‘Classic overachiever.’ I can almost hear another rolling her eyes.
‘So when’s she leaving?’
‘End of next week. Apparently management have pretty much chosen her replacement. Reckon there’ll be an announcement later today . . .’
My heart hammers at the words, hands shaking as I make my coffee. I want to wait, to see what else they have to say, but I know they’ve clocked me listening in. Turns out it’s hard to be invisible when you’re over six foot. Let’s hope the management team have noticed me too.
When I return to my desk, Makena’s still nowhere to be seen. I need to talk to her right now. If the chatter in the break-out area is anything to go by, there are some rumours flying around, and when it comes to office gossip, Makena is the queen.
Eve: Still with lover boy? I need you in the office ASAP. New role. Red alert.
A buzz from her desk draws my attention to her abandoned phone. So she’s already here. Okay, it’s fine. They won’t make the announcement today; surely they need to shortlist and interview first?
Switching on my computer, I scan my emails, but there’s nothing out of the ordinary: a stack of messages from PRs, and a few new pitches approved: The Hottest Nail Varnishes This Season. How to Stop a Spot Before It’s Begun. Top Ten Online Dating Rules. Just a brief scan of the rules tells me that Becky and I have broken most of them. Although saying that, our message ploy seems to be benefiting everybody but me. But I don’t need that distraction any more. I’ve been far more focused since Becky and Tom have been up and running, and chatting to Max reminded me about what matters most. Using my own backstory as fuel for the fire, propelling me into a purposeful future that is only days, hours, even minutes away.
‘I’m here,’ Makena says next to me, reading the message I’ve just sent to her out loud.
‘Oh crap.’ I press my hand to my heart. ‘You made me jump!’ It isn’t like Makena to be subtle, sneaky. But I didn’t hear her slide into the desk beside me.
‘Sorry, Eve,’ she says, and as I turn to her, she seems a little sad. Like she’s sorrier for something far bigger than surprising me. I’m sure it’s nothing serious. Between me and Makena it rarely is; our friendship is too tight to sweat the small stuff.
‘Did you hear the rumours?’ If any question can get her going, it’s this.
‘No?’ She looks like a deer in the headlights. But she usually knows everything.
‘Apparently they’re making an announcement about Angela’s replacement soon.’
‘Oh, right.’ Why does she look worried? Does she not think I’m going to get it? That they’ve decided to go with Taren all along? Note to self: do not jump to conclusions, Eve. One thing at a time.
‘Makena?’ She’s usually so vibrant. ‘Is everything okay?’ She struggles to look at me, and when she finally does, her eyes are swimming with tears. What the hell? ‘Oh shit, what’s the matter? Is it Ajay?’ She’ll be devastated if they break up.
‘It’s not Ajay.’ She sighs, a single tear falling down her cheek. Then what? ‘Eve.’ She reaches a hand to rest on my knee, our chairs now just inches apart. ‘It’s Angela’s role.’
‘Oh crap, no.’ My heart is hammering. They’ve interviewed already? They’ve given it to someone else? I take off my jumper, temperature rising. Just breathe, Eve, breathe. ‘They’ve given it to someone else?’ I ask, and slowly Makena begins to nod.
Crap, crap, crap.
‘But they haven’t even interviewed for it, have they?’
‘They did some last week.’ She’s actually crying now. They what? But how did I not know? And if Makena knew, why didn’t she tell me?
I can’t help the tears that are filling my own eyes. Sweat prickling on my skin. Heart throbbing in my chest. Vision becoming blurrier. My surroundings feeling less and less real. All the symptoms I love when I’m running somewhere feel like dread when I’m fixed to the spot. The same damn spot I’ve been trying to move on from for years.
‘Yeah, I wasn’t sure whether you’d got an interview and just wanted to keep it quiet.’
Why would I keep it quiet? But then there’s so much else I’ve decided to keep that way: Tom, my dad. Never this, though. This is the only thing I’d let myself shout from the rooftops.
‘And now you think they’ve filled the role?’ My role. It was meant to be mine.
‘I know they have.’ Makena pulls herself together, wiping away a stray tear.
