You Had Me at Merlot

by Lisa Dickenson

  ‘How fun is this?’ she cried just as I was about to say ‘How awful is this?’

  At that point an enormous fairy wing thwacked me in the back and I crumbled back towards the freezing water again, and for a second my final ever thought was nearly, I’m going to die … who’ll take my place on the stand in New York?, but luckily Kim steadied me. The owner of the wing, a gigantic man who was also clad in a tinsel tutu, a headband and nothing else yelled, ‘SORRY, LOVE,’ as he picked up speed and ricocheted up the bank and off down the hill.

  ‘Olivia, what’s the rule?’ Kim warned.

  ‘No grumbling.’

  ‘What happens if you grumble?’

  ‘I have to sit by Jasmine at the Christmas party.’ I caught my breath, finally reaching the riverbank. ‘I’m not grumbling, I’m fine, this is great, I’m having the time of my life! Thank God she’s not here though. Hey, where’s Ian?’

  Kim smirked. ‘Helping Dee, back at the monkey bars.’

  How sweet. ‘Of course he is. And Scheana? I feel like I haven’t seen her since the start?’

  ‘Me neither.’

  ‘I do have one grumble. Keep your gym pants on, it’s not even really a grumble, think of it as a heartfelt request: can I come with you to Antigua the week after next? Can I lie on the beach and be so warm I’m almost too warm? I want to feel sweat again.’

  We dug our fingertips in the mud-slide that was the riverbank and hauled ourselves up. I’d always fancied trying one of those Tough Muddy Survival events – it looked fun, like a challenge, a good morning of camaraderie with friends, so when someone at work had said they were interested too I leapt in, face-first, and cajoled together a team to enter the Fearless Freeze 10k event on December the first. December the first? The ‘Fearless Freeze’? I was definitely a massive plonker, and now my colleagues were scowling at me every time our muddy paths crossed. But that didn’t matter, they’d get over it. The important thing was that the group of girls who were waiting to cheer us through the finish line would see us complete the event in one piece, strong and capable.

  Urrrggghhh, I could not admit defeat, no matter how much I secretly wanted to.

  Kim clawed her way to the top of the riverbank, shaking her head. ‘No, New York’s always so fun, you’re going to have the best time.’ We set off on a slow, tired jog. Just three kilometres and twelve obstacles to go. I was nearly there, ish.

  ‘But New York is so cold …’

  ‘HEY,’ Kim scolded. ‘What did we say?’

  ‘No grumbling … Should we stop and wait for the others?’

  ‘I think if we stop now we might turn into ice sculptures. Besides, the finance arseholes have already gone on ahead anyway.’

  ‘OK. I will miss you though, and I hate Steve for taking you from me,’ I said. ‘I’m not grumbling, I’m just saying. And I don’t hate Steve really.’

  ‘I’ll miss you too,’ Kim sighed. ‘This’ll be the first year since starting at Girls of the World that I won’t be doing New York. But I am kind of looking forward to three full weeks off.’

  ‘This year has just been insane. As soon as I’m back from New York I’m not planning to talk to anyone for the whole of the Christmas break. Just me, TV, and jammies.’

  On we ran, towards our fate: a fifty-foot wall, which we were expected to scale, that stood atop a hill in the distance. It was covered with people in brightly coloured, mud-soaked running tops, who were charging up and over, pulling up those behind and pushing on the bottoms of those in front. It looked eerily like a scene from World War Z.

  Kim and I worked for Girls of the World, a foundation created to promote women’s rights through educating and empowering school girls to be creative, be themselves, and be heard. I was part of a team of six led by the founder, Scheana, a fiercely confident woman with the most appealingly gung-ho attitude. Everyone at the foundation, men and women, wanted to be Scheana when they grew up. I couldn’t get enough of my job – I got to meet and work with these young women – future CEOs, writers, scientists, artists, inventors, sports people – and learn from them, encourage them, give them an outlet, celebrate them in all their weird and wonderful ways. And it was lucky that I couldn’t get enough because we hadn’t stopped all year. The company had grown threefold in the past twelve months and we’d been breaking our backs to keep up and make sure not a single girl, school, society or hope was left behind. We had apps and contributors and sponsors and now, after years of attending conferences to spread the word about Girls of the World, our small UK foundation, we were finally hoping to branch out internationally too, starting with the USA.

