by Lindsey Kelk
‘Exactly,’ she replied, opening a new slide, her long nails clacking across my keyboard. ‘“Why Spencer Media needs Gloss”.’
‘Cici Spencer, I don’t know how I would manage without you,’ I declared, stunned by my own words.
‘Took you long enough,’ she muttered in response. ‘Now, can we get this done so I can get the hell out of here, please? Unlike you, I have a life.’
I nodded in agreement. Not because she was right, but because it just wouldn’t do for us to be nice to each other for more than five minutes at a time.
It was so late by the time Cici and I spilled out of the office and into our cabs, Times Square was almost deserted. The neon madness had already slowed down, animated billboards stood static and the brightly lit marquees of the theatres had all gone dark. I texted Jenny to let her know I wasn’t coming home. Working with Cici had given me new life and new life required a new outfit. The exact outfit that was hanging in my wardrobe back in Park Slope. My black leather pencil skirt, my black silk shirt and the little black Saint Laurent ankle boots that were covered in silver glitter stars. Jenny had ‘acquired’ them from a photoshoot the winter before, but they were too big for her. I was certain they would fit my swollen feet and wearing a grand’s worth of designer goods on my feet would certainly help boost my confidence while I explained to Joe just how stupid he would have to be to close Gloss.
As my cab rattled down FDR Drive, hitting every pothole possible, I gazed out on the Brooklyn skyline that awaited me across the East River. Manhattan still towered above me, threatening to swallow me whole as we looped around on ourselves and rolled over the Brooklyn Bridge. I was tired but I was happy. The presentation was good and I knew it. Tomorrow was still going to be interesting, but at least I was going in with a better than fighting chance.
We rolled up outside the house a little after one and the street was silent. There were hardly any lights in any windows on our block. Someone had lied: New York was definitely sleeping. Inside, the apartment was the same, comforting mess I had left it – piles of clothes and notebooks everywhere I looked and an empty packet of Hobnobs on the coffee table. I took a quick look in the kitchen and saw the Hello Hole had been completely covered and my floor was spotless. The murderous builder’s work was done.
Peeling off my ankle boots, I automatically turned on the TV just as an episode of Law & Order: SVU began. I closed my eyes happily and hummed along to the music, thanking the TV gods for rewarding my long and stressful day.
And then I heard the toilet flush.
‘Oh. My. God,’ I whispered, my hands creeping up to my own throat and covering my mouth.
There was someone in the house.
I heard the footsteps coming closer to the living room but I couldn’t move a muscle. This was not a drill, this was not paranoia, there was someone in my house, and to add insult to injury, they’d just used my toilet. It had to be the homicidal builder.
‘And they flushed,’ I told Detective Benson on the television. ‘Forensics won’t be able to get DNA evidence from the lav if they flushed.’
The familiar creak of the floorboard in the hallway told me they were right outside the door. There was nowhere to go, nothing to do but hide or fight. I looked all around, assessing possible weapons. Biscuit wrappers, Cheez-Its, dirty tights, my old Jimmy Choos. I closed my eyes and swallowed, adrenaline surging through my veins. If I could distract the murdery builder, because it was obviously him, maybe I could run out the front door, lock him inside and scream bloody murder until someone called the police.
A shadowy figure appeared in the doorway before I could make a run for it. I saw the outline of a beard and a startled look in his eyes as he noticed the TV and then me.
‘Get out of my way!’ I screamed, hurling shoes, tights and packets of Cheez-Its in his direction as I charged towards the door with a blood-curdling war cry. I was not going down quietly. The neighbours had given my keys to the psycho in the first place, the least they deserved was a poor night’s sleep.
The intruder dodged the cheesy snacks but my Jimmy Choo hit him squarely between the eyes. His legs crumpled underneath him and I saw my chance as he dropped down to one knee and kicked him squarely between the nuts and ran for the door. Before I could get anywhere, he reached out and grabbed my ankle.
‘Angela,’ he gasped.
‘Please don’t hurt me!’ I screamed, closing my eyes and wrapping my hands around my belly, hopping on one foot to stop myself from falling over, not stopping to wonder how he might know my name. ‘I’m pregnant!’
