The Pursuit of Emma, Dave Moyer [best contemporary novels txt] 📗

about it now. Maybe there is some legal route I could follow to find her. Maybe sue her for having the...cheek to dare to leave me...or something. You can tell I majored in Music Composition, huh? Just like my Year 7 Geography teacher once put it: ‘not one of this generation’s great thinkers!’ But I digress. I returned to the phone call, trying to stop Mum mid-rant.

‘OK ... thanks Mum...good ideas...got to go...yep... OK...’ I interjected when I could, before deciding just to hang up. It’s sometimes the safer option.

Mum had given me some good ideas though and I knew just where to head.

*****

Raynmer and Stein, ‘the lawyers who care’ – apparently, own one of the grandest buildings in central London. I have never been inside it before but have often met Emma for a lunch, waiting in the reception hall for her to come down. I have a theory that you can judge how good a company is on the condition of their reception. Raynmer and Stein definitely don’t disappoint. Everything inside the building oozes class from the marble flooring up to the highly polished stainless steel that frames the modern furniture. Even the staff are beautifully presented and attentive. Dressed in a classic black uniform that seems more suited to a catwalk than a job in administration, the reception team (and it is a team of at least 15 people around the building) blend perfectly with the stylish atmosphere of the company as a whole.

Walking up the street, I could see the glistening building in the distance, getting closer all the time. My stomach started churning again. What do I say to the receptionists? What if Emma won’t see me? What if she’s not there? Oh God, what if she is there? What the hell would I say?

Twice I lost my nerve and went to turn back. I paced outside for a while and must have been quite a sight to passersby. I knew I had come too far to leave it now, but my legs seemed frozen to the pavement outside.

‘Come on coward,’ I jeered at myself. ‘The woman of your dreams and the answers to all your questions could be just inside there. Be a man; get up those stairs and WIN HER BACK!’ This sounded impressive in my head until I realised I had indeed said it out loud and in fact shouted the last few words. My cheeks flushed red as I realised how stupid I must have looked. I tried my best not to care what people thought of me but it didn’t work, like it had never worked before.

I wanted to see Emma so badly but was frozen by the very real possibility that I may start weeping the moment I set eyes on her. I realise this story gives the impression that I’m quite the cry-baby. As a general rule I’m not, but Ems does this to me and I’ve never been able to control it.

Finally, after what seemed like ages, I summoned up my courage and marched through the doors. Marching, at the very least had been my intention, giving an air of quiet, graceful dignity. Sadly for me the entrance to Raynmer and Stein is a vast, revolving glass door, which takes about a minute of awkward shuffling to get through. I am not a huge fan of confined spaces and tumbled out of the door with my dignity dented slightly.

I looked around, partly to see who had seen my bizarre entrance, but mainly to look for Emma. Of course she wasn’t there. Why would she just be standing in reception, genius?

As I approached the reception desk, I realised I had no idea what floor she worked on or even what department she was part of. This shouldn’t be a problem as reception must surely be able to find that out but it did strike me as odd that I didn’t know that. Was I just a terrible listener or had Emma never bothered to tell me?

‘Hello Sir, how can I help you today?’ came the question, in a warm friendly way.

‘Yeah, hello there,’ I started, making a quick calculation. If they know Emma, they might know her situation and may even be friends with her. If I barge in and demand to see her they may warn her and give her a chance to slip out a different entrance and so on. I decided I was going to have to think on my feet.

‘Hi, I am meant to meet one of your staff here, regarding some important medical information.’ I was hoping she wasn’t going to pry any further but of course she was.

‘Right and what exactly is this concerning?’ The question was equally warm and friendly, with a slight hint of distrust creeping in.

‘Ah well you see I can’t tell you that. Doctor-patient confidentiality and all that. If you could ask Mrs...’ I paused as she shook her head.

‘I’m sorry Sir but I can’t put you in contact with our members of staff unless I see some identification. It’s the rule.’

I usually pride myself for thinking on my feet, but this was getting difficult. Luckily, I still had one ace to play. An amusing humanism, a quirk that makes us all the same is our discomfort for things we deem ‘disgusting.’ Even the most professional of souls will crack if you can shock them.

‘I didn’t want to have to mention this but...’ I began. As a standard reaction I got that stabbing ‘Em is going to kill me’ feeling. Realising the situation once again, I pressed on.

‘...but one of your staff members had some tests done at our clinic recently and I’m afraid the results aren’t good.’ I let the thought linger for a second, looking as convincing as I could muster. ‘She does have Herpes after all...’

