by Molly Flatt
For Yanni –
my beginning, middle and end.
‘The world is full of hopeful analogies and handsome, dubious eggs, called possibilities’
George Eliot, Middlemarch
‘We all have an old knot in the heart we wish to loosen and untie’
Michael Ondaatje, The Cat’s Table
Contents
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∞
Acknowledgements
Permissions Acknowledgements
As the man flew backwards, he already knew that he was dead. He could feel the blast spreading through his flesh, hot and fast, imploding his organs with something like joy. Seven million lights wheeled around him in a spectacular farewell show and the taste of copper and ozone flooded his mouth. He was still alive when he hit the ground, alive enough to feel the back of his head bounce. Alive enough to watch the last of the lights retreat inside the walls until he was staring into black.
That was wrong. That shouldn’t be happening. There would be consequences to that – consequences he should be around to fix. There was so much still left for him to do. So much he had never had time to say. All the seconds he had spent on ridiculous worries, on arguments that didn’t matter and people he didn’t love, scattered before him like sand, and he longed to sweep up the grains and cram them back into his body’s brittle hourglass.
The chill of the stone was seeping through his flesh, the metallic warmth leaching out of the atmosphere. He heard the scuffle of boots, then the rasp of panicked breath as someone knelt beside his face. He had to tell them. He had to give them a chance, even if he couldn’t, to salvage something from this almighty mess. So with the last of his breath he spoke the words: three words. And as his lungs rattled to a halt and his neurons winked out like the lights that had so swiftly, catastrophically fled, he just about had time to think two final thoughts.
First, he wondered what would happen to the woman.
And then, he hoped, with all his failing heart, that his dear, beloved, pig-headed bloody son wouldn’t do anything stupid.
1
Alex took a breath, then froze. For the briefest moment she had no idea how she had come to be standing on this upturned beer crate in this vast and ugly room, staring back at the faces of a hundred hungry strangers.
Tell us, they pleaded with bleary eyes and wetly gaping mouths. Tell us your secret.
Before she could stop it, a memory surfaced of her thirteen-year-old self, paralysed centre-stage and stammering like an idiot, in her first and last school play. Seconds later – oh God, not now, not again – the memory blurred and shivered. The vertigo drop-kicked her belly. The emptiness opened up inside.
Who the hell was she? Why the hell was she here? She fished around for a mental handhold; felt her thoughts spiral towards the void; was certain, for a moment, that she was about to throw up.
Then: For Christ’s sake, woman. She swallowed convulsively. Get a hold of yourself. You know how to handle this. Forget the past. Concentrate on the now.
She stared down at her flashy heels, an impulsive party-night treat-to-self. She let out her breath in one long blow. You are strong, she silently chanted, thinking of the exercises Chloe had taken her through the evening before. You are powerful. This is your moment. Trust it. Let everything else go.
The nausea peaked, flickered, dissolved. She cleared her throat. She looked up. She attempted a smile. ‘How the fuck,’ she croaked, ‘did I end up in this fairy tale?’
There was a ripple of laughter, a couple of cheers. Alex took a tentative sip from her beer and felt the void retreat. Over the heads of the crowd she spotted the EUDOMONIA logo that the design guys had smoothed onto the back wall seconds before the first guests arrived. She let the smile widen into a grin. Yes. Pantone Warm Red 172 was perfect, after all.
‘I mean, seriously.’ She took a proper swig from the bottle and felt the fluency roll back in. ‘This can’t be right. Six months ago I was stuck in a dead-end job, knackered all the time, barely scraping together the rent. Not to put too fine a point on it, really quite miserable. Then . . .’ She paused and felt the weight of their stares pressing against her. She was glad, now, that she’d taken that reckless hour to get her highlights refreshed. She held the silence for a few more seconds. ‘Well, frankly, it feels like a miracle.’
A collective sigh.
‘I mean, people don’t just change overnight.’
A rumble of Huhs. A few weary nods.