‘What?’
I opened one eye to see a hairy, confused version of a man who looked just like my husband staring up at me.
‘Alex?’ I whispered.
He nodded, shock all over his face.
‘What did you just say?’ he asked, still carefully guarding his balls with one hand and hanging on to my ankle with the other.
‘So, I’ve got some news,’ I said, my heartbeat thudding in my ears. ‘We’re having a baby.’
Alex let go of my leg and wiped a hand over his face, blinking at me in silence.
‘Are you serious?’
‘Almost twelve weeks serious,’ I said, reaching out to touch his beard. Gross. It was really him.
‘A baby?’ He tentatively released his nads and looked at my stomach. ‘You’re pregnant?’
‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘And please don’t say it doesn’t look any different, because it definitely does, and it wasn’t funny when Jenny said it either.’
‘Angela …’ Alex rolled forward onto his knees, covering my mini bump with both hands. ‘We’re having a baby?’
‘I know, I’ve had more time to get used to it than you,’ I said, laughing at the look of shock on his beardy face and kneeling down on the floor beside him. ‘One hundred per cent real human baby, cooking up in this oven. Oh, and it’s definitely yours, by the way. In case you were wondering.’
And there were the tears again. Alex pressed his mouth against mine, kissing me so hard. It felt new, strange in a good way, he’d been gone so long and I couldn’t stop myself from joining in with a little sob. Even while he kissed me, even as his hands became caught up in my long hair, his beard scratching my hot face, I wanted to be closer to him, on him, with him. I needed him inside me. I clambered up into his lap, desperate to feel his entire body against mine.
‘I missed you so much,’ I said as I yanked his T-shirt over his head and ran my hands down the strong muscles in his lean back.
‘I missed you too,’ he replied, pushing my sweater dress up around my hips and tearing at my tights. ‘Every goddamn day.’
We fell backwards, arms and legs moving without thinking until we were nestled between the settee and the coffee table, his jeans somewhere else, my dress acting as a very expensive pillow. Alex paused, framing my face in his hands as he hovered above me.
‘We’re having a baby,’ he said, smiling.
And for the first time in a long time, it felt as though everything was going to be all right.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
‘You did such a great job taking care of the place while I was gone,’ Alex said, stroking my hair as I nuzzled up underneath his chin. My alarm clock was going to buzz at any second but I really, really didn’t want to get out of bed.
‘Thanks, I tried,’ I said into his armpit. He smelled disgusting and wonderful at the same time and I loved it.
‘No, you didn’t,’ he replied. ‘It looks like a shitstorm ran through here. Did you rent the apartment out to a homeless frat while I was gone?’
‘I missed you so much I couldn’t find the energy to clean,’ I said. ‘And the baby likes clutter. It feels more secure when there’s mess everywhere.’
‘Then it’s definitely your kid,’ he smiled.
His too-short hair had grown back and then some. It fell into his eyes, almost hitting his left cheekbone, and as a pale shaft of light sliced through the heavy bedroom drapes, it was almo
st like looking at him on our first date. I hadn’t realized how much longer his hair had been when we met, he must have been trimming it up millimetre by millimetre every day.
‘The baby wants what the baby wants,’ I said. It was thrilling to say it out loud. So much of the last few weeks had been spent trying not to say the ‘b’ word, now I could shout it from the rooftops. ‘The baby also likes ice cream, long hot baths, online shopping and monogrammed pyjamas from J. Crew.’
‘Why do I feel like I’m going to be hearing that a lot from now on?’ He pushed himself down the bed and rested his head on my stomach. ‘Alex, the baby wanted it. Alex, I did it for the baby.’
‘Funny you should mention that, because the baby saw a pair of Louboutins in Saks the other day and it was really, really keen.’
He rested a hand on the top of my thigh and held his breath. ‘How long until it moves?’ he asked. ‘Have you felt it kick yet?’
‘It most likely won’t kick for another few weeks, maybe even months,’ I told him as I rubbed his prickly beard. ‘For now, it’s just chilling out, making me hungry and emo and fat.’
