Page 61 of When We Are Old

I turned on my computer, logged into my emails and then opened up a new browser, bringing up Rightmove and plugging in Surbiton into the search bar with a bang of two fingers. Better to get as close to the school as possible, even if meant an extra commute for me.

Right then. New homes…. Here we go.

“Coffee, Boss Lady?” Fred leant against my office door.

“Sure. If you’re making one.”

“I thought we could go out.” Fred slipped his hand into his jeans and pulled out a debit card. “My treat.”

I pushed back in my chair and analysed how he stood at the door, then I let out a solid and long groan.

“You’re handing in your notice, aren’t you?”

His cheeks coloured. “No, I’m offering you a latte—”

“Because you want to hand in your notice. You are softening me up so I don’t cry.”

“Would you cry?” He raised a blonde eyebrow.

“Yes! This place would be even shittier without you.”

“Come on, Ronnie. Let’s get a coffee and talk.”

This couldn’t be happening surely? Things were finally going right. Liam Carling was bringing us in lots of prospective clients, and Fred, my star, was ready to walk.

Matthew was waiting for me at home. I couldn't think about the fact I’d left him unattended with Ma… or the fact that this morning he’d made breakfast for everyone.

Never had Ma’s kitchen seemed so bright.

Actually. Yes, it did sound right, very right and very typical for my life.

I pushed back and grabbed my bag, following him out of the office. Natalie watched us, bashing her keyboard to look busy.

If Fred went. Natalie would go.

Largely silent as we went down in the glass lift, when we hit the spring sunshine lit street, we fell into step alongside one another.

The coffee shop heaved with customers, all who like us started peeling layers off as soon as we were through the door. Spring joked with us: brisk mornings, warm afternoons, heating still on making us all sweat. I made a mental note to remember to turn the heating off in the office.

“Come on, lay it on the table.” We managed to sandwich ourselves between two young women with children dribbling pastry and an older man with his laptop open, but his phone had the bright green sign of a popular betting app open.

“Ronnie, I’m not leaving, I swear.”

I analysed him, switching my shit detector to its highest setting. “No?”

“No. I just want to know where we are heading, what we are doing.”

“The same as always, we’ve got these new clients who we will be meeting soon.”

“And you?” He eyed me from under fair brows, his lips pulling down.

“What do you mean?”

“Are you moving to Scotland to be with the oaf?”

“Fred! Matthew is not an oaf.” My cheeks warmed and I had to duck my face down to look at the sticky table.

“Well, he’s rude.”