‘It is hard. When you’re standing there, so close. What about Mark? He saw us together last night. Surely, he’ll suspect something. Maybe we should just come clean?’
I shake my head. ‘He was plastered. I mean, he ate every bite of that satay with a plastic teaspoon, so I’m not too worried about his levels of perception.’
Christopher kisses my forehead. ‘When work settles down, let me take you away for a long weekend. London maybe or better yet, a short flight abroad? Barcelona or Berlin? Anywhere away from Newbridge, away from the paper, away from everything. Just me and you and no prying eyes. How would you like that?’
I find something to like in everything he just said, hinting as it does to a shared future. Sometime beyond the now, something more to look forward to
‘I’d love it. But don’t ask Mark for recommendations.’ I smile. ‘It’s getting late. Just about time for coffee?’
‘As in…’
‘As in hot caffeine in a mug.’
Chaplin starts to meow, calling for his breakfast. I throw off the duvet.
‘Hot caffeine, yes please. I’m going to need it. I’ve got to sort out a new place to stay after today. McArthur had just booked me in week by week and now the landlord needs the place back for holidaymakers.’
I don’t want us to leave this conversation. I want to know if there’s something here. Something beyond an office fling. Something beyond casual. Something worth hoping for. I hope there is. I take a deep breath and decide to just go for it. Ask him straight.
‘So… does that mean you’re planning on staying in Newbridge?’
‘Staying as long as I’m needed, I guess,’ he says vaguely.
‘As in… long-term? Staying at the Gazette, staying around town permanently?’ I want to say staying around me, but I daren’t. I open the curtains and let the sunshine flood in. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, still adjusting to the light.
‘I never really considered this as a permanent move… I mean, I can see why people love it here so much, it’s got everything – great pubs, restaurants, beautiful scenery, friendly people, big enough to be lively but small enough not to feel invisible. But I don’t think I could ever settle down here. Maybe when I retire or something, but…’ He holds up both hands. ‘It’s not exactly buzzing with opportunity, is it? It’s just a stepping stone.’
And that’s when I realise what this is. What I am. A stepping stone.
‘But you’re the same right?’ he asks. ‘That’s why you took the promotion, to upskill, drive forward?’
I just smile and nod. This isn’t the time to tell him I just realised that we’re never going to make this work. That we’re both at the Gazette for two completely different reasons. I’m there because I want to stay. He’s there because he wants to move on. I don’t know why this comes as such a surprise to me. A guy like him could never settle in a place like this. It’s too quiet, too remote, too dull. This is all just a bit of fun for him – a change of scene, nothing serious, nothing permanent. Just like our relationship.
I realise I ran into this exactly the same way I ran into the Half-Pipe to Hell. Unthinking, reckless, heart over head.
And it’s going to hurt, just the same. If I let it.
Which I can’t. It was lovely. It was nearly perfect. It almost felt possible. I guess sometimes love is wrenched from you unexpectedly and sometimes it just slips away without ever really having its moment.
I pick up Chaplin and nuzzle him. Looks like it’s back to me and you again, kiddo.
‘Come on, you get showered and changed and I’ll make breakfast. I’m leaving here in fifteen minutes.’
And just like that, it’s almost as if nothing’s changed, I’m back behind the wheel of my car, driving to work, waving my good mornings and sipping my coffee before I get to my desk. But even though it looks like I’m together and completely composed – make-up on, hair up, broad smile – deep down, I know the truth. It’s my default and it’s called autopilot with a chronically broken heart. When will I ever learn?
Nineteen
Jasmine meets me at the elevator. ‘I just got the email. Marked Urgent! Exactly the same as the one I got when Gareth freaked out. McArthur is coming tomorrow morning and she’s bringing people. Fourteen of them.’
