by Lindsey Kelk
‘Yeah, I don’t think so,’ I told him, glancing down at the open wound on his knee. ‘They can wait ten minutes. I’d prefer to know you didn’t bleed out on the way if it’s all the same to you.’
With half a smile on his even paler than usual face, Alex rested one arm around my shoulders, keeping the other hand on the handle of the pushchair while Alice sang happily to herself, entirely unmoved by the drama unfolding around her.
‘Angela Clark,’ Alex said, hobbling down the street, very, very slowly. ‘What did I do to deserve you?’
What did I do to deserve this? I replied silently as I spotted the puff from my lost-forever Chanel powder compact, blown up into the air by another passing car. It certainly felt like punishment for something but – oh, wait a minute.
‘This isn’t exactly the time for it,’ I said, sliding my arm around my husband’s waist and staring up at the sky. Someone up there was taking the piss. ‘But when you get home, if you could add Perry Dickson to the guest list for the show, that would be grand.’
‘Sorry I’m late,’ I called, emerging out of the lifts at Besson forty minutes later. ‘Minor emergency, crisis averted.’
Cici, Kanako and the rest of the editors were sitting around the crystal conference table. One by one, they each turned to look at me, all of them with the same expression on their faces.
‘So, this is Alice,’ I said, pointing to the baby hanging from my chest.
Alex and I had made it to the walk-in clinic, only to find out there was a two-hour wait to see a doctor. Convinced he wouldn’t survive a trip to the emergency room at the hospital down the block, I agreed to pop on the papoose, take Alice to my meeting then jump in a cab to come back and collect him once they’d strapped him up. The intake nurse had assured me he’d be fine and quietly promised they’d keep him in what she referred to as the Man Flu wing until I returned.
I hated the papoose, Alice just hanging there, arms and legs waving wildly, bursting out of my chest like the alien in, well, Alien. And, as someone who went arse over tit more often than the average bear, it didn’t feel safe.
‘She doesn’t look like you at all!’ Cici said, almost smiling as I found a seat at the table. ‘Are you sure she’s yours?’
‘Unless they pulled a watermelon out of me and then switched it with this, yes, I’m pretty certain,’ I replied. I pulled out a bag of rice crackers and handed one to Alice, praying to anyone or anything that might be listening that she would be quiet through the meeting.
‘And why is she here?’ she asked. Besson Media was supposedly a parent-friendly workplace. It said so on our website! We were even getting a crèche! Just not before Cici got the executive spa I’d heard her discussing with the building owners the day before.
‘It’s a long story,’ I said, forcing a smile onto my face. ‘But the short version is, my handbag broke then Alex fell over and I had to take him to the doctor for an X-ray and the wait was so long I couldn’t leave her there and I didn’t want to miss the meeting and, actually, that’s the whole story. Sorry.’
‘Thanks for making me wish I hadn’t asked,’ Cici replied. ‘Will it behave?’
I looked down at my little girl who looked back with an angelic smile.
‘I reckon we should just get started,’ I replied, committing to nothing.
‘Fine,’ Cici said, never taking her eyes off Alice. ‘I have an appointment in the city in an hour so I’ll keep this brief. We’ve hired someone to manage the day-to-day running of all your sites. She’s going to be overseeing content, developing new ideas, that kind of thing.’
According to the panicked murmurs and uncomfortable glances that ran around the table, no one else had been informed of this change in command.
‘I’ll still be here,’ Cici added, even though she was already mentally gone from the meeting, scrolling through emails on her phone as she spoke. ‘But once she starts in two weeks, you’ll all report into our new vice president of content, Paige Sullivan.’ She turned and called out imperiously, ‘Paige?’
Cici Spencer was a good-looking woman, tall and slim with surgically perfected features, but even I felt myself go full goldfish when Paige Sullivan stepped out from the closest privacy pod. While Cici was a hot cross between a china doll and a bitch, Paige was absolutely lush. Long blonde hair fell around her face in loose curls, full lips painted old Hollywood red pouted at the room and her simple fitted black shift dress only emphasized the curves that made even married me question my sexuality.
