Blame it on the Onesie: A romantic comedy about work, water and wine

by CJ Morrow

  By early afternoon she was at the bottom of the last box. This was the most recent mail; many of the envelopes hadn’t even been opened. Ella could clearly remember just taking them from the letter box and stacking them on the hall table. They were from the time her mum had been dying and worrying about mail had been the last thing on Ella’s mind.

  She began to open them, another bill, another bank statement, another credit card statement. Fortunately her mum had never been a spendthrift, she’d never had the opportunity to be – there’d never been any financial support from her dad after he’d disappeared. Ella didn’t even know where he’d gone or where he was now. Her mum had once told her he’d gone to Australia after he’d left them, but Ella didn’t know if that was true. Should she try to track him down, tell him about her mum? What was the point?

  She carried on sorting, bills by utility, bank statements, a rubbish pile. Fortunately the rubbish pile was the biggest.

  Then she came across a letter addressed to her: Miss Ella Taylor, it was care of her mum’s address. Interesting, whoever had sent it didn’t think she lived there, which of course she hadn’t until fairly recently. She ripped the envelope open and pulled out the letter. She read it twice before she could fully understand it. It reminded her of the dodgy spam emails she received telling her she was owed money by an African prince.

  ‘Dear Miss Taylor

  We believe you are related to Mr Kenneth Stanley Taylor and Mrs Nora Elisabeth Taylor, late of Spring Cottage, Lyffingdon, Wiltshire.

  I should be grateful if you could contact these offices at your earliest convenience where you may learn something to your advantage.

  Yours sincerely

  Evermore Baker

  ‘Evermore Baker,’ Ella said aloud, what sort of name was that? She studied the letterhead: Baker, Baker, Baker, Baker and Cake. It was a cruel joke. Who the hell would send something like that to her when her mum was dying? How spiteful. She threw the letter down on the rubbish pile and went back to the box. She was nearly finished, and when she was done, she had promised herself a trip to the supermarket to do her shopping. ‘I know how to live life to the full,’ Ella said to herself, excited at the prospect of finishing the sorting.

  Within an hour the piles were neatly stacked in order of priority, the rubbish was in a bag ready to be taken to work and put through the shredder for recycling. It was nearly three, she just had time to grab her coat, bag and keys and get to Asda before it shut at four.

  ‘Ella.’ Sam called from across the car park just as Ella finished loading her shopping into the boot. Sam came running over, a big smile on her face. ‘How’s your box sorting going?’ Sam asked.

  ‘Done. Just need to action things now. Big weight off my mind,’ Ella said, laughing.

  ‘Don’t suppose you found that crock of gold you were looking for?’

  ‘No. But it could be worse; I didn’t find any nasties either. Oh, except for one cruel joke.’

  ‘What?’

  Ella told Sam about the letter from Baker, Baker, Baker, Baker and Cake.

  ‘Have you checked them out?’ Sam said, pulling her phone from her handbag.

  ‘No.’ Ella said, totally unconvinced as to their authenticity.

  ‘What was their address?’

  ‘I can’t remember, not local.’ She shook her head and started walking away with her trolley, taking it back to the trolley shelter. When she returned Sam greeted her with a big smile.

  ‘Guess what?’

  ‘They don’t exist,’ Ella said, opening her car door.

  ‘You’re wrong. They do. Here’s their website.’ Sam held her phone under Ella’s nose. ‘See.’

  Ella glanced at it; there wasn’t much to see on their mobile site.

  ‘Not convinced,’ she said, turning away.

  ‘Ring them in the morning. What have you got to lose?’

  Ella shrugged. ‘Whatever you say, Sam.’ She laughed, gave her friend a big hug and got into her car.

  She would not be ringing them in the morning, she was quite certain of that.

  Ella didn’t sleep well that night; she never did on a Sunday night, that Monday morning feeling started early, especially since Gwynnie’s arrival. She awoke with a start at 2.30am, sitting up quickly and breathing heavily. She’d been dreaming but she couldn’t remember what the dream was about, only that she didn’t like it, that she felt afraid. She got up, got a glass of water, climbed back into bed and tried to doze off. But her mind kept returning to the letter from Baker, Baker, Baker, Baker and Cake. She just couldn’t believe any company, never mind a firm of solicitors, would have such a stupid name. It had to be a joke – yet Sam had found their website. She’d search for them properly tomorrow.

