Good Enough

by PH Morris

  Before too long, I was on my last slide and uttering the words, “Any questions?”

  “Thank you, Melissa, that was great. Stuart, just hit the lights, please,” Mr Campbell ordered.

  The lights blinked on, and everyone came into focus. I quickly looked for my glass and reached for it slowly; although I knew how many people were there, it seemed to bring my nerves flooding back, and I had an awful feeling of déjà vu – which was weird because I was pretty sure I hadn’t been this far north, ever.

  I took a slow sip of water as Mr Campbell asked his first question, something about trainees, and then casually looked up into the blue eyes of Mr Rugged, this time with no beard, but I couldn’t miss those eyes and that slightly rough hair, which he shoved his hand through, and smiled at me. At that moment, I missed the edge of the table with the glass, and it tipped over and clunked to the floor.

  “Oh sh…ine on,” I muttered, remembering myself at the last moment. “Sorry,” I mumbled, “I think the lights made me misjudge the edge of the table.” I was so embarrassed.

  “It’s fine,” Mr Campbell responded quickly, “it’s only water. Please proceed,” he smiled again and nodded in encouragement, but I had lost all thought; how the hell was Mr Rugged standing there with a suit on, laughing at me? Maybe I had it wrong; it must be a doppelgänger.

  I frowned at Mr Campbell; shit, shit, think!

  “Trainees?” Mr Campbell pressed.

  “Oh yes, sorry, yes, trainees.”

  I composed myself and deliberately did not look at Al, until Mr Campbell turned and said, “Alistair, did you have something you wanted to ask?”

  I then had no choice; it was him, Al, Alistair, and I had to look at him.

  “Yes, I was wondering about your contracts; as you know, the law in Scotland is a little different than in England, and around restrictive covenants. We protect our client database and try to ensure no one nicks or poaches from us.” He smiled the most dazzling smile, and I knew exactly what he was getting at, but I kept it going.

  “Thanks… Alistair? Is it? Yes, we also have strong contracts, particularly concerning restrictive covenants.”

  He was smiling again; if he did another knicker pun, I was going to go as beet red. “Yes, I can see that it is important to be as transparent as possible when dealing with employees so that there is no misunderstanding, wouldn’t you say?”

  Oh my god, this guy was going to be the death of me, but luckily, I was saved by another question, from the financial controller, who asked about matrices and dashboards.

  I sat down quickly, like I did that night in Edinburgh, and even though I was wearing trousers I think Alistair was thinking the same thing.

  After a few questions from around the table, there were thank-you’s all round, and I knew that someone had promised me a site tour and lunch. While I wanted to speak to Alistair, I didn’t want to be on my own so that he could pun-me to death. My guardian angel answered when a frazzled woman in her forties appeared.

  “Sorry to interrupt but, Al, can I steal you away? The client is on the phone again about a technical question, and I can’t answer this one.”

  “Sure, it’s fine. Melissa, Stuart will be able to show you around the site, won’t you, Stuart?” he said, turning towards my little new rotund SBFF (Scottish Best Friend Forever). I was pleased to see that Alistair looked a little disappointed, and I didn’t know if he was just missing out on some more arse jokes.

  Thankfully I didn’t see or hear from him for the rest of the day and, at lunch, Stuart and I were joined by a couple of the technical guys in the boardroom, which was laid out with a simple lunch. We chatted about the history of the two companies, and also about the nightlife in Manchester and, of course, there was a least one Manchester United fan in the midst.

  In the afternoon, I spent time in the HR department with a young HR professional, Cara, who was up and coming, but had little support as the HR manager had left, and she was struggling. I felt that I could help her and gave her a business card, explaining that I could help her as a sounding board. The look of relief was obvious; I knew what she felt and, within just a few short minutes of talking to her, I knew she had her head screwed on and only needed confidence to deal with issues.

  At about 3pm, I was taken back to reception, where my taxi was waiting. I wasn’t flying home until the next day, so I was going back to the hotel tonight. I know that I was extravagant with my time, but the simple fact was, there were no flights back tonight that had a single seat, so I was stuck up here.

