The Rival

by Charlotte Duckworth

  Dad seems old, suddenly, and shorter. Ash is tall – very tall for a girl at five foot ten – and she stands shoulder to shoulder with him. Perhaps it’s her youth that makes him look older, but something stirs in me: a strange sensation that I need to protect him, that he is somehow growing vulnerable as he ages. Which is ridiculous, given that he is one of Britain’s most successful entrepreneurs and, as far as I know, fears nothing.

  We settle around the long dining table, Jack and Jess next to me, and Ash and Toby opposite, next to Dad. Marta brings in the salad, plus a bowl of new potatoes, some coleslaw and then a mini salad, which she places with badly concealed attitude in front of Ashley.

  After a few minutes of mindless chat about the food, there’s what Jack would call ‘one of those silences’. I realize my dad’s attention has wandered elsewhere. This is the problem with my father. He lives too much inside his own head. All he thinks about is work. It isn’t that he doesn’t love me, because I know he does, it’s just that he has nothing in common with me and nothing to say to me. He loves me, but he isn’t very interested in me.

  ‘Has Dad told you guys about his plane?’ I hear myself ask. It’s a desperate attempt to draw him back in. I’ve used it hundreds of times before and it usually works.

  ‘No,’ Jess pipes up. ‘I’m terrified of flying myself. Ever since my cousin Laura got caught in a – what do you call it? – crosswind and had to do an emergency landing. She said the entire aircraft was screaming.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ Dad says. But I know that we’ve got him back – temporarily, at least.

  ‘Helena told me that you have a pilot’s licence,’ Ash says, shooting a warning look at Jess. ‘Tell me more?’

  Dad starts then; off on one of his usual lectures about the original Tiger Moth he bought last year. Ash smiles, nods, laughs at the right times, takes sips from her glass of sparkling mineral water, and generally charms him until lunch is over. It’s easy enough to do: Dad likes young, attractive women, after all.

  Marta comes to collect the plates, and brings in a huge bowl of strawberries for pudding.

  ‘Oh, excellent,’ Jack says, rubbing his hands together. ‘Strawberries in March. Not very seasonal but . . .’

  ‘Don’t be so rude,’ I reply, elbowing him. Ash is watching us, and I remember that she’s never met him before. Given how closely we will be working together, I hope the two of them get on. But there’s never anything to worry about with Jack. He’s kind, universally liked, and well behaved. He really is one of those ‘too good to be true’ men. He might be a banker, but he’s not posh and he’s not a twat. He can relate to anyone, no matter what their background.

  ‘Not complaining,’ Jack says, ‘just wondering where these strawberries have come from. Did you know that in the winter the vast majority of strawberries are imported from Egypt? Something very un-British about that, don’t you think? An Egyptian Eton mess!’

  ‘What does it matter where they came from?’ Ash says, and there’s an edge to her voice. ‘They’re just as good as other strawberries.’

  Jack looks surprised. He isn’t stupid – or not listening, like my dad, who is now staring over the top of my head to the window beyond.

  ‘I don’t think . . .’ I say, keeping my voice light, wondering how to make a joke out of it.

  ‘Wherever they’re from, they look delicious,’ Ash says, beaming, helping herself before passing them to me.

  I smile at her, relaxing a little as I take the bowl. Everything is going to be fine.

  *

  After lunch, we congregate in the living room again. Ash and I are perched next to each other on one of the long sofas underneath the window. My dad and Jack are chatting about furniture, as they always do, and Jess and Toby are giggling in the corner. They’re both slightly older than Ash, but they seem so much younger, somehow. No, not younger, that’s the wrong word. Immature. They’re much more immature.

  ‘So how are things going with Joel?’ I ask Ash.

  She smiles, looking down at her lap. I think it’s the first time I’ve seen her look shy. Maybe she’s just private and that’s why she hates small talk. Nothing wrong with that.

  ‘He’s great,’ she says. ‘Really great. Thoughtful, too.’

  ‘I really like him,’ I say. ‘He seems like a decent guy.’

  ‘He is,’ she says, and her eyes are shining as she gazes into the middle distance. ‘We’re off to a concert tonight, actually, at the Albert Hall. I’ve never been before. He arranged it as a surprise.’