  She kept thinking about the people mentioned in the letter that she was supposedly related to. It had to be on her dad’s side because they had the same surname. She thought hard; she had the vaguest of memories of an old aunt and uncle of her dad’s who they used to visit. Could it be them?

  She tossed and turned and in the end gave up trying to get to sleep. She turned on the light and noticed the boxes hiding under the tablecloth. The photo albums were in there. Sighing, she pulled the cloth off and started going through them.

  It was nearly four when she located what she was looking for; she knew it was in there because she’d glimpsed it earlier. Finally she found the right album, the right pictures. An old cottage with a thatched roof. An old man leaning against a spade, smiling, squinting into the sunlight. An old woman hugging a huge mixing bowl, stirring its contents with a wooden spoon. These people looked vaguely familiar but, in all honesty, she couldn’t remember their names. She certainly couldn’t remember how long ago she’d visited them. Were they the ones?

  If it was true, and she still had serious doubts, they couldn’t have left her much; surely they would have left anything worthwhile to their own family. She wondered what her dad had got. Wondered where he was.

  She kept the album out, but put all the others back in the boxes and covered them with the cloth again. She finally managed to go back to sleep just as the alarm went off. Urgh – Monday morning.

  ‘Emergency team meeting, emergency team meeting,’ Gwynnie screeched as Ella walked into the office. Everyone else was already there; even though Ella was actually twenty minutes early because she’d been planning to slyly google the solicitors. Gwynnie stood up, she was pink in the face and excited. ‘Come on team, I’ve booked a room.’

  Ella shrugged her coat off and switched on her computer and inwardly cursed Gladys the Barbie doll. Everyone else filed out towards the meeting room as Ella picked up her notepad and pen and wondered what could be so important; she hadn’t even had time for a coffee and she needed one to get through one of these meetings.

  ‘Well team,’ Gwynnie said, grinning and giggling. ‘Great news. We’ve been picked to manage the transition of the Eldorite stock lines into Gubbins’ inventory. Isn’t that wonderful news?’ Gwynnie started clapping her hands like a child at playschool.

  ‘It’s just fab news, Gwynnie,’ Tiffy said joining in the clapping.

  Ella caught Ben’s eye and he winked at her. Kevin looked away. It was hardly breaking news, they’d been chasing Eldorite for months, and their department would naturally handle it, it was what they did.

  ‘So exciting. So exciting.’ Gwynnie was squeaking now. Ella almost felt embarrassed for her as she grew more and more excited. Ella zoned her out, thought about the letter rescued from the rubbish and now in her handbag, and wondered when she’d get the opportunity to check out its authenticity and ring the solicitors’ office that sounded like a tacky bakery shop.

  ‘So Ella, that okay with you?’ Gwynnie said, and waited for a reply.

  ‘Of course, of course,’ Ella said, wondering what the hell she was agreeing to.

  ‘That’s settled then. Ella will project manage and Tiffy will be the controller.’ Gwynnie tapped the table with her glossy cerise nails.


  ‘Nice nails, Gwynnie,’ Tiffy said.

  ‘Thanks Tiffy.’

  ‘That’s quite a responsibility for you, Ella,’ Gwynnie turned her attention back to Ella.

  ‘Not really. I’ve done several of these. Anyway, what’s a controller?’

  ‘That’s Tiffy’s role,’ Gwynnie said, standing up, signalling the end of the meeting.

  ‘Yes, but what does the controller do?’

  ‘Control, of course.’ Gwynnie held the door open and, as Tiffy was walking through it, she turned and gave Ella a sly smile over her shoulder.

  Back at their desks everyone was quiet. Gwynnie pinged Ella an email giving her more background and a lot of attachments. Ben sent her one with several exclamations marks and a sad emoticon. Ella dropped the troll on the floor and pressed her foot hard down on it. She watched to see if Tiffy reacted, but Tiffy’s shudder was probably just a reaction to the air con kicking in. Then Ella reached into her drawer and bent Barbie’s legs right over her head.