‘Taren?’ I ask, dreading the answer.
‘No.’
No? Not Taren? Then who? It was only ever him and me.
‘Me.’ Makena’s hand on mine burns red hot. ‘They gave it to me.’
‘Eve? Eve?’ I can hear Makena hammering on the toilet door along the corridor. The sound fades into the hammering of my heart, throbbing against my too-tight chest. Makena? They gave the role to Makena? But that means she applied for it without telling me. That she interviewed for it without me knowing. That she listened to me chatting on and on about how that position was made for me. And she just stayed silent.
Sitting on the toilet lid, legs shaking, head in my hands, I try to calm my breathing. Breathe in, breathe out. But the walls feel like they’re closing in, stealing all the air from my lungs. It was just a job. It was just a job. It was just a job.
But it wasn’t just a job. It was the step up I needed to validate everything I’ve built, to show that the single-mindedness I’ve cultivated all this time was worth it. Worth every mile I’ve run in the morning. Every article I’ve written late into the night. Every date I’ve turned down. Every urge to contact my dad that I’ve ignored.
Becky thinks I’m a girl-boss, that I’m smashing it at life. So does Max. Buying my bullshit about taking all my broken bits and using them to build something bigger, better for myself. Tom even fell for the bits of me I managed to bring into Becky. And all this time I’ve just been lying to myself.
Fumbling in my pocket, I hold my phone in my hands, searching for a lifeline. Headspace won’t cut it this time. No app able to fill the void. Note to— Oh what’s the point? Datespace? It was only ever a distraction. A distraction from fixing my eyes on the prize. From seeing Makena sweep in to take my space. I don’t want to see her now. Becky? I can’t. She’ll be teaching, thriving at work like she’s thriving at home. Her parents? They were never mine in the first place.
I scroll to my dad’s number, reading the digits. Tears stream down my face and scatter across the screen. I need family right now. Someone to be there to remind me what I know in my heart but have never had the strength to say: yes, I want to write stories that matter, but I want to matter to someone else more.
As soon as I dial the number, I hang up.
To love is to be vulnerable.
I wanted this step up at the newspaper more than anything. And look where that got me. No, I can’t let him in. Not until I’ve got my shit together. Otherwise I’ll start building my life on him again just to have him let me down once more. Relationships work for some people. Like Becky and Tom. Man, I want to message him now. To lose myself for a while. The best parts of me and the best parts of Becky bouncing off the best parts of him. Why do I always want what I can’t have?
Maybe this is my lot. A supplementary woman writing supplementary content. Being supplementary to everyone’s lives. Happily enough.
The phone vibrates in my hands: Dad? But then the message flashes from the screen.
Max: Hey, Eve. Tom gave me your number – hope you don’t mind. He mentioned it might be a big week at work for you. Just wanted to wish you luck. M x
I reread the message, longing to wind back time. To unsay all the things I said about this role and the stories and the reason I wanted to rise. None of it matters now. My tears fall into the silence, colliding with Max’s message.
Chapter Twenty
Max
&nb
sp; Becky: Morning! How were your sessions? Confession: I’ve not got out of bed yet.
Becky: Sorry, me again. Finally up! Want to do something later on?
Becky: Assuming you’re busy but would be good to know if we’re on or not. Eve’s a bit down and if we’re not hanging out I’m going to try and cheer her up.
Becky: Tom?
Yvonne: So good to see you at the gym this morning. Was nice to finally talk. Made me realise how much I’ve missed it.
Yvonne: And by it, I mean you.
Yvonne: I’m out in Tooting. Fancy a drunk?
Yvonne: DRINK, dammit. Stupid autocorrect.
Yvonne: But I am drunk. So I guess the question still stands.
Yvonne: Oh God. I’m so sorry for the drunken texts last night. Any chance you fancy helping nurse my hangover over a coffee? It’d be good to talk. X
‘Fancy doing something today?’ I look over at Tom, who is busy typing on his phone, his smile as wide as the first time he and Becky started messaging. Well, Becky and I. I can’t believe that was three months ago. Since then, the two of them have been getting stronger. And I’ve been forcing my feelings for her further inside, nestled in close to my anxiety about the future, my regret from the past.
