Martha Fletcher has only ever had one job- Executive Assistant to Sam Courtenay.
She'll schedule his diary, pick up his dry cleaning, usher girls out of his apartment first thing in the morning... nothing was out of bounds until one night, that blur...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Will you please desist?" My grandmother's butler, Baxterley, snaps, blue eyes glaring at the biro in my hand. We're currently stood in the kitchen, cooking a birthday dinner for Evelyn's eldest son, Finn, and while I'm trying to be helpful, Baxterley finds my fidgeting annoying. He's always hated the way that I'd either twirl items between my fingers or tap the nib of the pen against the table but I never realise that I do it until he gets so fed up that he practically bites my head off. "You are aware that I could have made all these arrangements without your assistance."
He doesn't say it like a question but rather a remark. A comment that tells me to bugger off now or face his wrath. Choosing to ignore him, I drop the pen and run my fingers through my hair, sighing in frustration. While I'm sure Baxterley thinks I'm here to lend a helping hand, the truth is that I needed to get out of the city for a few days to think about my future with Martha.
Knowing that she was putting her life on hold to be with me was soul destroying. She's young and deserves to be out there, seeing the world, living a life, being young and reckless. Heck, I remember those days; they were the best, even if I did almost die in Thailand that time and my brother had to come to my rescue when we weren't even on speaking terms. If I had learnt one thing from that experience, it's this... if there are two things I learnt from that experience, the first would be that my friends back there were complete fucking wankers for leaving me in a Thai hospital while they carried on the world tour that I was supposed to be a part of, and secondly, you need to flex your wings, go out into the big, wide and wild world, become who you really are and who you really should be. Without taking that time, you'll always be the you that you are now and in twenty years time, you'll wake up and regret never being twenty-two- young, wild and free.
I don't want to be the source of Martha's regrets.
With that in mind, I've come to a decision. And it's tearing me apart. My heart is breaking more and more with every single passing day and there's nothing I can do about it. Not really. People will tell me that there is something I can do- not do what I need to do, but they're wrong. This is how it needs to go.
With my head settled on the matter, my heart needs time to catch up. Hence me being here, back in my childhood home, in the comfort of familiarity, even if the butler wants to plunge the kitchen knife into my back should I fidget some more.
"Samuel!" Baxterley raises his voice in that authoritative way I remember as a child. It scared me as a six-year-old. As a twenty-six-year-old, it's still scary. "I cannot tolerate your persistent restlessness for a moment longer. Please, will you vacate the kitchen and decamp to any other room in the house."
With a roll of my eyes, I sigh. "Baxterley, may I ask you a question?"
"No," he answers. It's an honest answer that I choose to ignore as I continue with, "Do you ever regret having worked here for most of your life?"
Baxterley levels his gaze on me, forgetting about the dinner that's cooking. Knowing that I'd be the one to blame if the meal was ruined, I make my way to the stove and keep an eye on whatever concoction Baxterley is whipping up. All the while, I can feel the butler's stare on my back, burning a hole through my skin.
