The Runaway Year Read online

  Title Page

  The Runaway Year

  Shani Struthers

  Dedication

  How do I even begin to say thank you? So many of my family and friends (you know who you are) have supported me on this journey, avidly encouraging me, admonishing me on occasion, and believing in me always. Writing can be a lonely profession, but you made it fun—a thrill ride, in fact! Let’s do it all again sometime.

  Chapter One

  “YOU’VE DONE WHAT?” Penny asked, choking on her pinot grigio.

  “I’ve left, walked out, told her to stick it,” repeated Layla, biting down hard on her lip.

  “Told who to stick it?”

  “Hazel, of course. I told her to stick her job where the sun don’t shine.” Layla leaned forward in an almost conspiratorial manner. “Honestly, you should have seen her face—what a picture!”

  “Oh, God!” said Penny, her jaw dropping. “I don’t believe it.”

  And, in truth, Layla could hardly believe it either.

  At precisely 6:05 p.m., she had marched up to Hazel Smith, marketing manager of Easy Travel Holiday Company and all-round dragon of the department, and told her in no uncertain terms what she had decided only five minutes earlier: she was relinquishing her role as marketing executive. Why? She couldn’t bear the thought of Alex, her boss and former lover, returning in the morning from his so-called “work” trip to Florida with office assistant Sarah-Jane Johnson. Layla had rent due at the end of the month, numerous bills outstanding, and now, due to her self-imposed unemployment, barely any money to pay them.

  “Look, Layla, I know you’ve been through a lot lately, but a job’s a job. There aren’t many of them around at the moment. Go back. Hazel might still be there. Tell her you didn’t mean what you said; you were having an off day. Blame it on hormones. No one ever questions hormones.”

  “But I do mean it,” said Layla, the cozy confines of their favorite after-work pub beginning to feel really quite stifling. “I can’t be there when he gets back. I just can’t. Anyway, you know what Hazel’s like; I’ve told you often enough. She’d never let me waltz back in as though nothing’s happened. Not after what I said to her.”

  Penny was stumped. Layla could almost see her brain whirring away, searching frantically but failing to find the words that would inspire her to stay and stand her ground, to face up to Mr. Big Boss Man and demand his explanation for dumping her so callously.

  Watching her friend struggle and feeling increasingly guilty at being the cause, Layla placed a hand on Penny’s arm. “Don’t worry, Pen, I’ll be fine. Whatever happens, I’ll be okay.”

  “Really?” asked Penny, clearly not taken in at all.

  “Really,” said Layla, avoiding Penny’s eyes entirely.

  She had last seen Alex in late December, a little over two weeks ago. They’d spent Christmas together at his swanky bachelor pad in Sussex Square, just off Brighton’s seafront. It had been pure heaven—him, her, and one of those realistic gas-flamed log fires, in front of which they had drunk champagne, made love, and talked about their plans for the future. Okay, his plans had been mostly work-related and not once had the subject of love been mentioned, but deep down she knew this was it: the real thing. That he felt the same way was confirmed when he presented her with a diamond-studded bracelet on Christmas morning. Everyone knew diamonds were forever; it was obvious he was hinting at something.

  Drowning in romance, she had been certain an engagement ring would follow and then, of course, the wedding itself. A lavish affair held in some ultra-posh country hotel. She would lower her eyes demurely as she whispered, “I do,” transforming in that magical moment from Miss Layla Lewis, twenty-eight-year-old girl-about-town, to Mrs. Alex Kline, wife of the managing director of Easy Travel.

  The dreams hadn’t stopped there. As a bona fide member of the upper echelons, she imagined swanning down the aisles of Waitrose instead of hunting for BOGOF bargains in Asda, swapping her Topshop clothes for Stella McCartney, and riding her newly acquired horse (a magnificent chestnut with a white flash on its nose) across the sunny Sussex Downs, freed from the need to work for a living.

  Intending to laugh at how carried away she’d become with dazzling dreams of a brilliant future, her vision blurred instead, and try as she might to stem their flow, rebellious tears dampened her lashes anyway.

