Rachel Ryan's Resolutions

by Laura Starkey

  ‘Thanks,’ Rachel said. ‘That’s good news. And I’m not going to pretend I’m thrilled about this, but I’ll cope – I promise. You’re in the circle of trust now, but I’d really rather not add anyone else.’

  She pushed her cold, half-drunk cup of coffee to one side, assuming they were done. It was almost 10 a.m. now – surely time for them to put in an appearance at the office.

  ‘While we’re telling each other secrets,’ Greg said, his voice low, ‘I have some news.’

  Rachel sat up straighter in her chair; his tone was earnest and his face suddenly serious. He was about to tell her something significant.

  ‘Karen’s leaving the agency,’ Greg said. ‘You know her partner’s French – well, they’re finally going over there to set up home in Provence. I had to wait until the takeover was finalised for confirmation, but I got the news on Friday night: I’m replacing her. I’m going to be the new head of client services.’

  Rachel let out a little yelp of excitement. ‘That’s amazing! Well done. You’ll be great, and you SO deserve it.’

  Greg was glowing with pride, but the corners of his mouth had turned down. ‘I’m thrilled, obviously. But you know this means we won’t be working together so closely any more, right?’

  ‘Of course,’ Rachel said brightly, as if she’d seen this coming and made her peace with it. In fact, the thought of retiring their double act was a gut punch. She and Greg had worked in near-constant partnership for almost four years, and the truth was she’d loved it – sexy vegetables and all.

  Rachel considered the other members of Greg’s team. Would she end up working with Theo? Clients supposedly loved him but she struggled to take him seriously. He rode to work on a scooter, spoke fluent Corporate Bollocks and wore raspberry-pink chinos with suede boat shoes all year round. Rachel feared it would take more than blue-sky thinking to prevent her from punching him if they spent too much time together.

  Partnering Ella might be okay; she could best be described as harmless, though she was so giddy and girlish that Rachel felt like a miserable crone in comparison. She cringed slightly as she recalled that Ella’s preferred term for Prosecco was ‘loopy juice’.

  Rachel stood up, selfish thoughts tumbling away as she moved around the table to give Greg a hug. Her eyes were shiny with unshed tears when they pulled apart.

  ‘I’ll miss you,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, you won’t,’ Greg replied, waving a hand. ‘You won’t have the chance. I’ll still be in the office every day. ALSO, you’ve been promising you’ll come to Thursday-night yoga with me for months – so now I’m going to make you. And just so we’re clear …’ he added a moment later as they clattered through the door onto the street, ‘anyone who thinks you were punching above your weight with Jack is a moron. You’re kind, clever, funny and way more gorgeous than you realise. It’s him who wasn’t worthy of you.’

  Over the next few days, Rachel’s plan to carry on as normal met with more success than she expected. She finalised the content for It’s All Good’s shiny new website, then caught up with tasks that had been pushed down her agenda by recent events.

  Jack spent almost all of his time shut away in meetings with the senior management team, which suited Rachel perfectly. It allowed her almost to believe that the events of the previous week had been a bad dream.

  On Monday, Rachel had coolly rebuffed Jack’s single attempt at engaging with her. When she and Greg had arrived back at the office after their pow-wow, Jack’s apprehensive wave was put down with a stiff ‘Good morning’ as she stalked past and didn’t look back. Since then, their interactions had been limited to polite nods in passing or the occasional holding open of a door.

  Greg’s promotion had mostly been greeted with smiles and satisfaction. He was well liked, hard-working and, as far as the agency’s clients were concerned, a safe pair of hands. Happiness for Greg, however, was tempered by unease about what might be in store for the rest of the staff. One-to-one chats with people whose jobs would be affected by the restructure had started, and not everyone emerged from them calm.

  Rachel, more relaxed than many of her colleagues thanks to Greg’s reassurance, assumed she was unlikely to be summoned to such a meeting – for which she was abundantly grateful.