  A major, major, benefit of working at Girls of the World – aside from knowing without a doubt that you’re on an equal pay scale – was the annual conferences, where similar organisations from around the world gathered to share thoughts, ideas, seminars and have amazing guest speakers. The rumour-mill was on over-drive this year about the potential for Emma Watson or Amal Clooney to put in an appearance at this year’s New York do, the #IWasHereNYC event.

  I loved spending conferences with Kim, who worked as an executive in the marketing department; she had such energy and enthusiasm that she could waltz into a school and convince a kid, on the brink of ditching her biology exam for a smoke with the boy from the upper sixth, to not only take the exam but also to chuck the boy and become such a badass biologist that it would make her want to help cure lung cancer. With, like, one speech. Kim was a miracle worker, our very own Derren Brown.

  And now Evil Steve, who was actually really nice, was whisking my Kim away for a romantic Christmas break in the Caribbean, which she chose over a work trip with me. Sigh.

  We reached the wall and I (being the giant in our relationship) crouched so Kim could stand on me and pull herself up to the first ledge.

  ‘Remind me who’s going this year?’ she called back, reaching her arm down for me, while I flailed my legs about in the air until some bloke got fed up with being kicked in the knees and helped me over.

  ‘Scheana, of course. Abigail.’

  ‘The new girl?’ Kim asked.

  ‘Yep, she’s pretty nervous. Our fave: Jasmine.’

  ‘Oh lord, that’ll be fun. How’s she being with you now?’

  ‘The same as she always is,’ I said, sighing. ‘I actually wish she was that cliché of a colleague who was after my job because at least there’d be some healthy competition to it, but she’s actually just a cow for no reason.’

  ‘True story.’

  ‘And Dee and Ian are both going too.’

  ‘Ahh, romantic!’

  ‘I know, I’m really curious if this’ll be the year they break and just admit they’re seeing each other.’

  ‘You never know,’ Kim grunted over the next ledge. ‘New York is pretty special around Christmas. The temptation of a snog on the Rockefeller ice rink could be just the nudge they need to come clean. John will be there to keep you company, won’t he?’ she asked, all innocent.

  ‘Subtle. Yes he will be there, but nope, still not in love with him. And as I’ve said a million times if I haven’t fallen in love with him yet, it’s not going to suddenly happen.’

  ‘Mmm-hmm,’ Kim agreed, blatantly disagreeing. ‘Have you seen much of him lately?’

  ‘Not since the Amsterdam conference in September.’ But I had dropped him an email this week to tell him I couldn’t wait for a catch-up and to find out which flight he was on. And I really couldn’t wait – like Kim, John was a good friend. Unlike Kim, he had a penis, which meant everyone who knew us couldn’t wrap their heads around the ‘just friends’ part. John currently worked on the United Nations’ HeForShe campaign, and we met a few years ago on the conference circuit after I saved myself from tripping over a poster stand by smacking his coffee cup out of his hand so I could grab it. Selfless. We try and catch up between work events by grabbing a drink or dinner. One time we even went on the Harry Potter studio tour together, but work has been so crazy this year that I’ve
barely had a minute to myself, so I’ve been a crap friend and I haven’t seen him as much as usual.

  We reached the top ledge of the wall, (dear God, it must be nearly over), and took a breather, gazing back at the obstacles. Dee and Ian’s heads bobbed about in the lake, and a couple of other colleagues were reaching the wall below us.

  I looked up at the sky, heavy with bruised clouds and getting darker by the minute. ‘Do you think there’s a storm coming?’ I asked Kim, who was leaning over the other side of the wall, contemplating the best way down.

  ‘Shit-wise or weather-wise?’ she called back.

  ‘Weather-wise.’

  ‘As long as it doesn’t stop my flight to Antigua it can be a total whiteout this Christmas for all I care.’

  And with that, the heavens opened and a blizzard to rival an arctic snowstorm swirled around us as we ran for our lives to complete this godforsaken race.

