Rebecca watched as Deborah too scrutinised Lucinda’s retreating rear, as though marveling how she made walking in four-inch heels look so graceful and refined, before skidding across to Rebecca on her desk chair’s wheels, her long, pale blonde waves swishing across her pretty face.
“Hi. Ignore her. We all do, don’t we, Nathan?” she called over to a skinny, hunched, twenty-something man, who raised his head to Deborah, pointing emphatically to his headset, whilst manically flicking his pen between the fingers of his left hand.
“Call me Deb. Ms Ice Maiden didn’t introduce you.”
“Rebecca Mathews,” said Rebecca and she stuck out her hand.
Deb considered Rebecca’s proffered hand, her pale sapphire eyes taking in her tight, nervous face. “Well, let’s get you set up. Nathan’ll bring us coffees when he’s done with his client.” Deb lifted her ample bottom from the scarlet desk chair and bustled like a mother hen around Rebecca’s desk.
She must be five years younger than me, thought Rebecca. Feelings of inadequacy coiled around her abdomen as Deb set up her computer and showed her the various programs they used, chatting and smiling all the time. How does she get to be so cheerful?
“I’d like to report that her bark is worse than her bite, but unfortunately it’s not true. I’ll warn you now, Becky, she’s a top-notch ego-breaker, just ask Nathan.” Deb chuckled. “Cruella de Vil eat your heart out, Lucinda Fleming’s after your reputation! Just be on your guard, that’s all I’m saying, especially if you are the chosen target practice for the week. Her arrows are sharp and travel straight to the heart.”
Deb zoomed her outstretched index finger into her ample breast spilling from a low cut, deep magenta, shift dress stretched to its limit, her laughter lighting up her pretty round face sprinkled liberally with freckles, her mischievous, clear blue eyes crinkling in the corners.
“Married to the company, she is. She’s in the office before any of us drag our weary bones in here, polished to perfection. Have you seen her manicure? What I’d give! She’s always the last to leave, unless she’s off to a conference or a lecture. Take her threat of the clear-desk policy seriously, too.” She glanced at her own cluttered desk. “Been reprimanded lots of time myself. Tidiness is not one of my fabulous attributes.
“She’s an impressive advocate, though. Butters up her opponents and then, zap, goes in with the carving knife when their back is turned. Her success rate is second to none. Even John Baringer is in awe of her. She earns oodles of money for the firm, so she gets away with her lack of personnel skills with us minions. I’d hate to be up against her in court, not that I ever get to go to court—too lowly, even to carry her briefs!” Deb giggled again as she placed a yellow legal pad and a set of Baringer & Co pens in front of Rebecca.
Nathan finished his call and slung the headset down on his desk, leaning back in his chair almost horizontal, running his surprisingly large hands through his spiky dark hair. Only ten o’clock and his red corporate tie hung loose around his scrawny neck.
Deb made the universally recognised sign for coffee and he trotted off like an obedient child.
“Just beware, Ms Fleming can be vicious. Oh, I don’t mean in any physical way—that’s not her bag. She takes profound pleasure in emotional and psychological abuse—a well-timed derogatory remark to keep you on your toes. She knows everything that goes on here, and possesses an elephantine memory which stores up misdemeanours to be recalled whenever we need to be reminded of our lowly credentials.”
She counted on her fingers. “Don’t be late, ever. Don’t leave before five thirty unless you are attending a networking event, and then don’t leave until at least nine p.m. Don’t ring in sick, ever. And worse of all, if you’ve got kids, don’t be off if they are sick. No family-friendly, work-life balance policy here at Baringer & Co. Ms F doesn’t have a family. She was grown in a lab. Nor any friends either as far as we can tell—not even a boyfriend!” Deb’s eyes widened with horror. “So she sure isn’t going to make any allowances for a sick child.
“‘Baringer & Co must be your priority, Miss Bell.’” She performed a perfect imitation of Lucinda’s stern, haughty voice. “If you want to progress at Baringer you must be dedicated and focused on one goal only—its success!”
Deb plonked her voluptuous bottom back onto her swivel chair and shuffled back to her desk, replacing her headset. “Good morning, Baringer & Co. How may I help you?” Red Baringer pen poised, she scooped her tumbling hair away from her smiling face and behind her surprisingly petite ears.
