Love, Still

– Chapter 1 —

11PM.

Still in the office.

Just another normal day for Josh.

Rubbing his tired eyes, he thought of the alternative.

Going home to a wife who didn’t want him there.

She made it so obvious. Whatever time he walked through the door would be the time she suddenly needed to go to sleep. He thought, with a touch of amusement, that at least he inspired sleep in her, if nothing else.

He was a giant human sleeping pill.

Looking around his spacious office, at least he had a successful career. Even if he was in danger of being shot thrice.

Every other time he admitted to being a lawyer, out came the same joke about how the snake got to live.

If he rolled his eyes at that rubbish quip taking the mick out of lawyers again, his eyeballs might get stuck to the back of his head.

Josh tugged at the knot of his tie and loosened it further.

Hours ago, he had folded up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt, and now he wearily stretched his arms above his head, feeling the pull in cramped muscles.

Behind him, beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass of his corner office, the City of Kellston sparkled beneath the cloak of night.

Not that he ever paid much attention to the view.

Kellston was everything a timeworn cosmopolitan city ought to be - a tapestry of contradictions woven from steel and stone.

Sleek, unapologetically modern skyscrapers stretched towards the heavens, bold and unyielding, while at their feet, the ghosts of the old world lingered.

Pre-war buildings, too storied to erase, stood firm as silent sentinels to history, fragments of another age.

It was a city caught in quiet conversation between centuries.

Josh sometimes wondered randomly if his marriage had become a relic. No, that would require it to have been a thing of beauty before.

Perhaps if he had worked less, if he had sacrificed some part of his career, things may have been better.

Probably not.

He inhaled deeply, as if he could breathe in a different reality.

His phone bleeped.

josh r u still in d office?

It should have been odd for any secretary to be bleeping her boss at that hour, but Jenny did it all the time.

He tapped back,

Yes.

What did she want, he wondered.

For a split second, he contemplated asking.

Nope. Not happening.

If it was about work and urgent, she would tell him. Otherwise, he didn’t want to know.

Josh gave himself permission to not have any further deep thoughts about anything in general.

With some mirth, he told himself it was time to go home for some good old door slamming.

He glanced at his desk and decided it would be far more efficient to leave the books and files open, the papers exactly where they were so he wouldn’t have to faff about in the morning.

Yes. Excellent plan.

Snatching up his car key fob and wallet, which he located with amazing speed on his very ‘efficient’ table, he stood up, stretched his back and walked out the door.

Getting too old for this, he thought.

Nah. Who was he kidding, he loved it.

Some time ago, Josh had decided that that either he was the luckiest driver in the world, or a very good one to have never been in an accident. Or maybe, his exhaustion was a figment of his imagination.

Loud, very loud music helped. That, and the fact that he lived only fifteen minutes away from the office.

Walking through the front door, he heard the echo of his wife slamming her bedroom door shut. Good job, Josh-the-human-sleeping-pill.

If only she knew that he had absolutely no interest in talking to her either, her poor door might be treated a bit better, he mused.

Heading towards the arched stairs, his eye caught a magazine cover that featured a smiling family with sweet children blissfully grinning.

Josh and Mandy had been married about fifteen years now.

Mandy had never wanted children because she was set on a successful modelling career and was of the view that children would ruin her figure (and her life).

Looking back, Josh realised that her general lack of commitment to being an actual family was, if he was honest, perhaps the only attraction the union held for him.

It seemed Mandy had married him for the same reason.

Never particularly fussed about being wedded, Josh admitted to himself that he’d tied the knot mostly to kill the unwarranted impression he was a playboy (preposterous!) and to stop the endless ‘when are you going to get married’ line of questioning, which rivalled the snake joke in annoyance levels.

So, marrying the girl who wanted nothing substantive from him seemed a good plan at the time.

Perhaps not such a good idea in hindsight.

With age came the innate ability to be wise, and to be able to do absolutely nothing about the past.

His thoughts drifted to the affair that he knew Mandy was having with her photographer, Luciano or Looooocheanooo as she liked to say.

He knew his marriage was obviously over when his wife was having an affair and he felt … precisely nothing about it.

Worse, he felt slightly relieved.

– —

On the other side of town, Kimberly was reading in bed, propped up comfortably against a chenille pillow.

The glass of Moscato on her bedside table was almost empty.

Three years after finally booting her abusive husband out of her bed and her home, she still didn’t know what to do with his side of the bed.

She’d tried sleeping in the middle, but that only left her feeling stranded in an abyss of space.