  Back in the taxi, I couldn’t stop thinking about Alistair; he hadn’t spoken to me that much but, to be fair, I didn’t know what to say to him, and he had been whisked away to deal with the client matter. Nick had been told that there might not be much to work on with the Campbells going forward, so I had little to no clue how often I would be involved in working with these guys, and I genuinely didn’t know how I felt about that.

  In the back of the taxi, I was thinking about checking with the spa to see if I could get a massage before dinner, or even having room service, when my phone pinged with an incoming message from Nick: ‘How did it go?’ it said, with an emoji of a grimacing face. Yeah, mate, you might well do a grimacing face. At that point, and just before I sent a reply, the phone started to ring with an unknown mobile.

  “Melissa Cartwright,” I answered breezily.

  “I didn’t get the chance to ask another question,” said a husky voice.

  “Who is this?” I replied coyly.

  “Oh, come on, Melissa, it’s me, Alistair. Surely you recognise me by now, even with a shave and a haircut. I have got to say, I recognised you immediately,” he breathed; why did he have to be so breathy down the phone?

  I sat up in my seat, not sure why, but I felt I needed a bit of backbone for this guy. “Sorry, Alistair, did you have a question?” Grrrr, this guy was annoying.

  “Oh, yeah,” I could tell he was grinning, “I wanted to know if you got your knickers back?”

  There was a long pause, and during that time my face burned, and I cleared my throat.

  “Yes, thanks, I did; what are friends for? Was that all you needed to know?”

  I had no idea if this guy was playing me or just taking the piss, but I did not want the new company to know that I was a knicker-swapping, see-through-dress-wearing tart.

  I softened my voice, “Listen, Alistair, I know this is funny, but my reputation is important, and I really would rather you didn’t talk about the whole dress thing to people…” I trailed off.

  “Melissa, I’m sorry.” Oh no, he had already fucking told people. I was never going to live this down. I closed my eyes in defeat, as he went on, “I’m sorry, I was just teasing you. I would never tell people about that; I was just pulling your leg.”

  My eyes snapped open. “You wouldn’t?” I asked him, sceptically.

  “No, of course not. I was just so shocked to see you standing there, in the light. I couldn’t believe it was you. I mean, what’re the chances?” He went quiet. “Melissa, are you still there?”

  “Yes, yes, sorry, I am. I’m just trying to process it all.” I was dumbfounded.

  “Listen, can I take you to dinner, to apologise?” He sounded hopeful.

  “Sure, I guess, but on one condition.”

  “Name it,” he confirmed.

  “No arse jokes, please,” I pleaded.

  “Yeah, your arse is no joke,” he said, and I could tell he was smiling.

  “I’m going. Goodbye, Alistair.” I wasn’t going to put the phone down, but I needed to regain some control.

  “Wait, Mel, I’m sorry. I agree to the terms.”

  “Okay, I’ll text you the details of the hotel; and I don’t have a vast selection of clothes, so are jeans okay?”

  “Jeans are perfect. I’ll pick you up at eight?” he suggeste
d.

  “Okay, see you at eight,” and the phone went dead.

  OMG, what had I agreed to? Shit a brick. Okay, okay, breathe.

  “Right, we are here,” the taxi driver announced.

  “Oh right.” God only knows how long we had been sitting there. I handed over some cash and climbed out of the cab.

  “Excuse me, dear”, the taxi driver called after me.

  I turned around, puzzled.

  “You’ve left your laptop bag in the back,” he explained, throwing his thumb over his shoulder.

  “Oh right.” God, my head was up my arse. I returned to the taxi, slightly blushing given that he knew I had a date, opened the door, reached in and grabbed my bag.

  “Thank you,” I mumbled.

  I hurried through the hotel, luckily not seeing anyone. In my room the full effect of what I had agreed to sank in: a date, I was going on a date. No, it wasn’t a date; he was asking a colleague out to dinner. Yes, I wasn’t jumping the gun, it was just dinner.