  ‘I can smell that smell again,’ Tiffy said, her nose going up like a beagle’s.

  Ella shut the drawer; she wasn’t in the mood for one of Tiffy’s histrionic dramas.

  It was nearly lunchtime before Ella got the opportunity to go online. She quickly found the Baker, Baker, Baker, Baker and Cake website. It looked very professional and they were listed on their local directory and their reviews were good. Okay, she conceded, the letter could be genuine.

  She slipped into an empty meeting room at lunchtime and made her phone call. The voice that answered was female; Ella had an image of some elderly secretary who’d been there since the beginning of time. She left Ella on hold while she checked out the details; she was so long Ella almost hung up.

  ‘Miss Taylor,’ the woman said. ‘Mr Cake can see you at three tomorrow.’

  ‘I don’t know if I can make that.’

  ‘I’m afraid his next available appointment is in two weeks. Would you prefer to wait?’

  Ella thought for a moment, could she wait? No she couldn’t.

  ‘Okay, tomorrow will be fine,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Miss Taylor, do please bring your birth certificate and passport with you.’

  ‘Why?’ Ella didn’t like the sound of that.

  ‘So we can ensure that you are who you say you are.’

  ‘Okay,’ Ella said, frowning. She supposed they had as much right to verify her as she had them. She ended the call.

  Now she’d have to tell Gwynnie that she needed to leave early. But in the meantime she went and found Sam.

  Four

  Ella arrived early for work the next day, thirty-five minutes to be exact. She expected to see Gwynnie or Tiffy or both there before her, but she found herself alone. In fact there wasn’t a single person on the entire open plan floor. Not one. Good, she thought as she waited for her computer to start up.

  Once on, she used the time to search through the vacancies on the local recruitment websites. Her heart sank; there wasn’t much to tempt her.

  ‘Things will get better,’ she muttered her mantra to herself as she closed down the browser and returned to her work.

  Minutes later she noticed two people in the distance. Across the car park Gwynnie and Tiffy had just parked their cars and were heading towards the building, their heads horribly close together. Ella watched them; Barbie and the Troll.

  She heard the main office door bang and slumped down into her chair, confident that they wouldn’t see her at first. They were giggling together, like schoolgirls. Ella was paranoid enough to think they were giggling about her.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ Gwynnie said, suddenly spotting Ella. ‘You’re in early.’

  ‘Very early,’ Tiffy said. If she thought it was under her breath she was mistaken.

  ‘Yes, very, very early.’ Ella smiled broadly at Tiffy who blushed, then busied herself at her desk. ‘I have to leave early.’

  Gwynnie’s eyebrows shot up in question.

  ‘Hospital appointment,’ Ella mouthed at her, lying though her teeth. She had considered telling Gwynnie the truth, but she didn’t want her knowing her business, and she especially didn’t want her discussing it with the Troll.

  Gwynnie nodded slowly. ‘You don’t have to make time up for medical appointments,’ she said, without any attempt at discretion.

  ‘Just aware of our new project.’ Ella glanced over at Tiffy whose eyes had narrowed even though she was affecting not to listen.

  ‘Fab.’ Gwynnie took off her jacket; she was wearing a cerise pink top with a soft pink scarf draped around her neck.

  ‘Oh, is it Pink Day today?’ Ella oozed mock interest.

  ‘No, no. You can see that I’m wearing pink then?’

  Oh shit. ‘Not really. I’m colour blind, remember.’ Another lie. ‘It just looks very bright to me, and I know pink is your favourite colour.’

  Gwynnie gave Ella a look that screamed liar but she remained silent.

  Ella got on with her work – the exciting project – which as far as Ella was concerned was business as usual. It was her job to check every product before approving it for addition to the Gubbins’ inventory. Then it was over to Ben and Kevin.

  At ten past two Ella started making preparations to leave which Tiffy picked up on immediately.

