The Undomestic Goddess (Page 132)

Everyone else in the carriage is working away. I leaf through the contract, trying to summon up some enthusiasm. Come on. This is my life now. Once I get back into the swing of it I’ll start to enjoy it again, surely.

But the words are jumbling in front of my eyes. I can’t concentrate. All I can think about is Nathaniel. I’ve tried calling him but he isn’t answering. Or replying to texts. It’s like he doesn’t want to know anymore.

How can everything be over? How can he have just left?

My eyes are starting to blur with tears again and I furiously blink them away. I can’t cry. I’m a partner. Partners do not cry. Trying to get a grip, I look out the window instead. We seem to be slowing down, which is a bit weird.

“An announcement for all passengers.” A voice suddenly comes crackling out of the loudspeakers. “This train has been rescheduled as a slow train. It will be stopping at Hitherton, Marston Bridge, Bridbury …”

“What?” Guy looks up. “A slow train?”

“Jesus Christ.” David Elldridge scowls. “How much longer will it take?”

“ … and will arrive at Paddington half an hour after the scheduled time,” the voice is saying. “Apologies for any—”

“Half an hour?” David Elldridge whips out his mobile phone, looking livid. “I’m going to have to reschedule my meeting.”

“I’ll have to put off the Pattinson Lobb people.” Guy looks equally pissed off, and is already jabbing at the speed-dial on his phone. “Hi Mary? Guy. Listen, total cock-up on this train. I’m going to be half an hour late—”

“Rearrange Derek Tomlinson—” David’s instructing.

“We’ll have to push back Pattinson Lobb, cancel that guy from The Lawyer—”

“Davina,” Greg Parker is saying into his phone. “Fucking train’s slow. Tell the rest of the team I’ll be half an hour late, I’m sending an e-mail—” He puts down his phone and immediately starts typing into his BlackBerry. A moment later Guy is doing the same.

I’m watching all this frenzied action incredulously. They all look so stressed. So the train’s going to be late. It’s half an hour. It’s thirty minutes. How can anyone get so het up over thirty minutes?

Is this what I’m supposed to be like? Because I’ve forgotten how. Maybe I’ve forgotten how to be a lawyer altogether.

The train pulls into Hitherton station and slowly comes to a halt. I glance out the window—then gasp aloud. A huge hot-air balloon is hovering just a few feet above the station building. It’s bright red and yellow, with people waving from a basket. It looks like something out of a fairy tale.

“Hey, look!” I exclaim. “Look at that!”

No one moves their head. They’re all frantically tapping at their keyboards.

“Look!” I try again. “It’s amazing!” There’s still no response. No one is interested in anything except the contents of their BlackBerry. And now the balloon’s soared away again. In a moment it’ll be out of sight. They all missed it.

I look at them, the cream of the legal world, dressed in their thousand-pound handmade suits, holding state-of-the-art computers. Missing out. Not even caring that they’re missing out. Living in their own world.

I don’t belong here. This is not my world anymore. I’m not one of them.

I suddenly know it, with the deepest certainty I’ve ever felt. I don’t fit; I don’t relate. Maybe I did once, but not anymore. I can’t do this. I can’t spend my life in meeting rooms. I can’t obsess about every little chunk of time. I can’t miss out on any more.

As I sit there, the contracts still piled on my lap, I feel tension rising inside me. I’ve made a mistake. I’ve made a huge mistake. I shouldn’t be here. This isn’t what I want from my life. This isn’t what I want to do. This isn’t who I want to be.

I have to get out. Now.

Up and down the train, people are stepping in and out, banging doors, hefting bags. As calmly as I can I reach for my suitcase, pick up my bag, and stand up.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I made a mistake. I’ve only just realized.”

“What?” Guy looks up.

“I’m sorry I’ve wasted your time.” My voice wavers slightly. “But … I can’t stay. I can’t do this.”

“Jesus.” He clutches his head. “Not this again, Samantha—”

“Don’t try and talk me round,” I cut across him. “I’ve decided. I can’t be like the rest of you. It’s just not right for me. I’m sorry, I should never have come.”