“And finally, there’s also the meteorological side—checking the weather conditions on the morning of a competition. You can check, too, Max, look how the leaves on the trees are blowing and leaning. Look at the Union flag on the building over there. Notice which way it flaps in the wind?” Scott stood back. “Sorry, probably boring you senseless!”
“Are you joking?” Rebecca pointed to Max, who stood transfixed, gawping at Scott. He accepted this observation as permission to show off and, handing Susie’s lead to Rebecca again, he grabbed the spool, treating them and an assembled audience of dog walkers and morning joggers to a kite display of swooping, plunging elegance—a true ‘free spirit of the skies.’
After a particularly spectacular lunge producing a round of applause, the kite kamakasied, nose first, onto the grassy slope. Max sprang off to collect it, whilst Scott frantically wound in the string, handing the spool over to Max as they came together.
“Awesome!” they shouted in unison and high-fived. The audience dissipated, continuing their solitary meanders.
Scott turned to Rebecca as she tried to calm her medusa-style hair in the mounting wind. “Fancy a coffee sometime, Rebecca? I promise not to mention kites, although I may mention wind-surfing. It’s my other passion!”
Something about the way he pronounced her name in his Australian drawl made it sound sensual, and a murmuring of desire stirred within Rebecca’s presumed frozen loins. She enjoyed the long-forgotten sensation.
“I’d love that.” She met his eyes as he whipped off his beanie hat and the sexual jolt zapped her again. He was exactly as she imagined the archetypal Aussie surfer to be. Strong, firm physique, sun-streaked, tousled curls sprang back to life once released from their containment, fringe falling into his brilliant blue eyes. If there was a polar opposite to the clean smooth lines of Bradley, mirror in his front pocket, comb in the back, he had materialised in front of her, scrabbling in his black jeans pocket for a scrap of paper to scribble his mobile number on.
“Give me a bell. Coffee or an afternoon flying, your call. Bye, Max buddy!” He fist bumped Max then jogged off, Susie lolloping at his side.
The wind, now bordering on gale force in Rebecca’s view, was clearing the park of visitors. So, experiencing a warm glow in the region of her lower stomach, Rebecca and Max leant in and battled their way home, the newly-respected rainbow kite tucked firmly under Rebecca’s arm.
“That was awesome fun, Mum. Scott was great. Your Little Green Book of Fun is the best book ever. I love it! What can we do next? Don’t forget you promised making play dough and whatever maracas are, but what else is in there, Mum?”
Max was right. The book’s myriad suggestions had ensured they escaped from the confines of their poky flat and experienced activities they otherwise would never have encountered and met people they would never have met. It was the best ten pounds Rebecca had ever spent. She was even coming ’round to the idea that an ad hoc ‘dip in, dip out’ attitude to life was an adventure in itself—although she wasn’t cured of her list addiction just yet.
Now even Max was enthusiastically singing the book’s virtues. Between Deb, Nathan, Georgina, and Max, she would have every challenge completed by Christmas! Well, perhaps not the ‘Marrying’ or the ‘Co-existing with your in-laws’. Although with her newly dilated self-esteem…
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Please, Bradley, it’s the summer holidays.” Rebecca realised a pleading note had entered her voice. Despite knowing her tone would annoy Bradley, she couldn’t help her desperation for Max to spend time with his father creep into every conversation she had with him. “Max would love to escape for a few hours outside in the sunshine instead of being stuck in Tumble Teds all day. Or you could take him somewhere during the weekend, so you don’t have to lose any time at work. He’d love to see you and Cheryl.”
Rebecca had only met Cheryl once—a willowy, ebony-haired, perfectly groomed, immaculate match for Bradley. The jury was out on Max spending time with someone he’d view as a stranger, but if it meant he could spend some time with his father, she was prepared to set her own reservations aside.