  I needed a drink; there was a mini bar. Bollocks to it. I grabbed a miniature bottle of Absolut and an equally mini can of Diet Coke and opened both, emptying the contents into a glass.

  It was only 4.30pm; I had hours. Why did it have to be so far away? It was like pulling a plaster off – it should be quick – this, on the other hand, was like slow torture.

  I needed something to do, but I hadn’t brought a swimsuit or anything to allow me to go to the spa or swimming…Well, I might not need a costume for a massage.

  Striding purposefully to the desk, I found the number for the spa and dialled; the line picked up after a couple of rings with a sing-song voice:

  “Serenity Spa.”

  “Oh hi, I don’t suppose you have any spaces for, well, for now.”

  “What, for a treatment?”

  “Yes, a massage or something.” I was biting my nail, please, please…

  “Yes, actually I do. I have space from five to six; is that any good?”

  “Yes, that’s fab, thanks”. I gave them my details and hung up.

  Right, I need to talk to Kat before I meet with Alistair. This is big for me, the first date in years, and the first since me and Mark split. Okay, not a date, a meal between colleagues. Yes, I’ll keep telling myself that, and then I won’t fall hard.

  “Oh, hi, Chica, what’s up in bonnie Scoootland?” she says in her fake Scottish accent.

  “Kat, I have news,” I state.

  “Okay, I’m biting, spill.” She is dying to know.

  “Well, you know that Mr Rugged from Edinburgh?”

  “Sure do, and who could forget the knickers? Oh, wait a minute, you,” she sniggers.

  I deliberately go quiet as I know it will irritate the hell out of her.

  “Okay, I will be quiet, I promise,” and I can see her in my mind’s eye, doing a little zip across her mouth.

  “Right, you know that I am up here doing a presentation, and so I did that today and who should be there in the room, but Alistair, aka Mr Rugged, from Edinburgh, so he works for Campbell’s, and who knew, and anyway he’s only gone and asked me out to dinner, but I am freaking out, cos what if it’s a date-date, but what if it’s a colleague thing and then he thinks I got the wrong end of the stick, and I only have my jeans to wear, which he said was fine, but I am totally freaking out,” and breathe.

  Kat squeals on the end of the phone and then yells, “You have got to be shitting me!”

  I’m not sure if that is a rhetorical question, so I just say, “No, I am not shitting you!”

  “What are the odds? OMG, Mel, it’s like Sleepless in Seattle,” she gushes.

  Oh, here we go again, another movie reference. “Kate, first of all, I haven’t seen that movie, and you know I haven’t. Secondly, you are not helping, and now I am panicking in case I read the signals all wrong. Maybe he thinks I was a right tart in Edinburgh and now he thinks he can get his leg over; and he’s coming to pick me up at the hotel. Oh my god, he totally thinks I’m easy.”

  I plonk down on the bed, one hand with my ear to the phone and the other hand cradling my forehead.

  “Okay, Okay, let me think…Right, I doubt very much that he thinks you are easy or a tart, and you are only going for a drink or dinner. Maybe he does only see you as a work colleague, but you won’t know until you go. So why don’t you just take it how it comes and be friendly, and if you get a bad vibe then fake a headache and say you need to get back to the hotel.”

  “Mmm,” is as much as I can offer in reply as I am thinking, Yeah, that might work. So, just play it professional slash friendly and see what he’s like, and if he’s a sleaze then I guess my bullshit radar should work.

  “Good one, and one more thing: take your mobile with you, fully charged, and call me if any funny business goes on,” she advises.

  “Oh my god, Kat, you are scaring me! What do you mean, funny business?” I’m getting cold feet. My dating history and experience is dire, so what do I know? I will have to rely on my bullshit-ometer and hope for the best.

  Kate sighs, “Okay, I don’t mean funny, funny business, I mean if you feel uncomfortable. Okay, listen, you are going for a meal: if he sits next to you then he probably likes you; if he sits formally and opposite, then it’s probably more work/friend’s thing. But whatever happens, please text me later to tell me you got back safe, cos if you don’t, I’m calling your mum.”