  ‘Oh, wow, very romantic. It’s funny, really – he’s not the person I would have pictured you with.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘He’s just so . . . laid-back, I suppose,’ I reply. ‘Sorry, none of my business, I know. I guess I just saw you with a real ball-breaker. God, that’s awful, I’m really sorry!’

  ‘He might be quiet, but he’s still ambitious,’ she says, lifting her chin slightly. ‘He’s an amazing developer, too. They’ve already made him head of a team at his new place, and he’s about five years younger than most of the other techies. He’s really bright.’

  ‘Well, you’re a dangerous couple, then!’ I want to reach out and pat her on the shoulder, but thankfully I realize in time just how patronizing that would be.

  ‘Thanks,’ she replies, smiling. ‘That’s nice of you to say. I’m really happy – I’m enjoying the job, and I’m lucky to have Joel. It’s been an amazing year so far. And it was really great to meet your dad – like I said, he’s been a real inspiration to me.’

  She’s such a funny one, such a tough outer core. But who knows what’s underneath it?

  Before we leave, I pin Dad down in the kitchen for his thoughts.

  He smiles at me and there’s a look in his eyes – a split second of magic when, finally, I have his attention, he is fully engaged and locked on to our conversation.

  ‘They’re great. Very smart, very ambitious, very motivated. Toby’s very likeable – which obviously helps, if you’re a sales guy. Jess is a bit of a talker,’ he says, giving my arm a little squeeze. ‘But Ashley is certainly determined. She’ll keep you on your toes.’

  I smile – it’s what I wanted to hear, what I always want to hear: Dad’s validation. I turn towards the door, to collect my coat from Sam.

  ‘But Helena,’ he says, pulling me back. He drops his voice slightly. ‘Just one thing. Ashley. She’s very insecure. Very desperate to prove herself. Nothing wrong with that, of course, but . . . well, just watch her. Insecurity can make people do terrible things.’

  THEN

  Ash

  It’s her birthday today. She would have been forty-one. Not that much older than Helena, really. It’s crazy to think about it. Which I have been, all morning. And as if to drag my thoughts right back there, Lauren just texted me to tell me that Jason has been let out. On good behaviour. I nearly laughed out loud.

  I’ve been up since 8 a.m., working on the plans for the first pop-up. Last week I found the venue and even got sponsorship from one of the bigger brands looking to promote their latest collaboration – a new eyebrow pencil ‘developed’ by a YouTuber who looks about sixteen. The stands are filling up slowly but surely. The marketing team at KAMU have been surprisingly supportive – Helena’s friend Jodie has been helping us out after hours. But now I need to work on the PR list and the invitations for the launch party. Helena provided me with a stream of 300 names. ‘We don’t have to invite them all, Ash, maybe just the ones you’ve heard of?’ But of course I’ve only heard of a handful of them. The world she moves in is still way out of my reach.

  Instead of working on the guest list, however, I’m sitting at my tiny desk in the corner of the studio, watching Joel as he sleeps, which is making me feel uncharacteristically soppy. He’s good at sleeping – better than me. He’s beginning to worry me a bit, getting too much under my skin. I’m not normally one to let my emotions run away with me. After all, relationships are just business transactions of s
orts.

  My laptop screen keeps fading to black as I sit here thinking of my mum, and my brother. The only two people who can ruin my day without even being in it. I wonder if he’s thinking of her too, if he remembers it’s her birthday. I need to focus on this list, but instead I’m itching. To do something, but I don’t know what. Ants in your pants. Gran’s voice in my head. She’s still in hospital. Peeking out from under my bed is a bag of things I’ve picked out to take her this weekend, to try to cheer her up. If only a copy of Woman, some slipper socks and a bag of chocolate eclairs were enough. I look over at my trainers, and then at the pelting rain outside. Sometimes running in the rain is refreshing, but most of the time it’s just annoying, sloppy, dangerous, uncomfortable.

  Joel turns over in the bed, gives a dull mumble. The sex is still good, the best I’ve ever had, although there hasn’t been that much competition. But still, I’m getting fed up of waiting. It’s pointless us both wasting money on rent, but he’s not mentioned the possibility of us moving in together at all. He’s lucky to have me . . . doesn’t he realize how lucky?

