The Christmas Party by Carole Matthews
While the white floor beneath their feet pulsated with light, Tyler shimmied in front of her. Kirsten didn’t really feel like dancing. The small amount of dinner she had managed to eat was sitting like a lead ball in her stomach and there was a headache blooming behind her eyes. The strobe lights were doing little to help. But she’d promised herself that she’d try to be the life and soul of the party tonight, remind Tyler that they could still have fun together. So she duly smiled and shimmied back.
A part of her also wanted to show Simon Conway that she was having a great time. She didn’t want him to see her feeling vulnerable and unloved. He was standing out of the disco lights on the far side of the dance floor, but she could feel his eyes on her. It had taken all her concentration throughout dinner not to search him out and see who he was with.
‘Look at this.’ Her husband glanced down at his soup-stained shirt and the sheen of creamed potatoes adorning the front of his trousers, and tsked. ‘I look like a walking menu. Someone will be getting a dry-cleaning bill.’
‘It was an accident,’ Kirsten soothed. ‘Don’t let it spoil the evening.’ Then she realised that Tyler had yet to see Simon at the party and knew that a bit of spilled food would soon pale into insignificance.
Jerry Oakley from Human Resources – someone Kirsten did know – and his wife, Sheila, were strutting their funky stuff next to her and Tyler. They exchanged pleasantries but it was hard to hear anyone speak above the band. The song was ‘YMCA’ and they were doing the motions enthusiastically. Jerry was grinning widely and, clearly unused to such exertion, dabbing his sweating forehead with a handkerchief. He looked like he was in a Turkish bath rather than an extravagantly festive marquee.
Lance and Melissa danced on the other side of the Oakleys. She still hadn’t managed to have a chat with Melissa. All the fuss at dinner had made it impossible.
She did like Melissa. Or could do, given the chance. Even though she must be in her mid-fifties now, Melissa looked great for her age. Her auburn hair shone and her green eyes sparkled. Her figure was lean and toned, which showed an enthusiasm for the gym, or good-quality shapewear. She hung on Lance’s every word and laughed daintily at his silly jokes. She’d been with Lance for years and yet still looked like a woman in love. What was her secret?
Kirsten would like to bet there wasn’t the constant bickering in her home that characterised the Benson residence. She regarded Melissa with growing envy. If only she could be more like her. There was a woman who knew how to play the corporate game. She was always at these functions, loyal and steadfast, standing by Lance’s side. Melissa never looked as if she’d had to be dragged there screaming and kicking. Perhaps Melissa was a different kind of animal from her and actually enjoyed these things. It would help matters along considerably if she could be more like that. Perhaps later, when the evening quietened down, she could talk to Melissa and ask her how she managed. Maybe they could fix up that lunch date she’d thought about earlier. Lance drank too much, Kirsten knew that. And there were rumours that he had a wandering eye. Though you wouldn’t know to look at him as Lance, when he was sober, was so attentive to his wife. Perhaps he’d calmed down as he grew older. Kirsten wondered if Tyler would do the same. She hoped so.
It seemed as if Lance and Melissa had found the key to making a corporate marriage work. A partnership where there was always a third party to be considered above all else: the company. With a bit of advice from Melissa, perhaps there’d be hope for her and Tyler yet.
Breaking into her musings, Tyler said, ‘Did I tell you that you look beautiful tonight?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘But thank you.’
He took her hands and they danced for a couple of tunes. The music made her start to relax and she liked Tyler when he was like this. He was laughing, joking, waving to acknowledge various members of staff as they passed – faces she recognised, with names she could never memorise.
If only he could be like this all the time. More often than not, though, he was tight-jawed and stressed. Fossil Oil might have high remuneration packages but you paid for them by letting it drain the life-blood out of you.
Tyler put his head close to hers and murmured, ‘I’d better go and have a word or two with Lance. He’s giving a speech soon and I’m worried about the amount of booze he’s necked. I want to make sure that he’s still on the same planet as the rest of us.’
