by Karen Osman
‘Thank you.’
‘Right, Mr Steele,’ started the doctor, as they all settled into their chairs. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Good, good… a little tired but you said that would happen.’
‘Yes, that’s perfectly normal, especially as the chemotherapy gets more intense but we’re almost there now – just a couple more sessions to go.’
‘So, it’s normal then?’ asked Angela, unable to stop herself.
‘What specifically?’ asked the doctor.
‘The decline as the chemo goes on.’
‘Well, it really depends what you’re referring to. If you’re talking about the side effects – such as tiredness, weight loss, hair loss in some cases, weakness, sickness, nausea – then yes, that’s normal. Is there anything else you’ve noticed?’ he asked, turning to James.
‘No, no… just everything you’ve described,’ replied her dad.
Angela should have felt relieved. The doctor sensed her need for reassurance.
‘Everybody reacts to chemotherapy in different ways, and of course those over fifty will have a more difficult time than those in their twenties and thirties. While there’s a lot we don’t know about cancer, there are still a lot of reasons to be optimistic. Of course, there are never any guarantees, but I would say the prognosis so far is encouraging.’
Angela felt her shoulders relax at the doctor’s reassurance.
‘So, looking at the results of your last course, so far, so good,’ the doctor continued, changing the subject, rifling through the file in front of him. ‘Your blood counts are showing improvement…’ Mr Redding frowned as he continued to read. Then, looking up, he smiled. ‘There’s just a small concern with the protein levels in your blood.’
‘What does that mean?’ asked Angela, her previous relief forgotten in a flood of anxiety.
‘Well, it could mean a variety of things. Most likely it’s just an anomaly in the results. I would suggest we test again.’
‘And if it’s not an anomaly?’ Rosemary asked, echoing Angela’s thoughts.
‘Well, it could mean the start of an infection, and if it is, we’ll have to medicate accordingly. But let’s not jump to any conclusions,’ replied Mr Redding firmly. ‘Let’s redo the test, and we can go from there.’ He issued a set of instructions to a nurse and James was then led away for a blood test. Rosemary got up to leave and Angela followed suit. The appointment was over.
‘It was a pleasure to meet you, Angela,’ said Mr Redding.
‘Thank you.’
‘I know it’s difficult, but try not to worry too much,’ he added as he opened the door for them, seeing them out.
Nodding, Angela followed her mum back into the waiting room.
51
Rosemary
A lie was a bit like cancer, thought Rosemary as she finished preparing the meal for Angela’s final night that weekend. Unseen, but deadly if it wasn’t contained and eradicated. And like a surgeon, Rosemary wanted to cut it out as soon as possible before it had the chance to spread and do even more damage. Rosemary had been pushing James all weekend to tell Angela about his being her real father, but he had avoided it. Now, after coming home from the doctor’s appointment, they only had a few hours left.
‘James, you need to tell her before she goes back to London,’ she said now as he walked into the kitchen.
‘I know, I know…’ replied James. ‘I will. As soon as we’ve finished eating.’
Rosemary nodded, wondering whether he would do as he promised. Well, if he didn’t bring it up, then she would, she decided, and then there would be no more lies. She could understand why James was worried. She knew Angela would feel similar to how she did: betrayed and deceived. But how could Rosemary help her through it when she was still struggling with it herself?
*
Rosemary tried to finish eating the succulent roast chicken before giving up and putting her knife and fork together on her plate. It was just after eight thirty and she was apprehensive. James and Angela had both finished eating and were talking about Angela’s upcoming week at work. She could see that James had absolutely no intention of breaking the relaxed mood. She tried to catch his eye, but he studiously avoided her.
‘James,’ she said eventually. ‘Wasn’t there something you wanted to talk to Angela about before she left?’
‘Was there?’
‘Yes, there was,’ replied Rosemary pointedly.
‘Oh?’ said Angela. ‘Sounds intriguing!’
Rosemary waited for James to speak. Surely, he wasn’t going to leave it up to her?
