After a few seconds she looks back at her computer. ‘Thanks,’ she mutters, and the sense of triumph I experience is simultaneously uplifting and soul-crushing.
‘So . . . do you enjoy working here?’ I ask, taking a seat and hoping to engage her in conversation.
Except Dee doesn’t answer. You’d think I hadn’t even spoken. I glance round, wondering self-consciously if I’d only imagined voicing the words aloud.
‘Um . . . do you enjoy working here?’ I repeat, louder this time.
Dee says nothing at first then looks up, startled. ‘Oh! Were you talking to me?’ She scrunches up her nose so there’s a tiny, barely discernible line at the top.
‘I was wondering if you enjoy working here?’
She stares at me momentarily, then purses her lips into a funny little half-pout. ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve got a report to finish. I can’t stop and talk.’
At which point, she looks down and starts tapping again.
I search my desk, looking for paper clips to tidy, when the door bursts open and Lulu marches in. She heads straight towards me and I grin enthusiastically, eager to show eagerness. To tell her I’m raring to go. To demonstrate how willing and able and—
She sails right past me and swans into her office, slamming the door shut.
I bite my lip and decide to try to muster up some courage. I stand and head towards her door, knocking on it gently.
‘Come in!’
It is apparent from the second I enter that Lulu doesn’t want me there.
‘Yes?’ she asks. But not in a nice way.
‘Hi,’ I reply, determined not to be intimidated. ‘I was just wondering . . . well, is there anything you’d like me to do?’
She pauses from rifling papers on her desk and looks up. Then frowns. Then smiles.
‘Oh, this must be so frustrating for you!’ she says. ‘I’d hoped to have had some work lined up for you by now but I’ve been so busy on some pitches I’ve been putting together there hasn’t been time.’
‘Can I help?’ I offer eagerly.
She glances at her folder. Then looks up at me.
‘I think probably best not for the moment. Until you’ve had a chance to learn the ropes.’
‘Will there be an opportunity to start doing that soon?’ I ask.
‘Of course!’ she smiles. ‘I’ve got a packed diary this week and it’d be lovely if you could accompany me on some meetings.’
‘That would be fantastic,’ I say, relieved. ‘Are there any today?’
She turns to her online diary and starts flicking through it, considering each appointment, before dismissing it. ‘There’s one on Thursday that’d be ideal.’
‘Thursday. Okay,’ I say brightly. ‘So . . . what do I do until then?’
‘Oh, I’m sure you’ll think of something,’ she says breezily. ‘I really haven’t got time to sit down and start spoon-feeding you.’
‘No, I didn’t expect—’
‘Aha! I’ve got just the thing,’ she grins. She picks up a cup and offers it to me. ‘Tea. No sugar. And not too milky.’
To be fair to Lulu, I get to accompany her on a client meeting before she’d expected me to – when Thursday’s appointment is moved to the Tuesday afternoon. The visit is to a humungous pile of a house near Alderley Edge in Cheshire owned by the boss of a company that supplies Jacuzzis.
You can tell. Because if there’s one thing this place has got, it’s Jacuzzis. In virtually every room. It’s like Rhyl Sun Centre, without the slides. Unfortunately, what they have in spa appliances is not matched in taste.
Which is fine, obviously – that’s why we’re here.
As I walk through the door behind Lulu, my mind is bursting with ideas for the place; I’m thinking of soft furnishings, colour schemes, gorgeous quirky touches that would really bring it alive.
But what’s clear within a minute of me setting foot in here – from the fact that I’m not even introduced to the client – is that I have one purpose and one purpose only. To make Lulu look important.
Which I don’t mind. I mean, not at all – she’s the boss.
Only, in between my hovering around and carrying her pencil case, I somehow drop what’s clearly a major clanger.
It happens when they’re discussing tiles in the kitchen. ‘They have some beautiful ones in Fired Earth,’ I pipe up. ‘They have a slight shimmer and I think they’d look amazing with the work surfaces you’re considering.’
