The Way You Smile

by Kiki Archer

  “You’re the second person who’s said that today.”

  “Was Harriet the first?”

  “No!”

  “Mum?” The shout was questioning.

  “Shhh, that’s Michael.” Camila put her glass on the silver side table. “I’m in the lounge,” she shouted. “Good day at school?”

  “Oh.”

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  Camila heard the front door close. “You want a drink?”

  “No… I…”

  “Snack?”

  “No.”

  “Are you coming in?”

  “No… I…”

  “Michael?”

  “Just going upstairs.”

  Camila heard the giggle from the hall before turning to look at Julie’s raised eyebrows. Both women were thinking the same thing. “Michael?” she said, jumping up and opening the lounge door in time to spot a pair of female legs dashing up the stairs in front of her son. “He’s got a girl up there!” she hissed, turning back to Julie.

  “Leave him.”

  “I wasn’t due back until six. He obviously thought he’d be home alone.”

  “Bloody well leave him.”

  “I can’t! I don’t know who it is. He’s never brought a girl back before.”

  Julie patted the sofa. “Like mother like son.”

  “What?”

  “Give it time, you bloody vixen, give it time.”

  Chapter Eight

  Standing in the lift as it rose to floor five, Camila tucked her H.I.P pass into the inside breast pocket of her blazer. That’s what Pamela from Insights had done on the interview day, plus the lanyard with its pattern of heavily embossed company logos was clearly visible around her neck, so hopefully that would be enough. Checking herself in the mirrored walls, Camila smiled. The afternoon and evening with Julie had been great fun. Gossipy, giggly and exactly what she’d needed to get her through the discovery that her eldest son was bringing girls home on the sly. No, that was wrong, she’d always been there in the afternoons so it wasn’t a regular occurrence. That he’d done it at the first possible opportunity was a slight worry though, and it’s not like she’d have said no to a girl coming round. But for him to usher her in and scuttle her upstairs unseen was disappointing. She had a good relationship with Michael, a great one in fact. Plus, they’d had the sex chat numerous times before so it wasn’t like there was anything he should be embarrassed to talk about. “Mum, can I invite a girl round?” “Of course you can, son, but remember you’re only fifteen.” It was that easy.

  The possible reason for his lack of openness became apparent just as Julie was leaving. Both Michael and his mystery woman were halfway down the stairs, creeping in socks, at the exact moment she and Julie had bustled out of the lounge, the prosecco all gone. The two teenagers had frozen, she’d smiled politely and Julie had screeched at the top of her lungs: “Cassie Stevens!”

  It just so happened that Cassie Stevens was the head girl at Michael’s secondary school, well known for dating the head boy, both of whom were eighteen. Julie knew this because the pair of them were often pictured in the local paper doing good here, there and everywhere. School power couple save scout hut. Head kids kiss on Mt. Kilimanjaro. Most people didn’t read the local paper, shoving it straight in the recycling bin, but Julie did. She scoured it from top to toe looking for deals, bargains and any local occurrences she might not be abreast of – which were few and far between.

  It turned out that Julie also knew Cassie Stevens’ father. Her second screech of: “Your dad better bloody not find out about this,” caused by the fact Bill Stevens was a reformed wheeler-dealer now running the (mostly legitimate) local boxing club. His daughter was his shining light. His beacon of pride. His proof that the Stevens family were now of good standing. Camila had obviously questioned Julie about her second screech once the two teenagers had left the house, slightly perplexed at the suggestion her son could bring the girl down in the social rankings. Julie had explained it was more of a loyalty thing. Bill Stevens being one of those people who didn’t take kindly to liars and cheats, an interesting stance given his previous line of work.

  The encounter had led them back into the lounge for a final bottle of bubbles where they decided Michael’s simple explanation that he was helping Cassie with her maths work was actually the most logical. Michael was fifteen. Yes, he looked twenty-two, but he was fifteen. Cassie Stevens was eighteen. Plus Michael was well known as the maths whiz kid, the only one in school to be sitting his A Level exam two years early. This is where he’d have met the sixth former and this is where their platonic relationship would have begun. There’d been a chinking of flutes between Julie and Camila when this was decided and a swift return to their previous discussion about women who have sex with other women.