  “Hey,” said Penny, “don’t cry. Not over a rat like him.”

  “A diamond bracelet!” Layla burst out, startling herself as well as a group of four sitting at a nearby table. “Who gives a diamond bracelet to someone they’re going to chuck in a few days?”

  Alex, that’s who. He was so rich, an expensive trinket was hardly going to make a dent in his fortune. In fact, he probably thought it would serve as some sort of consolation prize. Something to buck her spirits through the long, lonely nights she would spend without him. Maybe even a thank-you for services rendered?

  “Where is it, the bracelet?” asked Penny, tucking a few strands of hair behind Layla’s ear in an almost motherly fashion.

  “I chucked it in the bin this morning before I left for work.” Layla sniffled and dabbed at her nose with a tissue one of the four had kindly handed over.

  “The bin?” shrieked Penny, withdrawing her hand in horror.

  “It was mocking me, I swear,” said Layla, rushing to her own defense. “Glittering away like some shiny little demon, laughing at my downfall.”

  “It’s a bloody bracelet,” Penny replied in exasperation, “and an expensive one at that! You could sell it on eBay, make a bit of money. You’re going to need every penny you can get now you’re jobless, you know.”

  “I don’t want the money from that bracelet,” said Layla emphatically. “It’s his money. It would make me feel…I don’t know, used somehow, unclean. I don’t want anything from him anymore.”

  At a temporary deadlock, both girls went back to their drinks, as did the crowd around them. Despite not wanting to go over and over it again, Layla couldn’t stop herself. It was all she could think of. He was all she could think of.

  They’d parted the day after Boxing Day. He had dropped her back at her flat, explaining he had business to attend to over the next few days and promising to call her on New Year’s Eve to make arrangements to spend the evening together. That had been okay, situation normal. Alex was a busy man; he often had to disappear at short notice. And usually he was as good as his word. But not this time. This time it was radio silence. Unable to bear it any longer, she had left messages on his landline and iPhone. Still nothing. Hurrying round to his flat, she found the door stubbornly shut.

  Concerned but not yet panicked, she had instead spent New Year’s Eve with Penny and her husband, Richard, trying in vain to ignore the cutthroat atmosphere between the pair of them. When she heard nothing from Alex on New Year’s Day either, she was unusually eager to get back to work, positive he would be there with a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why he’d vanished into the ether. He wasn’t. Hazel, however, was.

  As soon as Layla had stepped over the office threshold, Hazel had rushed up to her as if facing a particularly aggravating opponent on the rugby field. In that screechy voice of hers, she had yelled, “Have you heard? Alex is away on business. There’s a note for you on your desk.”

  Of course she hadn’t heard, something she suspected Hazel well knew. Desperate to escape her manic gloating, Layla had tottered over to her desk in killer black heels—Alex’s favorite—and scoured the mess she’d left pre-Christmas for his note. There it was. Not a proper note, written on decent company headed paper and tucked away discreetly in an envelope with her name on it, but a bloody Post-It note stuck on a pile of random papers.

  Called away on busin
ess. Will be gone two weeks.

  Keep you-know-who at FarScapes sweet until

  I return. Alex

  And that was it, nothing more, nothing less, not even a kiss for old times’ sake.

  The note barely had time to register before Hazel was at her side again, itching to fill her in on the gory details.

  “Oh, yes,” she said. “I popped in just after Christmas to help Alex with a few last-minute details, and there he was with Sarah-Jane in his office. Both of them in rather a state of, well, how can I put it? Undress, I suppose. They were so embarrassed, they didn’t know where to look!”

  Cackling with laughter, Hazel had wandered blithely off, leaving Layla feeling as though someone had reached inside her chest, located her beating heart, and squashed it into one big, red, pulpy mess.