Rebecca experienced a stab of panic in the pit of her empty, rumbling stomach as she sipped the welcome cappuccino delivered by Nathan. Max wasn’t a sickly child by any means, but nursery was a breeding ground for industrial strength viruses. What if he became ill? She had no back up available. Bradley wouldn’t help. He was made from the same mould as Lucinda—strapped to the treadmill of corporate advancement to the exclusion of all else, snotty, germ-ridden little boys in particular.
Well, stick with the ‘new career’ to-do list, she told herself. Head down, work hard, ask no questions, and follow the rules. She glanced at the bulging red arch lever file left by Lucinda on her desk. Finally, pray to the God of single, working mothers everywhere—that Max steered clear of the rampant nursery bugs. Could she send him to Tumble Teds in plastic medical gloves?
More worrying though was the demand she be involved in regular networking after work. Nursery ended at six thirty prompt and she had no regular babysitter to call upon. Her neighbour, Brian, a single father himself, had occasionally taken Max and his daughter, Erin, to the cinema and she’d minded Erin, a cute five year old with a mild Barbie addiction, in return.
And training sessions scheduled on Saturday mornings? She and Max had an unbreakable pact to spend Saturday doing fun stuff. She was grateful for the job, to be able to provide for herself and Max, and needed to keep it desperately, but it was going to mean huge sacrifice on both their parts, and the impact would fall most heavily on Max. There’d be no Sport’s Day attendance this year, or end-of-year presentation, his last at nursery before starting school in September. But if she didn’t go, he’d have no one to watch as he performed his role in the presentation.
They were no different from many families struggling to balance their commitments. Family and friendly were two words totally absent from many legal firms’ vocabulary and rarely present when tied together. Baringer & Co was not unusual or any more miserly than others. Wealth and ambition were the only two words worth pursuing to achieve career success in the legal profession.
That’s why I’m such a failure, Rebecca mused. She needed to change her vocabulary.
CHAPTER FIVE
Lunchtime at last. Rebecca darted to the ladies’ room. She hadn’t had a chance to read the rule book on toilet breaks so had endured a screaming bladder until lunch.
Returning to her work station to collect her trench coat, rain was still lashing down the windows. Deb was waiting for her, her own trench—a lime green and pink blossoms affair—pulled tightly around her waist, clutching a sunshine-yellow umbrella.
“Me and Nathan usually grab a sandwich at our desks, but in your honour, we’ll show you one of our favourite lunchtime haunts. Got your brolly? It’s still bucketing down.”
Deb led her and Nathan to the local café where they settled on tall leather bar stools facing the steamed up windows streaming with rain, hugging their coffee mugs with both hands. Glancing at the expanse of thigh revealed by Deb’s crossed shapely legs, Rebecca was at last grateful for her conservative choice of a plain, black trouser suit.
The café was populated by other escapees from the daily grind, their damp, grey faces testament to the necessity to abandon the desk chains for a resusitory mug of decent coffee before the challenge of making it through to five o’clock.
“How was your weekend, Nath?”
“Rotten, as usual. I’m considering giving up the fight, Deb. If it wasn’t for me mam
, I’d slink off into the clouded black horizon. Emma’s dating a new guy, so it’s back to square one.”
Nathan hunched his thin, bony shoulders as he sipped his scalding black coffee. From this angle, Rebecca noticed his protruding ears made his drooping face more hangdog. She smiled at a fellow, well-used doormat.
“Nathan’s got a little girl, Millie. She’s three and so cute you could just eat her up,” Deb explained. “But Emma, that’s Millie’s mum, is a tyrant of the highest degree. You know she is, Nathan! She refuses Nathan contact with Millie, usually when she has a boyfriend in tow. When did you last see Millie, Nath?”
“Christmas, but that was just so she could collect her presents.”
“Nathan’s tried everything. He pays child support every single month, never misses. He texts every Friday without fail to find out if Emma will agree to a visit. He sends cards, letters, and pictures. But Emma only agrees to let Nathan see Millie when she’s not got a man in her life or when she needs some extra cash. Millie loves seeing Nathan, but it’s been three months since the last time and he’s terrified she’ll forget who he is.”