‘Angela,’ he began eventually, clearing his throat. Rosemary had never heard him sound so nervous. ‘There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you for quite a long time now, and I know this is going to be a shock. But I honestly believe you’ll understand why I had to do it.’
Rosemary watched Angela. She sat perfectly still, already aware that the news was serious.
‘Angie, love, how would you feel if you also met your birth father?’
Rosemary held her breath, waiting for her response, but she could already sense Angela’s curiosity.
‘I thought the home didn’t have that information?’ replied Angela, finally. ‘Are you saying you know where he is?’
‘I do,’ replied James. Taking his daughter’s hands in both of his, he twisted in his chair, so he was facing her.
‘He’s sitting here, right in front of you, having loved you from the moment he discovered you were born.’
Rosemary saw Angela swallow, the only hint of her true feelings.
‘I’m just sorry I couldn’t get to you sooner,’ continued James. ‘I tried for so long…’
Silence descended around the table and Rosemary braced herself for impact. She’d seen Angela explode several times over the years and it was a harrowing experience for anyone in her path. What would she do? Shout? Scream? Storm out of the house? Cut them off? All of a sudden, she realised she’d been wrong forcing James to tell her. Angela didn’t need to experience betrayal. She was about to reach out and take her in her arms and tell her it was all one big mistake when Angela surprised them both.
She launched herself at her father. But instead of the violence Rosemary was expecting, Angela was hugging him hard, tears rolling down her face.
As James gathered her up in his arms, soothing her as if she were a child who had a scraped knee, Rosemary could hear the faint words almost lost in James’s shoulder.
‘You came for me. I knew you would.’
52
Angela
Angela got back into London early Tuesday morning and went straight to the office. She’d barely slept a wink the night before but as she sat at her cubicle, she felt invincible. As her dad had held her in his arms, the two of them sobbing, for the first time in her life, Angela felt like she belonged. She wasn’t just some random mistake – she was wanted. Wanted, searched for, and rescued. She thought back to her little girl’s dream; now her wish had come true and she let the tears of overwhelming relief and happiness spill over. The other associates looked at her in shock, surprised at her unusual show of emotion.
‘You OK, Angela?’ asked Nigel tentatively. He sat in the cubicle next to her and he looked like he’d rather be at the North Pole than having to deal with her.
She turned to him with a big smile, the tears still rolling. ‘Absolutely – couldn’t be better!’ Grabbing some tissues, she wiped her face and headed to the toilets, feeling slightly hysterical from happiness and lack of sleep. Looking at herself in the mirror, she could see now why Nigel had been petrified. Her mascara had streaked down her face and she was grinning like a teenager on weed. She carefully rinsed her face before patting it dry with a paper towel. Yesterday, she had been adopted; today, she had a real father who had rescued her from the depressing, pitiful nothingness of a children’s home.
When she and her dad had stopped crying, her mum had shown her the birth certificate – as if she
needed proof, thought Angela now. She felt it – she knew it – to be true, instinctively. He was everything she’d dreamt he’d be: generous, kind, funny, handsome, successful, rich. It was the fairy-tale ending she’d always hoped for, and it was all hers. Suddenly, she knew she had to tell someone. She hurried back to her desk, noting the relief on Nigel’s face as she sat down, and called Mitchell.
*
Angela was on a roll. Despite her exhaustion, she’d attacked her work and was flying through it. She’d already billed three hours that morning when Clive walked up to her desk.
‘Ah, Angela, good to see you. Enjoyed your little holiday?’ His tone was laced with sarcasm, but Angela was immune.
‘Good morning, Mr Mooring. It was excellent, thank you!’
Expecting her to be more subservient, Angela noted with satisfaction that Clive looked taken aback.
‘Anyway, you’re back now. Where are we on Sedgwick? Get ready for a briefing in ten minutes,’ he instructed, not waiting for a response, before turning on his heel. Knowing that would be the first thing he would ask for, Angela had already prepared. Picking up her files, she went to wait for him in the meeting room, unable to stop smiling.
