So yeah, I couldn’t get to Claire’s hotel fast enough. I was no stranger to the place. It had been the scene for our first and last night together. For someone who needed so much variety in sex partners Claire really did seem a creature of habit when it came to other, more service-related commodities. The distance between my foolish heart and my brain, that knew better, had never been bigger. I understood what needed to be done. I rehearsed speeches on the tube and when Claire slept. But whenever she looked at me or said baby with that smooth voice of hers I forgot everything. My blood was contaminated once again and I had no clue where to find the antidote. And in the end, Lucy had been right. I had distanced myself from her to be with Claire. Of course I had. And she knew it. It didn’t make for a cosy atmosphere at work.

“Are there any volunteers to go to this writing work shop?” Lucy asked at the end of the staff meeting. “Come on, the board has given us the budget, we would be foolish not to use it.” Vivian Carsey, who would run the work shop, was notorious for ripping her students to shreds. None of us felt like a week-long experience of being humiliated and torn down, not even Jim was masochistic enough to indulge Lucy. “Come on, guys. It’s in Cambridge. It’s beautiful there.”
“As long as you’re not locked in a room with Miss Carsey for hours on end,” Millie said. “Trust me, I’ve been there and I’m not going back.”
“But it made you a better writer, didn’t it?” Lucy tried.
“It basically gave me nightmares for the two weeks I was there and that’s about all it did for me.”
“This work shop will only last one week, but, Millie, obviously you’re exempt from participating since you’ve already had the pleasure of being taught by Vivian.” Lucy fixed her eyes on me. “Surely there are people in this room who can benefit from a writer’s retreat like that. Do not merely see it as a way to hone your skills, but as a time to reflect on the rest of your life.” Lucy got up and bundled her papers together. “End of the meeting. Think about it please, ladies and gentlemen. If none of you want to go voluntarily I will have to pick someone. Time is running out.” We shuffled out of the meeting room, muttering that the board could stick its work shop if that’s what they thought they needed to make the company more profitable. “It will look good on your CV,” Lucy shouted after us.

I had done my research on Vivian Carsey. At first glance her work shops seemed perfectly legitimate but when you dug a little deeper, and spoke to Millie − a survivor − you learnt that instead of focusing on writing you were subjected to psychological analysis and endless digging inside yourself. The last thing I wanted was to spend a week with a woman who had lost herself in the bullshit ideologies of tearing someone down to build them back up again. I did enough of that to myself. And I had a life to sort out in London. But I knew Lucy would pick me. It was the perfect next step in her scheme of small punishments. So I went on the offence and stepped into her office after lunch.
“Finally, a volunteer. I won’t forget this, Lee.”
“Oh no, I didn’t come here to volunteer, on the contrary.”
“Why are you here then? Please sit down and close the door behind you.”

To be continued…