Perhaps a big blow-up doll would reduce the abysmal abyss, yes maybe … if it weren’t such a pervy idea.

Still, better to wrestle with the bed than the actual sodding man.

Eventually, she’d abandoned the dilemma and just kept to her own side. The other side might as well have been haunted.

She had the sneaking suspicion that no matter how many times she scrubbed the mattress or changed the sheets, his ghastly side would always reek faintly of booze.

Not that she went sniffing, of course!

She knew she had to work up to the point of chucking the whole thing out and buying a new one.

Definitely one day, just not today.

There was just such a sense of finality in actually doing it.

The divorce was done and dusted, but the memo needed to reach her mind or her heart. Or both.

The bed had become her ‘Linus blanket’. Snoopy would understand.

The late-night radio was playing I Don’t Know How To Love Him.

Kimberly stopped reading for a moment and considered the principle of not knowing how to love a general ‘him’.

At forty-five, she’d begun to feel suspiciously like life had passed her by.

Yes, she had a teenage son and a thriving business she could rightfully call her own, but otherwise? It was one long, yawning void.

It was as though she’d been left on the shelf and forgotten, gathering dust – like Nana’s jars of marmalade at the back of the larder.

She dedicated her life to her son and her passion for decorating other people’s homes. Beyond those two activities, her life was marmalade.

She drained the last of the Moscato, reached to switch off the floral bedside lamp, only to realise that she’d left her en suite light on.

Brilliant. Early onset memory lapses, she told herself grimly.

Turning the corner of her walk-in wardrobe, she caught sight of her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

High cheekbones gave her an almost heart shaped face and her dimples made a charming appearance whenever she was amused. No dimples tonight though.

Big brown eyes were unchanged after all these years, save for the hint of sadness that lingered in them far too often these days.

She sighed at herself.

Perhaps she’d played her romance card too early, spent it all in one go. Now there were no more left.

She was a ‘has been’. An old dame. Lovely.

It was a very sobering thought.

She could see herself growing old alone.

Maudlin at midnight. Dimples appeared as she admitted how much of a drama llama she was being.

And like so many nights before, she flicked off the light, feeling hollow apart from the giant pit that sat in her drama llama heart.

– Chapter 2 —

Coffee that wasn’t brewed under fluorescent lights.

And maybe a croissant.

Yes, why not. Josh decided that he’d nip into a café near the office before yet another long day at work.

He started tapping out a quick message to Jenny so she wouldn’t get coffee for him

Morning Jenny, am getting my own coffee, thanks.

His finger hovered over the phone, wondering if he should ask her if she wanted anything, but he knew he shouldn’t encourage her. Hit, send.

Not really knowing what a wife’s care felt like, Josh figured that Jenny would make a good wife one day – not to him, but still.

His topsy turvy situation saw him with a wife who didn’t act like a wife and not a wife who acted more like a wife.

He shook his head slightly as if to get them both out of his head. Women were complicated.

Stepping into the warmth of the café, Josh took a moment to breathe in the aroma of coffee which hit him like a warm hug.

Looking around, he realised a couple of window tables were free. Unusual, and further, he realised that he would like to actually sit at one of those tables this morning, instead of rushing off as he was wont do.

After all, his files were open and ready on his desk. So efficient, he congratulated himself.

Setting down his leather computer bag, that had one of those unpronounceable brands, at a table, Josh rubbed his hands together almost gleefully and joined the queue.

In front of him stood a pretty, exotic-looking girl. Yes, he noticed she was attractive, but he also knew he never wanted to look sideways at any lady that young. Still, he did wonder where she was from.

Before he could finish that thought, a young dishevelled-looking delivery lad in Bermuda shorts came in, presumably to collect someone’s order.

With sharp peripheral vision, he clocked the girl straight away. Sidling up, he started to spout what Josh could only imagine to be a very disastrous attempt at some foreign language.

The girl turned her head and replied in a very annoyed, very stone-cold North London accent “Seriously?!”

It was all too amusing because the delivery boy then became as incoherent in English as he had been in his ‘foreign’ tongue. Josh chuckled.

Miss North London swung round to glare up at him with fiery indignation, while the poor decimated delivery lad slunk away.

Her expression softened though, as she took in Josh’s handsome face. Melting into a slightly reluctant smile, she said, “I don’t know why people think that’s a funny thing to do.”

Josh flashed his killer smile and responded, “Sure beats hearing about the snake that gets to live”

“What snake?” she asked, a hint of alarm in her voice.