  Just kidding, but it did start to pelt it down with rain. I could see the finish line in the distance and squinting through the drops I thought I could also see a group of teenage girls in orange Girls of the World raincoats and tinsel scarves. They were some of the girls I worked with, and they’re the best. They grouped together a few months ago to make YouTube videos for us about getting involved in sports even if you don’t feel good enough, and they’ve been big hits on our website. So I couldn’t let them see me acting like my body wasn’t capable of sliding through a few more mud patches and surviving a couple more bruises.

  No grumbling, I told myself for the fortieth time that day.

  It was over; we’d made it. We had survived. Kim and I were freezing, but my group of girls made coming across the finish line an unexpected joy. They called me a superhero, which wasn’t true at all but I pretended I didn’t hear and asked them to repeat it a couple of times anyway. They’d zoomed home quickly afterwards as they were drenched right through, and I was now thawing out under a heat lamp, cuddling a hot chocolate and wearing a Santa hat (whose Santa hat was this?) when I was brought back from my thoughts about how strong and brave I was by the sound of someone calling my name from outside the tent.

  ‘Olivia! Over here. Down a bit.’

  ‘Scheana, what happened?’ I leapt up and rushed (hobbled) outside the tent, shaking the remaining water from my ears. My manager was lying, damp and bedraggled, on a stretcher. Two paramedics moved aside and tended to a dislocated shoulder while I spoke with Scheana. This place was a warzone. Sort of.

  ‘I think I might have broken my leg,’ said Scheana with a shrug. ‘No biggie, but I think I’ll be out of action for a while.’

  ‘Bloody hell, where?’

  ‘On one of the big log things.’

  ‘But where on your leg?’

  ‘Lower, I think.’

  ‘Does it hurt?’ I asked.

  ‘Yep, loads, but I wanted to talk to you about work.’

  ‘Now?’ I shifted my weight and I’m sure I heard either my ice-crystalled T-shirt or my rib crack – was I starting to actually freeze?

  ‘Just a quick thing. Well done on completing by the way, you did brilliantly, I’m so proud of you all.’ Scheana reached out and squeezed my hand like a person on their deathbed. ‘Urgh, you’re glacial. I’ll keep this quick. New York is two weeks today, and I’m not going to go.’

  I must still have had a lot of water in my ears, because I couldn’t be hearing this right. ‘You’re not going to what?’

  ‘I’m not going to go. My leg won’t be better. So I need someone to take over as head of Girls of the World. Temporarily. That person needs to represent the company in New York, try to push us forward. They’ll need to be quick-thinking and a good problem solver, even with little resources. You have no idea how many little tasks befall a manager in the lead-up to a trip like this.’

  ‘I’LL DO IT,’ I said. ‘Let me do it, I won’t let you down. Can I do it?’ This was the break I wanted. I wasn’t pleased that Scheana had snapped her leg, and I wasn’t trying to poach her job, but Girls of the World was growing and we were hoping to expand into other countries within the next year. I wanted to be part of it. One day I wanted to be a director in this company.

  ‘Are you sure? It’s a big responsibility. You’ve had a busy year. Aren’t you feeling burnt out?’

  ‘No.’ Yes.

  ‘Because you don’t know busy until you’ve been in charge of something like this.’

  ‘I can do it. I’ve been to New York four years in a row and I want to be more involved. You focus on your recovery and I’ll look after everything. I promise.’ Ohmygod, could I do this? Yes, of course I could. Well, I had to.

  ‘Good, I was hoping you’d say that. In that case, from now until the new year, you’re the boss.’

  And with that, the paramedics returned and wheeled Scheana away.

  I went back to the tent and squeezed my bum back onto the bench under the heat lamp, in between a snoring woman and a man who looked close to throwing up. I was the boss …

  Dee appeared, her long frame pink all over from the severest of workouts. ‘Um, did I just see Scheana on a stretcher?’

  I nodded. ‘She thinks she’s broken her leg. She’s OK though, she’s gone off in an ambulance.’ I knew Scheana wouldn’t want her injury to overshadow our achievement so I added, ‘She says well done to everyone. Look what we just did! That was hard work but we slayed those muddy hills and slippery bloody monkey bars.’

  ‘What about those dangling electric wires?’ said Ian, staggering over to us and putting his hand on Dee’s back before quickly removing it. ‘I nearly gave up at that point.’