  This woman is brutal. “Fine, I’ll text you, but I’m not going out until eight so I’m going to go and get a massage to relax; but after talking to you, I am even more jittery.”

  “I’m sorry, Chica, I didn’t mean to make you feel like that; I worry for you. Just be yourself; you are lovely and amazing, and there is no man alive who doesn’t think that, and he’s already seen your arse, so that’s a plus.” Now she’s back to taking the piss.

  “Har de har, Kat,” I am smiling now. “Look, I have to go. I will text you later, pinkie promise. “This was our kiddie saying that we had.

  “Speak later, love you,” she adds.

  “Love you too,” I reply and hang up.

  Chapter 10

  An hour and a half later, I was back in my hotel room, with hair that looked like I had been doing bedroom gymnastics, but my bones were like liquid and I was relaxed. Charlotte, the young massage therapist, was a tiny girl, like a size 6, and about 5ft tall, but wow she was strong. She had worked out all the kinks in my knotted back and worked the tension all the way out to my fingers and toes. It had been bliss.

  I decided I would take a shower, as a bath would have me falling asleep in the bubbles, and then Alistair, or a big burly fireman, or perhaps Alistair dressed as a fireman, would break my door down and find me floating like a beached whale in the bath.

  I had a warm shower and stepped out with a towel wrapped around my head and a large bath sheet around my body. I blasted my hair with the hairdryer, which always took a lot longer when I didn’t have my own dryer, and drying my hair was a long process anyway. My hair was particularly frizzy, but I didn’t know if this was due to the water up here, if it was different from home. I rummaged through my limited clothes and, because I usually brought an extra casual top and an extra work top, I knew I would have a choice, albeit a limited one. I found a white work blouse, and if I coupled that with jeans and a little vest top underneath it would look okay. Well, it would have to do, to be honest, as that was all I had.

  Turning my attention to my hair, only my wonder straighteners would do the trick on the hot mess; everyone liked my hair apart from me; it was just too thick and unruly. I had plenty of time to straighten it, so I just put a bit of Coldplay on my phone and hummed along.

  Once my hair was reasonable, I applied my make-up, which again was limited in quantity, but if I applied a little extra of the darker eyeshadow to the creases as per the YouTube video ‘How to
make a smoky eye’…God help me. What was it with these younger women and their smoky eyes? I just wanted to look like I hadn’t been punched in the face. Well, less was more when applying make-up for the smoky eye effect, so I just applied a bit at a time and then went to the window to make sure I could see it in the natural light rather than the bright light of the bathroom. It looked okay. A couple of swipes of my most expensive item, Lancôme Hypnôse mascara, and ta-dah. Just the lippy, which I always put on last due to my usual trick of getting it all over me and, given the limited wardrobe options, that was a risk I couldn’t afford to take.

  A quick look at the clock and it was only 7.20pm; arrrgggh, this was torture, just more time to wait and feel nervous. I tried watching TV and then looking at my phone. I texted Kat to say how worried I was, and she texted me words of encouragement, including pictures of biceps and a cocktail glass – she was no friend of mine.

  I decided to go down to the bar and look for my little whisky-hating bartender. A quick application of lippy, and my medium work heels to give me the height I needed to feel a bit more powerful. I was a miserable 5ft 4ins, and Al looked easily 6ft. A quick look in the mirror – well, that would have to do.

  In the bar, like a beacon of hope, there she was. Luckily the bar was quiet as most people had gone through for dinner, and she looked up and smiled.

  “You look lovely,” Rosie commented.

  Looking down at myself, “Thanks.” I suddenly felt self-conscious.

  “You off somewhere nice?” she asked.

  I climbed up on the little high bar stool. “Yeah, a d… business meeting, with a colleague,” I added.

  She just smiled warmly and said, “Dutch courage?”

  I felt myself sag. “Yes, please, Grey Goose and Diet Coke, please,” reaching for a £10 note.

  She then straightened up, and I thought I had committed a major faux pas by ruining Grey Goose with Diet Coke, when a panty melting voice from behind me said, “I’ll get that.”