  I open Twitter, examine my profile.

  Ashley Thompson, London.

  Events Manager, KAMU Boutique.

  No-nonsense feminist. The harder I work, the luckier I get.

  I click to edit it.

  Events Director, KAMU Boutique. No-nonsense feminist. Passionate about small businesses with big ideas.

  Satisfied, I sit back in my desk chair, admiring my work. I feel calmer now, more determined, and Helena will never notice the slight tweak to my job title. I’m headed that way, anyway. It’s time to move things along. Keep the pace up.

  I glance over at my vision board, propped up on the radiator, smiling as I take in all the things on it that are coming to fruition. I usually keep it in the wardrobe, away from prying eyes, but Joel doesn’t seem to have noticed it – or care, if he has.

  ‘Good morning.’

  I turn to the voice. Joel is sitting up in bed, rubbing his hair with his hands.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Last night was awesome,’ he says. I watch as he reaches over the bed and lights a cigarette. I don’t particularly like him smoking in the flat, but I let it go. Years of growing up surrounded by fag butts and worse mean I find them easier to put up with than most non-smokers.

  The art of being wise is knowing what to overlook.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say, despite the fact that being given feedback on my performance in bed is both sexist and patronizing. Mustn’t get distracted. Perhaps a cigarette will help, give me courage. I shake the thought from my mind. It’s ridiculous. I haven’t smoked since . . .

  ‘Listen, Joel, I’ve been thinking.’

  ‘Do you ever do anything else?’ he says, exhaling slowly.

  ‘Quite a lot, actually!’

  I walk to the window and open it, before sitting beside him on the bed. The rain bounces on the windowsill, sprinkles of it landing on the carpet, but the blast of fresh air gives me the energy I need.

  ‘I know, I was teasing you,’ he says, kissing me. ‘Come back to bed, grumpy.’ I can tell that I’m one step closer to getting what I want. I just need to be brave and come out with it. What’s holding me back? The fact that I actually, really, really like this one.

  Everything you want is on the other side of fear.

  I take his free hand, squeezing his fingers in mine.

  ‘We’ve been seeing each other for four months now, right?’ I say, and he nods. ‘And I don’t know if you remember me saying, but my contract is coming up for this place and . . .’ I have a momentary loss of confidence. What if I’ve misjudged the situation completely? What if he sees me as nothing more than a fuck buddy? I think of Helena, of her boring but, yes, I’ll admit it, handsome husband. The perfect man: well connected, good job, intelligent. Kind too, if kindness is your thing. Clearly in love with her. Impressive taste in engagement rings. Ugh. How did she manage it? She’s no cleverer than me. Better looking, perhaps, but not much.

  I feel my fists balling and my fingernails digging into my palm as I think of Jack at that awful lunch, of the way he looked me up and down, like a lab rat, not good enough for his precious princess. There has to be something about him, some flaw, some chink in his armour. He’s probably screwing his PA. They’re both as bad as each other.

  Concentrate, Ashley.

  ‘I was thinking . . .’ I say, my heart starting to thump in my chest. ‘Seeing as your mother is better now—’

  ‘You were thinking you’d like me to move in with you,’ he says, finishing off my sentence.

  ‘Yes,’ I say, surprised. ‘Exactly. What do you think?’

  ‘Are you going to make me pay half the rent?’

  ‘What?!’

  ‘Well, it’s a fair question – are you going to expect me to help out with the bills?’ he says, lying back against the pillow and putting his arms behind his head. ‘Seeing as, at the moment, I don’t have to pay my mum anything.’

  Recognizing when someone is teasing me has never been my strong point. I can’t tell whether he’s being serious or not.

  ‘You have to be kidding me!’ I say, and I stand up, slinging my dressing gown on over the stupidly skimpy silk nightdress I pulled out especially for this occasion. I fold my arms in front of my chest and glare at him.

  Joel leans over and stubs out his cigarette on the small glass ashtray I bought him, after I got sick of finding cigarette ends in my mugs.

  ‘Fuck’s sake,’ he mutters. ’Ashley . . .’

