by Lauren Sams
He laughed. ‘Calm down, no one will notice.’
‘Everyone will notice. Open the door. Now.’
He stared at me, puzzled, then cracked a smile. ‘Alright.’
He opened the door and I felt relief flood through me. What the hell was he thinking?
‘Sit down,’ I said, through gritted teeth. We sat on the couches in my office, two separate sofas that formed an L in the corner, and that remained partially out-of-sight to passersby.
I faced Neil. ‘So?’
He leaned back into the couch, looking for all the world as if we were settling in for the night to watch The Walking Dead with pad Thai and red wine, not at work in the middle of the afternoon, where nobody was aware of our recently changed relationship status.
‘So –’ he began. ‘Friday was fun.’
I nodded. ‘Yep. Listen, we can’t talk about this here,’ I said, lowering my voice to just above a whisper.
‘OK,’ he said, eyes bright. ‘Come out with me tomorrow night. Dinner. Drinks. We could go to a movie . . . or just to my place –’
I stared at him, dumbfounded. I had just told him we couldn’t talk about this – whatever this was – at the office. It was pretty straightforward. What couldn’t he understand?
‘Yeah, Neil, we can’t talk about this right now. OK?’ My eyes bulged as if to emphasise the point.
He held up his hands. ‘OK, OK. I get it.’ He lowered his voice and added in a whisper, ‘And it’s hot.’ My eyes blazed. I couldn’t tell if he really did think it was hot or if he was messing with me for the hell of it. ‘I’ll message you,’ he said, as he got up to leave.
‘Oh,’ said Meredith, walking in. ‘Hello, Neil.’ Meredith’s mouth drew a tight, straight line.
But Neil didn’t miss a beat. ‘Hey, Meredith! How are you? Had fun on Friday night. What about you? That last bar we went to was so great, wasn’t it? Loved the shrubs in the cocktails. Think I might put it in the Drinks column week after next. Yeah?’
Meredith softened, and she reached out to touch Neil’s arm playfully. ‘Oh! Gosh, I don’t even remember you being at that bar, Neil! Sneaky!’
He smiled and shot me a look as he walked out.
I tried to settle on an appropriate facial expression – mildly bored, maybe? – as my heart jumped. What was he thinking?
Meredith shut the door and turned to me.
‘I’m just going to say it one more time,’ she said, her face suddenly grave again. ‘No messing about. No funny business. You and Neil work together. That’s it. Do you understand?’
I nodded. ‘Meredith, really, nothing is happening. Nothing. I promise.’ Liar. Pants on fire.
She didn’t blink. ‘I have big plans for you, George. So don’t go fucking them up, alright? Am I making myself absolutely clear?’
‘Absolutely.’
She cleared her throat. ‘Right,’ said Meredith, suddenly sunshine and roses, ‘good good. Because Richie loved your columns.’
‘Oh,’ I said, breathing a sigh of relief. ‘But didn’t he see them a few weeks ago? And he liked them then?’
A flash of annoyance briefly passed across Meredith’s face, then disappeared. ‘Yes, yes he did. But . . . uh, Richie’s so busy, you know, upstairs, that, uh, he forgot he’d seen them, and then he read them again.’
Meredith looked flustered, which was odd, because Meredith never looked flustered. The only time I had ever seen her look anything more than mildly perturbed was when a bartender tried to serve her Smirnoff instead of Grey Goose. And even then she’d handled it in her typical Meredith way, by coolly pouring the drink out on the counter and demanding a new one. Meredith did not get flustered. She got what she wanted.
‘OK. That sounds good. You know, it would be good to meet with Richie, I think. I have this whole plan for the column. I was talking to a friend from mothers’ group on the weekend, and she almost seems afraid of going back to work, and I just wanted to tell her it’ll be fine.’ I was aware, at that moment, of Meredith’s eyes glazing over slightly, but I didn’t let it faze me. ‘I wanted to say, yeah, it’ll be hard. Sure. Everyone knows that. But it’s also great, because you’ll to have the best of both worlds, won’t you?’ By now, Meredith’s eyes were so glazed over she looked like a Krispy Kreme. I barrelled on. ‘You do. You get to be an adult, to make decisions, to contribute, to do something of real value and worth to the outside world, and then you get to come home and do something of real value and worth for your child. So it’s great, it’s just great.’
