Elias.”
“Don’t change the subject.”
Elias’s was the Italian bar and restaurant opposite the office.Willa and I went every Friday for after-work drinks, sat at the bar and ordered Campari sodas. It helped that Elias, the owner, looked like a tanned Greek god. Unfortunately, he was very gay but declared that he adored us anyway. And the feeling was mutual.
I took a deep breath. “My dad left me this house. It’s his childhood home. It meant a lot to him. At least, I think it did. You know we weren’t… close. For years.”
“Right.” Willa nodded.
“Well, he has left it to me. It took a while for probate to go through, but the solicitor called me last week and confirmed it. It’s mine. And I had no idea he’d even bought it. I think it was going to be his next project. I was going to sell it and try to buy a flat here. But I could only afford somewhere between here and Reading nearer Mum and Graham.”
Willa huffed. “Womp womp.”
“Well, exactly. I’d prefer somewhere a bit closer to work…”
Willa’s nose wrinkled. “And somewherefun.”
“Hey! Reading isn’t so bad.” Willa raised an eyebrow. “But, yeah. I’d prefer somewhere in London, but it’s so fucking expensive, Wills. And I spoke to the estate agent in Everly Heath, and they said if I do some work on the house, it will go for loads more.” I waved a hand. “Something about it being great for new families. Especially with the size of the garden.” My voice picked up speed. “So I thought I could renovate it. I’ve always loved the idea of a fixer-upper and this is probably my only opportunity.”
I left out that I woke up with a sick feeling in my stomach. I left out that sometimes I wondered if I’d ever get over it—get overDad’s death and the mess I’d made at the funeral. I left out that I thought it might give me some closure, some peace.
“Okay.” Willa looked away, nodding. “I’m giving you extended compassionate leave. I can’t afford to pay you for it, but your job will be here when you get back.”
“What?” The blood drained from my face. “No, no, it’s fine. I don’t need it. It’s a stupid idea. I can’t just uproot my life.” I laughed.
Willa rose and sat in the chair next to me. She grabbed my hands and pulled them between us—a rare moment of physical touch from Willa.
“You know I love you.”
I tried to pull my hands back. “Stop being mushy. It’s freaking me out.”
“Shut up.” She squeezed my hands. “You need to hear this. Since the funeral, you’ve been crap. I know that sounds harsh, but you have. I wanted to give you time to process and grieve, but it’s been months, and you aren’t yourself. I get it. When I lost Mum, I was a fucking mess. And it doesn’t go away, not completely. But it does get better. Slowly. But in the last few weeks…” She paused and exhaled. “You’re coming into work more and more pale. You look exhausted. You aren’t the usual you.”
I opened my mouth to object, but Willa ploughed on.
“I wouldn’t expect you to be fine. But I also wouldn’t expect you to be getting worse. I can see you ignoring it and trying to push on. Work isn’t helping. You need time off. Especially after what happened at the funeral—”
I interjected, not wanting to hear another word about that embarrassing display. “I’m fine. I’ll pull myself together. I know you need all hands on deck—”
