Chasing What's Already Gone (Second Chances Book 1) (3 page)

Chapter Seven

It is without doubt the best job that Gemma Barrow has ever had—just enough responsibility but with a pay package that sees her set up very comfortably. The company is modern and progressive and she feels part of the team. She was thinking to herself that life could not get any better until last night, when a spanner had been thrown into the works. David had asked her to marry him. Why would he do that? Weren’t things pretty damn good as they were? Why ruin it for a ring and a piece of paper? David had certainly been rattled when she’d asked for time to answer—and why had she needed time? He was a good, decent man who would be a great companion.

Saying that aloud sounds pretty daunting and uncomfortable. Gemma needs a sounding board; she cannot think clearly on her own account. She presses her boss’s extension number.

“Excuse me, JB, but is there any chance you could spare me a couple of minutes to discuss a personal matter?”

“Hang on…yes, at about four-fifteen, but five minutes max. I’ve got those Australians due back before five.”

“Are you sure that’s okay?”

“Of course, but five minutes absolute maximum.”

“Thank you so much, JB. It won’t take long.”

Gemma knows her meeting is bound to take at least twenty minutes, and she can imagine JB Roberts is now staring at the phone and letting out a deep sigh. But as she’s been told many times, Gemma Barrow is the best PA that JB has had for several years, so what’s an extra fifteen minutes here and there?

Chapter Eight

I kept the Sky box and television and got a cheque for just over £12,000. Jane kept the house and agreed that she would settle any bills outstanding on Kermit. I have settled into a nice rented flat that overlooks the park, and the company is happy for me to drive one of the small delivery vans for my personal use. The “ethical and equitable” lawyer priced our little house at £150,000 when he divided the monies up—Jane has just put the house on the market for £210,000. I am getting so used to being shafted I cannot even be bothered to care.

I have done the usual recently divorced man’s routine, going out every night with the boys drinking, including a bachelor stag weekend in Dublin. I even booked a ticket for the beer festival in Munich. But it is not me; this is not who I am. A month living in this style will last me a lifetime. All I want to do is sit in front of the TV and watch a rom-com with Ella or whatever her name is. It is nearly six months since the day of the long curtain poles, and she still plagues my mind.

“So what have you done about it? About finding her.”

Rob is my oldest friend. We go way back, but he lives twenty miles away nowadays with his lovely wife, Tessa, and two adorable girls. All this means we have seen very little of each other recently. I am guessing that Tessa has pushed him into babysitting me.

“What can I do? Put an advert in Metro:
‘To girl who claimed her name was Ella six months ago: I cannot stop thinking about you. Ring this number’
?”

“Don’t be so bloody stupid. What about the real Ella—have you asked her?”

“Why ever would I ask her?”

Rob has this way of looking at me and saying a thousand words without uttering a sound. At this moment he thinks I am as thick as four planks. He elaborates. “Why would
your
Ella have the real Ella’s business card?”

“Because…” Ah, I see where Rob is going with this. It’s so obvious; I need to sidetrack him.

“Because she stole it from one of those display boards they put up in restaurants or golf clubs.”

If looks could kill…I admit defeat.

“All right, all right. There’s a good chance that my Ella might have been given Ella’s card by the real Ella…and she just happened to have it in her handbag and wanted to get rid of me as quickly as possible.”

“Whoa, Danny, not so fast. I think you’re on the right lines, but let’s stay positive here. Just for five minutes, yes?”

“Okay. So Ella Chamberlain must have been in touch with my Ella.”

“Can we call her Gertrude? Just for the moment, so I don’t get any more confused.”

“Gertrude?”

“Yes, Gertrude. I’m sure her real name is far lovelier than that, but let’s get back to the here and now.”

“Here and now.”

“Danny, you’re getting that close to having a slap.”

“Sorry. Okay, then. Ella meets Gertrude some time or other, and they swap cards.”

“Or maybe not; maybe Gertrude accepted Ella’s card and had no need to pass one out herself.”

“Like she’s Doctor Gertrude or something.”