Meredith blinked at me. ‘Jesus, George, I wasn’t aware I was getting a lecture on leaning in.’
‘Oh. I didn’t mean to lecture you –’
Meredith put up a hand to signal that this part of the conversation was over. ‘Yes, George. I get it. Working mothers, blah blah. Right. Anyway, speaking of, did you have a chance to look at the sketch? Hilarious, right?’
‘Uh, no, not yet. Hang on a sec.’
I opened the file and took a look. I tried to refrain from gasping out loud. It was clear that Meredith had briefed Richard on the sketch. Titled ‘A spotter’s guide to playground mothers’, it veered between cruel and downright offensive. Instead of the funny, playful sketch I had imagined, with a few knowing jokes about hypochondriac parents or parents who dressed their kids in knee pads to go to the park, this was a guide to ‘IVF Mum’ (‘if she looks older than she should, it’s because she is’) and ‘Formerly Hot Mum’ (‘has chosen her kids over her body, and it shows’) and ‘Stay-At-Home Sally’ (‘whines about how much housework she does but protests when you tell her to get a real job’).
‘What is this?’ I asked, looking up at Meredith, who was clapping with glee.
‘Isn’t it funny? Richard is great. We should get him to do more of these, I think they’ll really hit a nerve.’
‘I agree, they will hit a nerve,’ I said. This is horrible. There’s no way we can run this.’
Meredith’s smile fell. ‘Why? It’s hilarious. It’s what you wanted.’
I shook my head. ‘No. It’s not. Not at all. I wanted something where everyone was in on the joke. This is cruel. You can’t talk about women like this. It’s offensive and hurtful. I won’t run it.’
Meredith scoffed. ‘Oh, George, stop it. Don’t be so sanctimonious. If people do dislike it, that’s fine. They have a right to their opinion, I suppose. And hopefully they’ll voice it all over social media and drum up some free PR for us. There’s no such thing as bad publicity.’
‘There is, actually. This would be very bad publicity. The Weekend is meant to be intelligent and forward-thinking. This is misogynist bullshit. I’m taking it off the plan.’
‘Excuse me?’ Finally, Meredith looked unnerved.
‘This has no place in our mag. I’ll replace it with a house ad.’
‘No, you won’t. It’s funny and topical. Like I said, George, I have big plans for you. Do you really want to jeopardise things over a bloody mummy sketch?’
I stood up and placed my palms on the table. ‘Meredith, I am putting my foot down. This is not going to run. I’m prepared to fight you on this.’ I took a breath and leaned back a little, trying to calm down. ‘We’re about to get some amazing PR from Media Alert. Do you really want to jeopardise that with a bloody mummy sketch?’ Nervous as I was to stand up to Meredith, I was determined not to let my voice falter. I wouldn’t give her that.
Meredith snickered and gave me that curt, annoyed smile she saved for when she was at her angriest.
‘Fine. Drop it.’
I smiled right back. ‘Already done.’
*
The next week was a blur of emails from Meredith, texts from Ellie asking about Nina’s mum’s memorial, and the pages of The Women’s Weekly Children’s Birthday Cake Cookbook, from which I was trying to choose a cake for Pip’s birthday. The train looked way too hard, the swimming pool looked way too artificially blue, and the duck with potato chips for a bill looked way too ’80s. Dolly Varden,
maybe?
And Neil. There was a lot of Neil.
I had safely compartmentalised Meredith’s warning way, way back in my mind. I needed this. So we went out. Jase babysat. And Pip survived. I was doing it; I was having it all; I was leaning in – and out, as the case may be.
‘So you can’t come into my office, OK?’ I told him as we lay in bed, after an hour of leaning in and out.
He gave me that smirk that lately didn’t seem quite so annoying. ‘We do work together. I might have a reason to come into your office.’
‘Yeah, but you can’t come in and ask me on a date, alright? That’s not on.’