‘I can’t, mate, sorry.’ He barely looks up. ‘Heading out for a coffee.’
‘With Becky?’ I ask, but I already know the answer. He’s always with Becky. But then again, he seems pretty busy at the gym recently. And he mentioned something about Becky’s school preparing for SATs, so I guess she’s busy too. I’ve not seen her around the flat since last week, which in part is a welcome relief, though another part of me kind of misses having her here. Damn it. Don’t think about Becky.
‘Could invite Eve and make it a foursome?’
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret it, knowing Tom will latch on to any mention of Eve.
‘Sorry, mate,’ he says, serious for a moment. Did he not hear what I said? Unless the thought of me dating someone while trying to organise Peggy’s Walk is so far-fetched that he isn’t even bothering.
‘What’s up, dude?’ I ask, sitting up a little straighter.
‘Nothing.’ Tom shrugs, stashing his phone and getting up, ready to leave. It’s only then that I realise he’s been on his work phone. He must be really busy at the gym. He only uses that phone to talk to clients.
‘I know when you’re lying,’ I say, hoping he doesn’t think the same about me. Haven’t I been lying to him about Becky all this time?
‘Okay, well don’t freak out.’ He turns to face me, and for a moment I’m scared of what comes next. Freak out about what? He knows I’m not good at surprises. ‘But I’m not meeting Becky.’
What? Then who?
‘I’m meeting Yvonne.’
‘Yvonne?’ I repeat, not meaning my voice to rise an octave.
‘I told you not to freak out.’ Tom shakes his head, forcing a smile. ‘It’s no big deal.’
‘Dude, it’s Yvonne,’ I say. ‘It’s always a big deal.’ Their whole relationship was a big deal. Massive highs, huge lows, big break-ups, big make-ups. And then the final break-up followed by the worst down I’d seen Tom go through. Until a little woman called Becky came into our lives and made it all better. ‘Why?’ I ask the one question that Tom’s trying not to ask himself.
‘She approached me at the gym a week or so back,’ Tom explains, like he wasn’t asking for this to happen. ‘And we just started chatting and I wondered whether there was something there still. But obviously I’ve been seeing Becky—’
‘You’ve been seeing Becky a lot,’ I say, not entertaining any downplaying of it.
‘So I didn’t go chasing it, but then Yvonne drunk-texted me a couple of times. I’ve been trying to ignore it, but I think there are still feelings there . . .’
‘But I thought you liked Becky?’ Otherwise why the hell have I been feeling so awful for liking her too?
‘I did,’ Tom says, before correcting himself. ‘I do. It’s just, we’ve been struggling to keep the momentum going a bit, like we’re running out of things to talk about.’
‘You could have asked for my help?’ I say, not meaning to sound so hopeful.
‘Yeah, but you can’t keep making me out to be the perfect guy forever,’ Tom objects.
‘I wasn’t—’
‘And this is Yvonne.’ He smiles again and I want to wipe that silly grin right off his face. Not that it was much easier to handle when the woman who caused it was Becky, but she really seems to like Tom. And the thought of him upsetting her now is even worse. ‘She likes me for me.’
‘Yeah, until she doesn’t any more.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Tom asks abruptly. I’ve clearly hit a nerve.
‘You know what it means, dude,’ I say, trying to soften my voice but feeling an anger I’ve boxed in somewhere starting to rage within me. I’m not sure who I’m more angry at. Tom for threatening what he has with Becky, Yvonne for being the bombshell or me for caring for Becky so much that I’m just too damn invested in making sure she doesn’t get hurt. ‘Yvonne’s great and everything, but she’s never been sure what she wants. You thought she was all in last time, until she slept with that other PT.’
‘Yeah, but that was my fault.’ My eyes widen in disbelief. How the hell was that his fault? ‘We never put a label on what we were. I thought we were more serious than Yvonne did, so technically it was just a miscommunication.’
‘Well how about you and Becky? Where are you guys at now?’
