The Rival

by Charlotte Duckworth

  ‘Anything else I can get you?’ he says.

  ‘No,’ Helena says. She’s eyeing me, nervously. But with something else, too . . . a kind of curiosity that I haven’t noticed before. ‘We’re good, thanks.’

  ‘In that case,’ he says, leaning down towards me, ‘I hope you don’t think I’m being rude but you have the most beautiful eyes. Can I take your number? I would love to take you out sometime.’

  ‘No,’ I say, looking away. Brilliant. Just to rub salt in the wound, now I’m getting Helena’s sloppy seconds. ‘I’m not interested.’

  ‘Ashley!’ Helena cries, flicking me on the arm as though we are old friends. ‘That’s so mean!’

  She gives him an apologetic smile and he shrugs, before walking away, looking remarkably unaffected by the situation. Perhaps he does it all the time.

  ‘Listen,’ she says, considering me. ‘I’m starting this division from scratch, and I’ll need a team around me who are as passionate about it as I am. And it’d be great to have someone feisty, ballsy alongside me. Someone who isn’t afraid to be ambitious, who doesn’t apologize for it. So, forget what I just said. How do you feel about joining me?’

  ‘Joining you?’

  ‘Yes. Forget the promotion. Why don’t you come to work for me at the new website? I’ll need a second-in-command.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I say, sighing. She still doesn’t get it. I don’t want to be an iron in someone else’s fire. ‘Thanks, but I think I’d find it too frustrating, Given that I had my own ideas for it . . . I want to be able to manage something of my own.’

  ‘OK,’ she says, looking thoughtful. ‘I understand . . . but what if we created a role for you?’ she says, and I can tell that even as the words come out she’s not entirely sure of them, she’s just trying them on for size. ‘Something for you to take ownership of. David and I are both agreed that events will form a huge part of this new site’s strategy. We need to take it offline, to really get the message out there. Pop-up shops, that kind of thing. How would you feel . . . how would you feel about running that section alongside me?’

  NOW

  Helena

  I don’t tell Jack, but sometimes I dream that I am with her. We’re in the park and she’s bigger now – no longer a baby, but a small person, fists clenched and determined to make her own way in the world. Her face is round, her arms under her jumper soft and doughy, coated in skin as white and fragile as chalk. I watch her: fighting for independence, a gummy mouth set in a line as she hauls herself upright, pushing unreliable feet through the wet grass, trying to reach me herself. Those tiny brown eyes fixed on mine, shining like glass, telling me fiercely not to help, but to let her do it on her own.

  I cling to these dreams, but they don’t come often enough. And when they do, they’re always marred. Because my mother is always there, too – hovering in the background, at first, then coming between us, trying to take her from me.

  Sometimes dreams are more painful than reality.

  It has been three days now, and I haven’t heard anything about the job. I am back to obsessively checking my LinkedIn page, to see if this Sean Taylor chap has looked at my profile. But nothing. Not a peep since he accepted my invitation to connect, from my shiny new grown-up email address.

  Now, I feel like a fool. After all the fuss, all the excitement, what if he never gets in touch? What if David had some other reason for luring me back? What if the whole thing was a set-up, what if he was just trying to find out what I was up to, to feed the information back to her?

  I realize I am pacing the living room, in the way I did the days after I lost her. Walking round and round in circles, clutching my mobile phone, now switched on at all times, desperate for news. My mind is filled with phrases, snippets of potential things I could say, ways I could get in touch, opening lines for emails . . . the words swirl around and around, shouting in my ears, until my head hurts so intensely that I have to sit down, pushing my palms into my eye sockets, trying to make everything go away.

  But there is only one way to make that happen.

  I call David.

  It’s two rings before he answers, and I feel my breathing slacken again, like a released spring.

  ‘Well, hello!’ he says, and the clarity of his voice tells me he’s in his office, surrounded by glass, no interruptions.