  ‘I welcomed that,’ I said, like I thought I was some kind of Kray twin. Like a boss. ‘The electric shocks warmed me up.’

  ‘OK, folks,’ Kim said, walking into the tent with a leaflet clutched in her hand. ‘It says the tear gas used under that polythene obstacle wasn’t real tear gas and it was totally safe. So you’re not going to go blind, Olivia.’

  I blinked a few times to make sure. ‘OK, thanks. All right. I have something to tell you guys about Scheana and New York …’

  2 weeks, 3 days to Christmas

  I scrolled through the music on my iPhone – surely I had at least one Christmas track on here? Ah-ha! ‘Let It Go’ from Frozen; that counted. I stuck it on repeat and put my phone in the speaker dock just as my doorbell rang.

  ‘Shit me, it’s freezing out!’ burst Kim, as I opened my front door to the sight of my friend – all pink nose and frostbitten fingers – peering out from a mummification of long woollen scarves.

  She pushed me aside and unpeeled down to a moderate covering of two woollen jumper dresses, tights, snow boots and a hot water bottle. Kim was always cold, even in the summer, so December in the UK was her Everest.

  ‘I’m not even sorry about choosing Antigua over you, any more,’ she said, shaking out her curls. ‘It’s definitely true what they’re saying; winter is coming.’

  ‘Let it Jon Snow …’ I muttered with a smirk, leading Kim to the living room. She stopped short.

  ‘I thought we were having a Christmas party?’ she demanded. ‘Where are your decorations?’

  ‘It’s only you and me.’

  ‘I don’t care! It’s our annual Christmas get-together, you insisted we have it at your house, and you don’t even have a tree. I’m sorry, are we homeless? Christmas isn’t Christmas without a muthaflippin’ Christmas tree.’

  ‘You’ll be in Antigua over Christmas – good luck finding a Christmas tree there!’ I looked around my sparse maisonette. ‘Besides, there are decorations.’ I wafted an arm past a tea light candle on a side plate, and a bottle of Baileys.

  ‘Urgh.’ Kim started furiously wrapping herself back up in her four-hundred-foot scarf. ‘First of all, Antigua will have a lot of Christmas trees, and second of all, we have to go and get you a Christmas tree. Now.’

  ‘But—but—’ I looked around. ‘We can’t go out now, the pizza’s in the … freezer.’

&n
bsp; Kim was already nose-deep in my hall cupboard, where she emerged and lobbed an armful of coats my way. ‘Dress warm, come on.’

  ‘You’re so hardy since we did the Fearless Freeze,’ I muttered.

  ‘I’m so hardy, Tom Hardy called and wants his name back.’

  ‘You’re so tough, you should marry Hilary Duff.’

  ‘You’re so weird, you should grow a beard.’

  We stepped outside and the cold air hit me like a dry-ice bucket challenge. The dark street twinkled as wet pavements reflected the strings of Christmas lights between lamp-posts. I stamped my feet and blew into one clenched fist while I locked my door. ‘Where exactly does one buy a Christmas tree at seven p.m. in the middle of London?’

  ‘No idea,’ said Kim, marching off down the street before whizzing around. ‘Actually, of course I do. How do you feel about artificial trees?’

  I shrugged, unsure what the right answer was.

  ‘Shrug? That’s all you give me? Your mother taught you better than that, lady. Always have an opinion, am I right? And everyone has opinion on real versus fake. Do you like them full and real and nice-smelling, or perfect and symmetrical and low-maintenance?’

  ‘Are we still talking about trees?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I think I prefer fake. Because I kill things.’

  A passing teenage boy darted a look up at me, clutched his phone and ran away.

  ‘Plants, I kill plants,’ I clarified. ‘And therefore probably trees.’

  ‘Then answer me this,’ said Kim, a big smile creeping onto her half-hidden face. ‘What do you think of when I say “Christmas shopping”?’

  ‘Oh!’ I knew this. ‘The scene in Love Actually with Rowan Atkinson and the necklace and the dried flowers and the cellophane.’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Serendipity? You know, when they meet over the last pair of gloves?’

  ‘No, something not from a Christmas movie.’

  ‘January sales?’

  ‘What is wrong with you? John Lewis, of course!’