‘We haven’t discussed it.’ Tom sighs. ‘But she’s been a bit off this week.’ No she hasn’t. I’ve seen Tom’s personal phone, discarded on our coffee table, lighting up with messages from her all week. I just assumed he’d replied when I wasn’t around.
‘Okay, great, so you’re just going to do to Becky exactly what Yvonne did to you? Play the “we didn’t put a label on it” card?’
‘I’m not playing any card, Max.’ Tom shakes his head, clearly getting more and more frustrated. ‘I’m just following my heart. Something that a guy who reads as much romance as you doesn’t know all that much about.’
Ouch, that was uncalled for.
‘So you’ve told Becky this? That you’re following your heart all the way to coffee with your ex?’
‘No,’ Tom admits, a flash of sadness darting across his face. I know he likes Becky; they seem happy together, even when it makes me feel anything but. ‘But I will.’
I want Tom to be happy. I want Becky to be happy too.
‘You’re going to regret it, dude.’ I shake my head. I might not know much about following my heart, but I sure as hell know what it means to regret not doing it.
‘No, I won’t.’ Tom stiffens, his expression serious. ‘Yvonne says she’s changed her mind.’
‘But she’ll change it back again.’ I shake my head. ‘I promise you she will.’ I’m sure Yvonne can be lovely, to her friends, to her family, to a man she’s set her heart on. But she hasn’t set her heart on Tom, not now, not then. If she had, she wouldn’t have broken his in the first place. ‘Then when things come crashing down with her, you’re going to wish you’d kept it going with Becky.’
‘So what are you saying, I shouldn’t end things with Becky?’
‘Yes.’ I nod. ‘And you shouldn’t start things with Yvonne.’
‘Well I’m not doing that,’ Tom snaps, shaking his head, defiant and delusional, as he begins to pace the space between us.
‘Women like Becky don’t come along every day,’ I say, and I’ve never been more sure about anything.
‘Well if you like her so much, why don’t you go for it?’ Tom spits, his clenched jaw, his clenched fists telling me this is far from a blessing. He wouldn’t be okay with it. Because he likes her, he really does. He’s just blindsided by Yvonne. �
�It’s your personality she fell for anyway.’ He throws his personal phone towards the sofa cushions beside me.
‘That’s not true,’ I say. It can’t be true. Because if that’s the case, why has she spent the last three months with Tom? Star-crossed lovers are less romantic in real life. Turns out they’re just really fucking sad. And if Tom ends this for Yvonne now, there’ll be two more broken hearts in the world. ‘Please don’t do this, Tom.’
‘I’ve got to go,’ he says, struggling to hold eye contact, as if even he knows this is a bad idea. Like deep down he knows he’s going to regret it. ‘If you want to message Becky from me, keep things ticking over until Yvonne changes her mind, be my guest.’ He looks upset now, upset that I don’t have his back. Why can’t he see that I do? ‘But don’t blame me when you end up hurting her even more. I know you’re far too high and mighty for anything like online dating, but sometimes letting something dwindle naturally is the kindest thing you can do.’
‘Or you can just shag someone else and break their heart instead?’ I say as he turns away, his huge frame heading towards an even huger mistake. ‘You know what that feels like, right, buddy?’
He turns back to look at me, shoulders squared, eyes filled with fire. For a moment I think I’ve got him, that he might come to his senses. But then he opens the door and is gone, and the next thing I hear is his phone buzzing with a message demanding to be read.
Becky: Tom, what’s going on? I’ve barely heard from you all week.
Becky: And I really don’t want to believe this, but I can’t help wondering whether it’s because we finally slept together.
Becky: Please tell me you’re not just another guy who finally got what he wanted?
I look down at the screen, reading and rereading Becky’s messages and wishing I could erase them from my memory all at the same time. What the hell is Tom playing at? This is so out of character for him. But then again, isn’t it me who’s been playing the character of Tom all along? At least everything I said just now was truthful. Yvonne is going to change her mind. Or cheat on him. Either way, she’s going to break his heart. Again. And now Tom is breaking Becky’s.
What Are Friends For?: The will-they-won't-they romance of the year! Page 19