  The next few days had passed in a blur. Quickly she had found out (Hazel again) that Alex had taken Sarah-Jane to Florida with him. Quite a coup, considering she’d only been with the company for two months. Layla had chatted to her by the photocopier a few times, and she’d seemed sweet enough, around twenty-four, with poker-straight blond hair, gray eyes, and slender limbs. Layla had noticed, however, that during their conversations, Sarah-Jane’s eyes would flicker toward Alex whenever he happened to pass by, slight color flushing her pale features. At the time, she’d dismissed this as nothing out of turn—most of the girls at Easy Travel had a crush on Alex. And no wonder. He was good-looking with an easy charm. But as far as she’d been aware, Alex hadn’t even known Sarah-Jane existed. Certainly, he had never mentioned her.

  Since the news had broken she’d been dumped for the new girl on the block, Layla had had to endure sympathetic stares and sighs of condolence from most of her colleagues. Even Rob in Accounts had emailed her with, “Heard the romance with God is over. How about giving me a chance?”

  For others, though, she had become a laughingstock. Hazel and several of her sycophantic sidekicks clearly thought she had overstepped the mark and was back where she belonged: on the shop floor.

  Still, if the last two weeks had been hell, it would be worse than hell once Alex and Sarah-Jane got back and continued their romance right under her nose. She’d rather be broke and on the streets than suffer that—which, of course, she would be if she didn’t find another job, and soon.

  “Have the bin men been?” asked Penny at last.

  “No,” said Layla sulkily, “not till Friday.”

  “Have you still got your keys to the office?”

  “I think so. Why?”

  “Check,” Penny insisted.

  Although perplexed at this line of questioning, Layla did as she was told. Rummaging in her handbag for a few moments, she pulled out her purse, her makeup bag, a dog-eared paperback, a chewed pencil, and a couple of as yet unopened but official looking letters before she found them.

  “Right,” Penny said, setting her glass down on the table, “this is the plan. We’re going to pop back to your flat, retrieve the bracelet, and go back to the office. You can leave it on his desk with a note of your own.”

  “What’s the point?” Layla began.

  “There’s every point. Come on, drink up. We’re going.”

  Sighing, Layla grabbed her bag and coat and rose from the table. As they left, she saw disappointment cross not just all four of her neighbor’s faces but several others too and wondered why. But then again, in between Penny’s shouts of disbelief and her own heartfelt sobs, she supposed they had put on quite a floorshow.

  It took five minutes to reach her flat, one half of a tiny terraced house optimistically billed as two-bedroomed. She’d been renting it for a couple of years now, and it was okay. Partly furnished when she moved in, a few trips to Ikea in Croydon had taken care of everything else she’d needed. It was in a nice, handy location too. The neighbors were friendly, and the town center was only a short walk away. But it did feel crowded, and trying to park her car, an old but much loved Mazda MX-5 MK 1 (red, of course), was a nightmare. The streets were crammed.

  Opening the front door, they stepped into a long and narrow dimly-lit hallway. There was a door immediately in front and another to the right, the one that led to her ground floor flat. Taking the key from Layla, Penny let herself in and headed straight for the kitchen. Swiftly removing the bin lid, she poked around for a bit, grimacing as she did so, before emerging triumphantly with the brutally discarded object.

  Turning it over and over in her hands, she asked, “Are you sure you want to part with this? It’s actually very tasteful considering who bought it.”

  “I’m sure,” Layla replied. “It either goes back in the bin or we return it to Alex. I don’t care which.”

  “Okay, okay, fair enough. Let’s go.”

  The headquarters of Easy Travel Holiday Company was only a few streets away, in Brighton’s Old Steine area. As they neared the large, double-fronted white building, Layla hung back.

  “What if Hazel’s still there?” she said, looking nervously ahead.

  “We’ll just tell her you’ve come to return your keys or something. That’s perfectly believable. Anyway, she won’t be. It’s after eight. Surely even Hazel has a home to go to.”

  “Shall we ring the doorbell though, just in case?” Layla asked, still uncertain.

  “There’s no need. Look, there aren’t any lights on. Everyone’s gone home. Come on, don’t be such a wuss. Open up.”