His fingers traced the length of my arm. ‘OK,’ he said, not really paying attention.
I gave him a soft slap. ‘Neil! I mean it. Meredith . . . I’m pretty sure she knows.’
‘Oh yeah?’ He didn’t look worried.
‘Yes! And she was . . . well, she was very clear about the fact that we’re not allowed to date. So we can’t let her find out.’
Neil’s eyes began to close. ‘That seems unrealistic.’
‘Neil!’ I said, playfully jabbing him with a finger, at which he jolted a little. ‘I’m serious. We have to be careful.’
‘Calm down, George. Come here,’ he said, pulling me into his big spoon cuddle.
The next morning, as he made me coffee from his Aeropress and went on at length about how it was the best coffee maker on the market, and how it was so inexpensive when you took into account the cost-per-use, and I tried to look interested while also just thinking, bloody hell, hurry up and make my coffee, will you?, I looked around Neil’s kitchen and saw the evidence of a life very much lived alone.
Everything had a place. Cookbooks stood in colour-coded order on a shelf above the neatly filled wine rack. The benches were bare but for the bloody Aeropress, about which Neil apparently still had more to say. Exactly three knives were affixed to a magnetic strip near the very clean stovetop. I thought about my own stovetop, with its caked-on splatters that I’d long ago made a half-hearted attempt to clean and quickly learnt to live with. My own wine rack, all but empty by now. My knife rack, safely stowed away from Pip’s curious fingers. She had become a climber, which was one part cute mixed with nine parts terrifying.
Where did I fit in here? Where would Pip fit in?
Finally, Neil handed me a cup of coffee, his scruffy face breaking into a grin. ‘I’m buying you an Aeropress,’ he said.
‘Oh, you don’t have to –’
‘No! I do. I’ve seen how much coffee you drink. You need an Aeropress.’ He reached out and pulled me in for a kiss. I was still getting used to the electric feeling of it, the bolt of desire.
‘OK,’ I said, leaning back and making a big show of tasting the coffee. ‘Mmm. Yes, definitely the best cup I’ve ever had. Better than an espresso in Milan. You win.’ I leaned across the kitchen island to give him another kiss.
As I sat back in my chair, I saw my phone light up.
Need to see you today. SO
much to do still. Meet at
office in 30 mins? MP xxx
‘Who’s that?’ asked Neil.
I rolled my eyes. ‘Meredith.’
‘It’s Saturday.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘What does she want?’ he asked, reaching into the fridge. I took a moment to appreciate his bum – how was he a food writer and not morbidly obese, the way I surely would be if eating was a KPI? – and then replied to Meredith.
Can it wait til Monday? Not
sure I can get babysitting
on such short notice.
‘She wants me to come into work.’
He turned around. ‘Absolutely not. I need you right here, young lady. We have important business to discuss.’ He waggled his eyebrows and I laughed.
‘Well, when you put it that way –’
On the bench, my phone buzzed once more.
No. Very important.
Let’s hustle. MP xxx
As I was trying to figure out a response, Neil wrapped his arms around my waist, peering over my shoulder to read the text.
‘Ugh. That woman needs a life. I’d pay serious cash to see her face when you tell her you’re not going in.’
I said nothing, the phone still in my hand.
‘Wait,’ Neil said, untangling his arms and stepping back. ‘You’re not going in, are you?’
‘Um –’ I looked down. No. Just say no. Tell Neil you are going to spend the day in his bed, and that if you get up at all, you’ll go no further than the bathroom or the fridge. Tell him. Tell him you want to spend the day with him. Tell him. Tell him right now.
I turned around, my face hot with shame. I was going to do what Meredith told me to do; I couldn’t not.
Neil’s eyes bulged. ‘You’re going in? Seriously? I thought we were going to hang out. I thought Jase was looking after Pip. We have a whole day.’
‘Uh, well, Meredith and I have a lot of work to do. We’re doing the advertiser presentations this week, you know, and the mag really needs the money. So it’s a big deal.’