“Yes, of course, that’s more than possible. But if Gertrude is as distinctive-looking as you say, maybe if you described Gertrude to Ella, she would know who Gertrude really was by your description.”

It was quite a good idea and one worth mulling over. So how would I describe her? Let’s think.

Rob interrupts my thoughts.

“It would be so much easier if we had a photo or something like that.”

Oh, crap. How do I break the news to Rob about his best friend being completely retarded? Slowly, I think. Very slowly might be best.

“I tell you what,” I say. “Let’s have a break and watch a bit of Premiership action.”

“Really? We’re talking about something that’s frozen your brain for several months and you want to watch football?”

“Just a particular game—the Chelsea/Arsenal game a few weeks ago.”

“Oh, the 3-3 draw where Wiltshire scored a hat-trick.” Rob knows his football.

“Do you fancy a cider?” I ask. Maybe alcohol will slow his reaction time.

“Yeah, why not?” When Arsenal score their second goal, I freeze the picture and slowly move forward, then stop and turn to Rob.

“That’s her—that’s Gertrude.”

I will remember Rob’s next words until my dying day. “Danny Pearson, you have the brains of a mouldy dog biscuit. You’ve had her picture her all this time, all these months. I am truly lost for words, you useless moron.” Rob will always be my best friend. Best friends always tell you it how it is.

“Yeah, well, I’ve had other things on my mind.”

“Really? Well, I’ll be damned if I noticed. It’s been Ella this, Ella that, Ella the oth…whatever. We need a plan and someone with a brain to organise it—so that completely rules you out.”

I am pretty sure it is best not to argue the point, so I allow Rob to take centre stage.

“I’ve got a new phone with a brilliant camera app in it. I’ll take a few pictures before I go in tomorrow. No, I can’t make it tomorrow, we’ve got a trip to the safari park with the kids scheduled for midday. I’ll clear my desk for Monday, and you and me can go Gertrude hunting.” He then did this brilliant impression of a Sherlock Holmes searching the room with a magnifying glass, which probably won’t work on paper, then he spoke.

“We will find this woman, Watson, and bring her back to 221b Baker Street for your pleasure.”

Doesn’t work, does it?

After a while, Rob stops and delivers his best and most serious face.

“Before we get stuck into this dream of yours, D, you’re going to have to face the harsh reality of all this. It could all be a waste of time. You might be chasing what’s already gone.”

I know that. I have known that all along, but that is not going to stop me chasing.

***

Gemma feels so much better about herself after her chat with JB. Her boss was right; David was a good man, but not THE man. He was nice, reliable, considerate, and steady. And as JB pointed out, it was the “steady” that killed it for her. She loves David, but deep down inside she knows she is not
in love
with him. It was all very clear to her now. She will break the news to him as gently as possible. Maybe that’s why JB is the boss and Gemma the PA; that ability to think rationally at all times is something that Gemma lacks.

Chapter Nine

Ella Chamberlain has not had the best weekend of her life, that is for sure. It’s not that her latest boyfriend has dropped her, but that he actually beat her to the punch that hurt. Ella had been looking forward to dumping him for the last few days. She feels cheated of a pleasure.

It is the same with the new job. She left the Giraffe Group to “better herself,” but the grass was definitely not greener on the other side. She has hiked her salary by ten percent, but she is surrounded by the most miserable bunch of plastic characters she has ever met in her life. As she drives in to work, she vows that if she gets the chance, she will jump at the opportunity to go back to her old job and ditch that ten percent. She had some good friends back there. She’d be ashamed to acknowledge anybody as a friend who worked in Plastix Insurance Company or Plastic World., as she labels it in her head. This week she is going to keep her head down and try to avoid all possible human contact. To that end, she adjusts her mobile so that it will divert to voicemail after one ring.

***

I like Buck Osborne, who is a mighty big man. Let’s be honest; if your name was Buck Osborne, you would have to be a big man. He is the executive director in charge of European operations for the group. Larger than life, but a great guy. He weighs at least three hundred pounds, but insists on driving around to the branches in a smartcar. The more problems he has getting out of the car, the more my staff love him. But at the end of the day he gets the job done—profits for the UK operation have gone up every one of the five years he has been in the job. I run a pretty tight ship, so I guess Buck is here for a quick slap on the back and a light lunch at the
Crown and Feather.