Shareholders. It’s got to be. The time is passing so fast, I can barely keep up. It feels as if I’m living in double-time. Christopher has stayed at mine almost every night since our ‘sleep-over’ at The Shankley. For the first time in ever such a long time, I actually can’t wait to clock off and leave the office, because there’s so much I want to do: cycle, write, cook dinner, snuggle Chaplin, have a glass of wine by the fire with Christopher. I have a life! And I’m loving every second of it. As long as I manage to forget that it will come crashing to an end when he leaves. I understand it’s not forever but I can’t help myself. How can I possibly turn away from this when he is in touching distance of me every day. Setting every moment alive with longing and possibility. I’m crazy for him. And I’m doing pretty well at blocking out anything that’ll interfere with that.
But I really hope this email doesn’t spell the beginning of our end. That our time is up.
‘You are kidding. We’re not expecting her until the end of the week!’
She certainly likes to pounce on us when we’re not expecting her. Maybe she thinks it’s the best way to catch us off guard and expose us, no time for cover-ups.
Jasmine shows me her Excel checklist. ‘Don’t you worry, Lily, I’ve already arranged for the Conference Room to be set up. I’ve ordered pastries, tea and coffee, all that jazz. We’re ready for her. This whole place is unrecognisable since you took over. She’s going to see that immediately.’
I raise an eyebrow. I know we’re doing well. When The Shankley Hotel article went live it took us to a new level. It was read and received all over the country and became a major discussion point on a national morning radio show. As a result, Mr Dean has extended their season now they have so many bookings, and a Ghost Hunting Society has asked if they can get a marriage licence to perform weddings there (Do you really want to upset Dorothy in that way?) and they’ve been contacted by a TV company who produce a show called Old Haunts, bringing a great buzz to the area and the office.
So, three weeks and three bucket list tasks and three features down, we’ve come a long way, but we’re not done yet. There’s still one feature to go before the end of the month and our final review. And now an impromptu meeting with ‘people’.
‘I’ve never presented to shareholders,’ I tell Jasmine. ‘This sounds like it’s make or break.’
She nudges me. ‘You’re going to smash it. You’re ready for this, Lily, don’t doubt yourself.’
Jasmine is right. We are ready. We are so ready.
At my desk, I open my top drawer and lift out my large green portfolio that contains everything I suspect they’ll need to know about how we’ve been doing; graphs, sales figures, rankings, progress charts. If it can be considered evidence that the Newbridge Gazette is fighting its way back to glory, then I’ve got it in this folder to prove it beyond any doubt. Backed up with Christopher’s tech whizz to show individual region-by-region sales breakdowns, as well as digital expansion plans and future trajectories, we should knock their socks off and send them back to headquarters with huge smiles on their faces.
They came to close us down, they set us a challenge and I’m proud to say we rose to it.
Jasmine covers the handset of the call she’s taking and waves a hand over to me. ‘McArthur’s just asked me to order in a case of champagne! Looking good!’
McArthur doesn’t waste time. She’s already had Jennings go through the books. She’s already made up her mind and evaluated the situation. She must have, she’s ordered champagne!
Professionally, tomorrow is going to be one of the best days ever; for our office and for me.
Looks like we’re back, dear Gazette, and better than ever. But
victory for the Gazette means that Christopher’s work here is done. So I guess that means we’re done too.
I sit at my desk and try to distract myself with work. Maybe I’ll give Mr Clark a call? See if he’s feeling better. Yes, that’s exactly what I should do. Maybe I can even justify a few hours out of the office, where I can just drive around, be by myself, have a little cry and avoid Christopher altogether. It was a terrible idea getting involved with a work colleague for every reason I knew before this thing started.
Somehow, telling myself told me so doesn’t feel quite as satisfying as I’d hoped.
I rummage in my wallet for Mr Clark’s number, but a little slip of flimsy paper falls out instead.
‘First love is the triumph of imagination over intelligence. Second love is the triumph of hope over experience.’
I wonder why it doesn’t say anything about third love?
Maybe because they gave up.