“Rebecca, you know I can’t just bunk off an afternoon from work. That’s a ridiculously naïve suggestion. I’m so frazzled with the complexities of the Glastonburg deal, but it’ll complete in three or four weeks and I might be able to find a window in my schedule then. I’ll need to check it out with Cheryl, too. She’s not a children-person, though—one of the things I love about her.”
What’s a children-person, thought Rebecca.
“Anyway, I’m sick of you pushing Max onto me. It was your crazy decision to have a child. You were under no illusions as to my take on that failure in your judgment. My career has to take priority, Rebecca. I’m climbing the corporate ladder even if you’ve slipped off it, and I don’t need any distractions. The Glastonburg deal has to run smoothly and, if it does, I’m hoping John Farringdon will notice my commitment and expertise. If I’m off gallivanting with a four year old and an issue crops up on the case, what then?”
“He’s your son, Bradley. Not some random child from the local foster home! He’s sweet, mischievous, full of energy and enthusiasm, with only a mild addiction to all things pertaining to locomotives and steam engines and despite what you think, you would really enjoy his company. He needs to have a relationship with you.”
“A snotty four year old? What would we do that I would find even the remotest bit interesting? Cheryl and I are off to Radley Hall for a couples’ spa treatment next weekend and then we’re having a few days jaunt to Paris at the end of August shopping for the Bali trip. Would a four year old fit into this lifestyle? I don’t think so!”
“I need to visit Dad during the summer holidays. I’ve got a week’s leave toward the end of August, but if you’d take Max one Saturday it means I could shoot up before the end of July, too. He’s very frail, Brad, and Max struggles with the frequent long journeys.”
“Sorry, Rebecca, no can do, not until the Glastonburg deal is laid to bed.”
She took a deep calming breath, preparing to ask the next question. She had no funds to arrange any activities for Max over the summer months and he had his heart set on the Junior Golf Academy with Ben.
“Is there any chance you can find fifty pounds for Max to attend Junior Golf Academy in August? He’s enjoyed attending it so much so far and met another boy who he gets on well with. I can’t find the money, which means he won’t be able to attend unless you can help out. Please, Bradley, for Max.”
“Look, Rebecca, are you deaf? You’ve just heard me explain to you what my commitments are for the next few weeks and I’ve got Bali coming up. I’ll have no spare cash myself. Don’t lay the guilt on me. You decided on the family scenario, not me. Why should my lifestyle suffer because of your selfish choices? Children are expensive items—you should have factored that in to the equation before deciding to produce one.
“And whilst we are on the subject of questionable choices, I’m embarrassed about your position with Baringer & Co. John Farringdon delayed me in the director’s corridor yesterday to interrogate me on whether it was correct you had been struck off the solicitors’ roll and were now working as a paralegal at Baringer. I was mortified. How can you put me in this position? Couldn’t you have taken a job outside the legal profession, kept a low profile for my sake? Oh no, you have the audacity to flaunt your failures in my face.
“And what’s happening with that white elephant in the sticks? Why hasn’t it sold yet? It’s been languishing on the market for nearly a year now. The sooner you get rid of it and pay back your debts, the sooner you’ll be able to discharge your bankruptcy and get on with a decent career, one which pays better so you’re not always asking me for money. It’s laughable you being employed as a paralegal when you graduated with a first class honours degree from Durham.
“And those colleagues you are associating with. That fantasy fanatic, Nathan Atkins, is crazy. I overheard one of our
secretaries gossiping about him the other day. I hope you aren’t allowing him anywhere near Max.”
“Whom I choose to associate with is none of your business and as you refuse to have any contact with your son, Bradley, I fail to see how you can dictate any rules about who he has contact with. Nathan is a decent guy, but you wouldn’t recognise decency if it slapped you in your clean-shaven, perfume-doused face.
“I’m upset and disappointed Max will not be able to attend his longed-for Golf Academy, but we’ll work something out. Enjoy Paris, the couples’ spa, and Bali.” She slammed the phone down before her strangled voice cracked.