‘You’re not fat,’ Alex argued. ‘You look amazing. And babe, don’t make me say it.’
He pointed up at my boobs and gave me a double thumbs up.
‘I have so much catching up to do.’ He pulled up my T-shirt and kissed my belly before turning his attention back to my face, via my enormous rack. ‘I can’t believe you let me disappear to Thailand while you were going through all this alone.’
‘Jenny was here,’ I replied, combing his hair back from his face. ‘I wasn’t alone.’
‘I can’t believe you let me disappear in Thailand while you were going through all this with Jenny,’ he corrected himself. ‘You should have told me, I would have been on the first plane.’
‘To help with Jenny or the baby?’ I asked, giving myself a quick sniff. He wasn’t the only one who needed a shower. ‘It wouldn’t have made any difference and you wouldn’t have seen all those amazing places. You’re not mad, are you?’
He scooched back up the bed, ran his thumb over my bottom lip, and then curled his hand around the back of my neck.
‘What did I do to deserve you?’ he murmured, weaving his legs through mine.
‘Something terrible,’ I replied, right as my clock began to bleat on the bedside table. ‘I don’t want to alarm you but you may have been Attila the Hun in a past life.’
‘Turn it off,’ he ordered, hands in places hands hadn’t been in such a long time. ‘Call in sick.’
‘I want to,’ I said, reluctantly pushing him away and sliding a pillow between us. Physical barriers were necessary. I felt like a horny sixth former on the back of the bus on the way home from a day trip to Alton Towers. ‘But I’ve got this big presentation this morning. There’s a new boss and, well, I didn’t want to worry you but they sort of might end up closing Gloss.’
‘What?’
Now he was awake.
‘How long has this been a thing?’ he asked, the concern on his face juxtaposed somewhat with the boner in his boxers.
‘I didn’t want to worry you—’
‘Angela Clark, if you say that one more time,’ he warned. ‘How serious is this? What about Delia? Why are you not freaking out?’
‘Because I’ve already freaked out,’ I explained as I clambered out of bed, hunting for the knickers I’d tossed out of bed while declaring I would never ever need them again as long as I lived. A declaration that lasted all of six hours. ‘Honestly, the whole thing is a bit creepy. The new guy keeps telling me how much they rate me and how I’m a superstar. It’s like he’s grooming me or something. I keep waiting for him to load the entire Gloss team into a van to see some puppies then drive us off into the Hudson River.’
‘You really think they could?’ he asked, wrapping his hand around my wrist.
‘No, not really,’ I said, yanking on my pants. ‘I think he might sack us all, but I can’t imagine drowning is actually a possibility.’
‘You know what I meant,’ Alex said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. ‘I hate that this has been happening without me here to help.’
‘Apart from worrying about losing my job, the constant urge to puke and cry, my dodgy blood pressure, not being able to drink, Jenny’s engagement followed by Jenny’s break-up, the complete and utter exhaustion, things haven’t been so bad,’ I assured him.
‘Same old, same old,’ he agreed, shaking his head and pulling me into his chest. ‘You know you’re going to kill it at this presentation today?’
‘Yes,’ I said, forcing conviction into my voice. ‘I am.’
‘And you know you’re going to be the best mom ever.’
‘Mum,’ I corrected. ‘Not mom.’
‘See?’ he said, kissing my forehead. ‘You’re already such a stickler for the details.’
I rested my hands on his shoulders and rubbed my face against his beard. I didn’t know how Jenny put up with this twenty-four seven from Mason, my skin was already itchy and red.
‘I’m so glad you’re home,’ I told him, pressing my lips against his in a loving-but-entirely-chaste-because-I-really-did-have-to-get-into-the-shower-or-I-was-going-to-be-late kiss.
‘Whatever happens today, it’s going to work out OK,’ he said. ‘We will figure it out.’
It was all I needed to hear.
Joe had asked me to give my presentation in Delia’s office, meaning, I assumed, that Delia would be there as well. At least it would be one friendly face to go with the irritatingly handsome and annoying one.