  Camila laughed to herself in the lift as she remembered the conversation. Julie had been so blunt. She’d said the way to tell whether Harriet liked her was simple. She’d stare at her boobs. Lots. Camila’s counter-argument that she didn’t stare at a man’s crotch if she liked him didn’t seem to hold water with Julie, who insisted everyone did it. She’d said it was an evolution thing. An inbuilt mechanism to judge a potential pairing’s suitability. She’d said it happened all over the animal kingdom, which then led on to Julie’s next fact that homosexuality was found in over 1500 species while homophobia was found in just one, therefore proving which was the unnatural thing. Again there’d been another chinking of flutes because same sex attraction was indeed quite natural and should be cheered, even though it wasn’t natural to her. Yes, Harriet was gorgeous. Yes, Harriet was smart. Yes, Harriet was a role model for women in all walks of life. But did that make her want to look at Harriet’s boobs? No. Would Harriet, the gorgeously smart entrepreneur with it all, want to look at the boobs of a thirty-five-year-old mother of two with not much else? No.

  Walking out of the lift and onto the corridor of floor five, Camila pulled down on her patterned shirt, accentuating the v-shaped neckline she’d chosen to wear. It wasn’t deliberately booby, it just so happened to complement the Jackson Pollock-esque pictures on the ground floor. The fact that floor five was the same as floor one and very understated in its décor didn’t matter, she and Harriet might end up in the red coffee area discussing this and that, or relaxing in the green wellness area reflecting on all their hard work.

  Knocking on Harriet’s large door, Camila waited, quickly adjusting her shirt once again. She stopped. She’d tuck it in instead. It would keep it in place and also emphasise her slim waistline. Sorting herself out, Camila cursed as her name tag swung free.

  “Can I help you?”

  Spinning around, Camila spoke quickly. “I’m here for Harriet.”

  The woman reached out and took hold of Camila’s name tag before Camila had time to hide it back in her blazer pocket. “Oh yes,” she said, “I know who you are.”

  “Is she around?”

  “Harriet’s not here.”

  “We’re expanding the business.”

  The woman looked up at the ceiling and laughed. “Why does she do this to me?”

  “Who?”

  “Harriet.”

  Camila waited. She’d learnt from her experiences with her sister’s university friends that the best thing to do when faced by possible ridicule was to stand still and stay silent. Don’t give them any more ammunition, but likewise don’t let on you’ve been knocked. What this woman was getting at, she had no clue, but her tone indicated a certain here-we-go-again annoyance.

  “I’m Deana.”

  Camila shook the outstretched hand. There, whatever the issue was, it had passed.

  “It’s ridiculous that you’re here.”

  Or maybe not.

  “But here you are, so come this way.”

  Camila stood still. “I’m meant to be working with Harriet.”

  “Expanding the business? Right, I heard you. But Harriet’s not here. She only comes in on
ce a month.”

  Camila glanced down at her choice of shirt. “Oh.”

  “We see her a bit more now because of the show but she’s never been a nine-to-fiver.”

  “The show?”

  “Yes, the show. Surely you know about the show? That’s what we’re doing. You’re part of the team whether we like it or not.”

  Camila stayed silent. Her one question had clearly annoyed further.

  “Sorry. It’s just…” The woman sighed. “Harriet can be frustrating. So many ideas. So many…” she gestured at Camila, “projects.”

  Camila continued to wait.

  “And I’m sure this isn’t your fault, but I’m always left to pick up the pieces.”

  Camila stood still.

  “When the project fails...” The woman filled more silence. “Which it always inevitably does. But you’re here now and I’ve been told to welcome you.”

