I want to turn my life around. I want to be someone who’s going places. I want to pay off all of my debts. I want to make sure I’ve got a good, steady income and our own home.
Standing back, I admire my handiwork. ‘Do you think I’ve put enough up?’
‘Depends what you’re aiming for. You passed the bounds of good taste with those balloons, but you’ve not yet achieved Santa’s-grotto level.’
‘Then we need more.’ I delve into Mum’s boxes. A trio of white glittery reindeer statues that we bought together in Next a few years ago. Perfect.
That’s why I feel so very fortunate to have landed this position at Fossil Oil after such a long gap. Despite my parents’ assurances that any company would be lucky to have me, I’d been bruised by too many rejections and was terrified that my skills were just too rusty. Yet, despite my worst fears and insecurities, this time round I got a job quite quickly.
‘I only had five other interviews before I landed this job.’
‘Result!’
‘It’s been a steep learning curve, but I feel I’m holding my own here.’
‘Everyone likes you,’ Karen says.
Which is nice to hear.
‘The money’s good, the job’s fantastic. I’ve no complaints on that score …’
‘The only problem is that Tyler is very free with his hands and his smutty comments,’ she concludes.
‘Yes.’ I hug the biggest reindeer to me. ‘Now I’ve been given this chance, I want to really make something of myself.’ The last few years have been hell. Absolute hell. If it wasn’t for the love of my mum and dad and my darling daughter, I don’t know how I’d have survived.
It’s not been easy though. Who wants to go home to their parents at the age of twenty-nine, a single mum with a daughter in tow? They’ve been great though. The best. They’ve never once been judgemental about my poor choice of partner or the debts that are haunting me. And they’re the most perfect grandparents anyone could have. They’ve done nothing but lavish love on Mia. She, in turn, absolutely adores them. I know I’m lucky – incredibly lucky – to have their love and support. But there’s no escaping the fact that I’m back in the room I last inhabited when I was eighteen.
That’s why there’s no way on God’s earth I’m going to let some jumped-up little toad like Tyler Benson spoil it for me.
Chapter Two
The Fossil Oil offices are fabulous, befitting a company with money pouring out of its ears. When I first started working here, I felt intimidated just walking through the doors. The central glass-walled atrium is enough to take your breath away. It towers right the way through the building and there’s a bit in the middle that’s filled with an profusion of exotic plants. Splodgy artwork abounds – though most of it looks as if it has been daubed by Mia. There’s a lovely coffee shop in reception just for employees, and glass elevators whisk you up to the offices. Mine’s on the third floor, with a fab view over the cityscape of Milton Keynes. It’s wonderful. There’s a white desk and lime-green filing cabinets and I have it all to myself.
Yet, in truth I’d rather be out in the department with everyone else, where they have open-plan cubicles. Then Tyler Benson would have less opportunity to touch me up.
‘Is all this festive bling getting you in the mood for the Christmas party tonight?’ Karen asks, eyeing the reindeers suspiciously.
‘Yes. Deffo.’
Despite her disdainful glance, I deploy the trio of reindeers in a line along the windowsill and then look out over the city. The vast expanse of sky is heavy with the threat of snow. I wonder, will we have a white Christmas this year? Mia would love it. Last time there was really heavy snow at Christmas she was too small to enjoy it. This year we could be out there building snowmen together. No doubt her indulgent grandad will buy her a little pink plastic sledge – I’ve seen him eyeing them up in Homebase for weeks. It’s sad really, as that should be a job for her own dad; he has no idea what he’s missing out on by not having his child in his life.
The offices are stark, though, very minimalist, and didn’t feel very Christmassy. I do like to get a bit festive. I’m all for Christmas, despite the extra expense, which everyone could do without. It’s even more lovely now that I do it all for Mia to make it special for her. My mum and dad used to go all out for me and my brother at Christmas and I’ve sort of carried on the tradition.
‘I’ve never been to a posh do like this before,’ I confide to Karen. The Christmas party is being held at Wadestone Manor. I had a quick Google of it a few days ago and the place looks amazing. A big stately home in the middle of nowhere. ‘I’m not sure what to expect.’
