Someone You Know. Olivia Isaac-Henry

      ‘How do you manage it, Cass?’ I say. ‘Weren’t you out as late as me?’

      ‘Out, but not out of it. You need to slow down, Tess Piper.’

      ‘Yeah, yeah,’ I say.

      I pat my face dry with a paper towel. Its rough texture scrapes against my skin.

      ‘Seriously, you look terrible,’ she says.

      ‘Thanks,’ I say.

      ‘Anytime.’

      We laugh, which hurts my ribs.

      There’s something about Cass that reminds me of Edie. Despite being cousins, they don’t look alike. It’s more the elegance she gives her clothes. If I wore a tight-fitting top with short feather sleeves, I’d look like a drag queen. Cassie looks like a model, long-necked and glossy. You’d imagine her to be highly strung, but she’s easy-going and fun. Nadine passes on our not so infrequent fuck-ups to her and soon the clients are cooing.

      She pulls a can of Red Bull from her bag.

      ‘Even with a good night’s sleep you’d need one of these to get through Nadine’s strategy meetings.’

      ‘Thanks.’

      I take it and tug on the ring pull. It smells of bubble gum and makes me wrinkle my nose.

      ‘Drink it,’ she says. ‘You shouldn’t even be here in your state.’

      ‘I’ve come in worse.’

      ‘But y’know … with what you told me.’

      The drink’s sickly sweetness bubbles on my stomach. What the hell did I tell her?

      ‘You’ve been with Max for nine years. You’re not going to get over it in one night.’

      I don’t remember telling her this. I’ve made a point of not telling anyone, hoping Max will change his mind and we can limp on as we are.

      ‘Cass, I’m fine.’

      My stomach contracts. I think I’m going to throw up.

      Cassie finishes washing her hands.

      ‘Maybe you two can still work things out.’

      I give a non-committal, ‘Hmm.’

      Cassie gives me a quick smile and squeezes my shoulder.

      ‘Three minutes,’ she says.

      I wait till the click of her heels disappears down the corridor, then dive into the nearest cubicle. All the sugary red fizz shoots straight up my nose as I retch into the bowl. Cass is right, I need to slow down. I shouldn’t have told her about Max.

      I return to the sink and rinse my mouth out. It’s less than one minute till the meeting and Nadine always starts on time. In the mirror I look old and the strip light gives my skin a muddy-green tinge, my face looks drawn and puffy at the same time. Maybe in natural light I only look tired.

      I sit down at the central desk just as Nadine is organising her papers. The meeting starts with Nadine banging on about professionalism and commitment. I look round the table, as if this applies to everyone but me. My phone rings. Dad again. Nadine glares at me.

      ‘We turn our phones to silent before meetings,’ she says in the manner of a teacher reprimanding a troublesome pupil.

      ‘Sorry,’ I mutter and send Dad to voicemail again.

      Nadine moves on to monthly targets. I stare out of the window. Last night’s rain is just a memory and a relentless heat, unnatural to the English summer, reclaims the city. Hot air shimmers off the buildings and people huddle in bus shelters, desperately seeking out the tiniest sliver of shade.

      Why can’t I remember what I said to Cass? I need to remember. I need to slow down. Something has to change.

      I look round the table. Soraya’s my age. She’ll have dropped her kids off for nursery before work and has a nutritionally balanced packed lunch to put in the fridge. Her linen dress looks freshly pressed and her shoes are dust-free. Adrianne’s a couple of years younger than me. She and her boyfriend have bought and renovated a house in Tufnell Park. They regularly eat at Le Gavroche and attend cultural events at The Barbican. Her city shorts and cotton blouse strike just the right balance between fashionable and professional. These are the women I should be emulating, not the chaotic twenty-somethings like Cassie, who can go out all night and wake up in the morning daisy fresh. For them it’s a phase, in two or three years they’ll morph into Soraya and Adrianne. By then I’ll be nearly forty.

      I don’t notice the meeting has finished until people stand up and start drifting away. Nadine is still tapping on her laptop.

      ‘A word before you go, Tess,’ she says, still typing.

      ‘Sorry about being so late, there was— ’

      ‘Yes, I know,’ she says. ‘The traffic, the trains. I didn’t realise you were the only person in the office who uses public transport.’ She looks up. ‘I don’t want to have to take this to HR, so it’s an informal chat this time.’ She lets her words sink in. My mouth’s still open mid excuse when she continues, ‘But you’re not adding much value to the team right now. The lateness, missing targets, complaints from clients.’

      ‘I’m sorry.’

      ‘I’m looking for a bit of passion or, better still, some new ideas. It’s why we hired you.’

      ‘I know. I’m sorry. Things have been a bit difficult lately. I’ll sort myself out.’ I can’t lose my job on top of everything else. ‘And I’ve got some ideas, good ideas, new social media strategies. I’ve been working through them this week. I’m just not ready to present.’

      ‘Really? Tess, that’s great. We’d love to see you back on form.’

      Christ, she’s genuinely excited about this. I’m not even that enthusiastic about my vices any more. I strain my jaw into a smile, which sets off a throbbing in my temples, and I go back to slump behind my desk and pretend to look at spreadsheets until Nadine goes to a meeting in another building. Then I go to the Café Nero over the road for another Americano. I smoke a cigarette outside with the coffee before returning to my desk to browse the Net-a-Porter website for clothes I can’t afford, ones that will turn me into Soraya and Adrianne. My phone rings. It’s Dad again. This time I pick up.

      ‘Tess.’

      His voice sounds different, strained and breathless.

      ‘Tess,’ Dad repeats.

      The phone feels suddenly heavy in my hand.

      ‘Dad,’ I say.

      ‘Something’s happened, Tess.’

      ‘Where are you?’

      ‘I’m at home. The police are here.’

      The edges of the room begin to blur.

      ‘What’s happened?’

      Cassie puts down the folder she’s holding and looks over to my desk.

      ‘Tess, I don’t know how to tell you.’

      ‘Stop it, Dad. You’re frightening me.’

      Cassie’s by my side. My throat tightens, I can’t breathe. I know now why he’s been ringing. I know what he’s going to say.

      ‘Sweetheart,’ he says. ‘It’s her. They’ve found Edie.’

       Chapter 2

       Edie: August 1993

      Edie gulped in the smoke drifting towards the kitchen door. Tess was helping Dad pile up the coals on