by Lindsey Kelk
‘Because it’s stupid,’ I choked out in between heaving sobs. ‘I’m stupid, he’s stupid. It’s all so stupid. I don’t want to be in love with him, how did this even happen?’
‘I know you’re used to being in charge of everything but you don’t always get a lot of say in this kind of stuff,’ Mir said, stroking my hair as I tried to stop my ugly cry. ‘What did you do last night?’
‘I sat in the bath looking at my phone until it died,’ I replied, gulping in big breaths. ‘And then I listened to my power ballads Spotify playlist for about five hours. And then I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling until it got light and now you’re here. I’m OK. I’ll be over it tomorrow.’
‘Yes, it sounds like you’ve got this completely under control,’ Miranda said. ‘Apart from how it sounds like the complete opposite of that. Annie, you’ve got to tell him how you feel.’
‘But I can’t,’ I argued, wiping a sniffy nose on the sleeve of my pyjamas. ‘Because he loves her. I don’t want to put him in that position.’
Nor did I want to put myself in that position. The only thing worse than believing someone didn’t love you was knowing they didn’t love you.
‘And what if he doesn’t love her any more?’ she suggested. ‘What if he loves you?’
Shaking my head, I stretched out a hand, trying to lure a reticent Wellington from his hiding place. He chirruped under the armchair before shuffling backward until all I could see were two, narrow green eyes trained relentlessly on Miranda. My little watch cat.
‘He doesn’t,’ I replied, quite certain. ‘He could never be with someone like me, he said it himself. We have nothing in common, he hates what I do for a living and it would never work. Ever. In a million years.’
‘If that’s all true, how come you’re in love with him?’ Miranda asked, stroking my head over the top of my blanket-shroud. I clutched the ends tightly together under my chin, like a considerably less virtuous Mother Theresa.
‘Because I’m stupid,’ I reminded her with tear-stained cheeks. ‘Completely and utterly stupid. Finally found a challenge I couldn’t win.’
Mir sighed and shuffled me along on the broken loveseat until we were both squished in, side-by-side, rib-to-rib.
‘So you’re just going to avoid him forever and never tell him how you feel?’ she asked. I nodded. ‘Can’t say that’s the best idea you’ve ever had.’
I closed my eyes and saw Sam in front of me in the courtyard. The look on his face, the hurt in his eyes, the sad slope of his shoulders.
‘I don’t know what to do,’ I admitted at last. ‘Why can’t men be more like women? Why can they only see what’s black and white and right in front of their face? You would know, wouldn’t you, if I liked you? You have the basic mental and emotional functions necessary to put two and two together and come up with four, why hasn’t he?’
Miranda’s eyes almost rolled back in her head.
‘If we’re going to start on “what’s wrong with men” we’re going to be here all day,’ she groaned, yanking my blanket off my head. My hair frizzed up around my ears in a halo of static. ‘But I will give you that Sam is a super-stubborn example. He spends far too much time locked up with books about dead white dudes for you to expect him to understand nuanced emotional behaviour. Human interaction kind of seems like a challenge for him, Annie, do you not remember how you met? He didn’t even know his girlfriend was cheating on him. You didn’t make this easy for yourself.’
‘It’s just so infuriating,’ I said, shaking my fists in front of my face. ‘It’s a mystery to me how the human race has lasted this long, it really is. Stupid feelings.’
‘Right but we still have to figure this out,’ she reminded me gently. ‘You’ve got to come back to work at some point and we can’t make him move out of his office—’
‘That’s it!’ I said, sitting up too quickly and hitting my head against one of her boobs. ‘You can get Martin to kick him out. Not that I’d ever ask you to use your sexual powers for nefarious ends, but come on, Mir, what choice do we have?’
‘I don’t think he can cancel a lease as easily as that,’ she replied, pulling her face into a frown. ‘Or at least, I hope he can’t. We should probably check our contract if he can.’
‘You haven’t even asked,’ I said, sulking. ‘What’s the point in going out with your landlord if you can’t bully him into evicting people?’
‘We’re still not officially going out,’ Miranda said. I could tell by the way she stifled her smile she was stopping herself from talking about him. She sat on top of her excitement like it was a bomb about to go off. ‘Anyway, back to Sam.’