She wasn’t only a taller, cooler, younger me. She was a blonde, British Jenny Lopez. Cici had found a way to clone me and my best friend and breed a new and improved version to replace us both.
‘Good morning,’ Paige said, joining Cici at the head of the table. ‘So great to meet everyone, I’m looking forward to booking in some one-on-one time with you all next week so we can get acquainted before I start properly. I think I recognize everyone, except for possibly the baby.’
‘She’s just interning for the day,’ I replied, scooping regurgitated crackers off the crystal desk before Cici could see them.
‘If anyone has time to chat now, I’ll hang around but, if not, I will book out some time in the diary and we’ll talk later on,’ Paige said, a friendly smile on her beautiful face. Immediately, everyone stood up, practically running back to their desks. Cici might be a brilliant CEO but she was not a talented manager. People did not like surprises in the workplace unless they were pastry-based.
‘I have to go,’ Cici said, dropping her phone into an alligator-skin Birkin. ‘So I guess I’m leaving you with Angela. She’s developing a new site right now but she used to be editor of The Look magazine at Spencer.’
I gave the pair of them a small salute to confirm these facts.
‘She also turned James Jacobs gay, accused me of abducting her friend’s baby and punched me in the face at a party one time.’
‘Happy memories,’ I said, a rictus grin frozen on my face. ‘Thanks, Cici. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
She stopped and stared. ‘Tomorrow?’
‘At your birthday party?’ I replied. ‘That is tomorrow, isn’t it?’
‘Yes but I didn’t invite you.’
There was absolutely no filter on the woman, none whatsoever.
‘Delia invited me,’ I said, methodically rubbing my hand up and down Alice’s front. ‘You know, your twin sister? With whom you share a birthday?’
With an actual out-loud groan, Cici rolled her eyes and gagged. ‘Really? I hate when she mixes business with my personal life. I’ve told her a thousand times, you don’t make friends with the staff. This is just like the time she took our old nanny to tea at The Plaza. Who cares if it’s her seventieth birthday? You know I can’t go there any more?’
‘Must be a nightmare for you,’ I said, wishing Alice could puke on command. In that moment, I’d have held her over those suede thigh-high boots without a second thought. ‘Should I return your gift?’
‘Angela, I’m sure your being at the party will be a gift in itself,’ she replied, jabbing the button on the bank of elevators as though she could will it to come faster. ‘Your appearances usually end in some kind of drama and I didn’t book entertainment.’
‘I know who you are!’ Paige said, as Cici melted away into the lift. ‘You’re Angela Clark!’
‘Oh god,’ I replied, squeezing Alice’s feet. ‘Is that a good thing or a bad thing?’
‘Actually, we have friends in common,’ Paige explained, sliding into the chair beside me and shaking one of Alice’s sticky fingers. ‘You know my friend Tess, Tess Brookes?’
‘Yes, of course, the photographer,’ I replied, relaxing right away. ‘I haven’t seen her in forever.’
I could not have been more relieved. If Paige was friends with Tess, no matter what wicked qualities she’d displayed to impress Cici so much, she couldn’t be all bad. Tess was one of the nicest people I knew so Paige had to be at least half decent.
�
�She’s helping me house-hunt,’ Paige said, one finger still trapped in Alice’s grasp. ‘Apartment-hunt, rather. I can’t believe how expensive flats are here. As much as I’m enjoying crashing at Tess’s place, I don’t think her boyfriend loves having me around.’
‘I don’t think boyfriends ever really do.’ I thought back to all the times Jenny had ended the night face down on my and Alex’s sofa. ‘If I hear of anything, I’ll let you know.’
‘It’s been a total whirlwind, getting the job, moving so quickly,’ she said, shaking her finger loose from Alice’s grasp. ‘It’s nice to know there’s going to be at least one friendly face when I get started.’
I glanced over my shoulder at the rest of the office, working hard to look as though they were working hard at their standing desks.
‘They’re all pretty nice once you get to know them,’ I said, before silently adding, ‘I imagine.’
‘I’m off to look at another walk-in wardrobe masquerading as an apartment,’ Paige said, checking her watch. ‘See you in a couple of weeks.’