Rebecca shielded Max from his father’s disinterest as much as she was able, but as he had not laid eyes on him since Christmas, Max had stopped asking about him anyway. She was saddened more than anything for Max’s lost opportunity to spend time with his father, to build up the same solid relationship she’d enjoyed with hers. She couldn’t replicate this for Max. He needed, and deserved, two parents who loved him and placed him at the centre of their universe. She strove hard to be the best parent she could, but she knew she fell woefully short.
But she worried most about what effect this indifference would have on Max as he grew older, old enough to realise his father’s coolness and apathy, his rejection of the role of father. She could barricade him with protective walls as high as the sky, but it would store up angst for Max’s future adulthood and Rebecca was powerless to change anything. No amount of carefully researched lists would serve to produce a solution to this conundrum.
The situation was all the more surprising to her knowing Bradley had had a difficult relationship with his own father, who had left his mother when Bradley and his brother, Adam, were seven and five. She had foolishly believed that traumatic event would have spurred Bradley on to determine to be a better father himself, knowing how the neglect had seared pain through his heart during his teenage years. But, sadly for Max, his father’s past had had the opposite effect.
She panicked Max would grow up to have the same attitude as his father and was adamant she would strive to provide Max with a settled, caring family life as soon as she was able. But that dream had dwindled to naught. It was so difficult to meet new people, new potential partners. The ‘happy family’ dream languished at the bottom of her bucket list as the least likely to be achieved.
She thought back to the disastrous ‘date’ with Brian and shuddered at the anticipation of having to endure numerous similar scenarios. But it was the only way forward if she wanted to even step down the path to the goal she had set for her and Max’s futures. She’d grit her teeth and instead of the item screaming failure from the doldrums of her bucket list, she’d switch to her new tactic and rely on the little green book of random miracles.
More immediately, she’d have to break the news to Max that there would only be a week’s reprieve from nursery, when they would spend time together in Northumberland. She had requested an additional week’s leave, but Lucinda had refused, glaring at her as though she had crawled from under a scummy stone. Also, to compound the bad news, Max would not now be able to attend the next block of sessions at ‘Fun and Games at Golf,’ as he called it, with his new best friend, Ben. He’d be devastated. She needed to call Sam and let her know. Ben would miss his sidekick, too.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The summer heat intensified, thickening the toxic soup pervading the London air. The windows to their twelfth floor office greenhouse opened only four inches wide—a safety measure to prevent them from jumping, Nathan reckoned. The weather stifled their work rate, but the firm refused to allow the air conditioning to be activated as it was too costly.
When Lucinda had declined Rebecca’s request for two week’s annual leave, Rebecca had bravely—foolishly, said Nathan—queried whether she could take a Monday off during the summer, eloquently reminding her employer that she had attended three Saturday training sessions and two Wednesday evening networking events. She would have welcomed the additional day to relieve the fatigue of the return journey from visiting her Dad.
However, she had been slapped down, back beneath her scummy stone, reminded that those events and seminars were obligations she’d been aware of when she had accepted the position, and all associates and partners were expected to contribute their own time, too.
“Has anyone ever requested to work part-time or job share at Baringer? One of the secretarial staff maybe?” enquired Rebecca of Georgina, the only approachable member of all the associates.
“Yes. The associate I’m replacing actually, Claris Freeman. She had a baby two years ago, struggled with the demands of working full-time coupled with the additional obligations of weekend training and late night social networking. So she requested part-time hours, three days a week to allow her to juggle the exorbitant cost of the private day nursery with her husband’s job as a film cameraman, which frequently took him away from home. She is an extremely competent and well-respected commercial property lawyer with a large portfolio of satisfied corporate clients.” Georgina tucked her short ebony curls behind her ears.