She knew that sometimes it was touch and go with Lance. And she knew that his drinking laid a heavy burden on Tyler’s shoulders. The chairman relied heavily on Tyler who, most of the time, practically ran Fossil Oil.
‘Where’s he off to now?’ Tyler looked anxious. Lance was moving from the dance floor, leaving Melissa alone. ‘He can’t be doing his speech so soon? I’d better catch up with him. Will you be all right if I leave you for a while?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Melissa’s by herself now. I want to try to catch a word with her.’
Tyler looked askance. ‘With Melissa? What for?’
‘Just to be sociable. It’s ages since I’ve seen her.’
‘Right,’ he said. ‘Right.’ But he didn’t look as if he felt it was right at all. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
‘Don’t disappear for hours, Tyler.’
‘I won’t. Of course I won’t. Shall I take you back to the table?’
‘No need.’ She shook her head. It was silly to be so anxious about being left by herself. ‘I’ll be fine.’
Seeming less certain now, Tyler moved away, leaving her on the dance floor. When he reached Lance, he wrapped his arm round the older man’s shoulders and steered him away.
But as she headed towards the chairman’s wife, Melissa moved away from her and started to dance with another of the executives whose name Kirsten couldn’t recall. So much for her planned cosy chat. Maybe it was just as well: Tyler wouldn’t want anyone to think there was anything wrong in their relationship, let alone having her confide in Melissa. It was just that sometimes she desperately needed a friend and it would be nice to have one who might just understand.
Oh, well. She’d visit the powder room, find another drink and wait for Tyler to return. Though now that he and Lance had locked horns, that could be some time.
Most of the staff were now up and dancing, piles of handbags accumulated on the floor as the women danced around them. Across the marquee she could see Tyler’s assistant, Louise, dancing with one of his managers. She remembered his name, Josh Wallace. He was a nice guy. Eager. Rather like Tyler had been at that age. The girl was laughing, flirting. It was clear that she liked putting herself around. Maybe Tyler would have his hands full with that one. She could only hope it didn’t last. They never usually did.
Kirsten turned to leave the dance floor and, as she did, she found Simon Conway standing right in front of her.
‘Dance with me,’ he said.
Once again the old feelings rushed straight back. It was as if there was a switch thrown as soon as he was in close proximity.
‘Simon, I shouldn’t.’ She turned, anxiously checking that Tyler hadn’t seen him. ‘You of all people know that.’
His smile was warm, encouraging, and he was clearly brooking no argument. She remembered how very determined he could be. That was one of the things she used to find most attractive about him.
‘It’s the Christmas party, Kirsten. Dancing with someone inappropriate is obligatory,’ he teased.
Simon moved close to her. Unfortunately, at the same moment, the band decided to play a slow tune and, in one smooth move, Simon took her in his arms. She felt herself stiffen and thought about resisting, but realised that she didn’t have the strength.
‘This is madness.’ She pressed a hand against his chest in an attempt to keep some space between them, but that only made matters worse as, beneath her fingers, she felt his heart beating as fast as hers.
Despite not wanting to, she fell so easily into step with him. They swayed in rhythm together and it was as if they hadn’t b
Surreptitiously, Kirsten’s eyes drank him in. He looked good in a dinner suit. No, not just good. Perfect. His movements were carried out with a natural and exquisite economy of effort. If they’d been waltzing, he’d be the sort of man who’d sweep you round a ballroom with your feet barely touching the floor. Unless you were married, of course, Kirsten reminded herself sharply. And then, in the presence of Simon Conway, you would want to keep your feet very firmly on the ground.
Thankfully, Tyler was nowhere to be seen: she knew he’d be furious if he saw his wife and his one-time friend in a clinch.
‘All I’ve wanted for a very long time is to take you in my arms again.’
‘We can’t have this conversation, Simon.’