  ‘I’m actually okay,’ she told Anna over dinner on Wednesday night. ‘I mean, it’s a weird situation, but so far nothing I can’t cope with.’

  By Friday lunchtime Rachel was congratulating herself on surviving the first – and surely worst – week of her altered working life. Yes, it had been odd and uncomfortable seeing Jack here and there around the building. As predicted, though, they’d had very little to do with one another – and no doubt Rachel would become increasingly indifferent to his presence as she got used to it. She decided to reward herself with an overpriced ‘artisan’ sandwich and a stroll around Upper Street’s shops.

  When she returned to her desk, an email invitation to a 3 p.m. meeting was waiting for her. It was from Isaac, and the subject line simply read Catch Up.

  Shit. What could one of the agency’s co-founders want her for? What if Greg had been wrong and her job wasn’t safe?

  Shakily, Rachel double-clicked to open the message. Instead of a proper meeting agenda, Isaac had written some vague fluff about chatting through plans for the future of the agency and how she might fit in.

  She felt her breath stop in her throat as she scanned the list of meeting invitees and saw that, alongside her name, jack.harper@mountaintopmedia.com was listed. Brilliant, Rachel thought. I may be about to find out I no longer have a job, and the Fates have decided that the ideal witness to my humiliation is HIM.

  She pushed herself up in her seat so she could properly survey the room. She had studiously avoided looking over at Jack’s desk all week, but now her gaze was drawn to it. What was this meeting really for? Did he know more about it than she did?

  He was on the phone, staring down at a notepad and absently chewing on the end of a biro. Rachel had always enjoyed looking at him when he wasn’t aware anyone was watching; his face was different, somehow – open, rather than artfully arranged. Stop it, she warned herself.

  Before she could shift her focus, he looked up and stared right at her. She hated that his eyes still had the power to shock her. The vivid green in them was clear even at this distance, framed by thick chestnut-coloured lashes and set off perfectly by the rich, biscuity shade of his sweater. The sweater looked warm, butter-soft and expensive. It was cashmere, Rachel supposed, and for a few seconds she allowed herself to wonder how it might feel beneath her fingers.

  She turned back to her computer screen, feeling as if a jolt of electricity had just passed through her.

  Less than an hour later, Rachel made her way to the small meeting room on the far side of the office. She had a calming cup of herbal tea to take in with her: a medicinal distraction. At the very least, holding it would give her something to do with her hands if, as she feared, she was about to be given bad news.

  Isaac was already inside, chugging coffee from a takeaway cup as tall as his head. He was a roundish fifty-something man with wild curly hair that had once been ink-black but now boasted fine streaks of silver. He was in charge of what he called the ‘pro-social’ division of the business – the part that worked with charitable organisations or government departments to help promote the public good, rather than simply rake in profit.

  ‘Thanks for coming, Rachel,’ he said. ‘Please don’t look so worried. I’m pretty sure what I have to tell you is good news. Did you see Jack on your way over here?’

  ‘No,’ she replied, stiffening. ‘Er – do we need him, though? I mean, I’m assuming this conversation is about my job – what it’s going to be, if I still have one.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Isaac said, smiling. ‘But this concerns both of you.’

  What the hell did that mean?

  Rachel felt an unspecific creeping dread begin to lap around her ankles, an incoming tide of fear t
hat she couldn’t run away from.

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ Jack said as he appeared in the doorway. ‘I had a call that ran over.’

  Isaac performed a ‘don’t worry about it’ hand-flap, indicated that Jack should sit down and then asked him, ‘Is this your first time meeting Rachel?’

  Rachel felt her face crumple slightly and knew that Jack had noticed. She braced herself for his ‘we were students together’ shtick.

  Jack cleared his throat loudly, then ran a hand through his hair. ‘We met last Friday,’ he said, ‘but only briefly. I shadowed Greg at a client meeting and Rachel was kind enough to help me keep up.’

