Chapter Twenty-Six
Rachel
‘Do you know what you’re going to say?’ James asked her as soon as she hung up from the receptionist downstairs. The clients were on their way up.
‘Of course I know what I’m going to say,’ she snapped. ‘Do you know what you’re going to say?’
Rachel knew her lines off by heart. They’d only get one chance to pitch their building to Zigler. She just hoped her nerves wouldn’t make her barf on the conference room table.
‘Teeth check. Okay?’ she asked, smiling broadly for James.
‘Yep. Mine?’
She nodded. It didn’t feel like the time for jokes.
Ed strode towards them. ‘Are we ready? The coffee and tea will be here in a minute. They’re early.’
‘Shows they’re keen,’ James said, and Ed’s face relaxed.
How did he do that? she wondered. He was the Boss Whisperer. Sometimes she did appreciate his false confidence.
If only she had some real confidence of her own. She still couldn’t bring herself to show her mum the designs. She would do it, she promised herself, after this meeting, when she knew the clients loved them.
She could hear them coming up the stairs. All four flights. Snippets of wheezy complaints floated up. She didn’t blame them. She hated that climb too.
‘Good morning, gentlemen!’ Ed welcomed them as they reached the landing. ‘Thanks for coming, and for climbing the stairs. You’ve earned the good client biscuits!’
She was sure he’d said that last time. Maybe he was as nervous as she was.
Eric, George and their boss Philip – or Zig and the Lers, as she’d been thinking of them for months – were all in their fifties and cut from the same pinstriped cloth. Hopefully their taste in buildings wouldn’t be as buttoned-up.
She and James had agreed that she’d start the pitch, sprinkled with his well-timed supportive comments. Then he’d take over to talk through the design. As everyone poured their hot drinks and made small talk over the chocolate croissants, she wished he was going first.
But no, that’s not how you get ahead, she reminded herself. Despite feeling like she might pass out, she had to ooze confidence. That was half the battle.
The other half depended on her not screwing up.
When everyone began their meeting rituals, opening notebooks, clicking pens, turning phones to mute, she took a deep breath.
‘We’re really excited to show you our designs today,’ she began. She could feel her voice wobble. ‘And thank you for giving us the chance. As you know, the firm has a track record of innovation, and we’re proud to continue that for you.’ Did she sound too rehearsed? She’d only gone over the speech a thousand times or so. ‘Just to give you a little background on us,’ she ad-libbed. ‘James and I have worked together for the past five years and we like—’
‘Sunset walks on the beach and piña coladas in the rain,’ James quipped.
Everyone laughed.
‘Speak for yourself. I was about to say that we like to collaborate on our work even when we’re designing for different clients.’ That was a lie. The only thing they collaborated on was lunch. ‘And for the record, I’m partial to a nice glass of champagne if anybody’s offering.’
Their laughter felt like music to her ears. Which meant her speech was all wrong. It was too wooden. She’d lose her audience if she kept to the script. She started to panic. Mentally she dismissed her next line, and her next and her next. It was all crap. Amateurish. She had to say something though. Something off the cuff.
‘Look, we had a whole speech worked out for this meeting, but you don’t need a speech. You just need to know that in our last five years with the firm we’ve seen some of the most exciting buildings in London designed – the new Standard Union building, 70 Bishops Court and the entire Canary Walk, just to name a few. Influences from some of the best architects in the country have gone into our design. We hope you’ll agree. James?’
If he was caught off guard he didn’t show it. He talked through their design like he was discussing football scores in the pub.
By the time he finished she was hardly breathing.
Their futures hung on the client’s next words.
Finally Philip spoke. ‘Thank you, Rachel and James. That was a nice presentation.’
Nice? Nice?! What did that mean?
‘I feel like your design does fulfil the brief, so I can’t fault it there.’
Where was he going to fault it? Rachel felt sick.
‘It’s just that … something is bothering me.’