Twenty
The next day Christopher and I are called in to the packed conference room. As the doors open I notice there are a lot more suited and booted, grey-faced important-looking people here than I expected; I was prepared for fourteen or so, but there are twenty here already. Some on their laptops typing frantically, others scrolling on their phones, some handshaking and head-nodding earnestly. And nobody has touched the pastries. Not even the custard ones. Very unnerving.
I know that Christopher has been at shareholders’ meetings before, so it’s no wonder he’s relaxed; he knows what to expect. He looks so confident, smiling and working the room with easy opening questions about the drive here, the family, the rugby. I stand by him, trying to settle my nerves and listen as much as possible. This is new ground for me, so I don’t want to make a mistake or look too amateur. I pour myself some water and pat my green folder for the hundredth time. Every answer to every question they could possibly throw at me should be in here. As long as I don’t get flustered or lose it.
Apart from McArthur and Jennings, there’s nobody else here I recognise.
Except for one person.
But she’s isn’t in yoga pants and a ponytail today. No one would believe that this tall blonde, striking and immaculately dressed in a designer white suit, is the same woman I saw screaming at Christopher in the car park just a few weeks ago.
I watch as she glances up from her phone and registers that Christopher is here. Her eyes fix on him; she straightens and flicks her hair forward over her shoulder as she stands from her chair. Victoria is on her way over.
‘Well hello, stranger.’
She leans in, offering him both cheeks to kiss. He complies without meeting her eyes. He’s not smiling now at all.
I nudge him to check if he’s okay.
‘So, of course, I know what you are thinking, Christopher. Why would Victoria, with her crazy schedule, travel all the way from HQ to this little farm town today?’ She presses the palms of her hands together and looks us both in the eye in turn as if she is a spirit medium trying to ‘read’ us. ‘The shell-shocked looks on your little faces!’ She hunches her shoulders, wiggling a baby finger in my direction. ‘And you must be Lily! I’m Victoria Bowery, Head of Talent at Media Core. Don’t be intimidated. I was just like you once upon a time. Working my butt off trying to get noticed in a two-bit paper.’
Christopher rolls his eyes and tenses his jaw.
Victoria sidles in closer, lowering her voice. ‘I read your bucket list, very cute. I couldn’t believe you got Christopher here to stay in anything less than a five-star.’ She laughs without any sound. ‘Mags mentioned that you’d made some interesting improvements, so I thought I’d come along and check it out. I’m a little magpie like that, aren’t I, Christopher? Can’t help but snatch a shiny new idea and keep it for myself.’
I never believed anyone could be more patronising than Gareth, but I stand corrected. Worse still, she’s drop-dead gorgeous, successful and she’s brimming with confidence. She’s a tough act to follow.
‘I don’t want to beat around the bush. Part of my new role is identifying talent across all offices; especially these little overlooked ones. So, you could say I’m here as a scout today, to see if there’s anyone that catches my eye that I can poach from you for some new projects we have underway.’
I have no idea what to say. Who on earth would welcome someone who is blatantly out to seduce and snatch Gazette staff?
She misreads my blank look. ‘Oh I see, well don’t worry, I don’t always expect there to be diamonds in the rough. I do hiring and firing. So if you want me to review your team and maybe make a few suggestions? Maybe some reshuffling? Some accountability measures? Some competence concerns that we can embellish to clear the dead wood? Everything is possible.’
Christopher turns to her. ‘Victoria, there is absolutely no dead wood on this team; we need everybody we’ve got. This office works like a well-oiled machine and they’ve done an amazing job so far. We appreciate the offer; thanks but no thanks.’
‘Okay, but I thought it best that we’re all on the same page, in fact, it’s best that we all pool information and keep transparent. I mean, we’re on the same team, right?’
Neither of us say anything.
‘That’s not changed, right, Christopher?’ Victoria pushes.
‘Yep,’ he says flatly, the smile gone from his lips once again.