  ‘Then allow me to introduce you properly.’ Isaac smiled. ‘Rachel Ryan, this is Jack Harper. He’s going to be in charge of client relationships here on the pro-social side of the business, reporting to me as of next week. Jack, Rachel has been recommended to me as the ideal person to head up editorial strategy for the team. Greg assures me there’s no one better. I’m hoping she’ll work alongside you – be your opposite number, if you like.’

  Rachel was suddenly reeling. Too much was happening at once. Unlike last Friday, Jack was pretending not to know her – apparently out of consideration for her feelings. Meanwhile, Isaac seemed to be offering her a new job … But one she’d never have applied for in a million years.

  Isaac looked from Rachel to Jack with an expectant expression, and it was only when Jack leaned forward with his arm extended that she realised they were supposed to shake hands. She let him take her fingers and pull them into his. His palm was cool and soft, and she kept her eyes down.

  ‘So what do you think, Rachel?’ Isaac said. ‘Are you ready to jump out of the commercial copywriting pool? I’m sure it won’t shock you to hear that it’s likely to shrink over the next few months – though of course that isn’t common knowledge yet. This is a brand-new position: a chance for you to own it, really show off what you can do. You’d be working with Jack in much the same way as you’ve always done with Greg.’

  Rachel felt a strangled, horrified little shriek forming in her throat. She swallowed it, then wiped her sweaty palms on her denim-clad knees.

  Isaac was offering her the kind of opportunity she’d wanted for months: more meaningful work, a better job title – perhaps even more money. But this was the Salvador Dalí version of the promotion she’d been aiming for: distorted, strange and surreal.

  Yet Rachel hadn’t missed Isaac’s implication that, if she didn’t jump for the role he was offering, she might end up pushed out of the agency. Not only were there apparently more writers on the payroll than were needed; she’d look lazy and unambitious if she turned down the chance to do something more challenging than knock out content about cauliflowers.

  She glanced at Jack, but couldn’t get a read on what he was feeling. His face was a handsome mask: blank and impassive, gorgeous but expressionless. She thought she could detect tension in his shoulders. Perhaps he was frightened she’d freak out, make a scene and scream that she couldn’t do it … Or maybe he was worried she’d say yes.

  Rachel felt her head nodding. Her lips moved and a string of grateful, affirmative words floated from her mouth. At this moment, she realised, she had no choice but to say yes to Isaac. Yes to a new, more interesting role, but also to working in partnership with someone who – up until last week – she’d hoped never to see again. She was backed into a corner, and there was only one way out.

  ‘Superb!’ Isaac boomed, patting Rachel’s shoulder and clapping his hands. ‘I’ll send a full job description and salary details across to you now, and provided that’s all A-okay we’ll shift you over to our team first thing next week. There’s a little bump in pay to reflect the extra responsibilities you’ll be taking on.’

  He winked at Rachel, pushed his chair back noisily, then stood up and flashed a toothy grin at Jack. Rachel cringed.

  ‘I can’t wait to put you two to work,’ Isaac said. ‘Something tells me you’ll be perfect together.’

  10

  After the meeting, Rachel ran to the ladies. Leaning on the basin, she saw in the mirror that she was flushed and wild-eyed – her pupils swollen to dark pools by the adrenaline rush she was riding.

  She locked herself inside a cubicle and sat for what felt like a year on the lid of the toilet, cradling her head in her hands and trying not to hyperventilate. Finally, grateful that nobody else had come into the bathroom during her meltdown, Rachel patted cool water from the tap onto her face, dried under her armpits with a paper towel and went back to her desk.

  Jack had been pulled into a long discussion with Isaac, Toby and Greg. Rachel felt him glance at her more than once through the glass wall of the large meeting room and wondered what he was thinking. Surely he couldn’t be any happier about this than she was? Or had he known what was coming and chosen to keep his mouth shut?

  She told herself she’d come up with something – that there’d be a way she could get out of this without trashing her professional reputation or ripping an unemployment-shaped hole in her already threadbare finances. She just needed time to think.