‘Anyway, back to Martin,’ I countered. ‘If you want me to ever believe in love again rather than superglue my vag shut, I’m going to need a reason. Tell me what’s going on with you two immediately.’
‘I don’t know,’ she said, the smile slowly painting itself all over her face. ‘But he does want me to come over for dinner tonight, and I was with him practically all weekend, so whatever. I don’t need to see him again, it’s all a bit much. I’d rather stay here with you.’
If I was a grey, grubby blanket, Miranda was a rainbow. Everything about her was Technicolor, and even in my heartache, I was happy.
‘Mir, you’ve been waiting six months for him to be a bit much,’ I said, finding a smile for my friend. ‘You absolutely do need to see him again.’
She covered her face with a cushion and gave a smothered squeal.
‘I don’t know,’ she replied, still behind the cushion. ‘Do you not think I’m rushing in? What if it’s just shagging for him and I’m getting ahead of myself?’
‘It’s not shagging if it’s dinner,’ I said, snatching up the cushion and tossing it across the room, much to Wellington’s dismay. ‘He wants to cook food for you. On a weeknight. Like a proper boyfriend.’
‘He’s not definitely my boyfriend,’ she said, fussing with one of the three different necklaces she was wearing. ‘I don’t think.’
‘Maybe you’ll know after dinner,’ I said. The human race was truly hopeless. Sam didn’t know what to say to Elaine, I didn’t know what to say to Sam and Martin and Miranda didn’t know what to say to each other. No wonder online dating was so popular. ‘And maybe it’s a good idea not to commit either way until we’ve seen what his cooking is like.’
Mir considered this for a second and then nodded.
‘Can’t be worse than mine. If he can boil an egg, he’ll do.’
‘And if he can poach an egg, propose,’ I said, managing to muster up a happy hug even though it was hard to move at all, we were wedged so tightly into the loveseat. ‘I’m serious though. You really don’t have to stay here with me, I’m fine. I don’t actually have a migraine.’
Miranda gasped. ‘You don’t say? Doesn’t matter, you silly cow, I’m not going anywhere just yet. The business won’t go under if we miss one day.’
‘Or it might go under anyway,’ I suggested brightly.
We both stared blankly into the middle distance and I felt my tears threatening again.
‘I think I might have another bath,’ I said.
‘No way, you are not going to wallow around like a grumpy hippo,’ she said, stroking her thumbs across my cheeks to wipe away the fresh tear tracks. ‘Annie, I honestly don’t think you were this upset when you broke up with Matthew. What is going on?’
I dug out my phone and swiped it into life. The photo Sam had taken of the two of us in Margate, standing with the seaside in the background lit up.
‘Matthew was terrible and we all knew it,’ I said, my words thick with feelings. ‘Sam is something else. Sam is …’
Mir waited patiently while I searched for the right words.
‘There’s no one else like him,’ I said finally. ‘He’s one in a million.’
All out of fight, I sank back against the cushions at my side just as Wellington slunk out from underneath the armchair and crept across the floor to leap u
p onto my lap. He purred madly, rubbing his head against my hand and kneading his paws on the edges of my blanket.
‘You’re far too fond of that cat, I can still totally smell where he pissed on the floor,’ Mir said, picking up the remote and settling in. I smiled and scratched him between the ears. ‘What’s on telly?’
‘Nothing?’ I answered as she flicked through the channels.
‘Perfect,’ she said, pulling my blanket over my legs.
And for just a moment, even though it wasn’t, it was.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Thursday, 2 August: One Day to Go
It was three days since I’d last seen or spoken to Dr Samuel Page. Three days and I was completely over it. That’s if you consider ‘over it’ to mean creeping up the fire stairs at the crack of dawn and back down again on stroke of midnight to avoid him, and reorganizing the entire office so I could hide my desk behind a little den made out of filing cabinets. We’d even instated an official Dr Page drill. At the first sign of him entering the office, someone was to shout ‘cheese-and-onion Pringles’ and I would go to ground. I don’t think the interns appreciated knowing that was Brian’s safe word but still, so far, so good.