Deb placed a gentle hand on Nathan’s skinny knee. “Maybe now’s the time to take off your kid gloves, Nathan, and get a solicitor involved? Eh? Lucinda’d whip her into shape—I’d fold at just one glance. Don’t be such a defeatist, stand up for your rights. And Millie’s rights, too!”
“Won’t work, Deb. And this new guy is scary. She met him at the gym. Rugby player, six foot four, and works out every day, she informs me.” Nathan visibly cringed.
“Like I said, I’d abandon all hope, but mam isn’t responding to the treatment, maybe only has six months at the most and she’s desperate to see Millie before, well, before…” He cleared his throat. “Well, she can’t travel, not from Edinburgh anyway. I asked Emma if she’d agree to let me take Millie up at Easter, but she flatly refused. Spending time with Rugger Boy.”
Rebecca smiled at Nathan’s downcast eyes. “I know how you feel.”
Nathan raised his head, a skeptical look in his dark eyes. No you don’t, it said.
“My situation is different, of course. The complete opposite, really. I’ve got a little boy. He’s four. His dad refuses to see him. I’ve tried everything, but Max doesn’t fit into his high-flying, luxurious corporate lifestyle. Max wouldn’t reflect well on his fastidiously groomed, playboy image.” Rebecca knew she sounded bitter, but she didn’t intend to.
“Well, if you ask my opinion, and I know you didn’t—who would? But I’d give up. I’ve been trying to persuade Emma to agree to regular contact for the last two years since we split and it hurts like crazy. I’d have called it a day ages ago for my own sanity if it wasn’t for me mam. But she won’t be around forever, so I’m carrying on ’til…well ’til the end. But you can just forget it. Don’t inflict the pain on yourself or Max.” His black eyes sparkled and Deb deftly changed the subject.
“Anyway, guess what? I’m getting married. In October. Look!” She flashed her emerald and diamond engagement ring shaped like a daisy, wiggling her finger under Rebecca’s nose. Rebecca noticed Deb surreptitiously cast a glance at Nathan.
“Oh, it’s gorgeous! Emeralds are my favourite, too.” It proved to be the right thing to say, allowing Deb to launch into a new topic of conversation.
Flicking her damp blonde hair behind each ear, she fixed her willing audience with her azure stare, her face alight with excitement. Nathan rolled his eyes at Rebecca, but shrugged his shoulders and leaned forward.
“We’ve—that’s Fergus and me—we’ve been saving hard for four years now. We’re having the biggest and best wedding ever. We’re being married by Reverend Briggs at our local church, St Mary’s. He’s even allowing us to recite our own poems to each other! Then, it’s off to Radley Hall for the reception. I adore Radley Hall. Me and Alison, my sister, enjoyed a spa day there at Christmas and it’s so awesome. It’s a dream come true to hold our reception there—that’s why it’s taken so long to save for our wedding. But it’ll be worth it.
“I’ve chosen my dress, it’s adorable. I’ll show you the design when we get back to the office. Its ivory taffeta skirt is overlaid with tulle, which is scattered with satin petals around the hem, the bodice embroidered with tiny sea pearls.
“Ooooh, and the flowers. We’re sorting them out next weekend. I’m thinking deep purple Calla Lilies. Calla means beautiful in Greek, did you know, mixed with velvety mulberry and cream roses.
“Mum and Gran are baking the wedding cake themselves, but I’m taking evening classes in sugar craft so I can ice it and design the decorations myself.
“I still need to find shoes, though. Can’t wait to go shopping for them. Did you know Jimmy Choo has a bridal range? They are to die for. Will you come with me, Becky, one lunchtime? Try some on? The boutique’s just along Sloane Street.
“I need another visit to Harrods, too. Oh, no, I’m not buying anything there, far too expensive, but it’s the most fab place for ideas for this season. Fergus says you only get married once, so make it as spectacular as your wildest dreams. You’ll love Fergus. He’s my George Clooney. Fergus Andrew Horne.
“I’m having four bridesmaids and two matrons of honour. I’ve chosen this stunning royal purple taffeta for their dresses, think deep rich merlot wine, and that’ll be our colour theme. I’m dieting hard, need to lose a few pounds, but Fergus loves me how I am—curvy.” She ran her hands down her ample body, stretching the hem of her shift dress down toward her knees only for it to ride straight back up her thigh.