Just this once, he thought, he’d explain. “As the ill-conceived question goes, ‘If you had a gun with three bullets and came across a snake and a lawyer, what do you do?’” Before the girl could reply, he continued, “You shoot the lawyer three times, just to be sure.”

Perhaps, with someone else, somewhere else, she may have laughed but there was nothing in Josh’s handsome visage that encouraged such a response, so she simply blinked.

Fortunately for her, the barista was ready to take her order.

Meeting again at the collection point, she glanced around the now packed cafe and muttered “Great, now there’s nowhere to sit.”

Gallantly, Josh suggested, “Well, you could share my table if you like.”

Smiling gratefully, she introduced herself. “I’m Sabrina.”

“Said Audrey Hepburn,” Josh quipped, then realised the millennial before him had no idea to what he was referencing. So he offered his hand and name instead, “Josh”.

When they reached their shared table, she set down a small pile of interior design magazines.

“Are you redecorating?” asked Josh conversationally, idly tapping his phone mechanically on the table.

Laughing, she replied “All the time” going on to explain that she was a junior home decorator for a well-known interior design firm.

“Ah, interesting. My wife’s looking to redo the house. Perhaps your company could help her with that.”

Realising that this handsome face could be so much more, Sabrina lit up. “That would be brilliant.” She deftly handed him a business card which magically appeared almost out of nowhere.

“Great. I’ll pass this to the wife. And now I really need to get into the office. Saving the world and all.” Josh grinned, picked up his coffee and walked off.

Back at the office, Jenny was waiting. When he walked in, there she was. Hands on her hips, staring him down (or up, given Josh’s height).

Oh boy, he thought, now what.

“Well, good morning, Josh.” She transferred her glare to the offending cup in his hand. He wasn’t sure whether he or the coffee was at the receiving end of her wrath.

Sounding disgusted, she scoffed. “Coloured drain water. I could have made you a proper cuppa. Gladly.”

Josh’s ‘perplex’ scale rose. Her supposedly enticing offer absolutely didn’t match her tone, or the way she was looking at him. There was nothing “glad” about either!

Very odd.

“No need, Jenny. I’m sure I’ll need your help in a hundred other ways today,” Josh replied. She appeared a little less put out.

Mentally shaking his head, Josh escaped into his office. If this was her ‘glad’, he didn’t want to be on her side of ‘disdain’.

As he emptied his pockets onto his desk, he came across Sabrina’s card.

Flicking it between his fingers for a couple of seconds, he placed it on the table, snapped a photo and sent it to Mandy with a short note

Interior designer for your consideration.

Blue ticks appeared. Proof of life.

“Ten minutes to the Braidihurst deposition,” Matthew announced, poking his head round Josh’s door. Braidihurst Foods Ltd was Willimson and Davis’ biggest client.

“Ugh. Can’t you do that yourself? It’s mad having three senior partners on one case.” Josh abhorred redundancy. He was all about efficiency.

“Mate, you see the seven windows in your office? Braidihurst paid for about five of them.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Josh muttered as he concurrently wondered why he thought he’d left his desk much more organised than it actually was.

Josh and Matthew were the antithesis of how senior legal partners usually behaved with each other. Not only did they not devil take the hindmost with each other, they were the real bromance deal. And together, they invariably turned female heads whenever they walked into a room.

Matthew always joked that the only thing setting them apart was Josh’s slight Welsh accent, which gave him the edge. Otherwise, the women would know which chap to pick, meaning himself of course.

Truth be told, both of them enjoyed the attention they seemed to attract. Who wouldn’t?

Matthew was the taller of the two, standing at around 1.88m, but both cut striking figures, especially in their power suits. They reeked of power and virility. Perhaps it was simply the way they carried themselves.

Josh was 45 that year, Matthew two years younger. They were in their prime, young enough to still be sexy, old enough to be distinguished (and plush).

Matthew, who thought hair to be too much work, kept his cropped hair short. Josh wore his short but slightly disarrayed, with the faintest wave ala Hugh Grant.

Whilst Josh fussed with papers on his desk, Matthew stood watching him, hands shoved in his trouser pockets. “You really are a slob.”

Distractedly, Josh replied, “Hey, this is my man cave.”

“Yeah, I think I see bat droppings,” Matthew smirked.

“Don’t you have something more productive to do than stand there staring at me, mate?”

“Yes, in exactly seven minutes. Then so do you,” Matthew retorted, sauntering off while whistling a Coldplay tune.