  Camila nodded. “Count me as welcomed.” Positivity always helped in situations like these. Just like the first time Mick said he needed some space. Even then she’d managed to smile and tell him in the politest of fashions to do what he needed to do. Shouting and reacting never helped anyone. Likewise, if someone confronted you with something, you should take it at face value and accept that those were the feelings they held. Trying to make them see sense or debate the validity of their feelings just wasn’t worth it. This woman was clearly pissed off and no amount of discussion about the gushing Harriet had sent her way would change that. Plus, jealousy was always in the mix. That was almost always the main reason for meanness. Maybe she was stepping on this Deana woman’s toes?

  Camila followed the brisk walk down the corridor. Mick had been jealous of Julie’s old man, Terry. The way he was free to come and go as he pleased. The way he could unofficially see other women. Mick had seen that and wanted it for himself. He hadn’t set out to be mean. The fact he’d met Jackie from the gym and chosen to move in with her didn’t quite follow Terry’s M.O but, still, no amount of confrontation would have helped.

  “Right, we’re based here, at the end.”

  Camila nodded. Already the woman’s tone had changed. Sometimes people just needed to let off steam, say their piece and move on. Not that she ever did. Not on a personal level anyway. Debating, discussing and criticising products was one thing, but not people; she’d never do that with people. She’d always avoid the dramatics and simply be there when needed. And that didn’t make her a doormat, it made her consistent, and consistency was the one thing she’d promised her baby when he was born. She’d chosen to bring him into the world, the least she could do was figure out how to be mature. The fact that another little brother had come along so quickly the year after hadn’t exactly shown maturity, but again it had happened and she’d been there for them both. Always.

  Noticing more large doors as they passed, Camila realised this top floor was reserved for the exec. There was a silver sign on one door for the Managing Director, another for the Chief Executive Officer, three more for the Board of Directors, various Chiefs of Legal, Finance and Personnel and the one they were passing now read, “Deana DuBeck – Chief Strategist”.

  “Oooh, is that you?” said Camila, deciding it made perfect sense. The woman with her robust personality and matching robust appearance was clearly important.

  “Yes, but we’re working at the end.”

  Camila knew not to say more even though she desperately wanted to ask what Harriet’s official title actually was. If Camila was remembering correctly, Harriet’s office door simply displayed her name with H.I.P Marketing written underneath. Was Harriet just the owner? Or a shareholder? She certainly couldn’t be too hands-on if she was only in once a month. But that made sense given that she had numerous other businesses and was on TV all the time. Glancing down at her shirt, Camila felt slightly disappointed. She’d been looking forward to seeing Harriet today.

  “Right, as you can see this floor is predominantly offices, but at the end here we have our open-plan workspace. This is where the team’s based. We have—” Deana gasped. “Harriet!”

  Camila looked up to see Harriet Imogen Pearson in all of her Wonder Woman glory standing in the centre of the workspace flanked by a cameraman whose camera was pointed their way.

  Harriet smiled widely. “Goodness, I love your shirt, Camila. Come, come you need to make your show debut.”

  Camila stepped forward, noticing the four work pods on the left of the room, two occupied by middle-aged men, the other two vacant. Next she noticed the cosy area on the right, complete with a screen, soft seating and some formal tables and chairs, all of which were empty. She looked back to the camera and smiled. “Oh, how wonderful,” she managed to say, once again unsure where she was or quite what was expected.