‘And yet . . .’ A wry shrug. ‘Hell, perhaps it’s karma. Lady Luck. Divine intervention. Allahu Akbar! Of course, we’ve still got a long way to go. This is just the beginning. But to have come so far so quickly . . .’ She gestured from the huddle of wheeled desks on one side of the room to the glass-walled meeting pod on the other. ‘Well, it’s obviously what I’m meant to be doing. At bloody last!’
A tide of whoops. A froth of applause.
‘Although,’ Alex went on, as the whistles died down, ‘it’s really Lenni who should be up here, not me.’ She smiled down at him where he stood beside the beer crate, his pink scalp visible through his white-blond hair. ‘Seriously,’ she said, well aware that Lenni would much rather be celebrating alone with a spreadsheet and a storm of Finnish techno crashing through his headphones, ‘Eudo would still be a pipe dream if this guy hadn’t agreed to meet me for coffee in Farringdon, one Wednesday six months ago.’ She held out her hand, freshly manicured in the closest the Filipino girl had been able to find to Warm Red 172. ‘Let’s hear it for Lenni.’
A roar. Lenni ducked his head and waved them away.
Alex widened the gesture to embrace the room. ‘And it goes without saying that we owe a big debt of gratitude to all of you, for taking a risk on us so early on. The remarkable fact that we’re able to gather here in our first proper office – sorry, co-working space – is down to our incredible angels Ahmed and Dale. It’s not exactly Google Campus, but it’s a damn sight better than the table in my flat. Especially seeing as we’re going to be recruiting like mad over the next few months. Talking of which, if any of you knows of a COO-in-waiting with a trust fund, give them my number, now.’
A third crest of cheers and laughter petered out into expectant silence.
Alex ground a £600 lime-suede toe into the splintered wood. ‘I suppose,’ she said softly, ‘what I really want to say is this: don’t underestimate yourselves. Because, I promise you, even if you’ve been a total loser for your entire adult life, if you can just let go of your own bullshit – anything is possible. Literally anything.’ Eyes up. ‘Okay, heavy stuff over. Go and get pissed.’
This time, the roar was deafening. Alex jumped down from the crate.
‘Alright?’ she murmured to Lenni as they pushed their way through the slapping hands and jabbering voices.
‘Very good.’
‘Bit corny?’
‘They’re drunk. Corny is good.’
The air con was fighting a losing battle against the combination of month-long heatwave and a hundred under-deodorized, post-work people. Alex discreetly tried to billow a breeze under her vest as she fended off incomers with apologetic smiles and headed straight for Ahmed and Dale. The investors were caught in a thicket of neon-jeane
d twenty-somethings, being buffeted by pitches. Turning herself into a windbreak, she pressed fresh cold Shoreditch Blondes into their palms.
‘Christ!’ She blew into her new fringe. ‘That was embarrassing.’
‘Oh, you know what you’re doing,’ Ahmed said, appraising her from haircut to heels. ‘I picked up a copy of Flair at Victoria yesterday. That interview was spot-on.’
‘Great!’ Alex touched his wrist. ‘I’m so glad you like it. Oh, it’s a bit fluffy, obviously, but we’ve already seen a huge spike in web traffic and a shedload of new sign-ups.’
‘It’s like I said, Alex.’ Ahmed swilled a mouthful of beer. ‘You’re Eudomonia’s biggest asset. Personal profile pieces like this are just what we need, and you’re obviously a natural. I think it’s time to aim higher than a Tube rag. I’ll make a few calls.’
‘Too fucking right.’ Dale slapped her on the back, leaving a damp palm-print on the silk. ‘Most of my founders are barely out of nappies and they can only speak in sodding ones and zeros. You’re special, doll.’ He raised his bottle. ‘To you. To us. To Eudo.’
They three-way-clinked, spotlit in a dozen envious stares. ‘To Eudo.’