Both Lulu and her client turn to look at me incredulously – their expressions so utterly disbelieving you’d think a passing Arabian camel had just knocked and offered to do the dishes.
Then they return to their conversation, clearly deciding it’d be best to pretend I either hadn’t spoken at all or, even better, didn’t actually exist.
That evening, as I find a seat on the train – desperate, for the second night on the run, to get home as quickly as possible – my phone rings and when I answer it I’m so grateful to hear Giles’s voice I almost tell him I love him.
‘Does Cally like the Yorkshire Dales?’ he says, thankfully before I have a chance.
‘Hmmm . . . everyone likes the Yorkshire Dales, don’t they?’
‘S’pose. Bit hilly for me, personally.’
‘How are things at work?’ I ask.
‘Oh, you know . . . Perry’s off his sodding head, we’re on the verge of missing another deadline for Channel 6 and the whole place is in danger of going tits up at any given moment. Why, do you miss us?’ he asks sarcastically.
And for once I can’t bring myself to answer.
Chapter 62
Part of my mission to complete the list involved giving my work and love life a shake-up. So the irony that neither is remotely on track isn’t lost on me.
‘At least you’ve seen the Northern Lights,’ Cally offers, when I stop at her house on the way home from the station.
‘True. It’s just my emotional and vocational lives that are a complete mess,’ I say, rolling my eyes.
Zachary bounces in from the living room and climbs onto a bar stool, catching his foot against a fraying piece of fabric. Cally’s house has changed dramatically since pre-Zachary days. She moved into it because she fell in love with the original tiling on the hall walls, the same tiling that’s now rarely without chocolate smeared all over it.
I have seen at first hand that maintaining even the most basic household standards is a battle with Zachary around. Trying to get the house to look like, say, that of an average childless couple would be a full-time job.
And Cally’s got one of those – a fairly demanding one at that. So there’s only one option: not to bother. The result isn’t exactly a scene of total devastation; it’s probably best described as a minor natural disaster on the scale of, for example, the eruption of Mount St Helens.
‘I can do magic!’ he announces proudly.
I put down my tea and feign surprise. ‘You can’t!’ I challenge him.
‘Can – look,’ he says with a grin, then he holds out two clasped – and clearly already empty – fists. ‘Choose one.’
‘Um . . . that one!’ I say, touching his left hand.
‘Ta-da!’ he replies triumphantly, and I pull a pretend ‘shucks’ face as he runs back into the living room.
I notice Cally is frowning at me.
‘What is it?’
She shakes her head and smirks. ‘Nothing. Look, let’s take one thing at a time. What’s wrong with the job?’
‘Oh . . . nothing, seriously. It’s been two days. I need to give it time, that’s all.’
‘Something’s obviously bothering you.’
I hesitate. ‘I thought I was taking a position as a trainee interior designer. Only, so far I’ve done no interior-designing and no training – and there appears to be none on the horizon either. I have absolutely no problem with starting at the bottom, by the way. I have no problem with making the tea. I’d just like to do something as well as that.’
‘The people are bitchy,’ I leap in. ‘And boring.’
‘Bitchy and boring? It sounds like the Big Brother house.’
I put my head in my hands. ‘They have celery instead of Hobnobs. Hobnobs are a banned substance.’
It’s clear that the Hobnobs are a defining factor – she is momentarily silenced.
‘Give it a couple of weeks. You might get used to it. And, bugger it – take in some Hobnobs. Start a revolution. It’s a breach of European legislation to stop you. It’s your sodding cellulite so you can do what you want to it.’
‘You’re totally right. It’ll all be fine. I’ve made the right decision. No doubt about it. Even if there are times when I’d give anything to hear Giles whinging again.’
I look up and realise what I’ve said. ‘Not that Giles is a whinger,’ I mutter. ‘Not much, anyway. He’s got lots of other lovely qualities.’
