The Other Woman

The next morning, I got ready for work and dropped Archie at Mrs Bobbins’ cottage next door. Mabel Bobbins was an elderly woman who happily would look after any child, animal, waif or stray that wandered into the village and she had offered to look after Archie while I was at work, after a conversation over a cup of tea where I told her that I feared for my soft furnishings with a small puppy alone in the house.
“You had a busy day yesterday?” She commented while putting the kettle on the arga.
“I had a friend come over for a cup of tea.” I said, sitting at her antique kitchen table for the obligatory morning cuppa.
“He looked like a very handsome young chap.” She was chair of the neighbourhood watch and the local women’s institute, and the local league of village curtain twitchers. She loved to gossip.
“I hadn’t seen him for a while. I was nice to catch up.” Mrs Bobbins passed me a cup of tea. The mug could have held half of the atlantic ocean, with room to spare.
“That’s nice dear. I’m glad we didn’t have that snow this weekend, I doubt my Arthur could have stood it. Did you hear that Mrs Coxon who owns the post office is getting divorced.” I zoned out slightly at her tale of poor Mrs Coxon whose husband was having an affair with the french skiing instructor. I had enjoyed my afternoon with Harry. He had apologised for everything that happened and promised to make it up to Skippy. After that we laughed and joked as if it were old times and promised to do it all again next Sunday. “I said to Iris at number six, and she agreed, that it would be terrible for the village considering he is our local postman and she runs the post office. Will we get out post at a regular time? Will the post office stay open? It’s us that will lose out because of his misbehaviour.” I nodded in agreement and let her carry on, while sipping at the never-ending bucket of tea. With that, the doorbell rang and Mrs Coxon let herself in.
“I just thought I’d pop by because Mr Abbott has just told me the most terrible news! There is a thief at the allotments.” She sat down at the table next to me and Mrs Bobbins got up to make another pot of tea. I could see myself easily caught up in the village gossip, so excused myself.
“I better get going ladies. Thank you for the tea.” I quickly made my way out of the cottage and left Archie, who gave me a look as if to say ‘don’t leave me here’.
As I made my way off of Mrs Bobbins’ front path, I noticed a text on my phone:
I can’t wait for Sunday x
I suddenly got butterflies thinking about all the possibilities of next Sunday.

An hour later, I was waiting for the lift to travel up to floor fifteen. I had yet another text.
Harry said he wants to go for a drink and chew the fat. You’ll be there right? S
I laughed to myself at Skippy’s text. As I looked up, the doors opened and I was greeted my Max.
“I was just looking for you!” He said as he engulfed me in a hug. “I had such a great time the other night! Why don’t we do it again tonight?” We rode in the lift up to the fifteenth floor.
“I doubt I can do tonight Max.” I couldn’t bear to spend much more time with him. A one night stand with someone from work was never the ideal series of events, especially if that someone had the personality of a sexist wet mop. But on the other hand, I did enjoy our night out and he seemed nice enough. He suddenly looked down at his shoes.
“That’s fine, I mean you must be really busy and stuff,” He scuffed his feet on the metal flooring, “so it’s understandable.” Max babbled on about how it was ‘totally fine’. He had the same expression as a puppy that had been left out in the rain, as we left the lift and headed to the office.

“Thank god you’re here,” Our boss, Roger, ushered us into the conference room for our morning meeting, “we’re packed for tonight's programme”. We sat around with laptops and phones ready for the meeting.
“I heard you two had a night out at the weekend.” Sarah (the home economics editor), leaned over to me with a raised eyebrow.
“We just went for a couple of drinks.” I shrugged.
“That’s not what he told us.” She went back to tapping on her laptop as Roger started.
“So to start, what have we already got?” He sat down as everyone pitched ideas for stories that were already edited and saved on numerous hard drives and memory sticks.
“We’ve just hear that the Duchess of Sussex has announced her patronages.” Hillary, the royal correspondent, piped up from behind her laptop, her perfectly manicured red nails tapping the keys.
“That could be interesting.” Roger leaned back in his chair.
“It’s just so lovely! She has chosen Dogs Trust, The Wildlife Trust and The RSPB!” She looked absolutely thrilled.
“And the others?” Roger said taking notes.
“Well, that’s it.” She replied.
“I suppose we could do something with it.”
“What do you mean ‘do something with it’?!” Hillary was livid. “That woman is the greatest thing to happen to our royal family. And compared to some of the common muck he was associated with.” She raised an eyebrow at me. The room went cold. Everyone expected me to reply. ‘Rise above it’ I said to myself. Hillary purse her crinkled red lips into a smirk as she went back to typing.
“She could do more, I suppose,” Sarah mumbled. Hillary’s head snapped up.
“What do you expect her to do?! Save the world?!” She snapped like an alligator at a leg of beef.
“I’m sure playing with dogs in the Yorkshire fields isn’t taxing.” Sarah fired back. It was like watching two bitching heavyweights battle it out. Suddenly, an intern ran in.
“There’s been an earthquake,” He said breathlessly, “in San Francisco,” he panted again, “buildings are down, no power, they suspect thousands are dead.” The room burst into action. Roger was snapping orders at people: “can you get in touch with anyone?”, “Is there anything else? There’s nothing coming out yet!”, “we need someone to go out there!” I stood up.
“I’ll go.”
“What do you mean ‘you’ll go’” Hillary snapped again as she flicked through Tatler for a possible spa in San Fran that she might know the owner of.
“I’ll go to San Francisco.” I reiterated. Roger looked up with a glint of pride in his eyes.
“Get down to Heathrow on the first flight out.” He nodded as I sprinted out of the office and home to explain to Mrs Bobbins that I wouldn’t be home for a while.