  ‘Hi,’ I say, trying to speak slowly. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Knee-deep in Q1 budgeting,’ he replies, as though my phone call is the most natural thing in the world, as though it was in his diary, he’s been expecting it. ‘You remember how it is. Gavin’s trying to get us to align with Australia, who apparently are producing twice the amount of content as we are – with half the headcount. Anyway . . . how are you?’

  ‘I’m fine, I’m well, I’m . . .’ I tail off. ‘Well. I was just wondering, I mean, I haven’t heard.’ I stop speaking for a few seconds. My hands are shaking and I feel nausea creeping up the edges of my insides. ‘I haven’t heard anything from Sean. Just wondering . . . I’m about to go away. Er, Jack and I. We’re off on holiday next week. Just wanted to check before I leave . . . in case there’s no Internet . . . Jack’s big on digital breaks these days . . . leaving the iPads behind . . . ’

  ‘Where are you going?’ David asks, and of course he’s more interested in my holiday plans than anything else.

  ‘What?’

  ‘On holiday? Surprised he’s able to have a break from his new project so early on . . . although it is the perfect time to visit Asia of course. Thailand?’

  ‘Yes,’ I reply, unthinking. ‘Thailand.’

  ‘Going for the beaches? Even so, make sure you make a trip to Chiang Mai. Unmissable. Don’t let Jack get involved with the water sports, or you’ll never see him again . . . so cheap out there.’ He gives a little laugh, as though he knows Jack and his type, as though they’re old friends, as though they’ve done water sports together.

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Will do. But listen, any idea what’s happening with . . . the position you, er, mentioned?’

  ‘Sean not been in touch?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Hmm,’ he says. ‘I can give him a ring for you, if you like? Or why don’t you just ping him an email now? Here . . . hang on . . . there you go, I’ve sent over his address.’

  ‘Great,’ I say. ‘Thank you. I will.’

  I stride to my office, pulling open my laptop. I type hurriedly, check the email once for errors and then send it, before I have the chance to talk myself out of it.

  *

  Of course, Sean replies the morning that I am due to go in for my treatment: 6 a.m., so it’s there when I wake. An email dashed off before a busy day in the office, or perhaps he’s going to the gym first, setting himself up for another day of doing something with his life, of making his mark.

  It’s just a few lines. That’s all it is to him – a few lines to get rid of that niggle at the back of his mind, to tick it off the to-do list. But a few lines are all it takes, these days, to shatter my delicately reconstructed self-esteem.

  From: SeanT@shopit.com

  Subject: David Marlow

  Helena

  Thanks for your email. David spoke very highly of you and I appreciate you taking the time to get in touch. We’ve filled this role now, but great to know you are looking for a new challenge and I’ll certainly touch base again if we have any other suitable openings.

  Regards

  Sean

  There is nothing to be read into this, not really, not if you are a normal human being. It might just be that I took too long to get back to David. That actually my skillset wasn’t quite what they were looking for. That someone else Sean went to Harvard with recommended someone else, and they got in there first. That they wanted a man for the job instead of a woman, despite how sickeningly unfair it is. But still. All I read is that I am tainted, that no one wants to work with me, that my business card is marked, that I am a mother without a child, that I am a career woman without a care
er, and that the sum of all these facts is that I am a failure.

  Jack finds me staring into space in my nightdress in the en suite, my legs curled under me on the cold tiled floor. The underfloor heating is switched off, and my toes are frozen. The dial to turn the heating back on is barely an arm’s stretch away, but it’s still too far, too far for me to reach, like everything else in my life. Or maybe I just don’t care enough any more. Let my toes freeze – what does it matter when my brain is atrophying, anyway?

  I’m so tired of myself.

  ‘This is why I didn’t want you involved,’ Jack shouts, standing in the doorway. He doesn’t rush to comfort me, as he might once have done. He knows better now. He knows that he can’t stop my feelings with a simple hug, a promise of a brighter tomorrow, a cup of extra-strong tea. He is frustrated instead, kicking the door frame in irritation.

  ‘That fucking man. I should never have told you he’d called. Getting your hopes up. He has no idea, no idea, what we’ve been dealing with. What you’ve been through. Raising your hopes. And today. Today of all days!’