‘We must,’ he insisted. ‘There were things that should have been said that weren’t.’
‘It’s so long ago,’ she countered. ‘Everything has changed. We’re not the same people any more.’
At one time, over a decade ago, she and Simon had been lovers. Before she married Tyler.
‘Do you remember when we first met?’
‘Of course I do.’
It was at a party. She couldn’t even remember whose now – someone’s birthday maybe. Just another night out with friends that she hadn’t expected to change the course of her life for ever.
Tyler had been chatting her up, flirting outrageously. She’d found him amusing, if a bit too arrogant for her liking. He’d given her all his lines and she’d let him, not thinking it was something she’d take further than that night. When he’d gone to find a refill for her drink, his friend Simon had moved in and that was it. She’d fallen from a great height for him. Simon was everything she’d ever dreamed of in a man. He was handsome, charming, ridiculously romantic. By the time Tyler returned with her drink, he’d found her otherwise occupied, and she’d spent the rest of the evening with Simon. Despite Tyler’s best efforts he hadn’t managed to dislodge his friend and she hadn’t wanted him to. Simon was effortlessly entertaining and Tyler simply hadn’t been able to compete.
‘We hardly left each other’s side after that night,’ Simon said.
It was true. She felt as if she’d found part of her missing self, and within the week they were talking about a future together. It was more than she could ever have hoped for. She only had to look at Simon and her heart lifted.
‘Do you remember me filling that dingy rented room you had with red roses while you were out at work?’
She smiled at the memory. ‘The scent was incredible. Like heaven.’
It was the morning after they’d first slept together. She didn’t dare to ask if he remembered that. He’d loved her slowly, tenderly, deliciously. It was all stored in her mind for ever. There wasn’t a single moment of it that she’d forgotten.
Simon had been everything to her. He’d read poetry to her and taught her how to enjoy good wine. She admired his drive, his ambition. They’d had a great social life and a wide circle of friends. And, despite being pipped at the post, Tyler Benson was the closest of them. Back then, he and Simon were more like brothers than friends. Not so now.
‘Tell me what you’re thinking,’ Simon murmured.
Before she could say anything, a hand clapped Simon on the back.
‘Welcome on board!’ Its owner, a jocular, rotund man, swayed before them. ‘Mark Finlay, Finance,’ he said by way of introduction.
‘Simon Conway.’
‘I know. I know.’ Mark tapped the side of his nose, indicating discretion, with anything but. ‘The word’s out, Conway. Heard you’re going to give that bastard Benson a run for his money.’ He gave a conspiratorial wink.
‘Well …’ Simon began, embarrassed.
‘Not before time too,’ Mark Finlay chortled. ‘We’re all behind you. He’s a wily bugger though. You’d better mind your back. If anyone can get him to toe the line though, it’s you. So a reliable source tells me.’ He slapped him again. ‘Let’s get together over a bottle in the new year.’
‘Let’s,’ Simon agreed with forced enthusiasm.
Mark Finlay lurched away.
Kirsten raised her eyebrows.
‘It was the drink talking,’ Simon assured her. ‘He didn’t mean it.’
‘Of course he did,’ she said flatly.
One slow song segued into another. She knew she should stop this and walk away now, but something held her. There was a huge glitter-ball sparkling above them, showering fragments of light across the dance floor. They fluttered over Simon’s face like snowflakes. Dry ice swirled around their feet. Slowly they circled the huge ice sculpture of the ammonite in the centre of the floor. Kirsten felt as if she’d momentarily slipped into another world, as if – however fleetingly – it was just the two of them once more.
‘I’m not back to destroy Tyler,’ he said softly. ‘If that’s what you think.’
She stood back from him. ‘Then why exactly are you here?’
‘Surely you don’t need to ask that?’
‘I do. Why here? Why now?’
He held her eyes and she blinked away the welling tears. ‘There isn’t a moment during the last ten years that I haven’t bitterly regretted that we split up.’