  It was indeed empty inside: computer monitors eerily blank and desks left in various states of abandon. As usual, everyone had downed tools as soon as decently possible and sprinted for the exit, glad Monday was done and dusted at least.

  “Where’s Alex’s office?” asked Penny.

  “Over here,” Layla replied. “Follow me.”

  When he wasn’t casually sauntering between floors, Alex sat tucked away in an office divided from the marketing crew by glass and white vertical blinds. The door was locked, but she had the key to that too. Steeling herself, she walked in. Sarah-Jane hadn’t been the only one in a “state of undress” within such hallowed confines. Memories of their own love-ins came flooding back—as soon as the last person had gone, he would call her in, clear his desk with one fell swoop, lay her down on it, and “do the business” as he laughingly called it. She’d never found that quite as funny as he had, but had laughed along nonetheless.

  “Didn’t you say something about Easy Travel merging with FarScapes?” asked Penny, one eyebrow raised in thought.

  “Yeah. I’ve been in charge of overseeing that whilst Alex has been away.” Then a horrifying thought hit her. “Oh, God, I forgot to email them with possible dates for the next meeting. I was supposed to do that today.”

  “Were you, indeed?” said Penny. “Can you log on to his computer?”

  “Yeah, of course I can. His password is ‘SexBeast.’” Then sensing Penny’s distaste, she countered, “It’s just a joke.”

  “Hilarious,” said Penny, rolling her eyes. “Come on then, do it.”

  “Good idea. I should let FarScapes know about those dates, at least.”

  “Whatever. Just get me in, get a blank email to the managing director of FarScapes up, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

  “Penny,” said Layla, really worried now, “what are you up to?”

  “Revenge, that’s what I’m up to. Alex gets off with another woman, disappears to sunny climes with her, and leaves you nothing but a Post-It note by way of explanation. All that and still you’re worried about him and his company! I don’t think so. He needs to be taught a lesson.”

  Three glasses of wine had made Layla’s head buzz. She was tired. All she wanted to do was write a Post-It note of her own, leave the bracelet, and scram. Still, if it were just a tiny lesson, maybe it would be okay. It might make him think twice about cheating on his girlfriends in future.

  “Okay, then,” she conceded, “but go easy, Pen, please. I’ve been dealing with Jack Thomas. He’s nice, actually. We get on well. The first meeting’s su
pposed to be this Friday. Wangle it so that they turn up at different locations or something, something that will embarrass Alex.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Penny nodded dutifully. “Something like that.”

  Leaving Penny to it, Layla turned away to search for the Post-It pad in the top right drawer of Alex’s desk. In the past fortnight, she’d come to hate their neon handiness. They were an all-too-pertinent reminder of how little Alex respected her—how dare he leave nothing but a sticky square of paper to say goodbye!

  Pressing down hard with his favorite Mont Blanc fountain pen, she wrote her reply.

  Thanks for the bracelet, but no thanks. Give it to

  your next victim. Good luck with FarScapes.

  You’ll need it. Layla

  She looked up just as Penny pressed the send button.

  “What did you say?” she asked, her eyes widening at Penny’s daring.

  “You don’t want to know.” Penny smiled enigmatically. “But one thing’s for certain: Alex will have a bit of groveling to do when he gets back.”

  “Serves him right,” said Layla, surprised at how hollow that sentiment sounded.

  Digging out the diamond bracelet from her coat pocket, she looked at it one last time, turning it over and over in her hands as Penny had done, before placing it beside the Post-It note.

  “Another drink before we call it a night?” Penny’s voice was suddenly gentle, understanding.

  “May as well,” replied Layla, shrugging her shoulders dejectedly. “After all, it is the end of an era.”

  Taking one last look around at the place she’d spent the last eight years of her life—practically all of them fawning over Alex Kline until he had finally deigned to notice her—Layla switched off the lights, locked the door behind her, and headed into an uncertain future.

  Chapter Two

  LATER THAT NIGHT, as Penny lay in bed beside Richard, who was absorbed in the latest John Grisham novel, she began to wonder if the email she’d written to the director of FarScapes had actually been a bit over-the-top.