Victoria raises both palms in the air in mock surrender. ‘I’m just here to help, don’t want to step on anyone’s toes.’ She looks at me and starts to explain, ‘It's just, Lily, you see, there are several big fish in here at the moment. Potential shareholders who can bring big bang for their buck. It’s a completely different league to anything you’ll have worked with before.’ She curls her lip and I watch Christopher watch her. ‘We’d really like to get them on board. I know this is your paper and you turned it around, but I also know that it’s so easy to completely buckle under the pressure, so if you want me to step in and really nail it down for you – and for your paper of course – I’m here. Ready to step in and take over. Just say the word.’
The cheek! The brass neck! The balls! I’m actually staggered by her arrogance. That she can just walk in here for the very first time, minutes before the biggest meeting the Gazette has ever seen and feel like she can take over and claim all this hard work, all the blood, sweat and sacrifice for herself.
I press my fingernails into the palm of my hand to steady my outrage. Maybe this is also part of her plan, to rile us, to sabotage our vibe before we even stand up, so we sound confused and angry. I take a deep breath and reflect the same big smile she’s giving me. Whatever way she is trying to undermine us, it just won’t work. She wouldn’t be here if she really believed we were nothing.
This is our place. Our territory. She is the one who has no place here. I raise my chin and offer her my hand. ‘We are very happy, very confident and very excited about today’s presentation. Please help yourself to tea and coffee. If you have any further questions, please feel free to speak with Jasmine, our admin manager. She’s got an excellent grasp on everything that goes on here at the Gazette.’
Victoria bites the inside of her lip and squints at me with one eye. She doesn’t want to leave us. She doesn’t want to leave Christopher’s side at all. I can see her mind ticking over, trying to think of a way to keep our interest. She turns her back to the rows of shareholders and leans in to us both. ‘I’m not supposed to tell you this, but the big three are sitting in today. They’re looking to invest and expand local news streams. It’s part of a new model, a five-year plan to “mushroom”. They want a few hundred small, specialist offices globally rather than one HQ in the capital. And the Gazette is a hot ticket right now. All three CEOs of Sky Group, GlobalOne and Unitel are here.’
Christopher’s eyes widen, and he rubs his chin. I know what he’s thinking, that this is his big chance, that if we can showcase to these guys today, they’re bound to offer him a position with them. And that’s what he’s worked for all thi
s time, why he took on the leadership programme, why he left London to come to Newbridge, why he works 24/7 to meet the Gazette targets.
‘You wouldn’t mind excusing us for a moment would you, Lily? I have something I need to ask Christopher’s advice on before your presentation begins. A private matter. We go back a long way, you see.’ She rests her hand on my shoulder. Then tightens it.
I nod politely, pick up my green folder and move towards the whiteboard at the front. I’m actually relieved, it gives me a chance to compose myself before we begin. I take a long sip of water and rehearse my pitch in my head. Now I know Victoria is going to be listening, I feel more nervous than ever. She’s Head of Talent, and as she said, she has the power to hire or fire any one of us. She’s also McArthur’s protégé; I can tell by the way she mimics her gestures, the way she taps her jawline when posing a question, the way she smiles with her eyes when she is saying something harsh. But I like Mags McArthur. She has given us a chance, and she’s fair. I don’t get that vibe from Victoria. With her I feel like I’ve just been robbed somehow. But I’m not sure yet what it is she’s taken.
A phone starts to ring. The mortification is instant as I realise that it’s mine. I feel the glare of McArthur on me. It should have been on silent; especially as I’m one of the presenters. It rings out again, the tone getting louder. It’ll take too long to locate it somewhere in the bottom of my bag, fish it out and then turn it off, so I grab the whole bag and head towards the door, making an apologetic face as I exit.
Typically, the phone stops and the line is dead as soon as I answer it.
The number isn’t a contact, and it’s a really long number, international maybe? Someone cold-calling no doubt, selling me insurance or PPI cover or loft insulation.
Just as I try to hurriedly turn my phone off altogether, it rings again, the same number. I answer it instantly because I want to give the person me a piece of my mind and ensure they remove my number from any future list.
For Once In My Life: An absolutely perfect laugh-out-loud romantic comedy Page 20