Page 15 of Five Gold Rings

I force a smile. ‘What did Mrs Caspar tell you?’

‘Bits. We can talk about it if you want but if you’d rather shelve it then we can do that, too.’

‘It’s not your problem, I don’t want to burden you.’

‘Maybe, but perhaps I’m far enough removed from the situation to remain impartial. And it’s important to chat about it. Don’t pent up that emotion. If you want to listen to trash rock and scream, then go ahead.’

‘You have Christmas trash rock?’

‘I have Spotify, we can do a search. I am sure there is some punk rock band out there who’ve done angry Christmas before…’

I try to raise a laugh because that was funny.

‘Can I ask a question though?’

I nod.

‘Did he really bring her back to your flat? Where were you?’ he blurts out. ‘Apologies if you don’t want to talk about it.’

‘I was in Bristol for a law conference,’ I reply. I think about that trip, a mixture of panel-watching and lectures, but I’d also presented a paper and it had all gone well – so well, that my fellow departmental mates had tried to drag me out for a Christmas jolly-up of turkey churrascaria with unlimited cocktails. But I refused. I wanted to jump on an early train and get back to Chris. I didn’t want to face a hangover with Christmas wrapping ahead of me. So I returned to my accommodation. I went to bed with Cup Noodles and Netflix on my tablet, messaging Chris, not realising he was, well… otherwise engaged. The memory of that makes me shiver slightly.

‘Oh, the paper on protest rights… How did that go? I know you were stressed about that.’ Joe’s comment brings me back into the car. The extent of our conversation at work is always polite chit-chat, peripheral details about each other’s lives to fill the silence when the shop is empty or we’re dusting the shelves. But it’s surprising and comforting that he remembered that much. It’s nice that in all of this drama, someone has asked about that.

‘It actually went really well. People said it was very well-researched. I even did a PowerPoint.’

‘With animations?’

‘Many.’

‘Well then, that’s awesome.’

‘I guess…’

‘I’m trying to help find the positives here,’ he tells me. The song changes on the stereo. It really is all Christmas, isn’t it?

‘Perhaps. I think I’m still too angry to be positive. I just want to…’

‘Go on, tell me…’

‘I want to vandalise his car. He has golf clubs in the boot. I want to bend them.’

‘OK, Superman,’ Joe says, half laughing. ‘I mean, we can trash his car, but I’d need some sort of face covering because I value my personal freedom.’

‘Or I thought before about shagging it all out. Get drunk and get on Tinder.’

‘Really?’ he says, white with shock. ‘I don’t know how to help with that…’

I giggle. ‘But also a stupid idea. That’s a sure-fire way for me to feel worse than I do. Mrs Caspar said I should call him out on Facebook.’

‘We can do that, too,’ he says, seeming relieved.

I put a hand to his thigh as a gesture to say thank you for listening to me rant, but his leg flinches and he swerves the car slightly.

‘Whoa, hold up there. Sorry…’ I say speedily.

‘You… You have the coldest hands, ever,’ he says, blushing. ‘I thought you were drunk. You’re supposed to be all toasty warm when you’re drunk.’

‘I am. I think I’ve had a year’s worth of units in one day. I don’t even know how I’m operating. I think I’m just being carried around on a wave of adrenaline.’ I blow into my hands and hold them to the crackling heaters in the car.

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