Everything is Beautiful by Eleanor Ray (classic literature list .TXT) 📗

wrong all these years? What if she hadn’t been betrayed at all?

Amy shivered. If he hadn’t left to be with Chantel, what had happened? And where was Chantel?

Amy’s hands flew over the keyboard on Monday morning. Of course she wouldn’t find him online, she’d tried that many times. But perhaps she could track down his old friends. It had been eleven years. Perhaps someone had heard something.

‘Are you looking at Facebook?’

Damn Carthika and her constant nosiness.

‘You told us we shouldn’t be on there, even at lunchtime. No place in the office for social media, you said.’

‘There’s every place for social media,’ said Liam, approaching their bank of desks. ‘Twitter is the future of marketing.’

Carthika rolled her eyes behind his back, and he sat down on Amy’s desk. She pulled the Apex file to one side just in time. ‘Can I help you?’ she asked reluctantly.

‘I hope so,’ he replied, smiling at her. His teeth looked brighter than they had the last time she’d seen him, and she wondered if he’d been whitening them. He didn’t elaborate on his hopes, and remaining seated on her desk, blocking her access to her keyboard.

‘Well?’ she prompted.

‘Ah yes,’ he replied. ‘I’m doing an internal communications piece, and I need someone to sound out reactions.’

What a waste of time, thought Amy. ‘I’m sorry, I’m very busy,’ she said.

‘You were on Facebook!’ said Carthika, unhelpfully. ‘After you told us not to, even at lunch.’

‘That’s not true,’ said Amy, although that did sound a little bit familiar. ‘What you do in your lunch hour is up to you.’

‘It’s not lunchtime now,’ said Carthika, taking an exaggerated look at her wrist. Amy noticed she wasn’t even wearing a watch. ‘Tut tut.’

‘If you must know, I was in at half seven and am taking an early lunch break,’ said Amy. She gestured to a cheese and pickle sandwich she’d picked up from the supermarket. ‘Not that I need to justify myself,’ she added, starting to feel annoyed. ‘I’ve never taken a cigarette break. Unlike some.’

‘Chill out,’ laughed Carthika. ‘I won’t tell. And, for your information, I’ve cut down to ten a day. Practically a non-smoker.’

Liam smiled again at the exchange. ‘So you’ll help?’ he said.

‘I’ll nominate Carthika,’ said Amy.

‘I really think you would be—’

‘Carthika it is,’ said Amy. ‘Would you mind . . . ’ She gestured to him to get off her desk.

‘Of course,’ he replied. He dismounted with a disappointed thud and walked back to his desk.

‘Back to work,’ said Amy. Carthika was staring daggers at her. ‘I need to get back to my research,’ she said.

‘Facebook research?’ said Carthika. ‘And all that make-up last week.’ She grinned. ‘Are you tracking down an ex-boyfriend . . . ’ Carthika stopped. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quickly. ‘I didn’t mean . . . Of course, I’m so stupid, I shouldn’t . . . ’

‘It’s fine,’ said Amy, discovering her jaw was clenched. She’d never discussed what had happened with Carthika, but clearly she’d been the subject of office gossip. ‘The Jessop accounts need filing.’

Carthika went back to her work, uncharacteristically quiet. Amy took a minute to swallow her emotions, then allowed her gaze back to the screen. She just wouldn’t think about it. That was best. Perhaps a little distraction would help.

Amy opened a new window and went to the ceramics section of the Oxfam website. She bought an ashtray in the shape of an upturned tortoise. Feeling better, she opened her packet of sandwiches and took a bite.

She was interrupted by an instant message popping up. Liam. She chewed her sandwich and frowned. She’d suggested to Mr Trapper that instant messaging be turned off. Her team seemed to use it to chat to one another while appearing to be working, occasionally betraying themselves with a guffaw of laughter.

Perhaps Liam was using the system appropriately, thought Amy generously. For a message more urgent than email but less intrusive than the phone or another visit to her desk. She read the message. Nice to chat to you today.

Hardly important. She deleted it without replying.

Another appeared. If you won’t help me with my research, maybe you’d like to join me for a drink?

Flakes of Amy’s half-chewed sandwich launched themselves from her mouth on to her screen. She coughed and took a gulp of water.

‘You OK?’ asked Carthika.

‘Fine,’ stuttered Amy. She minimised the message and went back to the Oxfam site.

Her fingers hovered over the image of a porcelain canary perched on a gnarled branch. She added it to her basket, then chose a pretty yellow cup and saucer set adorned with a pink lily.

Another message. How about it? The words were followed with an image of a fat little face indulging in what Amy guessed was meant to be a wink.

She wouldn’t normally reply to instant messages, but Amy decided this time she must. No thank you, she typed. For any further research questions please liaise directly with Carthika via email.

Feeling a little better, she went back to Facebook. Of course, she didn’t really go in for social media. Meeting people in person was bad enough, without having to see pictures of people’s kids, dogs and dinners. But she’d kept her profile open all these years. Just in case.

She had a surprising number of friend requests from people she used to know. Some of them she barely remembered, but other names brought back vivid memories. George Matthew. She’d doubled over in laughter when he’d got a sunflower seed stuck up his nose in primary school. Mary Cook. She’d solemnly told her that her dog had got pregnant by sniffing a baby. Georgina Pewter. She’d deliberately wet herself, age eleven, in PE when the teacher refused her a toilet break. Georgina giggled while she did it and dropped her hockey stick in the puddle.

Amy ignored the requests. Another message popped up from Liam. This one was only a face, and it seemed to be crying. Amy felt a small amount of pity, then she saw the face was also smiling. Crying with