Not sleeping was playing havoc with my hair and my skin but it had really helped me put a dent in my to-watch, -read and -organize lists. Never had my Netflix queue looked so empty and my underwear drawer hadn’t looked this good since I’d first filled it. On top of that, I was way ahead on all my work projects. Well, all of them except for one.
‘The Surligner Cosmetics event that Lily is hosting is a week from today,’ Zadie said, scanning her notes in our team meeting on Thursday morning. ‘I’ve got RSVPs back from everyone, personalized pyjamas are all ordered, the printed tote bags are coming in tomorrow, I’ve got everyone’s train tickets and except for Beauty by Bee, who is driving herself.’
‘Lily hates Bee,’ Mir said with a frown, scanning the guest list for the event. ‘Did we invite her?’
‘Lily doesn’t hate Bee,’ I corrected. ‘Bee hates Lily. But Surligner really wanted her there and I’ve explained it to our gracious host so it’s all OK. I’ve put them at opposite ends of everything, don’t worry. They won’t even have to breathe the same air if they don’t want to. Have you invoiced Surligner?’
I realized I was actually shaking, waiting for the answer. Overnight stays for fifteen people at five-star countryside hotels did not come cheap. I really was on the wrong end of my own business.
‘We’ve invoiced for half the fee and they’ve actually paid,’ Mir nodded. Brian and I immediately high-fived. ‘We’ll invoice the rest when we get back.’
‘I feel all funny and lightheaded.’ I could barely believe someone had paid an invoice without so much as a threatening phone call. ‘What’s next?’
‘Uh, the Hot Historian?’ Zadie the intern read from the agenda on her iPad. Literally, her iPad. We’d offered her Brian’s old one so she’d brought in her brand-new iPad Pro from home.
‘Sorry, Annie, I meant to take that off,’ Mir waved it away. ‘What’s after that?’
Everyone around the table looked anywhere but at me while I stared over at the whiteboard on the wall. The words ‘Hot Historian’ had been doctored to read ‘Shit Shitstorian’ which was very thoughtful but not especially helpful, and the numbers hadn’t been updated since last week. It still said we had ten days left before the end of the bet. We didn’t, we had one.
‘It’s OK,’ I said, forcing strength I didn’t feel into my voice. ‘What numbers are we on?’
‘Fifteen thousand,’ Brian confirmed. ‘Which is incredible, Annie. He’s doing a roaring trade in Scandinavia.’
‘Hotties before hygge,’ Mir said, reviewing the stats. ‘They love that freaking idiot. According to our Amazon affiliates link, we’ve sold more than fifteen hundred copies of his book.’
‘That’s insane,’ I breathed, a tiny flash lighting up my heart as I imagined the look on his face when we told him. Only I couldn’t see him so I couldn’t tell him. ‘So, we just need five thousand more Scandies to join Instagram in one day to win the bet.’
‘Don’t even think about it,’ Miranda said, leaving no room for debate in her voice. ‘It’s a stupid bet, we’re forgetting it ever happened. All Charlie’s fault, really.’
‘Fairly certain it’s my fault to be honest,’ I pointed out. ‘I can’t believe we’re going to lose this thing.’
‘You just need people to follow the account?’ Zadie said, flicking up and down through what felt like thousands of photos of Sam on her iPad. ‘You don’t care who they are, you don’t need them to do anything?’
‘At this point, it’s not a particularly targeted campaign, no,’ I replied. ‘The only rule is, we can’t buy followers.’
‘I could ask my friends to follow? And like, post about it?’ she suggested.
‘And I can put some new posts up, refresh the content,’ Nat, our second intern, offered. ‘Looks pretty straightforward to me. Hot dude, dumb fact, hey presto.’
I looked over at Miranda, who shrugged. ‘Up to you,’ she said. ‘Otherwise I’m just as happy to drop Charlie Wilder into the Thames.’
‘She’s joking,’ I assured them.
She shook her head, staring at them with threateningly wide eyes.
‘She’s not joking,’ I muttered.
I bit down on my lip. Had I ever felt so conflicted? On one hand, I did not want to spend another second of my life scrolling through photos of Sam looking like a verifiable fittie but at the same time, the idea of letting go of one of my projects? Giving up control? Handing it over to interns? I didn’t even like letting Miranda hold the remote of an evening.
