I looked at my watch. “You’re ten minutes late for work, Raymond,” I said.
He laughed. “So are you!” He stepped forward again, peered closely at me.
I stared back at him, rather like the fox had done earlier. He nodded.
“Come on,” he said, holding out his arm, “we’re both late now. Let’s go in. I don’t know about you, but I could really do with a cup of tea, eh?”
I linked my arm through his and he walked me inside, all the way to the door of the accounts office.
I disengaged from him there as quickly as I could, anxious that someone might see us together like this.
He bent down and put his face close to mine, speaking in rather a paternal manner
(at least, I assume that’s what it was—fathers are hardly my area of expertise, after all).
“Now then,” he said, “here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to walk in there, hang up your coat, put the kettle on and get started.
No one’s going to make a fuss, and there won’t be any drama—it’ll be like you’ve never been away.” He nodded once, as if to reinforce his point.
“But what if—” He spoke over me. “Honestly, Eleanor—trust me. It’s going to be absolutely fine.
You’ve been unwell, you took some time off to get better and now here you are, back in the fray.
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