Eric spoke up. ‘If I may, the building is beautiful, there’s no doubt about that. And I can see why you’ve designed it the way you have. It’s eye-catching. It’s just not …’
‘Bold enough,’ George finished.
All three men nodded.
‘I get the feeling that this is a compromise and maybe that’s our fault. We stipulated one design. It might be better to see what you come up with individually when you can design to your own vision. Does that make sense?’
‘Absolutely,’ Ed said. ‘To be honest, Philip, it’s what they wanted to do in the first place. They’ve got some great ideas. Shall we reconvene in, say, two weeks? James, Rachel, is that enough time?’
Numbly, Rachel nodded.
‘Sure, Ed, no problem,’ said James.
When the clients had clomped safely back down the stairs, Ed said, ‘So you’ve got your wish. You can each present your designs in the meeting and we’ll see which one wins.’
Which one. Those words rang in Rachel’s ears. So much for collaboration or sunset piña coladas.
Sarah couldn’t have known that the meeting wouldn’t go well, so Rachel couldn’t really blame her for planning the celebration after work. It was just the last thing she felt like doing. She didn’t even want to leave work. She wanted to lock herself in her office with her coloured pens and not come out until she was sure she’d designed the perfect building for Zigler.
Her face flamed again thinking about the missed opportunity. They hadn’t solved a problem with their compromise. They’d only created one.
‘We should have just gone with one of our designs,’ she’d hissed to James as they left the meeting. ‘We’ve compromised the integrity of the design and now we’ve got a strike against us going into the next meeting.’
‘Well, it was better than fighting it out. Then only one of us would have the chance to present our ideas. This way we both get to.’
‘Oh, don’t try to make it sound like you planned this all along.’
‘I’m just making lemonade out of lemons, Rach.’
She didn’t return his smile.
One of their biggest clients didn’t think they were bold enough. That implied a lack of vision and there was no more damning criticism for an architect, unless the building you designed actually fell down. She couldn’t tell her mum the truth now. She’d have to spin it. They liked it a lot, she’d say. In fact they’ve asked us each to design another one before they decide. What an opportunity!
She’d do it over the phone. One look into her eyes and her mum would know it was a lie.
‘There she is!’ Sarah jammed her elbow into Catherine’s side. ‘Thank Thomas you’re here.’ She pointed to the champagne bucket. ‘Good?’
‘Fine with me,’ Rachel said. ‘Why are we thanking Thomas?’ She hoped they hadn’t invited him.
‘He’s your saint,’ Sarah explained. ‘I went to Swiss Cottage and lit a candle for you.’
‘Oh I see. Do I have a saint living in Swiss Cottage?’
Sarah shook her head. ‘The patron saint of architects is St Thomas. He’s got a church in Swiss Cottage. I could have gone to one in Finsbury Park but that was longer on the train. Do you think it matters that I’m not a Catholic?’
‘I think as long as you pay for the candle,’ Rachel said, ‘then anyone can light one.’
‘Pay?’ she muttered. ‘I’ll have to go ba
ck tomorrow.’
‘So, how did it go?’ Catherine asked. Rachel could tell she thought she knew the answer. She didn’t have the heart to take a sledgehammer to her bubble.
‘Well, the good news is that I’ll get to present them with my own design.’
Sarah squealed and made a grab for her.
‘But the bad news,’ she said into Sarah’s shoulder, ‘is that they didn’t like our combined efforts. So now we’ll each show them our own idea and they’ll choose between them. That is, hopefully they’ll choose one.’ She didn’t dare think what would happen if the business went to a rival firm.
Sarah pulled back so she could look Rachel in the eye. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes. Well, I will be. I don’t really want to talk about it if that’s okay. Is that another new dress?’
Sarah grinned. ‘You’ve created a proper monster. These dresses are ace. I see them everywhere now! Like that boy in that film.’
Catherine got it first. ‘Sixth Sense,’ she mouthed.
Sarah gave them a twirl without even being asked. That never would have happened a month ago.