*
Looking at her watch, Angela saw it was already two o’clock. It had been an interesting morning. During the briefing, she could tell Clive had been impressed with her, as she shared another potential legal strategy to present to the Sedgwick board. He had listened carefully as she went through her proposed plan on employment agreements for him to present. If they were successful and the client agreed, it would mean another quarter of a million pounds per annum. At the end of the briefing, Clive sat back, thinking. After a few minutes, it appeared he had come to a decision.
‘Why don’t you take the lead on this one, Angela, and present this proposal to Sedgwick?’
Angela’s heart had quickened at Clive’s tone, indicating it was a statement rather than a question. As far as she was aware, no associate had ever presented to a client this large, especially when the stakes were so high. The potential income for the firm was huge and it would all rest on her. If she made just one mistake… well, Angela didn’t even want to think about the consequences. Her dream of promotion to senior associate would be just that – a dream. Her career, while not over, would be stagnant. No one would forget a mistake that significant.
‘Do you think you can do it?’ he asked. ‘I think it would be an excellent way to assess your readiness for the next stage in your career.’
He was testing her, she thought. Sink or swim. She knew, though, that while he was bullish, he was also smart. He wouldn’t risk so much if he didn’t believe in her. It was his reputation at stake as well here. Angela took the bait and looked him straight in the eye.
‘I’m ready, Mr Mooring,’ she said firmly.
‘Good girl,’ he replied with a wolfish smile. ‘Do the research and changes I suggested for the proposal and have a jaw-dropping presentation ready. Arrange the meeting a.s.a.p. – we need to get this done before their board break for Christmas.’
So here she was planning, researching, and polishing her presentation. She knew bias would be against her from the beginning. Clients certainly didn’t like to be handed over to an associate, and she knew that, as a woman, she would have to work even harder to impress. Sedgwick’s board was made up of older men, typically between forty-five and fifty years old. She had never once seen a woman on the board. But this was her chance. She had to get it right if she wanted that promotion. She tried to ignore the fact that the male associates would never be tested in such a way. Angela had seen Clive present many times. His style was flamboyant, entertaining, and walked a thin line between arrogance and confidence. Clients bought into him because of his reputation and network. Angela knew that if she tried to emulate that, she would fail. She had to showcase her skill and knowledge another way – her own way. She knew the mechanics of the proposal inside out; knew that it was solid, and she would be able to answer any questions the board put to her. But how could she make herself memorable? How could she get them to take her seriously? And most importantly, how did she get them to trust her? She had a lot of work to do. If she managed to pull this client presentation off and get the signed contract, it would be a major achievement and the senior associate position would be the icing on the cake. Her dad would be thrilled.
*
‘Angela Steele speaking.’
‘Gawd, it’s like Fort Knox, trying to get through to you. She was a right cow to me, your receptionist.’
At first Angela thought the receptionist had put the wrong person through.
‘A million questions – asked me if I was a client! No, I am not a client, I said. Please put me through now.’
‘Evelyn!’ replied Angela, finally understanding. ‘Is everything OK?’
‘No, everything is not OK. The pains in my legs are something else, Angela. Keeping me up all hours.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ she said.
‘But that’s not why I called you. Did you book the locksmith?’
Angela mentally swore to herself. She had completely forgotten about it.
‘I tried to call,’ she lied, ‘but I couldn’t get one on such short notice. Let me try again for you and call you back.’
‘OK, thank you.’
The line was silent. ‘Everything OK, Evelyn?’ asked Angela eventually.
‘Yes, sorry. If you could arrange the locksmith… the sooner the better, to be honest. All the goings-on have me jumpy, and I don’t scare easily.’
‘What goings-on?’ asked Angela.
‘I don’t know,’ replied Evelyn vaguely. ‘There’s a lot of noise. And someone knocked at my door late at night, but when I got up there was no one there.’
