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them
I had been offered a position elsewhere which after careful consideration I had
accepted. I made the calls to those companies and then wrote to Mr Gillespie
telling him that I did not wish to carry on with our appointments or to pursue
a meeting with the C.B.T.

CHAPTER 5
    My life was
quite dull for the next two years whilst I spent most of my spare time studying
for my A.A.T. (Association of Accounting Technicians). I was enjoying working
for the Hopkins Partnership and my first impression of Mr Hopkins had been
right. He was an excellent accountant and had the utmost patience when dealing
with trainees. He always explained things clearly and concisely and was willing
to help with my studies if I ever found myself struggling to understand my
assignments. Fortunately I never needed to ask for that help. Another thing I
was fast learning is that there was nothing Mr Hopkins liked better than
joining in with a bit of fun and gossip in the staff kitchen at lunchtimes. All
the staff were extremely fond of him (as were his clients) and at practical
jokes, he was master class.
    My studies for
A.A.T. were going to take about two years and if I managed to pass my exams I
intended to do further studying and become a Chartered Accountant. Mr Hopkins
gave me every encouragement, constantly reminding me that his offer of help was
always there if I needed it.
    I didn’t much
bother with a social life; I hardly ever went out other than the occasional
hour or two in the pub with colleagues after work on a Friday. I had a decent
holiday with my parents each year  plus the odd visits to Dad’s apartment in Paris. I occasionally went out on a date and I’d had a couple of steady boyfriends (nothing
lasting more than two or three months) but they didn’t work out from my point
of view, and I tried to find the kindest way to end the relationships. One
thing that was pleasing was that my O.C.D. very rarely surfaced. I was
obsessive about having a tidy desk and bedroom and I still washed my hands more
than anybody I knew, but the frantic cleaning of the house, and scrubbing my
arms with the nail brush had stopped completely.
    Some days at
work ended up quite tiring where audits were concerned and I often had to travel,
along with one or two of my colleagues, to various limited companies to carry
out an annual audit after their financial year end. Some firms made us really
welcome and went out of their way to clear spare desks for us and yet there
were places that almost had us sitting in what could best be described as a
store room where the radiator didn’t work (if there was one) and our only work
surface was a decorator’s pasting table. Usually at these businesses we could
go all day without even being offered a cup of tea or coffee.
    On one of my
audits during my second year of studying I was stunned to bump into Alex
Baker-Thompson in the corridor on my way back from the loo (the boy from my
schooldays, who was caught by the bullies fingering me behind the bike-sheds).
We chatted in the corridor for quite some time and he told me he was employed
as a draughtsman by the company we were auditing. He asked how Uni had gone for
me. Not feeling the need to mention the Gavin situation I told him I had been
really ill so was forced to quit. I saw him most days for the next fortnight
until our audit was complete. On the last day Alex asked me out - just as
friends. I didn’t think it could do any harm (he was still quite dishy). Maybe
he would be able to tell me what had happened with some of the other people
from school - where they were now, who was married, or any other gossip about
them all, so I said yes. I didn’t actually care about where my bullies were but
I looked forward to having a proper catch up. We exchanged mobile numbers and
he promised to get in touch over the following week or so.
    We met outside
King’s Cross at early one Saturday evening later the same month and walked arm
in arm around London for a couple of