“Things are looking good, Danny, nice and steady. We’re very pleased with how the branch is working.”

“Thanks for that, Buck. Fancy something to eat down at the
Crown
?”

“Whoa there, Danny. Slow down a bit. I need more of your time than that, cowboy!”

Cowboy? Am I in trouble?

“We were sorry to hear about your personal life, Danny—the divorce and all.”

Oh, shit. The company is a real American Midwestern set up.
Family values are at our core
is the tag line on the company notepaper. Oh, God—no marriage and what, now no job?

“…the first person we thought of.”

“Sorry, Buck. Could you repeat that, please?”

“We know it’s over thirty miles away, but you were the first person we thought of.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. The shell is there already, obviously, but it is more than three times larger than this place and obviously there would be a significant increase to your salary.”

I think Buck is expecting a bit more than this wall of silence.

“Well, of course, Danny, you’ve got a lot to think about. Take your time and speak to Dawn at HR, and she’ll go through the package we are offering. Just let me know one way or other over the next week or so.”

He’s knocked me for six. I need time to take this all in.

“Of course, Buck. Of course I will. Shall we go and get a bite to eat?”

“Sure thing, pardner.”
Pardner
—I like the American twang of that, much prefer it to being called
cowboy
.

Chapter Ten

“Wow, Rob, that’s impressive. Can I keep one for myself?”

“Danny. I’m becoming slightly anxious that you are turning into someone rather creepy and more than slightly weird.”

I do not understand.

“These photos,” he continues, “are a means to find Gertrude herself, not for you to pin up over your bed and kiss goodnight.”

“No, no, of course not.” Is he a mind reader or what? Only joking.

“So we have a clear eight hours in front of us to accomplish Mission Gertrude.”

“Rob, we’re not running a special ops mission, and we are not an SAS troop going off into battle.”

“Daniel Pearson. Today will define the rest of your life. Are you on board or not?”

“Yes, siiirrrr!”

“Are you taking this seriously, Private Pearson?”

“Okay, too far now, Robert. What’s the plan?”

“Well, firstly you ring up the delightful Miss Chamberlain, tell her the truth, and ask if you can pop around and show her the photograph of Gertrude. She tells us who it is. We ring Gertrude, she remembers you, regrets misleading you with the use of the wrong card, admits she has not stopped thinking about you ever since, falls into your arms, you make passionate love, are married within a month, have six kids—three of each—and die in bed together on your hundredth birthday.”

“That’s all very well, but I don’t think I can face ringing Miss Chamberlain.”

“Ah well, every plan must have one or two hiccups.”

“Could you ring her?”

“Why me?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure she would recognise my voice—you know, what with our first conversation and then the other times when I put the phone down.”

“I refuse to be sidetracked this early in proceedings. This plan will work. We will use your land line. Read out her number—now.”

***

“Gemma, cancel any meetings for the rest of the week. I’m going to have to go up to Glasgow for a few days to sort out the mess up there.”

“Will do. Shall I see if there are flights available later today?”

“That would be brilliant. Any time after four, and book me a room at the Apex while you’re at it, if there are any available flights today.”

Gemma had seen this coming, and whilst there had always been a chance of JB cancelling the trip, she has already put a hold on the 18.15 flight to Glasgow. She will ring the Apex first.

David had taken her rejection better than Gemma had anticipated, which perversely put her in an even worse mood. She wanted him to be upset, devastated even, to feel that his life had fallen apart.

“Oh well, you’re probably right. There’s no point making a scene about it, is there?”

It was no more than she had expected from him, but a million miles short of what she wanted. She wanted a man who was willing to fight tooth and nail for her heart, not bow out graciously at the first sign of trouble. She needed a release valve, some sort of situation where she could let off some steam. Something that had nothing to do with the males of this species.