‘I can’t do this now, Si.’ She looked round, terrified that Tyler would see them. ‘This isn’t the time or the place.’
‘Are you happy with him?’
‘That’s none of your business. You gave up any rights to know what’s going on in my life a long time ago.’
He lifted her chin so that she was forced to look at him. ‘Your smile is the saddest one I’ve ever seen.’
His embrace on her tightened and she pulled away. ‘Someone will see.’
‘I have to talk to you. We need to find somewhere that we can be alone.’
‘We don’t, Simon. There’s nothing to be said.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong, Kirsten. What I have to say can’t wait any longer.’
She shook her head. ‘Nothing good can come of this.’
‘That’s where I beg to differ.’
Finally the song ended and she broke away from him. ‘It’s been very nice seeing you again, Simon. I hope you’ll be happy in your new job. If we see each other at future Fossil Oil functions then I’m sure we’ll be very civil to each other.’
Then, for the sake of her own sanity, she fled from the dance floor and the temptation of Simon Conway.
Chapter Seventeen
Melissa was worried now. Lance was due to give his speech, but even she’d never seen him quite so plastered before. She wondered briefly if someone had spiked his drink and then dismissed it as a ridiculous notion. He was a drunk and that was all there was to it.
He was slumped into a chair backstage while front of house it was business as usual. The band played a cheerful Christmas song while Tyler continually hoisted Lance back to an upright position.
Tyler turned to her, his face dark with anxiety. ‘He can’t go on like this.’
‘No,’ she agreed. ‘Can’t you give the speech?’
He stepped away from Lance. Her husband slid towards the floor and they both let him. Tyler lowered his voice: ‘Lance said he’d got an important announcement to make. I haven’t a clue what it is. Have you?’
‘Part of it. I think,’ she admitted.
‘Then I wish you’d told me.’
‘I only found out in the car on the way here, Tyler. I haven’t really had time to process it myself. That’s why I wanted us to find some time alone together.’
Tyler raked his hair in exasperation. ‘It’s impossible with all this going on.’
‘Melissa!’ Lance cried drunkenly. ‘Melissa, where are you?’
‘
‘Make it black and strong,’ Melissa suggested to Tyler’s retreating back. He raised an eyebrow in acknowledgement.
Kneeling down before her husband, she murmured, ‘Hey, honey. How are you feeling? Shall I get Martin to bring the car round and you can have a little nap in the back before you give your speech?’ She knew that Lance’s powers of recuperation were astonishing. An hour’s sleep and he’d be as right as rain and ready to open another bottle. ‘You can do it later, if you like. No one will mind.’
‘I’m fine,’ Lance said, rousing briefly from his inebriated state. ‘Leave me alone.’
He could normally drink like a fish and still look like he’d touched nothing stronger than lemonade all night. Perhaps his constitution wasn’t what it used to be. His liver must be damn near shot to pieces by now with the liquid abuse he’d given it over the years. Not that he ever told her what the quack really said at his compulsory annual medical review – Fossil Oil’s sole attempt to show that it was a truly caring company.
If it was anything more intimate or potentially more difficult than discussing which type of breakfast cereal he preferred, Lance’s lips usually remained tightly clamped together. According to Lance, the doctor simply confirmed what he knew all along, that he was a miracle of modern science, fit, robust and with the stamina of a man half his age. Not once did the word ‘alcoholic’ enter the picture.
How had she ever let herself get into this situation? Her father had been a drunk and, having watched her mother struggle single-handedly with the family skeleton that kept weaving its way out of the cupboard waving a bottle, she vowed that she’d never be put in that position herself. Yet here she was, replicating the same old behaviour pattern. She should have left Lance years ago. She should have just taken the boys and gone, while she had a chance of happiness. But where to? They never stayed anywhere long enough for her to make friends. Not good friends. Not friends you could confide in. Not friends who would help you out in a crisis. There’d been plenty of those over the years and she had handled them all alone.