‘They look good on you,’ Rachel said. ‘Have you got one in mind for the party?’
Sarah’s birthday was in a few weeks. They’d have a party at the house, as long as Nate hadn’t destroyed it by then.
‘Do you know,’ said Catherine, looking from one friend to the other, ‘I never noticed before but you look a little bit alike.’
‘We do not!’ Rachel protested.
‘I wish!’ said Sarah. ‘If I filled out a dress like Rachel did I’d have dates every night of the week.’
‘Sarah, you could have dates every night of the week if you wanted to,’ Catherine reminded her. ‘You’re like a different person these days. In a good way!’
She just giggled, which grated on Rachel’s nerves.
‘Are you seeing that guy again?’ she asked. ‘The one you were out with all night?’
‘His name’s Jeremy and it wasn’t all night!’ said Sarah. ‘We’re going out on Thursday.’
‘Should we expect another four a.m. return?’
‘Maybe.’ She reddened. ‘Let’s drink to that!’ She grabbed her glass and downed it.
‘Whoa, Sarah Lee, slow down,’ Catherine said. ‘You’ll get drunk.’
‘Isn’t that the point?’
‘Rachel, what have you done?’ Catherine teased. ‘Maybe you have created a monster!’ Her easy laughter made sure that Sarah wasn’t offended.
Rachel just shrugged. ‘You’re one to talk, for someone who’s actually running a business out of remaking people.’
‘It’s true, but some of them need it. One client is finally making headway but I’ve got another one who may be a lost cause.’
‘You’ve never said that before,’ Sarah said, refilling her glass.
‘In this case it might be true. The client’s a total flake. He believes in star signs. I’ll try to find someone for him who buys into all that, but there are also his looks to consider. He’s got a beard that mice could nest in. And he’s covered in tattoos.’
‘Then why’d you take him on?’ Rachel asked. ‘You’re usually very picky.’
‘I let my heart overrule my head,’ she said.
Sarah latched on to her words. ‘Your heart?’
‘No, no, it’s nothing like that. It was just to get one over on Magda. She was being such a judgemental cow about him that I wanted to spite her. But the joke’s on me. I’m the one who’s got to find him dates.’
‘Then why don’t you make him over too? It sounds like just getting him to trim that beard would make a difference.’
‘Hmm, it might … yes, maybe you’re right.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sarah
Sissy couldn’t get enough of the builders. She’d been following Nate and the team around the house all morning. As Sarah finished off the sketch she was working on, she kept an ear out to make sure her sister wasn’t getting in the way of their work.
She could hear one of the boys talking to her on the landing.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked.
‘Removing the trunking that hides the cable.’
‘Why?’
‘So I can chase the cable into the wall.’
‘Why?’
‘So you can’t see it.’
‘Why?’
When he didn’t answer, she asked again. ‘Hello? Why?’
Resistance was futile. She could go on like that for hours. ‘Sissy, love, let’s go downstairs.’
She popped her head around the corner to look between the stair balusters. ‘Why?’ She smirked.
‘Smart-arse. Leave him alone so he can do his work. I need your help with the baking anyway. Do you want to get your pencils and sketch pads?’
She put a hand on her hip. ‘Am I baking or am I drawing, Sarah?’
‘You’re baking. Sorry. Come on. You can peel the carrots.’
Sissy felt at home in their house and, just now, that was weighing heavily on Sarah. Because wasn’t Nate already renovating it for when the time came? Who was to say that now wasn’t the time? There’d be just enough room to alter Sarah’s new kitchen area and living room. It would mean two tiny single bedrooms and a studio living area, but it could be done. And then Sissy could live with Sarah.
Was it the right thing to do though? That’s what Sarah couldn’t work out. It would definitely make her feel better to shift the constant guilt from her shoulders. But there was the small matter of the promise she’d made to her mum to make sure Sissy was in a safe facility with professionals to look after her. A promise was a promise, even when the other person wasn’t around to enforce it. But what if Whispering Sands closed down and there wasn’t another home that was as good?