‘The party’s usually OK. A bit boring. All the top bosses rock up so everyone has to mind their manners. Hopefully they’ll all go home early and we can let our hair down. It livens it up if you can cop off with someone in another department,’ Karen continues, even though I’ve only got half an ear on her chatter. ‘There’s no way I’m going home on my own tonight.’
I roll my eyes at her.
‘This year should be a bit better. We’ve all been nice little employees and made them lots of money so they’re putting on a big show for us. There’s a free bar too. Yay! It’ll make a change getting something back for once.’ Karen claps her hands together excitedly. ‘Look, I’ve had my nails done.’ She holds them out for me to admire. ‘I’m having my hair done later and I’ve got a new dress. It’s very A-list. I wouldn’t look out of place on a red carpet.’
‘I haven’t got a new dress.’ My old faithful LBD will be pulled out of the cupboard and pressed into service once more. ‘I’m having my hair done though.’ A rare treat.
‘You should get an up-do,’ she advises, piling her own mass of blonde hair on to her head and striking a pose. ‘Sexy.’
I’m not sure that ‘sexy’ is the look I’m going for. ‘Moderately attractive yet definitely unavailable’ is my goal, and I hope my hairdresser can do something with me. It might be an ask too far. The last time I bought conditioner it was from Poundland, and I can’t even remember when it ran out. Consequently I have the hair of Kate Middleton but without the gloss, bounce or insanely expensive celebrity cut.
‘I could give you the name of the woman who does my nails,’ Karen offers. ‘She’s a wonder. She might be able to squeeze you in later.’
I shake my head. ‘Can’t afford it.’
There’s no way I’d ever tell Karen the truth about the parlous state of my bank account. That’s my problem and mine alone. The nearest I’m going to get to a manicure is, if I’ve got five minutes to spare later, I’ll see if I can squeeze a bit out of one of the half-dozen used bottles of nail polish that are tucked away at the back of my drawer, supposedly out of Mia’s reach. Though I did recently come home to find Gramps sporting neon-pink nails and I’m sure it wasn’t because he has a secret side to him and likes to be called Geraldine at weekends. It had Mia’s stamp all over it.
To me, the office still seems under-garlanded and so I pull two more out of the box. Perhaps I should put some decorations in Tyler’s office as a sign of peace, but then I think he might take it as a sign of something else and decide against it. If anyone could misconstrue festive decorations as foreplay then it would be Tyler Benson. These concertina garlands are taking a bit of untangling and I suspect that’s because they’ve been in the loft since I was in nappies. Maybe longer. But vintage is the new contemporary, right?
Karen doesn’t seem to mind that I’m slightly distracted by my task and finally abandons her chair to stand and hand me drawing pins. I’ve obviously guilted her into being festive.
‘I got off with Kelvin Smith from Business Management last year,’ she says. ‘We had a high old time. Shagged me ragged for weeks. It was bliss. And, then, well …’ She twiddles her hair in her fingers. ‘You know what it’s like.’
I tut my sympathy, even though I haven’t a clue what it’s like. I can’t remember the last time I was shagged ragged – or eve
n dated anyone for more than a couple of nights. I’ve been resolutely celibate since Steve left.
I stretch up to pin my second tranche of garlands, on tiptoe on my desk. I want them criss-crossing the office, dipping nearly to head height in the middle. To make sure it exceeds all bounds of good taste, I add even more balloons. I must try to get a bit fitter. Clearly, running round after a four-year-old doesn’t count as cardiovascular exercise as I’d hoped. I’m out of breath after blowing up a dozen of these babies. They look nice though.
‘Retro tat’ is Karen’s considered verdict.
‘I don’t think you can be too tacky when it comes to Christmas decorations.’
Karen grimaces. ‘If you say so.’
I stand back on my desk, pleased as Punch with my handiwork. Now it’s starting to look a lot like Christmas. I wonder if Tyler would object to me playing a few Christmas songs in the office.
Then the man himself, my octopus boss Mr Tyler Benson, sales director of Fossil Oil, sweeps into the office and I feel myself automatically tense.
‘Good Christ!’ he exclaims. ‘What’s all this crap? Anyone would think it was Christmas.’