  I feel a huge wave of regret. Why have I pinned my hopes on this man? He might be bright, he might have a good job but he’s essentially too laid-back, just like Gary, just like all the others . . . Why am I stuck, dating pointless, pathetic man-child after man-child? Where are the fucking providers?

  It takes me a few seconds to realize that I’ve said the last two sentences out loud.

  ‘Jesus,’ Joel says. ‘I didn’t think you were the sort of woman who wanted to be provided for. I was also pretty confident that you didn’t need to be. I’ve clearly misjudged you. Sorry.’

  He stands up and starts ramming his legs into his trousers. Everything has gone wrong, suddenly.

  ‘Stop, stop!’ I shout. Tears start to fill my eyes. ‘I didn’t mean . . .’

  ‘Oh, you meant it all right,’ he snaps. ‘I heard you. I know you, remember? I know how you work. And in case you hadn’t realized, I’m in love with you!’

  The last sentence is a roar.

  ‘Joel, listen to me . . .’ I say, reaching across the bed to grab him, to make him stop getting dressed, to make him stand still and look at me. ‘You’re being ridiculous.’

  ‘Forget it, I’m off,’ he says, and he storms past me.

  ‘Wait!’ I shout, following him. ‘I feel the same – I feel the same!’

  He stops by the front door and stares at me.

  ‘Do me a favour, Ashley,’ he says, and the words come out accompanied by spit. ‘You think I don’t know you? I know you. You don’t love me. You don’t love anyone. You don’t love anyone but yourself.’

  And then he’s gone.

  THEN

  Helena

  ‘So, what we’re saying is,’ Martin looks around at his colleague Louise, ‘we’d like to go ahead. With your third package. The, er, full shebang, as it were. Including taking over the designs for the entrance foyer at the pop-up.’

  Ash wasn’t meant to be at this meeting – she volunteered to come, rather forcefully, and I couldn’t quite think how to tell her she wasn’t needed, but now I’m so glad I have someone to share my excitement with. I want to kick her under the table, but that would be difficult as we are perched on achingly trendy but incredibly uncomfortable bar stools underneath a Perspex tabletop, and my legs are clearly visible. Instead, I give a short cough and flick my eyes across at her. She is already beaming.

  ‘Well, wow, wow, that’s just great!’ she says, and her enthusiasm makes them all s
mile, too.

  ‘We’re very excited to be working with you,’ I say, thinking we don’t want to appear too keen, or it’ll look like we’ve never closed a single deal between us. ‘And so glad you’re interested in taking part in the event, too – it really will help you maximize your ROI as quickly as possible.’ I try to ignore the little voice in my head that’s telling me Ash’s event is going a little too well.

  ‘That’s what we want!’ Martin says, clapping his hands together. ‘I was very impressed with you both, and the industry has been crying out for this kind of event. It was such a refreshing change from the usual people we have pitching to us. Half of them don’t seem to know what they’re talking about. Now, let’s celebrate with a drink. Why not?’

  Louise, whose voice reminds me of all the girls at Bentley Ladies College whose only ambition in life was to be thin and beautiful, gives a little tinkle of a laugh. I wonder if she’s sleeping with him, and then kick myself for it. Of course she isn’t – she’s maybe twenty-five at most, he’s in his late forties, she’ll see him as practically geriatric.

  ‘Thirsty Thursday!’ Louise says, smiling around at us all. ‘That’s what they call it, these days, you know . . . practically mandatory to have a drink.’

  She slips off her bar stool and disappears into the kitchen area, returning with a bottle of champagne and four glasses.

  ‘Thank you, Louise,’ Martin says, opening the bottle, his teeth gritted slightly as he does so. ‘I hope you girls both like Bollinger. I prefer it to Moët.’

  I nod, although I don’t particularly want to drink this early in the day. It seems a little excessive, even if we have just verbally agreed a £75,000 deal. I look over at Ash. It’s an interesting test – will she drink the champagne or not?

  ‘Great,’ I say.

  ‘Cheers!’ Louise says, clinking our glasses. Ash picks hers up and joins in. I watch as she puts the rim to her lips and tilts but, as suspected, she doesn’t actually swallow any liquid. I feel a little let down – where’s the ballsy Ash, telling them she doesn’t drink alcohol?