I waved goodbye and she stepped into the lift, the doors sliding shut and whisking her away.
‘She was all right, wasn’t she?’ I said to Alice, handing her another cracker before helping myself to one. ‘I’m almost excited about working with her.’
For her, corrected the unhelpful voice in my head. You’ll be working for her.
‘Whatever,’ I muttered, heaving myself out of my chair with accompanying sound effects. ‘Shall we go and see if IT can lend us a phone?’
Blinking, Alice hurled her half-eaten rice cracker in my face.
‘Don’t give me that, you bloody love that phone,’ I muttered, picking the cracker off my stripy T-shirt and dropping it in the bin as I passed through the kitchen. ‘Although, if your dad asks, we definitely don’t do screens when he’s not watching.’
Truly, I was a terrible mother.
‘Look, I know we need to get back to the clinic but it’s been a very traumatic day.’
Alice looked up at me from her papoose, disapproval all over her face.
‘I’ve never noticed it before but you do have a look of your grandmother on occasion,’ I told her, looking away. It was one thing to be judged by other adults but it was quite another to get the side eye from your own infant.
Safely tucked away in the corner of Milk Bar on Metropolitan, I snaffled another mouthful of Milk Bar Pie under my daughter’s disapproving gaze.
‘It’s too sweet for you,’ I said, licking the gooey caramel filling off my spoon. ‘And Daddy doesn’t like you having sugar.’
She gave me a look as if to say he didn’t like her watching old episodes of Teletubbies on YouTube either but that didn’t stop me turning it on every time he was out the house.
‘That’s just as much for my enjoyment as yours,’ I told her with a sniff.
Even though I knew we should have gone straight back to the clinic and sat with Alex while he waited for his X-rays, the call of the Milk Bar Pie was too strong. Alice was too young for me to explain why but I made a mental note to ask her future therapist if this might have any lasting effects.
This was how I’d imagined New York motherhood. Café-hopping with my baby strapped to my body in an overpriced, ergonomic papoose and paying six dollars a pop for a slice of overpriced, hipster dessert. The two-dollar cup of weak tea I could do without but I was the one who chose to live in America and so we made do with what we had. Maybe we’d make it a tradition, I thought. Maybe we’d come here every week, sharing something sweet when she was old enough, until she was so big she wanted her own piece. Once upon a time I couldn’t have begun to imagine life with a baby. Now, I couldn’t even conceive of the fact that, one day, my baby would be a grown-up.
Staring out the window, I watched as people went about their day outside the café. Williamsburg had changed, grown up, and I wasn’t sure I liked it. Everyone looked like everyone else, all the originality chased out of the neighbourhood by developers with deep pockets. It was crazy to think what it would cost to live around here these days. The artists’ lofts had been replaced by skyscrapers, all the bars we used to go to chased out in favour of fancy restaurants with fourteen-course tasting menus. This city was a living thing, constantly changing, moving, growing. Today I was paying six dollars for a piece of pie but, a couple of years ago, I wouldn’t have wanted to walk down this street on my own.
Everything in New York changed so quickly. Most of the shops and restaurants in Union Square had either closed or moved in the last few years; Coffee Shop shuttered a year ago, Republic was gone and even the massive Toys ‘R’ Us on the east side of the square had shut up shop. But it didn’t matter, I realized as I patted myself down, making sure I still had my MetroCard, keys and wallet, bereft without my bag. New York was bigger than any one shop, any one restaurant. It wasn’t a middle-aged divorcé buying a sports car, shaving the hair off his bum and having it implanted into his scalp, it was the most thrilling, electric city on the planet and, when one door closed, seventeen more opened, even if they were a few subway stops further east and cost twice as much in rent.
The phone I’d borrowed from the not-at-all-happy IT team at Besson rattled across the table, pulling me out of my moment. Setting down my fork and rubbing my hands on the legs of my jeans, I swiped at the screen to see who had tracked me down on WhatsApp, expecting Alex’s photo to fill the screen.
Perry bloody Dickson.