Cally laughs. ‘It’s all right, it’s not as though it’s going anywhere between me and him.’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘Oh no!’ she hoots, pouring some milk into a glass for Zachary. ‘Don’t get me wrong, he’s great fun. I mean, he really is. I haven’t had this much fun with a guy since . . . well, a long time.’
‘Zachary’s dad?’ I offer.
She shrugs. ‘I guess so.’
I bite my lip. ‘Do you ever think about trying to trace him?’ I ask.
‘Zachary’s dad?’ She takes a deep breath. ‘You know I thought about it when I found out I was pregnant,’ she replies, although the truth is I don’t think she thought very hard. ‘These days, it’d be impossible. I don’t even know his surname. Obviously, if I knew the guy I’d tell him about Zachary, even though it’d complicate things. Zachary’s growing up in a stable and loving environment and I’m doing the best I can by him. Things aren’t easy, but my mum’s started baby-sitting more regularly and . . . I’m not sure how much good it would do anyone.’
‘Have you thought about introducing Giles to him?’
She looks at me as if I’ve taken leave of my senses. ‘God, no!’
‘Why are you so certain it wouldn’t work out?’
‘You know I’ve always preferred blonds,’ she winks and takes the milk through to Zachary in the living room.
When she returns, she’s determined to steer the conversation to my love life. ‘So what’s going on with the gorgeous Rob?’
I swallow. ‘I’m going to dump him.’
‘Again?’
I tut. ‘I’ve only done it once before! You make me sound like a serial offender.’
‘Once, Emma, was plenty.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, the second you dumped him, you were consumed by what a big mistake you thought you’d made.’
‘But it’s not working.’
‘You said that last time. Before you said you missed him terribly and wished you hadn’t done it.’
I cringe. ‘Did I?’ I ask feebly, knowing full well I did.
‘Look, don’t get me wrong, you’re the one who’s got to sleep with him. You’re the one who’s got to put up with him proclaiming his undying love for you. You’re the one who’s got to go through the hell of being treated like a princess and—’
‘Are you telling me I shouldn’t break up with him?’
‘Of course not. If you’ve no longer got feelings for him, then that’s settled. You need to do it, no question. I’m simply reminding you what happened last time. If you dump him again, Emma, that really needs to be it. You can’t keep bouncing in and out of someone’s life like that – it’s totally unfair. And Rob’s lovely, he doesn’t deserve it.’
I sigh. ‘I know you’re right . . . it’s just . . .’
‘What?’
‘You know the trip to Iceland? And Matt? And . . .’
She stares at me as the penny drops slowly. ‘You’ve got the hots for Matt!’
I nod.
‘Oh, well, that puts a whole different perspective on things,’ she grins. ‘I can totally see you two together. Of course, the fact that he’s got three kids might not make you an ideal match but . . . the point is, he is gorgeous! So what happened in Iceland?’
‘Nothing,’ I reply, although attempting to stop Cally is like trying to put the brakes on a recently launched ballistic missile. ‘It’s complicated.’
‘Why? Did you flirt with him? You must have. Come on, what happened?’
I hesitate. ‘I did flirt with him. I did . . . hope something would happen, awful as that makes me.’
‘And?’
‘He told me he’s still in love with his wife.’
Cally’s grin vanishes instantly, as if she’s wiped it off with white spirit, leaving a sour pout in its place.
‘Do you have to look like that?’
‘Sorry, it’s just not the happy ending I was expecting to that little short story.’
‘Me neither!’
She looks at me sternly. ‘Emma . . . what is the fundamental rule of falling in love?’
I shake my head blankly. ‘That it conquers all?’
‘It’s never waste time on men who aren’t interested in you. Because lots of others will be.’