He’s a good-looking man, there’s no denying it. He’s in his early forties, I’d say. Always immaculately groomed. I bet his watch cost more than I earn in six months. He’s got closely cropped hair, which may be an attempt to disguise a burgeoning bald spot, and I suspect he really, really hates the sprinkling of grey that graces his temples. His eyes are steely grey like polished pewter and, try as I might, I can see no warmth in them. They are the eyes of a ruthless go-getter, a shark. Eyes that say ‘No one will stand in my way.’
‘Still, nice view,’ he quips and I can see him trying to get a sneaky look up my skirt.
I’ve taken to dressing like a frump since I’ve been working here. I’m usually all polo-neck jumpers and loose-fitting trousers, and I’m already regretting my choice of a skirt today. Any clothes that are remotely tight-fitting seem to push Tyler into overdrive. I wore a blouse once that showed a modicum of cleavage – we’re not talking Holly Willoughby here, just a smidge – but he drooled over me all day. I couldn’t wait to get home and change. Anything that has a hint of lace, even black tights, ankle boots – all of these things start Tyler dribbling. I’m learning fast. I used to have a maths teacher at school who’d go round all the girls, furtively stroking their backs as he pretended to help with a tricky bit of Pythagoras’ Theorem while surreptitiously trying to see who was wearing a bra and who wasn’t. I think it’s scarred me for life. And Tyler Benson just reminds me of him.
One day I’d like to come into work in a bustier, leather miniskirt, fishnet stockings and dominatrix stilettos. I think Tyler would spontaneously self-combust, and that would be an end to that. All I’d have to do was scrape the goo that remained of him from his desk and continue life gloriously ungroped.
Wherever I go, he seems to be right behind me, trying to cop a feel. It’s as tedious as it is intimidating. I spent too many years living with a control freak to let the same thing happen to me at work. Yet here I am, dressing not to please myself but to try to avoid Tyler’s roving eye. Today’s skirt is sensible tweed and down to my knee, but that doesn’t stop my boss from ogling.
I pull it down, embarrassed. He gives me a wink before turning to my colleague. ‘Hello, Karen. Chatting again? Haven’t you got any work to do?’
‘I’m discussing future strategy for outstanding accounts with Louise,’ she counters effortlessly, and I wish I could be so crisp with Tyler.
‘Looks like it,’ he says as he heads to his own office.
‘Tosser,’ Karen mouths and holds up her middle finger to his retreating back.
‘You’ve got Josh Wallace coming to see you,’ I say after him. But his door slams shut.
Karen and I both roll our eyes. I bury myself in decorations again. Would one of my mum’s singing Santas be too much?
‘He married Linda from Lubricants in September.’ Karen gives a wistful little puff of breath.
‘Josh Wallace?’
‘Nooo,’ she says, now annoyed by my lack of attention. ‘Keep up, Louise. Kelvin Smith.’ Karen brushes the end of her tinsel boa across her lips. ‘Mind you, I’ve got my eye on bigger fish. I don’t mind telling you, I wouldn’t say no to Josh Wallace. He’d better watch himself.’
Josh is Tyler’s right-hand man and, as Karen has informed me, one of Fossil Oil’s hottest men.
‘He’s definitely the blue-eyed boy of Fossil. He’s single, sexy and going places. Much like my good self.’ She polishes her nails on her tinsel. ‘If he stays in favour with Tyler – and that’s no mean feat – that man is destined for Great Things.’
And, at that very moment, the man we’re talking about arrives.
‘Hello, ladies,’ he says as he breezes in.
‘Josh.’ Karen flushes and smiles at him in a simpering manner. Her eyelashes go berserk, fluttering like a bat’s wings.
I can see why she finds him attractive. Of course I can – I might be celibate but I’m not blind. Josh Wallace has that rugged, rugby-player handsomeness. Big shoulders, bigger thighs. He looks sharp in his grey business suit and crisp white shirt, but that doesn’t disguise that underneath it he’s all muscle. His hair is fair and is swept back, curling slightly at his collar, totally against the grain of current fashion. His eyes are brown and warm and look compassionate. Certainly in comparison to Tyler Benson’s, anyway. He instantly gets extra Brownie points for not trying to peer up my skirt.