  To Rachel’s dismay, however, no revelatory idea for sorting out what Greg had aptly termed her ‘epic mess’ revealed itself over the weekend. Anna, staunch and supportive as ever, plied her with several delicious meals, plenty of wine and countless cups of tea – but between them, they couldn’t think of a better way for Rachel to handle things than ‘take the new job for now, and try to keep your shit together’.

  On Sunday night, Rachel found herself wondering what Will and Tom might have made of Friday’s fresh dimension to the catastrophe that was her life. She smiled to herself as she imagined Will waxing lyrical about serendipity in his Professor Trelawney voice, only to have Anna kick his shins under the table.

  He’d have been kind, Rachel knew, but unlikely to offer any advice that could reasonably be considered helpful. Tom, on the other hand, might well have suggested something sensible – but as the pair of them were away on a stag do for an old school friend, he hadn’t had the chance.

  By the time Rachel arrived at work on Monday, the news that she was moving teams had spread. As she made her way to her desk, a handful of people whispered ‘Well done’, but still more regarded her quizzically. Some, Rachel assumed, must be wondering how she’d scored a step up the career ladder while other people were being shunted sideways or let go. She couldn’t blame them.

  Rachel felt Donna’s hawklike, heavily made-up eyes assessing her as she hung up her coat and got her laptop out. She’d dressed a little more thoughtfully than usual this morning, in a pair of checked 1950s-style cigarette pants and a raspberry-pink silk shirt. Rachel’s intention had been to boost her self-confidence rather than look nice for her new colleague. Now it dawned on her that turning up as a more polished version of herself could imply an ulterior motive, if you happened to be looking for one.

  She stopped short of asking herself whether Donna’s evident suspicions might, on some level, be justified, and kept her head down as she walked into the kitchen.

  After making a coffee and picking up a banana from the fruit bowl, Rachel sat down to find she’d already received an instant message from Kemi.

  Kemi Percival

  I’d undo another button if I were you.

  Reveal a bit more of the rack.

  Rachel Ryan

  What?!

  Kemi Percival

  I’m assuming the sexy girlboss attire is for Hot Harper’s benefit.

  In which case, you could def show a bit more skin.

  Rachel Ryan

  Please, please, NEVER refer to him as that again. I almost brought back my banana.

  ALSO this outfit is for no one’s benefit … It isn’t even new!

  I am a modern feminist, I do not dress up for men – especially not at work

  Kemi Percival

  He IS hot. The name stays

  And we ALL dress up for men as fit as him. I migh
t be a feminist but I’m not blind – and neither are you.

  Allllll the girls want to know how you pulled this off.

  Rachel Ryan

  Pulled what off?

  Rachel could feel heat rising up her neck. She’d tried to tamp down her annoyance with this conversation, but indignation had begun to burn somewhere behind her ribcage.

  Kemi Percival

  How you bagged the new job obvs.

  I’d give my right arm to spend all my work days hanging with someone that lush …

  Well, maybe not an arm. Like, a toe or something

  Rachel Ryan

  So it hasn’t occurred to anyone that I might have been promoted because I’m good at my job?

  Kemi Percival

  Ahhh, don’t be like that, Rach, we all know how good you are!!!

  We’re just jealous you get to work with HH.

  Donna pointed out what a cushy gig it is.

  Rachel Ryan

  Ha. I bet she did

  I only found out on Friday – it was a complete surprise.

  And I promise you, I didn’t ask for this. I swear I’d rather have stuck with Greg.

  Kemi Percival

  Baaahahahahaha!!!

  Pull the other one, it has bells on it

  Now more frustrated than anyone should be before 9.30 in the morning, Rachel decided not to dignify this with a response.

  She clicked the X in the corner of the IM window, took a breath that she hoped would be calming, and started reading her emails.

  Rachel and Jack had been summoned to a 10 a.m. ‘kick-off’ meeting with Isaac and Greg, presumably to discuss whatever work they’d been assigned. As it drew closer Rachel felt anxiety begin to press on her, like a dead weight she couldn’t shake off.