Page 83 of Sincerely Yours, Anna Sherwood

Oh, God. When I left my laptop unlocked yesterday, after my chat with Lloyd. Being confronted immediately afterwards.

Tasha.

I guess now we know who won.

But I can’t say anything, can hardly remember to breathe. This is so much worse than them finding out I’m too young for the internship, or kicking me out. This is completely humiliating. It’ll follow me around, haunt me, overshadowing everything I’ve achieved this summer exactly like I worried it would when I called things off with Lloyd.

And now everyone else will think just like Tasha did, that because of how close I am with Lloyd,he’sthe only reason I’ve done well here at all.

Nobody would believe I earned this, after reading those emails. I wouldn’t.

I hear Topher muttering, ‘That boy, honestly. Like we didn’t go through this already last year …’

I shake my head vehemently.No, it’s not like that,and I try to draw a breath to say something, but instead some weird high-pitched squeak comes out of my mouth, and I realize I can taste salt – that my face is wet, and I’m crying.

I’m not even the girl who cries in the bathroom, anymore. I’m the girl who cries inpublic. Like this all wasn’t mortifying enough already.

‘Let’s go upstairs, Anna,’ Nadja is saying, her voice ringing with its usual brusque authority, which is oddly comforting. ‘Just while we sort all this out, okay? Monty, you can carry on gathering all this rubbish up, can’t you?’

‘Sure, yeah.’

‘But – but I’ve got a meeting at half past nine. I’m supposed to –’

‘Don’t worry about any of that now, Anna,’ Michaela tells me. She crouches slightly to look me in the eye, to smile and nod, and it makes me feel like a child who needs taking care of – not the grown-up we’ve all been pretending I am for weeks.

Monty leaves to collect more of my emails of shame and Michaela rubs my arm reassuringly before going back to her desk; Topher Fletcher declares he’s off to speak to IT, and then HR.

Shit, he’s getting HR involved. They’re definitelygoing to fire me. Is Lloyd in trouble, too? Topher didn’t seem exactly happy with him either …

Numbly, I let Nadja usher me into a small meeting room where she draws the blinds down for privacy and then fetches me a cup of tea, and lets me weep and babble at her about exactly what happened this summer between me and Lloyd so she doesn’t think I really did use him to get ahead. I beg her not to kick me out of the internship because of this or because I kissed Lloyd or because I lied and I’m only in my first year of uni or because I left my laptop unlocked and I know we’re not supposed to, because I don’t know what I’ll do if they sack me and send me home.

Although at this point, I’m seriously considering abandoning it all on my own.

I alternate between desperate apologies and frantic hyperventilating – even as Nadja assures me that I’m not in trouble, and this won’t jeopardize my place on the internship.

Dryly, she adds, ‘Although it will jeopardizesomeone’s, I’m sure.’

Two cups of tea and several bouts of crying later, I finally feel a little calmer. They aren’t kicking me out, so my summer hasn’t been wasted and my whole future isn’t in ruins from that regard – but I’m still not sure how I’ll ever live this down. Whatever Nadja tellsme, and whatever the truth is, I know there will be people at Arrowmile who think the credit for my work here should go to Lloyd, and that I don’t really deserve it.

Not to mention, everyone will have seen all those things I wrote.

Including –

Oh, God.Lloydwill have read them. He’ll have seen those things I’ve said. How he had everyone fooled, that I didn’t want to get to know him – that I fell for him, and he made me believe in love after all.

I wish the ground would swallow me whole.

There’s a sharp rap on the door, and it swings open.

Mum stands there, harried and concerned in a way I’ve never seen.

Her face crumples when she sees me.

‘Oh, Annalise.’

And I break down crying all over again.

‘Topher called me,’ Mum tells me, smoothing back some of my hair. Through the taxi’s window, London trundles past us in fits and starts; we zoom down wide roads, weave through lanes of traffic, move in short bursts near traffic lights and crawl along seemingly endless lines of cars and taxis. A few raindrops patter against the windows. ‘He thought, under the circumstances …’

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