‘The decorations look great,’ he says. ‘They should let you loose on the rest of the offices, Louise.’
‘Thanks.’ I give Karen an I-told-you-so look.
‘Hi,’ he says, turning to my friend. ‘How are you, Karen?’
She pouts slightly. ‘I’m lovely thanks, Josh. How are you?’
‘Good.’
I climb down from my desk and he turns his attention to me once more. ‘I’ve got a meeting with Tyler.’
‘I’ll let him know you’re here.’ I buzz Tyler and inform him.
Josh is always on the road and I haven’t really got to know him properly yet. There have been any number of brisk, businesslike phone calls, but we’ve never had the time to do anything more than exchange polite pleasantries in passing. In the couple of months I’ve been here, I’ve done little more than see him whisking in and out of a meeting, or dashing along a corridor. The man seems to be in perpetual motion. This is the first social event I’ll have been to, so I haven’t seen him at any of the other things that have been organised. To be honest, bowling isn’t my bag.
Sometimes, he pops his head round my office door just to say hello and he seems nice enough. Once, in my first week, he brought me a chocolate-chip muffin from the canteen. What’s not to love? We’ve never found time for a proper chat though. In contrast to my boss, I only hear good things about Josh Wallace.
Karen twiddles her hair again as she coyly asks him, ‘Are you going to the Christmas party then?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Josh claps his hands together. ‘Big night out. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.’
‘Perhaps we can find time to have a drink together?’ Karen suggests.
‘I’d like that,’ he says. ‘What about you, Louise? Up for a drink at the party?’
‘Yes,’ I shrug. ‘Why not?’
Then Tyler flings open his door and comes to slap his deputy on the back.
‘Good to see you, Josh,’ Tyler says, all beaming smiles and bonhomie. ‘Good to see you.’
Josh glances back at us as he’s ushered away. ‘See you later, ladies.’
‘Wow.’ Karen lowers her voice even though they’re both now safely closeted in Tyler’s office. ‘A drink with Josh Wallace on the cards, hey? I haven’t even left the building and reckon I’ve scored.’ She pulls her fist to her waist in a hammer motion. ‘Get in there, girl! Woo-hoo! He is so at the top of my Must Have list. I’ve had a mega-crush on him for yonks.’
&n
bsp; I’ve already come to know that this means about two weeks in Karen’s fickle book of office flirtations.
‘Fit or what?’ She fans herself theatrically. ‘I am so going to get me some of that at the Christmas party.’
I laugh. ‘Really?’
‘You just watch me.’
‘I don’t think I’d ever mix business with pleasure. You know what they say: “Don’t get your honey where you get your money.”’
She’s aghast. ‘What miserable bugger said that? There’s nothing better than a little work-based affair.’
‘What happens when it all goes horribly wrong?’ I caution. ‘You’ve got to face them in the office every day. Look what happened to Knicker-Dropper Debbie.’
‘She was playing way above her pay grade,’ Karen counters.
‘Don’t do anything too reckless.’
‘Reckless?’ Karen gives me a look. ‘Chance would be a fine thing. If I were a betting woman, I’d have a pound on tonight being as dull as ditchwater.’
Chapter Three
Kirsten was going to make an effort this year. A big effort. She swore it to herself. Again. Yet the truth was that she’d attended far too many of these functions to enjoy them any more. But for Tyler’s sake she’d do her wifely duty and put on a good show.
She always dreaded corporate functions now, and the office parties were the very worst of the worst. They were usually so stilted: the staff couldn’t relax as they felt they should be on their best behaviour with all the bosses around. She could only hope tonight’s Christmas party would be a bit more fun and would get her in the festive mood.
She hated Christmas. It never felt like a time of celebration. For her, it marked the end of another year of her life. A life that, no matter what she did, felt as if it no longer belonged to her.
Kirsten sat in front of her dressing-table mirror. Tonight, she’d pin on a smile and be bright and vivacious. It was something that used to come naturally to her, she thought, and she was determined to find that person again before she lost all sight of her.
The Christmas Party Page 2