  ‘Ella, could you give me a status update please?’

  Ella blinked several times at Tiffy. What the hell was she talking about?

  ‘Well, I am the project controller. I need to be up to speed.’ Tiffy glared, she seemed to be daring Ella to challenge her.

  ‘Okay,’ Ella said, standing up, wheeling her chair round to Tiffy’s desk and sitting up close to her. Ella sniffed. ‘What’s that smell? Has something gone off in your bin?’

  ‘I don’t know what it is. I’ve complained to the building manager.’

  ‘Oh. It’s horrible. Poor you.’ That’s mean of me, thought Ella, but… ‘Okay,’ she began to speak very quickly, ‘the current situation is that seventeen lines are acceptable and I’ve passed them for inclusion onto our inventory; six lines are not acceptable because of either quality or ethical issues; and two lines are at question due to source issues. The remaining one-hundred-and-forty-seven lines have not been assessed yet.’ Ella waited and watched Tiffy blink as she tried to process the information, before continuing, ‘So I’ve covered quite a few lines for one day – good job I started so early – but at this stage I have to say that I have picked off the low hanging fruit, so progress might not be so speedy on the remaining lines. Is that okay for you?’

  ‘Um, yes. That sounds excellent,’ Tiffy said, and Ella could see in her eyes that Tiffy didn’t know whether she was being hoodwinked or not. She wasn’t. Ella took her work seriously. She knew the processes inside out. She was conscientious. That’s why it was all so damn unfair.

  ‘Okay, as controller I expect you’ll want a daily update, shall I schedule something?’ Ella got up and began to wheel her chair back to her own desk.

  ‘Um. Yes, please. That would be good.’

  Ella sat down, tried not to smile to herself as she shut her computer down. Just before she left she squeezed troll’s head and dropped it into the drawer with Ruben’s smelly rag.

  ‘Sleep tight,’ she whispered as she locked her desk.

  It was one of those nice days in spring, chilly but bright. Ella breathed in the fresh air around her as she walked across Gubbins’ car park. The drive to the town where Baker, Baker, Baker, Baker and Cake’s offices were took less time than she expected and she soon found a parking space on the high street.

  She got out of the car and looked around, spotted their offices, then realised she had fifteen minutes to spare. She really didn’t want to be that early. Then she spied a quaint department store. She had enough time to pop into their food hall and treat herself to something nice for tea.

  If this appointment turned out to be good news, then the meal would be a celebration and if it didn’t, it would be compensat
ion. Either way she couldn’t lose.

  She went through the doors and stopped to get her bearings. It was a large store squeezed into a small space and everything was tightly packed in. The floors were wooden and rickety, ancient ceiling fans moved warmed, stale air around. Time warp, thought Ella, suppressing the urge to giggle. When she saw the sign for the food hall she made straight for it.

  Then her phone rang. She kept walking as she fumbled in her bag. Finally finding her phone, she saw that the caller was from work. Was this some sort of joke? As far as they were concerned she was at a hospital appointment. What could be so important, so urgent that they needed to ring her? She thought of Tiffy or Gwynnie needing to know some trivial detail immediately. Well, Ella thought, I won’t be answering. How can they expect me to? She waited for the call to go to voicemail then fumbled the phone back into her bag, seething all the while.

  Seething so much she didn’t notice the little plinth in front of her.

  Seething so much she didn’t notice the display on the plinth.

  Seething so much that she didn’t see the mannequin, mistook it for a person and was apologising profusely as she bowled into it before realising what it was. Ella and the mannequin were sprawled across the aisle, their limbs tangled in a grotesque dance. One of the mannequin’s fingers poked Ella in the eye.

  ‘Ouch,’ she screeched.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ a female voice said.

  Ella looked up and saw a woman of indeterminate age, her hair, either ash blond or pearl grey – it was hard to tell, especially with a mannequin’s finger in her eye – rolled into a neat chignon at the back of her head. Her skirt suit was a lightweight tweed and she wore a heather coloured blouse beneath it. The woman, the epitome of calm respectability, was staring straight at Ella; she had probably witnessed the whole humiliating show.