He stiffened a little. ‘Right,’ he said, as I tried to ignore the disappointment on his face. ‘Right. Well, I’m not an editor. If you have to go –’
I paused. I wanted to spend the day with Neil, I really did. But I also wanted to show Meredith I could present to advertisers and make her a shitload of money. Because maybe then she’d be able to concentrate on that column she promised me so many months ago. Sure, Lee didn’t get her column, but maybe Richie just hadn’t liked her idea. He liked mine. I was close. I was really close.
‘Look, Neil . . . I’d love to stay, I really would. But –’
Neil dropped his head a little and sighed. ‘It’s fine. I’ll drive you in if you want.’
‘Oh, I don’t think that’s such a good idea –’
Neil’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why?’
‘Well . . . because Meredith doesn’t want us to date. I mean, she can’t see us together at 9 am on a Saturday.’
He laughed, a big, generous belly laugh.
I waited for him to finish.
‘George. You can’t be serious. She can’t tell you what to do. What you do outside of work has nothing to do with her.’ He studied me, as if waiting for me to agree. I didn’t say anything. ‘Right?’ he prompted.
I cocked my head, ready to agree with him but also knowing there was some sense to Meredith’s no-dating rule. Part of me was thinking, What the hell are you doing, sleeping with your employee? Part of me was thinking, How will this work? This isn’t Who’s the Boss?. I wasn’t Angela. Neil wasn’t Tony. Pip wasn’t Alyssa Milano. Or whoever the other kid was.
‘Neil, I really like you,’ I said, surprising even myself as the words came out. I really like Neil. Oh. ‘But I think she’s got a point. I’m your boss. Maybe . . . maybe this isn’t such a good idea.’
He scoffed, and that smirk came back. ‘Seriously?’
I nodded. ‘I just –’
He sighed. ‘She pushes you around at work – she pushes all of us around, because she’s so fucking insecure and anxious and probably, from the looks of it, bloody starving – and now you’re going to let her push you around outside of work too? That seems sensible.’
‘I’d hardly say Meredith pushes me around,’ I began, but Neil cut me off.
‘She’s getting you to come to work on a Saturday, even though she knows you have a baby. She makes jokes about you in front of all of us. She made you go to Melbourne for nothing and made you feel like shit the whole weekend, or so you told me. And now you’re saying she’s got a point about us not dating? Are you really going to leave right now and not come back? Because –’ Neil paused and softened his tone. ‘Because I really like you, too. And there’s no “but” after that. I really like you. I think you’re funny and smart and a bit mad, but that’s OK. I like that you call bullshit. I like that you have a baby. I like you. I don’t care about Meredith because this is just a jo
b. It doesn’t really mean anything.’
‘Well . . . it does mean something,’ I said, choosing to focus on that last bit, and not the heartbreaking admission that he really did like me. Because I knew what I was going to do next. ‘I mean, I’ve worked really hard. I studied, I’ve worked my way up. I’ve been away from my kid for months working at all of this. It does mean something – it means a lot. At least to me, it does.’
I couldn’t walk away from my job – this job I had worked so hard and sacrificed so much for – just because Neil liked me. What would it all have been for if I turned around now and said to Meredith, ‘Sorry, I’m shagging the food writer, see you later!’? Neil may have treated his job with a joking sort of contempt, but I didn’t. I wasn’t pitching stories about Manchester just so I could go and watch a soccer game; I was doing what I was goddamn told. I was working. And then, at the end of the day, I went home to my other job.
Neil sighed. ‘Does it mean the end of . . . this?’
I opened my mouth to speak but couldn’t find the words. Neil stared at me, his mouth set in a line.
‘OK,’ he said.
I gathered my things and went to work.
Chapter 18
The day of the upfronts, I woke, as usual, to the sound of Pip crying out for me. My movements were rehearsed and robotic now. I shuffled over and picked her up, cuddling her into me. Downstairs. Kettle, bottle, coffee.
My eyelids felt heavy, which seemed both odd and familiar for 7 am. As Pip and I showered, my mind raced through the day’s to-do list.
Pick up dress from dry-cleaners before work
Message Harriet to say happy birthday to Charlie (even though Harriet was complete B to me last week)
Buy nappies
Pay water bill
Flatplan
Cover options for Meredith