The Burning House

Allie pulled the heavy bar door open. Hot fuggy air blasted down on her head from the fan heater in the entrance lobby and a wave of nausea crept over her. Inside, the vast front bar with its high ceilings was heaving with people and heat. The hubbub assaulted her senses: chatter, laughter and a distant eighties dance beat. Paul had mentioned that Imogen had reserved the back room where the squishy sofas and low tables were.

Ten minutes earlier, when she was leaving the office, she’d been about to text him to say that she was on her way but decided against it. It was Imogen’s birthday. If she was going to text anyone to apologise for being late, it should be her. Trouble was, she still wasn’t sure how she felt about going to the party. Was it going to be a mistake? There was still time to slope off. Tempting. Avoid the whole thing, head home, order a takeaway and get into her jarmies. Adrian would no doubt be working through the night again, and, if he slept at all, would probably bunk down on the sofa in the studio. No, she’d told Imogen she would be there so she had to put in an appearance at least.

When she’d tidied away the client files on her desk, she’d taken out her lipstick and mirror, something she often did at the end of the day, especially if she was meeting friends for drinks or dinner. But tonight she’d stopped herself. Instead her attention was caught by a couple of red thread veins in the whites of her eyes and she noticed that they weren’t as bright as they used to be. When had that happened?

Allie weaved her way through the crowded bar. The Algerian red walls, which hadn’t been refurbished since the smoking ban, gave the room a giddy feel. She’d come back and get a drink in a minute once she’d found out who was here and what the state of play was. Perhaps everyone had already moved on to the curry house? In the distance she spotted Imogen’s lustrous bob and her tall, poised figure. She was talking to a few of the other girls from HR. Suddenly, Allie realised that, although she’d contributed to the envelope which had come round and had signed her card, she’d no idea what they’d bought Imogen for a present.

She made her way over to the girls. She and Imogen had both started at Andersons at the same time. Induction sisters, they’d called each other in the pub at the end of their first day four years ago. They’d joked about ‘watching each other’s backs’ and had shared a bottle of white wine and a plate of greasy nachos as they discussed what they thought of their colleagues so far.

‘So sorry I’m late,’ said Allie, and deposited her long coat and floppy bag down on one of the empty chairs. ‘Had to take a client call from the US. Many happy returns.’ She smiled at the other girls. ‘Can I get everyone a drink?’

They were drinking cava so Allie ordered another bottle and brought back a glass for herself, plus a few bags of Kettle Chips. All she’d eaten was half a sweaty cheese sandwich on her way to a client meeting at lunchtime.

‘Here we go, girls.’ She re-filled everyone’s glasses, then poured one for herself. ‘Cheers.’

‘Glad you made it’, said Imogen. ‘Not seen much of you lately. How are you?’

Allie screwed up her face.

‘We must get together for a proper catch up. How’s Adrian?’

‘He’s fine. Busy, as usual. Got a new commission so I generally don’t see him for weeks when he’s at the early stages of things. Think we’ve had one conversation in the last four days.

‘Oh dear.’

Allie shrugged. ‘How’s everything with you?’

‘Good. John and I are off to Prague this weekend. His treat for my birthday.’

‘How lovely. Nice to go before it gets too hot.’

Over the top of Imogen’s head Allie caught sight of Paul’s scruffy hair. She was flooded with the memory of how deliciously soft his mouth had felt on hers. He was clutching a pint glass in his right hand and had been pinned into a corner by Boring Brian, the Marketing Director, who, red in the face and blotchy in the neck, was clearly in full spiel. Paul saw that Allie had clocked him and flickered a grin at her, risking a cheeky roll of his eyes. Brian wouldn’t notice this, of course. He never did. Allie smiled back, excited by the flutter in her stomach and the tickle of nausea. She’d seen his text earlier, asking what time she was going to get to the pub.