Ten internally monitored minutes later, Alex handed the angels off to Lenni and sought out the hacks. By some communal freeloading instinct, they had congregated near the big rubber buckets of drinks and ice, the lifestyle editors eyeing the tech bloggers like beasts at a watering hole. Imagining herself as an alpha lioness, Alex stalked into their midst and fielded their predictable questions with a few piquant soundbites. Next, she sashayed over to the desks to smooth the nerves of a bundle of twitchy new-hires. She couldn’t remember all of their names, and she wasn’t entirely clear who was on her payroll and who was a plus one, so she stuck to general joshing and piss-takery. Then, replenished with another beer from a beautiful girl with a scarlet-tinted Afro, possibly one of the interns, she headed down to the far end of the room. It was time for some bonding with the other start-up that shared the sixth floor. Their product – brightly packaged organic protein balls – hung in clusters from six-foot plastic trees stationed around the walls.
She was just passing the sofas that divided their spaces when someone grabbed her arm. She turned, a charming rebuff on her lips, and found that it was Harry.
‘Very slick,’ he said. ‘You really should have told me you were so miserable, six months ago.’
‘Harry.’ Alex caught sight of her own face, sparkling with exhilaration in the mirrored wall of the kitchen module behind him. ‘Very funny,’ she murmured, punching his shoulder. It took some effort to drag her gaze away.
Harry smoothed the sleeve of his jacket. He was looking incredibly handsome, in exactly the right amount of chestnut stubble and a new silver tie. ‘Your parents are here,’ he said, moving aside to reveal Alex’s mother, looking tiny amongst the oversized scarlet cushions, unwrapping a protein ball.
‘Mum!’ Alex perched on the arm of the sofa and leaned down to give her mother a hug. The cloud of Joy that engulfed her threatened to unleash a thousand memories and she experienced a wave of dizziness. She quickly pulled back. ‘Mum,’ she mumbled, focusing on the grain of the pleather beneath her palms. ‘I’m so glad you’re here.’
‘We wouldn’t have missed it for the world, darling.’ Her mother patted Alex’s hand, took a small bite from the ball, chewed vigorously, then refolded the packaging over the remainder and hid it in her lap. ‘I like your new hair. Very smart. I always said you should go short. And what a shindig! But are you sure they won’t mind all this catering? Your angels? I mean, what in the name of heaven is birch water? This must have cost an arm and a leg.’
The dizziness passed. ‘It’s all sponsored, Mum,’ she sighed, straightening up. ‘Where’s Dad?’
Her mother shifted, squeaking. ‘He went to hide in the toilets, but that was quite a . . . Ah, there he is.’
Alex turned to see her father ambling over from the direction of the buckets with a brimming plastic cup in either hand. At the sight, so reminiscent of dozens of parties from her childhood, where she’d watched her father topping up the drinks of red-faced authors and agents from her sleepy nest on the kitchen sofa, the bottom inexplicably dropped out of her stomach. Bile surged into her mouth. She stumbled back into the people behind her. For fuck’s sake. Why is this happening? NOT NOW.
‘Hey there, Kansas, steady.’ He was there to catch her rebound, cups skittering across the floor, his deep transatlantic drawl cutting through the buzzing in her ears. He steadied her shoulders and held her at arm’s length, studying her face, but she pressed forward and folded into his chest. With her cheek squashed into the worn corduroy of his shirt, and the smell of soap and vodka filling her nose, the vertigo rushed back so violently that Alex thought she might actually faint. But then her father levered her gently upright and the memories receded. The laughter and the hip-hop flooded back in. It was okay. She was here. She was now. She was new Alex, extraordinary Alex, Founder-CEO.
‘Stupid heels,’ she muttered. She cleared her throat. She shook out her hair. ‘Sorry, Dad. You lost your drinks.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ he said. He rummaged in his pocket. ‘Here. I got something for you.’ He uncurled his knuckles to reveal a novelty USB stick topped with a canary-coloured block of Lego. ‘Somewhere to store your plans for world domination, I thought. Help pave that Yellow Brick Road you’re galloping down. I gather that paper is passé.’
‘I love it.’ Alex slipped the USB into the pocket of her jeans and studied her father in turn. He had made an effort, in his best city jeans with his beard neatly trimmed, but his skin looked grey and there were purple hammocks under his eyes. The vertigo flickered. Here and now, Alex told herself firmly. She stepped back. ‘I’m so glad you let me drag you out of your cave,’ she said brightly. ‘I know how much you hate the Big Smoke. It feels like twenty years since I last saw you guys.’