  Chapter Nine

  Adjusting to the bright light lasering her vision from the top of the camera, Camila tried to half smile. She’d had a very in-depth discussion with Julie one evening about what the other half of a presenting double act did when not reading the cue card. They were still visible on screen but you weren’t meant to be watching them, you were meant to be focusing on whatever link the speaking presenter happened to be introducing. Ant and Dec. Holly and Phil. Claudia and Tess. It happened all the time. For a huge chunk of the segments, one of the presenters was just standing there and you didn’t really notice them… until you did, and from that point on all you’d be able to focus on was that non-speaking presenter because it was fascinating. She and Julie had discovered the non-speaking presenter performed three moves in rotation. The half-smile – the one she was doing right now, staring straight into the camera, lips turned slightly at the corners, head completely still. Then the turn to co-presenter and nod at a point well made, and then the micro-expressions, again performed face-on to the camera without the loss of eye contact. A tiny raised eyebrow at a particularly controversial point, wide eyes when something shocking was said, a small frown at something sad, a slightly bigger frown at something confusing, a puckered mouth at intrigue. That’s where she’d rotated, to the puckered mouth because Harriet had turned to camera and posed the question: “Who is this, I hear you cry? A ringer brought in at the last minute?”

  Camila continued to pucker.

  “A secret weapon kept under wraps until the live show?”

  Camila opened up the pucker into an O-shaped lip query.

  “Is she my trump card?”

  Camila did a micro frown, the use of “trump” hadn’t been used in a positive manner since the 2016 American elections.

  “Has she been up my sleeve?”

  Camila raised her eyebrows.

  “Is she the ace in my hole?”

  Camila bared her teeth and widened her eyes.

  “Stop!” shouted the woman standing next to the cameraman, her arms now in the air. “I’m going to have to stop you!” She pointed at Camila. “What’s going on with your face?”

  Camila blinked as the camera was lowered and the light dropped away. “Me?”

  “Yes, you’re in shot!”

  “I know.”

  “So what are you doing?”

  Camila looked to Harriet. “I should have thrown in a turn to co-presenter, shouldn’t I?”

  Harriet laughed. “Are you channeling Ant and Dec?”

  “We’re short enough.”

  “Ha! Speak for yourself.”

  Camila glanced down. “Says your high heels.”

  “Ladies! We need to film this. Go again, but you’ve got to stay still.”

  Camila frowned at the finger pointed her way. “For the whole segment?”

  “Yes.”

  “Right.” Camila nodded as the camera was lifted back onto the cameraman’s shoulder, the bright light illuminating her face once again. Focusing, she listened as Harriet started her spiel. It was strange to just stare at the lens with no emotion, but that’s what she’d been told to do. She lifted her lips into a half smile, she couldn’t help it, too long looking emotionless wo
uld make those beady-eyed viewers who were aware of the fascination of the non-speaking co-presenter think she was a novice and, yes, while she’d never been in front of a camera like this before she’d certainly watched a lot of TV and knew what looked good.

  Thinking back to a programme she’d seen a while ago on a condition called imposter syndrome, Camila smiled once more. The syndrome was categorised as a persistent fear of being exposed as a fraud. It was all about a person’s inability to internalise their accomplishments. People who’d achieved success but didn’t believe they deserved success. It had seemed ridiculous back then and rather self-indulgent of the supposed imposters and now the scenario she found herself in confirmed her initial judgement. Everyone was an imposter until they actually stepped into the room, but once they’d crossed that threshold they became a member of the room. It didn’t matter if there were people in it who’d been there for years, you were all now there together. Yes, she’d queried in yesterday’s seated shower session the reasons why she’d got the job, but not to the extent that she’d ended up asking the company or debated whether or not to come in. Life threw all sorts at you and you just needed to smile and battle through with gusto. She’d never been a presenter before, but here she was presenting. She turned the corners of her lips even higher.

  “Stop!” shouted the woman. “You’re smiling like a Cheshire cat!”

  “I’m happy to be here.”

  “You need to be deadpan until you’re introduced!”

  Camila shook her head. “The co-presenter’s always half-smiling when they’re not talking.”

  “You’re not a co-presenter!”

  Harriet cut in. “You could be though. I like your work. I can sense your positivity next to me.”

  Camila nodded. “Why thank you.”

  “What are you two doing?” continued the woman, before seemingly remembering who she was addressing. “Sorry, Harriet, but we need to get this segment filmed. I’m heading over to Barry Maddison’s next.”

  Camila gasped. “Barry Maddison’s taking part in this?”