I bite my lip. ‘I think he fancies me a little—’
‘Of course he does – you’re attractive and he’s a man. But Emma, he’s told you – he’s told you to your face – that he’s in love with another woman. Forget him. This isn’t some challenge you’ve got to win. You can’t win. Stick to men who recognise you as the goddess you are.’
I blow my nose. ‘You mean Rob?’
‘Not necessarily. But maybe,’ she shrugs. ‘Don’t fall into the classic trap, as so many women do, of finding men who are unattainable the most attractive. There’s a minimum requirement you should expect the man in your life to meet, Emma.’
‘What’s that?’
‘That he thinks you’re the best woman on earth.’
‘Oh . . . why are you making this so hard on me?’
‘Sorree. If it’s any consolation, at least you haven’t got things as bad as poor Asha.’
‘Why, what’s going on?’
‘You need to talk to her, Emma. She never listens to me. She needs to get rid of that guy, and quickly.’
Chapter 63
It has now been over a week since I saw Rob and it’s starting to become obvious that my excuses are just that. I’ve simply got to go and see him, to do the right thing once and for all. I only wish I could accurately determine what the right thing is after the gargantuan spanner Cally threw in the works.
She was right about one thing, though – my predicament isn’t as bad as Asha’s.
So, I’ve arranged to go to Rob’s at eight thirty, but stop off first to see how Asha’s feeling.
She answers the door like she’s trying to pull it off its hinges with her bare hands. ‘Come in.’
‘Is everything okay?’ I ask tentatively, following her to the kitchen, where she picks up a knife and begins to bludgeon some basil leaves.
‘I used to be a feminist. What the hell happened to that? How did a woman who grew up reading Betty Friedan and listening to Ani DiFranco end up . . . a . . . a mistress?’
She spits the word out, like salt on her tongue.
‘Asha,’ I say, touching her arm. ‘Come and sit down.’
‘I need to make something to eat,’ she replies, going at the basil again so violently she ends up with a slimy splodge on the chopping board, like in that scene from Ghostbusters.
‘Don’t take it out on your dinner.’ I take the knife from her and lead her to the kitchen table.
‘What’s brought this on?’
‘Absolutely nothing.’ She looks up at me. ‘I mean, he’s still done absolutely nothing about leaving Christina. A
s terrified as I was, part of me thought that when her friend saw us, that might prompt him into action. He keeps saying he needs more time. And I feel like the bitch from hell for even asking him to act. But if he is going to do it, surely he needs to get on with it. I mean, I understood about Christina’s dad but that was ages ago and . . .’
She slumps back into her seat.
And for the first time since Toby came into her life, my thoughts on him are totally clear. She might love him. She might never love anyone like him. But, no matter how difficult Toby’s predicament is, one thing is certain: this is doing her no good at all.
It doesn’t matter that Toby is trying to do the best by everyone. He’s failing miserably. And if Asha allows it, this could go on for ever.
‘If it means anything, things aren’t simple between Rob and me either,’ I say. I don’t know why I feel the need to tell her about what’s going on with Rob. But when I’ve finished, her take is different to Cally’s.
‘You know what I think, Emma? I think Rob is absolutely gorgeous. If I had a boyfriend like him, I’d never want to let him go. He’s funny and sweet . . . I’ll be brutally honest: he’s fantastic.’
‘So you think I should stay with him?’ I say numbly.
‘No, Emma. You either feel it or you don’t. And if you don’t feel it, you can’t beat yourself up about it – you’ve just got to put everyone out of their misery.’
I sigh. ‘Asha, I think we both know what we need to do, don’t we?’
She snorts bitterly. ‘Are you suggesting we do a double dumping? An I’ll-do-it-if-you-will type of thing?’
I laugh, but I’m not feeling at all blithe. She continues before I get the chance to reply.
‘I don’t know about you, Emma – but my decision’s made.’
‘Are you doing it, Asha?’
She nods, her jaw tensing. ‘I’ve got to.’
I look out of the window as rain pelts against it. ‘Me too.’
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