“Well, as you might guess, Lucinda didn’t support her request and it was refused. So Baringer & Co has squandered her expertise and in doing so lost a number of high-profile commercial clients who followed her to her new practice at Fallows & Co, a more progressive law firm who agreed to a mixture of part-time and home-based working. They even developed a formal written, family-friendly, flexible working policy as part of their employees’ terms and conditions. Not only for employees with young children, but also for those with elderly parents to care for. But then, Mark Fallows does have a disabled brother whom he helps care for, so he’s bound to be more enlightened than these dinosaurs.” She swung her arm in the general direction of Lucinda’s office.
“Lucinda scaled the corporate mountain without assistance or flexibility whilst caring for her sister, so she’s not going to countenance any slippage of the regime for us, is she? She’s devoted her life to the firm, no dates, no self-indulgence of an annual holiday. Why should the company drag itself kicking and screaming into the twenty first century when there’s a swarming herd of young, single lawyers prepared to overlook these discriminatory practices, clambering to move up the ladder to the exclusion of periphery concerns like family and children?”
“So if I were to ask for Tuesday afternoon off to attend Max’s nursery’s leaving presentation, she’d refuse?” Rebecca asked Georgina, but she already knew the answer.
“Don’t even bother asking is my benevolent advice. It’d be better if she remained ignorant of the fact you were even considering attending—a black mark against Mrs Mathews’ loyalty that you don’t need. Try to stay in her good books, Rebecca. Keep your head down, work like crazy, endure the training, do the overtime, don’t question the policies or politics, and don’t mention you have any sort of life outside Baringer.”
Georgina’s chestnut eyes misted, but her strong features hardened. “Jonathan wants us to talk about having a family in the next year or so. I’m thirty-eight in November and the inevitable ticking is approaching crescendo. I agree with him, but I’ve just made associate. I want to go for partnership in a couple of years, which has been on my bucket list since school. It’s blatantly obvious a lawyer can’t fulfill both dreams here at Baringer.”
A twang of sympathy reverberated in Rebecca’s heart and she repeated her eternal missive of gratefulness for the presence of Max in her otherwise dull, dire life. She pulled free a smooth tendril of her tumbling amber locks from its tortoise-shell clip, slowly twisting it around her finger and thumb, running her finger down its silky, glossy tail.
“Georgina, I enquired about the company’s policies for another reason, too. There’s a friend I met at the Junior Golf Academy I take Max to, Sam Russell, who is CEO of Exquisite Forest, an ethical, environmentally-aware company which fashions handmade jewelry from sustainable, and if possible, organic sources—wood, bamboo, cotton, silk. In addition, they en
gage the services and purchase the products of ‘kitchen table entrepreneurs’, people who have caring responsibilities which keep them at home.
“Her company is seeking legal advice on the purchase of a warehouse in Manchester, initially for storage and distribution, but hopefully expanding to showcase their suppliers’ products in small boutiques let on short tenancies. I can handle the property transaction but not the commercial advice. Do you think Lucinda would handle that? I only ask because of Exquisite Forest’s ethical background.”
“Anything to assist in making target and enlarging the client base would meet with Lucinda’s approval, Rebecca,” Georgina assured her. “And the introduction of such an important new client would earn you a few brownie points along the way. Well done!”
“Enough to give me Tuesday afternoon off? Max leaves nursery at the end of August, starts school in September. He really wants his mum there. Bradley’s not interested, of course.”
“It’s your decision, but I wouldn’t.”
Georgina sloped off to wade through the towering pile of files on her desk, slaving her childless way toward striking one of her own items off her bucket list.
Rebecca didn’t have the nerve to broach the subject of taking Tuesday afternoon off, so once again Max would be the undeserving victim of the firm’s rigid policies and the choices she had made in her life thus far. She had no option. She needed this job. The salary was the only thing keeping a roof over their heads, so Max would sadly present his achievements to a room full of strangers.
“What did Georgina mean about Lucinda bringing up her sister? Didn’t think she had any family. Thought she was ‘married to the firm?’” Rebecca later queried when grabbing a tuna sandwich with Deb, the fount of all gossip.
The Wish List Addiction Page 9