The Briefcase (Short Story)

Description

Extract

Aide had met Annie at their local film club fifteen years ago. Her smile had been the first thing he’d noticed about her, and the little lopsided dimples in her cheeks. She’d been full of fun and laughter. They’d married and toured the Oxford Canal for their honeymoon.

When had things started to go wrong? It was her job, he was sure of it. It was all quite stupid, really. She was just a secretary to some kind of tech company. Although from the way she acted, you’d think it was something far more important. Why should she feel under pressure when all she had to do was file documents?

First, she’d had to take overtime, and then there were the business trips, but she never said much about what she was doing. Why the secrecy?

“I’ve signed a confidentiality agreement,” Annie said. “I’m not allowed to talk about work.”

“I thought you trusted me.”

“I trust you not to hurt or betray me.”

“No, you don’t. If you did, you’d know I wouldn’t disclose anything confidential.”

“I’m not allowed to discuss work.”

It was just an excuse, but two could play at that. He wouldn’t say anything about his work, either. That would teach her. So, a few days later, he came home from work and heaved a sigh.

“Things are really hairy at work,” he said. “It’s so stressful.”

“D’you want to talk about it?”

“I can’t. It’s confidential.”

“Okay. I understand.”

She gave him a hug, but he was too angry to reciprocate.

“How about we go out to the cinema on Friday?” she said.

“Can’t. Have to work overtime. In fact, I’m going to have to go in on Saturday as well.”

He didn’t really, but she’d been working overtime so much lately that it was her turn to stay home alone. He’d go to the pub, and it’d serve her right.

“Oh, okay,” she said. “I’d turned down a request to go away this weekend, but since you’re working, I may as well take the assignment.”

Assignment? She made it sound like she was some kind of secret agent. What type of secretary goes on assignments?

“Whatever,” he said.

*

On Friday night, he slumped down on a bar stool with a pint of beer. The place was crowded and smelt of body odour, alcohol, and of salt and vinegar infused furniture polish. A big screen on one wall was showing the news, but no one was paying any attention to it, and it couldn’t be heard above the noise of people talking and laughing, with occasional shrieks as a glass was spilt.

A young woman squeezed into the gap next to Aide and tried to attract the barman’s attention. She had long black hair tied in two braids, thick black eyeliner with what must be false eyelashes sweeping up in a point, matching the eyeliner beneath, and was wearing a black miniskirt, over-the-knee black socks with rubber-soled black boots, and long black opera gloves. The only thing she was wearing that wasn’t black was bright red lipstick.

The barman came over. She ordered a shandy, glanced at Aide as she turned round, gave a friendly smile, and then squeezed her way through the crowd. He lost sight of her, but caught glimpses of her pale face with crimson lips from time-to-time until last orders rang.

She was there again the next evening. She gave Aide a casual smile and was once again lost in the crowd. She looked the kind of person who smiled at everyone. A goth with a sunny disposition.

On Sunday, he decided he couldn’t be bothered to cook for himself and went to have lunch at the pub. The television was now showing a rugby match, which he settled down to watch, cheering and groaning along with his fellow patrons. The elation of a perfect try had to be shared and, as he looked around the sea of joyful faces, he saw the goth girl — her smile now a beaming grin.

At the end of the match, everyone crowded around the bar for a refill, and the after-match discussions led to small groups forming and rearranging until he found himself talking to her about certain changes that had been made to the regulations, and whether or not they had improved the game.

It was a friendly chat. Nothing else. They happened to meet again after that, but just as acquaintances: regulars of the same pub who talked about sport.

*

“I’m Aide, by the way.”

“I’m Lucy.”

That was all the personal information they shared. He didn’t inquire further. He didn’t want her to feel he was coming on to her. They celebrated rugby victories and commiserated over defeats, and laughed about trivia.

But one day her sunny disposition had clouded over.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“Oh, stuff.” She shrugged. “Found out my partner was cheating on me.”

“That’s rotten.”

“Should’ve guessed, really. Too many excuses. Know what I mean?”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Anyway. I’ll be alright. Better off without him.”

*

Too many excuses. Yeah, he knew that one. Overtime. Trips away. Secrets. Why all the secrets? It wasn’t like she was working for MI5. Confidentiality agreement. Who did she think he’d tell, anyway? Probably just a load of business management crap. Who gives a damn about it?

He hadn’t meant to say anything to Lucy about it, but somehow it all came out while they drank.

“D’you know how I found out?” Lucy said. “It was in his briefcase. ‘Just work documents, love.’ That’s what he used to say.”

“That’s what Annie says, as well. Keeps it locked up.”