  He disappears then, through to the bedroom, and I hear him kicking something else – probably the bed frame – and thumping his fists on the windowsill. I let him get it all out, and then I straighten up, blow my nose, wipe my eyes, and walk towards him.

  ‘Jack. We have to go,’ I whisper, touching his back. ‘Please. Let’s go. I’m going to have the treatment. It’s a good day. We need to try to be positive. Let’s go. Let’s go and get this done.’

  He turns to face me, and I see that he is crying.

  ‘I just want you to get better,’ he says, and then he falls towards me, burying his face awkwardly on my shoulder. His sobs grow louder as the dampness from his tears seeps through my nightdress. ‘That’s all I want, Helena. I just want you to get better.’

  PART TWO

  THEN

  Ash

  There’s an unfamiliar mug on my desk in our new office; I notice it as soon as I come in. Stamped in bright pink letters around the outside of it is a slogan: Teamwork makes the dream work. I left Helena in the office alone last night to go on a long run: 12km. I wanted to make it to 15km but it started to rain and my knackered trainers began to fill with water. It was the first time I’d left the office before Helena since we started working on KAMU Boutique, six weeks ago – usually, I stay till at least 8 p.m., and she always leaves before me, muttering that Jack will be calling the missing persons helpline. I know the truth is that she’s just tired, or bored of work, and then I remember: not everyone enjoys working as hard as I do.

  But yesterday morning I stood in the shower and felt the skin over my hips was softer than before. Not much, but enough for me to notice. Too many late nights, too many unhealthy dinners. I even resorted to eating chips one evening last week, when my stomach felt like it was about to eat itself, and they were the only thing I could bear to buy from the fried chicken shop on the corner. I’m trying, but it’s so hard to mix business with exercise. Helena and I ran together at lunch yesterday, but with her slowing me down I felt like I hadn’t exercised properly. There’s been so much work to do: wire-framing the website, branding, compiling spreadsheets of potential clients, sending feelers out. My new job title is Events Manager, but that hasn’t stopped Helena asking me for advice on pretty much everything. Thankfully, David and the Americans have been happy to let us do our own thing, and so far Helena and I are mostly on the same page. She’s actually quite compliant, I’m beginning to realize.

  ‘What’s this?’ I say, taking my seat, picking up the mug and waving it at Helena. The rim is far too thick, the handle uncomfortably narrow.

  ‘Do you like it?’ she says, smiling at me. ‘It’s a present! Thought it could be a kind of motto for us, seeing as we’re going to be a brand-new team. I got five of them, so we can all have one.’

  ‘How will we know whose is whose?’ I say, but then I see her face fall. I don’t want to upset her. So I give her a beaming smile, instead – not quite as good as hers, but I’m working on it. Copying her mannerisms is a recent project; I’ve written them all down in my notebook, and am pleased to have mastered the annoying art of ‘coyly tucking hair behind ear while gazing up confidently’.

  But where was I? The mug.

  ‘But no, I love it,’ I say. ‘Thank you. It’s great. And very organized of you to get all the staff one before you’ve even recruited them . . .’

  I jerk my head and scan our empty corner of the office, sweeping my eyes over the empty chairs at empty workstations. I was pleased when David said we’d be co-located with the rest of KAMU, but on the floor below – far enough away that we feel pretty much independent, even if he has insisted on weekly management updates.

  ‘Ha!’ Helena replies. ‘Yes. They’ll appreciate them SO much. First on my list for today: meeting the recruitment agents. It’s why I got in early, actually.’

  ‘Knock, knock.’

  I look up to see David peering round the door to our office.

  ‘Am I allowed in?’ he says. ‘Or is it women only down here?’

  ‘Hilarious,’ Helena says, but she stands up, flushing slightly at the sight of him. ‘Come and meet all our staff. Jeff did a great job with the set-up – do thank him for me. I’m so excited to start filling these desks.’

  ‘I think you have a better view,’ David says, walking towards the window. ‘Definitely not fair. Might have to see what we can do about that.’