Alice began to fuss as the phone continued to buzz. My heart told me not to answer but my head was convinced Perry wasn’t the kind of woman to take no for an answer and I was terrified if I didn’t pick up the call I’d find her waiting on my doorstep when I got home. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t given her my address. If Jenny could find out where Taylor Swift lived and print her full address, phone number and personal email in my birthday card, Perry Dickson could certainly find me.
‘I’m not going to answer it,’ I told Alice who was just about to pop an arm out of her socket, trying to answer the call. It was longest twelve seconds of my life. When the screen finally went black, I breathed out, waiting for the inevitable voicemail message.
‘Angela, it’s Perry Dickson,’ she said, as if I hadn’t immediately put her contact details into my phone the second I’d left the meeting. You didn’t go around letting people like this sneak up on you if there was any way to get a head start on them first. ‘We heard about Alex’s accident and I wanted to call to see if there was anything we could do.’
How had she heard about Alex falling over a broken handbag and skinning his knee? Had the world suddenly run out of news? Seemed bloody unlikely, given the state of things.
‘I’d love to send my personal chef over to take care of you but if your housekeeper would be offended, say the word and I’ll think of something else.’
‘My housekeeper?’ I mouthed. Alice kicked me right in the boob, presumably because she had just found out other babies had been born into families with housekeepers and personal chefs.
‘Hopefully this won’t mean Stills has to cancel the show on the fourteenth, I’m so looking forward to it. Call me when you get this, love to Alex.’
Ha. So that was it. She was really calling to check on the tickets to the Stills show. That didn’t exactly explain her network of Park Slope spies but at least I didn’t have to worry about her showing any genuine concern.
Alice began to nod, her head lolling forwards as she drifted in and out of sleep. Against her sleepy will, I pulled her out of the papoose and turned her round, ignoring her grumblings and dodging the tiny, flying baby fists as I worked her legs back into the holes. The second she was settled, the babbling stopped. Her eyelids flickered, long black lashes settling against her cheeks, and she was out for the count.
‘Come on,’ I whispered, one hand holding the fork that was hanging out my mouth, the other curled around Alice’s back. ‘Let’s go and check on the invalid.’
I felt a smile forming o
n my face as I screwed up the napkin I’d had in my lap and dropped it on my plate. I could cope with all the madness as long as there were moments like this, just me, my girl and six dollars’ worth of sugar. I didn’t need five-star trips to Hawaii, personal chefs or designer handbags, I already had everything I could ever want and more. For at least a moment, I was officially FOMO-free.
‘Let’s see how long that lasts,’ I mumbled, leaving the café and flagging down the first passing taxi, headed back to Park Slope, Alex Reid and a proper cup of tea.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘Look at us, out of the house together at the same time without the baby,’ I said, squeezing Alex’s hand as we walked into Cici and Delia’s birthday party.
‘I know,’ he replied, squeezing back. ‘Just a couple of devil-may-care, crazy kids out on the town on a Saturday night.’
It was exciting, even if one of the crazy kids had to wear a pair of Spanx shorts over a Spanx bodysuit just to fit into her dress and the other one had insisted on bringing his crutch because he wanted to drink and couldn’t take the hardcore painkillers his doctor had prescribed.
We were so rock and roll, it hurt. Or at least my rib cage and Alex’s ankle did.
The party was at Delia’s townhouse on the Upper East Side, which was about as far away from Brooklyn as Alex could travel without his head exploding, but the unobstructed view of Central Park at sunset from her edge-of-rooftop terrace made the forty-dollar Uber and twenty-dollars-an-hour babysitter (plus twenty dollars for dinner and twenty dollars for her cab fare home) worth every penny.
‘Can you see food?’ I asked, after I’d finished totting up everything I’d spent just to get out the house. That did it, I was definitely getting drunk. I started scanning the rooftop, searching for trays of anything.
‘I don’t think I’ve worn this since Graham’s wedding,’ Alex said as he slid one finger under his collar and strained against the stiff white cotton and his skinny black tie. ‘And I see a bunch of guys here not wearing suits. I thought you said this was a formal thing?’