I sat in the waiting room, smiling politely at her assistant, bouncing my laptop on my knees while the clock ticked down towards nine. I hadn’t been up here since Delia got promoted. Her old office was nice, lots of pictures, big window overlooking Times Square, and a comfy leather settee in case you needed an emergency lie-down. Which I did. My morning sickness seemed to be worse when I was anxious and, as unlikely as it seemed, the idea of having to stand up in front of a man I didn’t like and explain why me and seventeen other people should keep their jobs made me feel antsy. I’d already puked twice and now there was nothing left.
‘Thanks so much, Caroline.’
Double doors opened and Joe emerged, shaking hands with Caroline Galvani, editor of The Look. I’d been so worried about losing my own job, my own magazine, my own staff, I’d barely allowed myself to think about the reality of Caroline losing hers.
‘Angela.’
She gave me a nod as she swept past, laptop under her arm, Manolos on her feet. We weren’t friends, but I’d always liked Caroline. She made a difficult job look easy and no one had a bad word to say about her. Maybe I wasn’t done puking just yet.
‘Hi.’
I looked back to see Joe waving.
‘Are you ready?’
‘Yes,’ I replied, gathering my bag, my laptop and my wits as the lift pinged to take Caroline back down to her floor. ‘I’m ready.’
She glanced over her shoulder as she stepped inside, her face drawn and grey, and showed me a tight, tearful grimace. This was horrible.
‘Then let’s do this,’ Joe said, holding the door open wide and inviting me inside. Caroline disappeared into the lift and I followed Joe into Delia’s office without looking back.
‘Wow.’
Joe tossed a pencil across the polished glass table and began to clap. Beside him, Delia smiled.
‘Just, wow.’
‘Just wow?’ I asked, flipping down the screen on my laptop. ‘That’s it? Great, I’ll go back down to my desk then.’
‘She’s so funny,’ Joe said to Delia, who nodded along happily. ‘It’s a British thing, right? They’re always funny.’
Delia had been almost entirely silent since the moment I walked into her ridiculously massive office. The new view stretched all the way up to Central Park and it was nice, but I really missed the little leather settee. This was not an office that lent itself to naps.
‘Must be something in the water,’ I replied, desperate to get out of there and back behind my own desk.
Even as I had delivered mine and Cici’s presentation, talking them through each slide, explaining why Gloss was the voice of the future at Spencer, why we had the most potential, the best connections, the greatest opportunities, all I could think about was the defeated look on Caroline’s face. By keeping my magazine open, I was talking someone else out of a job. Dozens of someone elses. The tiny crystal Christmas tree on the edge of Delia’s desk didn’t help. We were post-Thanksgiving and it was officially the most wonderful time of the year. Unless you were about to be made redundant.
‘You really spoke to the essence of the Gloss brand,’ Joe said, positively beaming. ‘I had you all wrong, Angela. This is fantastic work.’
‘All wrong?’ I asked. ‘How so?’
‘Anyone can write listicles and five hundred word features on what to wear next season,’ he said, tapping his blank notebook. He hadn’t written down a single thing. ‘You’re more than that, you have vision.’
Joe Herman, the king of the backhanded compliment.
‘What Joe is trying to say is you understand how to put together a good magazine and how to grow a brand,’ Delia clarified quickly. The look on my face must have been a picture. ‘It can be complicated, moving from editorial into corporate. You’ve delivered precisely what we wanted to see. That’s very difficult for some people, Angela. Most people, in fact.’
And it had been difficult for me. Impossible, actually. I hadn’t a clue what they wanted. But Cici knew.
‘Well, this is what you asked me to do,’ I said, looking down at my laptop. ‘You know how strongly I believe in Gloss.’
‘It was just fantastic work,’ Joe said, so enthused I was worried he might have an accident. ‘We have some things to discuss but I think we’ll be able to get back to you on this pretty soon, right boss?’
Eurgh, he called Delia boss?
‘I would say so,’ she agreed. ‘Joe, if you want to go, I’m going to chat to Angela for a bit.’