  ‘You mean you can see how busy the pub is from here,’ Helena says, moving closer to him.

  ‘Yes,’ he replies. ‘Like I say, a much better view.’

  Are they flirting, or am I just clueless? Whatever’s going on, I feel distinctly uncomfortable. I give an involuntary cough and they both look back at me.

  ‘How are you getting on, Ashley?’ David asks, apparently only just aware of my presence. ‘Is she working you too hard?’

  ‘More like the other way round,’ I say, my big mouth running away with me again. Shit. ‘I mean, I’ve been getting a bit carried away. Just very enthusiastic about the project, as I’m sure you know.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ he says. ‘Helena mentioned that you’d had a similar idea yourself. Great to have you on board.’

  A similar idea myself? Did he not even bother to read my proposal, then? A wave of misery washes over me, that tide of self-doubt again, telling me I’ll never matter, I’ll never achieve anything, it’s all too stacked against me.

  I give him a tight smile, my passive aggressive way of showing him I don’t care what he thinks, and look down at my computer. I wish that Joel hadn’t been poached by a financial software firm but was upstairs so that I could have a little moan in the stairwell. I pick up my phone, consider texting him my frustration, but put it back down again. It’s still early days, don’t want to frighten him off by whinging too much.

  ‘So,’ I hear David say, although I keep my head down. ‘Budgets. Do you have time to chat now?’

  I look back up, but he’s staring directly at Helena. She nods, grabs her notepad and flicks her hair behind her shoulders, before sauntering out of the office without even giving me a backward glance.

  THEN

  Helena

  The best part about Ash working for me is that she actually likes doing sales. When David told me there was only enough in the budget for one account exec until we’ve proved our business case, I realized I’d be expected to do a huge chunk of the legwork myself. But when I mentioned this to Ash, she happily volunteered to take ownership of our lead list, saying she’d need to be in touch with them all for the first pop-up event, anyway.

  I knew I did the right thing getting her on board.

  My most pressing task is recruitment, and I am deeply engrossed in forms sent to me by the agent when I hear the office door push open. I look up, expecting to see David, or Jodie – my best friend from KAMU upstairs – but, instead, I see my husband.

  ‘Jack!’ I say, and I can’t help but smil
e. It feels like an age since I’ve seen him in the daylight. I think back to our teary conversation at New Year, how we promised to make more of an effort to make time for each other. We’re only a few weeks in and we’re failing already. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Just had a meeting round the corner, couldn’t face going back into the office . . .’ He pauses for a moment, and I notice the bruise-like shadows under his eyes. His insomnia is back, then. I feel a rush of tenderness for him. ‘It’s nearly four, anyway. And I told you I’d come and see your new empire! All this space for your new project. But where’s your minion?’ He nods towards Ash’s empty desk.

  ‘She’s scouting locations for our pop-up. I was going to go too but I got caught up in this and thought it best to finish . . .’

  ‘Oh, shame,’ Jack says, pulling out her chair and sitting in it.

  ‘She won’t be back today but you’ll meet her soon, I’m sure. In fact, I was thinking of inviting her over to Dad’s at some point. Bizarrely, she mentioned he was one of her business heroes. I think she’s read his autobiography – how embarrassing is that?’

  He nods, his face twisting slightly as his trouser pocket vibrates.

  ‘Sorry,’ he says, pulling out his phone.

  I turn back to the forms on my desk.

  ‘Oh!’ he says, and I look back up again.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Alicia has had her baby!’ His voice is strange, unfamiliar, high-pitched and excitable. He holds his phone up to me, shows me a picture of a tiny, wrinkly-faced infant. ‘Six pounds seven, whatever that means. Isn’t she cute?’

  ‘Gorgeous,’ I say, obediently. ‘What’s its name?’

  ‘Her. It’s a girl. Olivia Rose Huntingdon-Clark.’

  ‘Lovely,’ I reply, eyeing him. He’s gazing off into the middle distance, his eyes unfocused, despite the phone in front of them. ‘Barney must be thrilled. Say congrats from me.’