Round and round she went, feeling guiltier all the time.
‘I’m ready,’ Sissy said in the kitchen, tying her favourite frilly red and white gingham apron round her tummy. ‘Where’s the recipe?’
‘We’ll make it up.’
Sissy didn’t look too sure about that.
Of all the things Sarah regretted about her mum’s death, not paying more attention when they cooked together was the one that came back most often to bite her. She’d assumed her mum would always be a phone call away to ask how hot the oven should be or how much baking powder to add.
Not that she’d ever used normal measurements – it was all pinches and dashes – so when Sarah did nail a recipe, she made sure she wrote it down.
She didn’t get the morning muffin recipe but she did have a secret weapon: her sister’s perfect palate. Sissy would taste when they got the recipe just right.
Sarah was reaching for the flour when she noticed the silence upstairs. The teeth-jangling pounding from the pneumatic drill had died away. There were no startling pops from the nail gun or incessant angry-wasp buzzing from the multi tool.
When Nate had first started the renovations, she’d welcomed these lulls. Now she knew better.
She braced herself just as the swearing started. ‘Now what?’ she muttered. ‘Sissy, I’ll be right back.’
She climbed the stairs to the ground floor with a mounting sense of dread. The swearing carried on.
Plasterboard dust billowed from Rachel’s bedroom.
And where there’s dust there’s a hole.
‘Sorry, Sarah, we’ll fix it,’ Nate said as he stepped aside to let her into the room. ‘Did you know your party walls are only four inches thick?’
She didn’t, but surely a builder should. There was a charred hole in the wall. ‘What happened?’
‘Dave was chasing in an electrical socket and hit one on the other side. What are the chances of that? Good aim, son!’
One of the boys nervously patted the other on the back.
‘You probably want to see if your neighbour’s electrics are all right,’ Nate continued. ‘There was an almighty pop when he hit that socket. We might need to do some work ne
xt door.’
Their neighbours, the Rogers-Smiths, weren’t thrilled about the renovations as it was. When Sarah first had the quote from Nate about the work, she’d optimistically printed up a detailed works schedule for their neighbours, delivered with a batch of red velvet cupcakes. The schedule went out the window in the first few weeks, along with Nate’s promise not to start before nine a.m. ‘We’ll hit the rush hour if we start too late,’ he’d explained. ‘We’re happy to stay in the vans until it’s time to come in.’
They did stay in their vans for the first week or so. Then, as the boys got more comfortable in the house, they started knocking early, asking to use the toilet. She couldn’t very well say no to that, and soon they were all in the house by eight thirty promising to be quiet.
They had a different idea of quiet than most people.
‘Nate, you’re wrecking more than you’re building! Is it really that hard to look at the bloody plans before you drill through the walls? You’re doing my head in. The instructions are right there in black and white. It really couldn’t be simpler.’
Nate’s normally jovial face tightened. ‘I don’t think I like your tone of voice, Sarah. It was a mistake. If you’re so unhappy with the work then maybe we should just go.’
She nodded. ‘Yes, maybe you should call it a day now.’ She was sick of them.
‘Fine. We will.’ With that he signalled to his boys, who all started packing their tools. Within minutes every screwdriver and hammer, spirit level and machine was packed away.
‘Come on, boys,’ he said, not looking at Sarah.
They hoisted the heavy bags and toolboxes onto their narrow shoulders and started for the door.
‘You can leave your tools here,’ Sarah said, suddenly worried that she’d made a big mistake.
‘No, thank you, Sarah.’
‘You’re coming back tomorrow though, right?’
‘Sure,’ said Nate.
Then the front door closed, leaving the house silent again.
He’ll have to come back tomorrow, she thought, once he’s cooled down.
But he didn’t come back the next day, or the next day. After a week of ignored calls and texts, Sarah had to admit she’d made a huge mistake.
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