It worked. What was normally a properly presented member of staff instantly turned into a grimacing child, horrified at the thought.

‘It must be treated right away before it...spreads,’ I continued. As luck would have it I have no personal experience with STD’s and am pretty certain my scientific facts were not perfectly accurate. I just hoped ‘Becky’ (according to her name badge) had no experience either.

‘As this is a delicate matter I was asked to come in person to help her deal with it. I would very much appreciate if you could get her down as discreetly as possible. She won’t want people to know, but it is urgent.’

‘Yes, yes of course. Who is the staff member in question?’ she enquired. I had done it. Even as I congratulated myself in my head I couldn’t stop thinking ‘you are a bad, bad man.’

‘It’s Mrs Sharpe, Mrs Emma Sharpe,’ I said calmly. ‘Sharpe with an “e”,’ I added helpfully.

Becky repeated the name to herself as she typed away on the computer in front of her. After allowing it to load she looked at the screen quizzically. ‘Hmm, you did say Sharpe right? There doesn’t seem to be an Emma Sharpe on here. There’s a Julie Sharp with no ‘e’ but it can’t be her surely? She is retiring next year - almost sixty-five.’

I frowned and asked her to check again, but still it yielded no matches.

‘These silly computers are always breaking down. Do you know what department she’s in and I can search for her that way?’ asked the ever-patient receptionist.

‘I don’t sadly...’ Then it hit me. Emma had been here for a long time, way before I met her. What if making a name for yourself as a lawyer was a bit like an actress? What if she never changed her surname after we got married? I felt hurt at the very idea. Her passport had changed, her driving license now read ‘Emma Sharpe’ so why wouldn’t she allow her company to use it? I could add this to the long list of questions I would ask her when I found her, if it was true. I delved into my thoughts to remember her maiden name and found it.

‘It could be under Emma Jordan perhaps,’ I stated calmly, hoping not to raise suspicions as to why she would have two names and how I would know both of them. I half-prayed that her Jordan wouldn’t come up, knowing at least then that she wasn’t ashamed of my name, and the life we had built together. Presently, the computer loaded once more.

‘I’m sorry Sir, nothing is coming up. Listen, are you sure Emma is right because I’ve just checked and we haven’t had an Emma work here for over fifteen years.’

There’s that sick feeling again.

‘What?’ I asked incredulously. ‘That can’t be true. The computer must be playing up again.’ I fathomed in my mind for some explanation.

‘Sir, I sit here every day. I let every member of staff through and I pride myself on knowing all of them. We don’t have an Emma!’

Gone were my worries of getting caught as a liar. I was panicking now. In my wallet I still carried a small but clear photo of Emma and I whipped it out quickly.

‘This woman, I’m looking for her. She’s worked here for over five years!’ There was a croak in voice and I could feel my emotions controlling my actions again.

The receptionist began to get quite cross for the first time. She wasn’t rude but she was certainly more forceful and I could see a temper flaring behind her eyes.

‘Sir, in the seventeen years I have worked here I have never once seen that woman. I can promise you one thing, she does not work here!’ Chapter Three

‘Is it possible to burn a hole through the floor by pacing?’

It didn’t seem very likely but over the last twenty-four hours I’d certainly given it my best shot. The worst part was it wasn’t even my floor I was slowly sanding. I had been pacing the floor of our neighbour’s flat, trying to make sense of the previous day. My head was pounding, indicating some severely heavy drinking went on last night.

‘So, what exactly happened to you?’ my neighboured asked sweetly. I looked up at her, straining to remember.

Sophie and David had been living in the flat above us since before I moved in. After what seemed like years of arguing, David finally moved out, to all of our relief. I didn’t know them well but I knew David was no good. From the muffled voices seeping through our ceiling at night you could always hear his voice first. Shouting. Controlling.

When he left, Sophie became a fairly big part of our lives. Both Emma and I had a soft spot for Sophie, who had a heart of gold, even if she was a bit tentative. We endeavoured to include her in lots of our social activities and Ems often used to meet up with her for lunch.

After the ‘incident’ Sophie was one of the first people I turned to. I knew she would help; I knew I could count on her. I had hoped Sophie may have heard something, or seen Emma leave or anything that could help me. She hadn’t but wished she could help.

‘Tom? What happened yesterday? I’m getting worried now. You’ve barely said two words today.’ I knew she was concerned and I wanted