‘Chicks before dicks,’ Miranda confirmed, slapping the table to end the meeting and making the decision for me. ‘For the next twenty-four hours, you two are officially in charge of the Hot Historian account. If you get him up to twenty thousand followers by this time tomorrow, you get a prize.’
‘The new iPhone?’ Nat guessed feverishly.
‘A French bulldog?’ Zadie gasped.
‘I was thinking a Kinder Egg, but who knows?’ Mir gulped at the potential cost of their suggestions. ‘But I think it would be easier to feed the five thousand than to win this thing at this point so, sure, whatever you want.’
‘If we do need to make with the loaves and fishes, I’ve got a recipe for a lovely breaded lemon sole at home,’ Brian said, checking the time on his phone. ‘Can you manage the rest of the meeting without me? I’ve got a meeting with Coast in half an hour.’
‘You can all go,’ Mir waved them away. ‘We’ll finish up. Thanks, guys.’
Zadie and Nat followed Brian out the meeting room, leaving us alone with our bottom line.
‘We’re going to have to manage without him for more than the team meeting if we don’t sort this out sooner rather than later,’ I said, sifting through our outstanding invoices. ‘If things don’t change in the next twenty-four hours, it’s a choice between paying Brian at the end of the month or paying the rent.’
‘What if we don’t pay us?’ she asked, hopeful as ever.
‘That’s already assuming we don’t pay us,’ I replied. ‘If you want to take home a salary as well, you’ll be working on your own, in the street. I’ve gone over the books so many times, we’re owed so much money. How is this possible?’
‘It’s possible because we need bigger clients with deeper pockets,’ she said, turning my computer screen so she could see. ‘They can’t give us what they don’t have and we shouldn’t have spent what wasn’t in the bank.’
‘It’s not like we pissed it up the wall on caviar and champagne,’ I said, pressing my fingers into my temples hard. ‘It went on wages and rent. I know it’s early days but is there any chance you could marry Martin and become our landlady before the end of the month?’
‘No,’ she replied. ‘Because my life isn’t a Jane Austen novel.’
‘Well, at least you won’t die
of consumption,’ I sighed. ‘I suppose there’s still a chance the SetPics job could happen?’
‘There’s a chance,’ she agreed. ‘But it’s not money we can rely on. Even if we got the gig, they wouldn’t be paying us for a while yet.’
‘Right then, it’s threatening phone call time,’ I said, rolling up my sleeves. ‘Do you want to go first, or shall I? Or I could pay some people a visit in person, I think I look more frightening than I sound at the moment.’
‘Tell you what,’ she said, closing my laptop and almost taking my fingers off in the process. ‘Let’s save that for tomorrow when we’re hungover. We’ll be that much more monstrous. Let’s bin the rest of the day and fancy ourselves up for the awards tonight. If this all goes tits-up in six months, I want to go out with a bang. It’s “go big or go home” time.’
‘I can go home?’ I asked, yearning for my miserable pit and my sad woman’s blanket and Sam’s incontinent cat.
‘You know what I mean,’ Miranda said sternly. ‘You need an MOT, my love. Nails, hair, makeup, the whole lot. Do you even know what you’re wearing tonight?’
I shook my head, stretching my arms to not-so-covertly sniff the pits of my T-shirt only to catch the eye of three people waiting outside to use the shared meeting room.
‘Can’t I just go like this?’
‘Annie, I didn’t want to be the one to tell you,’ she said reached across the table, taking both of my hands in hers. ‘But you’ve become the female version of pre-makeover Dr Page. And it’s not pretty.’
I turned my eyes towards my ghostly reflection in the meeting room window. Lack of sleep had left me tired and drawn, my skin was genuinely grey and I’d taken gender-neutral dressing to a very dark place. While I’d always enjoyed a Mark Zuckerberg-inspired work wardrobe, my outfits were always smart and at least marginally cute. Cool jeans, cute shirts, fun tees, the odd funky dress to mix things up. But not today. My skinny jeans had gone baggy at the arse and the knees and my once-white T-shirt looked like it had come out of the lost-and-found in a particularly rough A&E department. It wasn’t even worth getting into what was going on with my hair because I had no idea.