‘Seven months.’ Her mother struggled up from the sofa, shooing away Harry’s arm. ‘You haven’t been to Fring since’ – she waved from the games station to the miso vending machine – ‘all this.’
Alex felt her cheeks get hot. ‘I know. I’m sorry. I’ve just been so—’
‘It’s a good thing,’ her father interrupted. He squeezed her mother’s shoulder. ‘We’re proud. You’re flying high now, Kansas. It’s the way it should be.’
‘Although perhaps,’ Harry said, appearing on her other side and placing a hand on the small of her back, ‘you should go easy on the beer.’
‘I’m fine,’ Alex said, sidestepping and defiantly taking another swig. ‘Just tired, that’s all. It’s been such a manic week.’ She glanced over her shoulder. Good. The massage girls were doing the rounds. Gemma was laying out the goody bags near the door.
‘We should go,’ her father said. He scooped up their coats from the sofa. ‘This is your night. We’re raising the average age in here by at least three decades.’
‘No! Please. It’s so early!’
‘It’s gone midnight, Al,’ Harry said, then muttered, ‘your mum’s feet are playing up.’
‘But you’ve haven’t met anyone yet. You haven’t tried the—’
‘Don’t fuss, darling,’ her mother said, wriggling into her cardigan. ‘We’ll see you tomorrow. And you know what I always say. Last to arrive, first to leave. That way . . .’
‘You’re always welcome,’ Alex recited. ‘I know.’ As her father gave her another hug, she felt like she wanted to say something more. But the music was too loud, and over her mother’s shoulder she could see the intern flirting with Dale.
‘I’ll walk you back to the Premier Inn, Liz,’ Harry said. ‘I’ve got an early start.’ He brushed his lips across Alex’s cheek and murmured, ‘I need to see you.’
‘Oh, baby, I told you. It’s been crazy here. I’ve barely even been home.’
‘We need to talk. Will you come over for dinner tomorrow?’
‘Ah, I’d love nothing better, but
tomorrow night I have this women in tech event and—’
‘Alex.’
‘Honestly, I’m really sorry, but this big corporate sponsor is going to be there and—’
‘Alex.’ Harry turned so that his back shielded them from her parents. ‘I talked to one of your employees tonight,’ he said, his voice suddenly clipped. ‘Toby, was it? Tom? Malnourished teenager with dreadlocks.’
‘Oh. Tim. He’s one of our community managers.’
‘Tim, then. Well, Tim, who seemed to think I was a waiter, kindly filled me in on your “deal” while you gave your little speech. He said that you’d narrowly missed a life of domestic slavery, before you’d seen the entrepreneurial light. I believe the exact phrase was “dead-eyed desk monkey about to become a baby machine”.’
Alex sighed. ‘Harry, please. Tim is . . . well, Tim is Tim.’
‘But you as good as implied you thought the same, Alex. Up there, in front of everyone. You were pretty clear on how relieved you were to have escaped this life of terrible mediocrity. Our life, for the past five years. Our future, I rather thought.’
‘Oh, baby, come on. You know that I was talking about me – about my own issues – not about us. And look, I know I’ve been neglecting you, but Lenni says we just need to—’
‘Oh yes,’ Harry interrupted, his blue eyes narrowing. ‘Lenni. You’ve obviously got very close to Lenni.’
‘Oh, Harry. Please.’ Alex rose up on her toes and planted a kiss on his lips. ‘Okay. You win. I’ll skive the event and we’ll do dinner. I do miss you too, you know.’
Alex watched Harry usher her parents towards the lifts. Her mother, marching beside him in her low heels, kept up a steady rill of conversation. Her father, trailing behind them, turned and winked. Alex clicked her heels together and blew him a kiss. Harry didn’t look back, she noticed. She knew she had been neglecting him. But right now wasn’t about Harry’s jealousy or insecurity, or whatever it was. Right now was about what was going right, and she was damn well going to enjoy it.