‘I’m sure it’s nothing, Evelyn. I’ll call the locksmith right now and get it sorted.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Oh, by the way, will you be free one evening next week? I’d like to come and see you. I have a bit of news.’
‘Of course. Any night apart from bingo night, just let me know.’
‘OK, will do.’
Angela put down the phone thoughtfully. She picked up the phone book and paid extra for the locksmith to visit within twenty-four hours. Having called Evelyn back to confirm the locksmith, Angela got back to work. She would have to skip the adoption support meeting tonight – a shame because she would have liked to have shared her news. The secretary had booked the meeting for Thursday morning with Sedgwick, which meant Angela had less than two days to prepare.
For a few moments, she felt panicked at the enormity of what she had agreed to do. Everything she had worked so hard for could be lost in an instant if she didn’t get this right. And getting it right meant getting the client to buy in and part with their cash. It meant getting them to sign on the dotted line. Angela’s job was to eliminate all potential doubt from the client’s mind. Taking a few deep breaths, Angela told herself she could do this. She just needed to stay calm.
*
Angela could feel herself sweating despite the rapidly dropping temperature of the cold winter. She had practically lived at the office the last two days, only going home to shower and sleep. She had practised the Sedgwick presentation over and over again until the information had seeped into her bones. She had prepared for every single question the board members could challenge her with and done endless mock presentations using the interns as her audience. Instead of trying to disguise the fact that she was a woman in a so-called man’s world, she decided to take advantage of it, focusing on one of the most important things in their lives for the majority of the board – their wives and families – and how having robust, revised employment contracts in place would protect and benefit not only the employees themselves but also the company. She was also advising them that if they implemented her proposal, they would be the first company in the U.K. to do so, signalling their innovation and progress to the rest of the industry. Well,
it never hurt to leverage their ego, thought Angela. Ultimately, it was personalised and professional but it was also very different from the norm.
She had arrived at the client’s office early to set up the transparencies. She would deliver the information verbally and she had her printed hand-outs ready. She had gone home at around nine the night before, intending to choose her clothes, have a bath and get a reasonably early night. She surprised herself when she woke up the next morning to her alarm at five – she didn’t think she would have slept so well. Feeling refreshed, she made some coffee, took a hot shower and got dressed. She had chosen a well-cut navy suit to match the corporate culture of Sedgwick’s but she had added her own style with a striking, canary-yellow blouse underneath. Unbuttoning her jacket now, she was glad the shirt material was light against her skin. She looked around for a window to open to try to cool down a bit. Seeing none, she took a sip of water and checked her watch. Where was Mr Mooring? He had promised to be here. As the board members strolled in, she could see a few of them were wondering the same thing. As each one entered, she greeted them by name, shook their hand and informed them they would be starting in a few minutes. She could tell most of them thought she was Mooring’s assistant, which she supposed she was, in a way. But not today, thought Angela.
As the board helped themselves to coffee and sat down, she knew she would have to start without him. Damn him, she thought to herself. She would bet any money he’d done this on purpose to unnerve her. Another test. She thought about her dad – her real dad, she corrected herself happily; she would have to get used to that – and how hard he’d worked for his success. She could do this. Angela forced herself to breathe three times. She was ready.
*
She didn’t even notice when Mooring finally entered the room and, thinking back, she didn’t remember any of the board members being distracted by his entrance either. They were rapt. Introducing their families into the mix had been a risk that could have backfired, but it had paid off. She’d added a touch of humour and within ten minutes, she knew it was going to be a success. She had done the hard part – getting them to like her – and she had gained their trust with the quality of information and being able to answer every single question in detail. Not only had they signed a letter of intent on the spot for her to undertake her proposal starting January 1989, but the managing director had requested a second proposal to take it one step further. At the end of the presentation, it was her the members had gathered around, not Mooring, as she’d expected, and as she left the office with him, the letter of intent safely in her briefcase, she struggled to tell what he was thinking. It was only when they got out onto the street that he turned to her.