“Honeymoon will be a surprise though. Fergus and his dad are sorting that out. Somewhere romantic but hot—it’ll be October!
“We’ve got a deposit saved for a house in the same street as my mum and dad. Nothing on the market yet, but old Mrs Granville’ll probably need to go into a care home soon, so we’ll wait and see.” She chuckled as she drew in another breath. She was so upbeat Rebecca could almost hear the drum.
“Anyway”—Deb blew out her cheeks in an effort to calm her excitement—“I hope you settle in at Baringer & Co. Me and Nathan’ll watch out for you. What’ve you got planned for the weekend? Fancy a trip to Harvey Nicks? I want to test out their bridal makeup, get my eyebrows done, and maybe get a manicure. My older sister, Alison, is coming, too. Go on, a girly shopping trip will do you good!”
With a final sip of the bitter dregs in their coffee mugs, they jumped down from their stools, anxious to get back to their desks before the two o’clock deadline.
“I’d love to, Deb, but I can’t. Sorry. Max has a birthday party for one of the kids at the nursery he attends.” Rebecca grimaced. “Pirate theme. Costume obligatory. Max is really excited, but I overheard the boy’s mother worrying about whether the party bags were adequate as they only contained a video game and a Harrods teddy bear as she couldn’t afford Steiff! For twelve four year olds! Max would be happy with a packet of sweets and a slice of birthday cake. I can’t even afford the birthday gift for little Ptolemy, so Max shouldn’t even be going. But he pleaded to go as he and Ptolemy share an intense love affair with Thomas the Tank Engine and his friends. Bradley doesn’t pay child support,” she added by way of explanation of her impecuniary to her new confidantes.
“That’s completely abhorrent. You should consult a solicitor, too!” said Deb, chuckling at the irony. “Hey, actually I can help you there. Alison gave me a book token for my birthday last month. Thinks I’m ancient at twenty eight. Crazy girl! She knows I don’t read anything except glossy bridal mags and I’ve got all of them. It’s been languishing in my desk drawer ever since. Why don’t you take that and get Ptolemy a book? Kids love books. Anyway, who in their right mind calls their child Ptolemy?”
“Oh, that’s really kind, Deb, but—”
“No. It’ll fester in the wasteland of my bottom desk drawer if you don’t. Please, take it! Why not buy yourself a book, too, a good romance, cheer yourself up?”
They shuffled into the glass e
levator, umbrellas dripping into puddles on the pale marble floor. Deb jabbed button number twelve.
“Well, I have spotted this fab book—last week when Max and I were browsing and coffeeing in the local independent book store, Charlie’s. Its title is The Little Green Book of Wishes. Max adores books, especially Thomas and his Friends. We could both happily relocate our sparse possessions and take up residence in that bibliographic maze of paradise.
“I have to confess a middling to severe addiction to drafting ‘to do’ lists. Got a list for everything and every occasion, you name it, stoically slogging my way through never, ever reaching the end. Sometimes, I don’t even remember why the item is on the list at all! I have daily ‘to do’ lists, well-researched ‘wish lists’, and also a master ‘to do’ list—the infamous ‘bucket list’. My list addiction was the source of many a jibe from Bradley when we were married. He even cited it in the divorce papers as one of the grounds of my unreasonable behaviour!
“Conversely, this little gem of a book challenges the reader to discard those mocking lists that are never completed and to use its suggestions or guidance ad hoc. A sort of lucky bag of wishes you can just ‘dip in, dip out’ of over weeks and months with none of the stress of fretting about when the next task on the bucket list will be achieved, so you can tick the box and hurtle onto the next. In fact, it positively encourages you to expel the lists from your life in favour of the more random approach.
“Going cold turkey and ditching my innumerable lists, including my painstakingly researched bucket list of fabulous but unattainable dreams, which I have to add, I’ve only just stuck my toe into, is the stuff of nightmares. My lists are my life’s structure—their removal will bring my carefully crafted walls tumbling down around me.
“But then, despite all the meticulous mapping, there are so many areas of my life I’ve botched up. Career—fail. Money—fail. Property—fail. Relationships—fail, Sports—fail, Hobbies—well I don’t have any so you could count that as a fail. The list of a total loser!
The Wish List Addiction Page 3