by Ruth Harrow
'What a wonderful idea. See? This is why I wanted you on board – your attention to detail. I have to say that the other designers we have worked with on this project don't seem to have the same flair.'
'Thank you, John,' I say with what I hope is a modest smile. 'May I ask how many other designers you have asked for concepts from? Is it just the two – Lisa and Matt?'
John looks up, obviously surprised that I know about Matt since he wasn't there at the interview, then he looks a little sheepish. He points a thick finger at me. 'See? Attention to detail. You take your work very seriously and have obviously done your research. It would be unlike Matt to do such a thing.'
John drops his voice, conspiratorially. 'To be honest, I only let Matt have a crack at this job for Ian's sake. They have been friends since Uni. You probably would think it odd that a fella like Matt would go into decorating, more of a women's thing isn't it?'
I force my gritted teeth into a smile and nod along, ignoring his remark. I don't think he meant any harm by it. I'm actually sure he is trying to find a polite way to avoid describing his son's friend as a lager lout if Matt's Facebook page is anything to go by.
John finally sets down the folder and looks up at me. 'Between you and me, Heather, you were my first choice on this job, but I'll obviously have to take on board what Ian thinks – I made him my partner a few years ago.'
He gives me a reassuring wink, and I remember what Nicole said about John having the final say.
'As you know, whoever completes this project and does it well will have first dibs on a permanent position for us. But there is something else I'd like to discuss with you too.'
'Oh? What's that?'
'Well, obviously you are our “celebrity designer”, as my son put it. You have quite a following behind you, don't you?'
'Yes,' I smile, 'I have a strong social media portfolio.'
He holds his hands up in mock alarm. 'Well, Heather, please don't get too technical on me. It's Ian who handles that sort of thing. It mostly goes over my head, I'm afraid. But what I was trying to say is that our company is still relatively new. There are still plenty of places we can go, other avenues to explore.'
'Yes, of course,' I agree, not sure where he is going with this. 'You only started up in nineteen-ninety-two.'
'There's that eye for detail, again.' John smiles. 'What we would really like to do is launch our own range of decorating products, and maybe look into homeware. I've built a fair few contacts in the industry over the years and I think we can really make an impact. I have in mind that we can build a big-hitting brand with your name attached to it – if you consent of course. I would love for you to be the face of it.'
'Wow.' For a moment, I'm stunned and John stares at me, waiting for something more.
Then an excited buzz settles into my brain as I realise what potential the venture could have. 'I mean, wow. That's great – incredible! I would love to be on board with that. Absolutely.'
'Excellent.' John looks relieved. 'Now I haven't discussed this much with Ian or Lisa, so if you could not mention it to them, or indeed, any of your followers online then that would be ideal.'
'Of course. I completely understand. I won't say anything.' I mime running a zip along my lips and beam at John.
In my head, reams of images start to unravel of my own section of paints in B&Q. All over the country, people could choose the shades I select – the world even. I could finally get the shades I want right off the shelf without having to commission a custom mix for a change.
What would James and Nicole say when they wander around the store and see my face smiling out at them from the vast rows of products?
I wonder if Jones and Stanton have the clout to organise television advertising...
A new jolt rushes through me when I think of the range of ornaments and knick-knacks I could design.
Then there are curtains, table runners and all other manner of soft furnishings.
I'm giddy, thinking of getting to work jotting down all these wonderful ideas as soon as I get home and I haven't even left my seat in John's office yet. No more blank notebooks and struggles for inspiration from now on.
I come back down and am suddenly aware of John's voice again in time to hear him say, 'But you must be consistent.'
'What do you mean?'
'Well on your blog – is it a blog? Not a vlog? What's one of those?'
'No, you had it right the first time. I write articles, giving tips and tutorials. People love it. That is mostly where I've gained my following. I think they would be enthusiastic about buying products if they had my name on them.'
'Really? That sounds great. I have had a read through it all and it all sounds like great stuff. Ian was enthusiastic too. You usually post every – it is every week or so?'
'Yes, usually on a Friday. I've found people wind down the working week a little at that time. Start looking for weekend DIY projects. And they get inspiration from my posts.'
'Precisely. But Ian noticed though, that there have been some gaps in the last few months. You haven't posted so often. Could you say why that is? Your followers seem as eager as ever. Haven't lost enthusiasm for it, have you?'
'Oh no, John,' I smile broadly. 'No, of course not. It is just that I was very busy with client work. Not just Milan, but some other projects I can't disclose. I had to sign a non-disclosure agreement. You understand, don't you?'
'Absolutely. I told Ian it would be something like that. Not to worry. Now that you are back in the country you will get back to regular publications, I presume?'
John looks at me expectantly. Even the stiff hairs of his overgrown grey eyebrows seem to tense, awaiting my answer.
I have the feeling that my place on the project, as well as my face on Jones and Stanton products rely on it, so I answer with a confident, 'Yes, absolutely. You can count on it.'
10
Before
I can't believe how well things are going. James always says the people happiest in their work are the ones that turn their passion into profit, and he was right. It was he that suggested I should get myself a hobby and turn it into a business.
For the first time in ages, I remember why I married James and I've lost count of the number of times I give silent thanks that we ran into each other in Manchester library years ago.
We clicked immediately.
The recruitment agency I was working for at the time was putting me on a training course; I was sitting at a desk, forcing my way through the coursework when I'd looked up and seen James for the first time. He was sitting across from me and had clearly been staring. But when I looked up, he glanced back down at his laptop, pretending to be reading something on the screen, but his eyes weren't moving.
But even he had to admit he had been caught and his face cracked into a grin which I returned.
We had got talking and he had been quick to invite me out on a date with him.
It wasn't long before we were married.
Thanks to James's support, I managed to quit my job at the recruitment agency. Shuffling people through a system on a never-ending basis wasn't something I loved; the thought of doing that forever filled me with dread.
So far, dipping my toes into the field of interior design has gone well. I completed my first job, albeit a small one, for a friend of James's mother just last week.
I get the feeling James talked me up too much, but I went above and beyond to get the job done to perfection. My first client was delighted.
This morning I finished uploading the photographs for the portfolio of my website. This evening, I am finishing writing a blog post on how to store things in plain sight with wicker baskets.
It is taking a little longer than I expected, but the article should be complete in an hour or two.
The jangle of keys and a rustling of outer layers from the hallway reaches my ears from where I sit in the living room where I tap away at my laptop.
James appears at the corner of my visio
n, but I don't look up – I need to get this blog post done and posted by tonight; my followers have come to expect a regular posting on a Friday.
I can't let them down.
'Good evening, Beautiful,' James purrs into my ear, wrapping his warm arms around me and planting a kiss on my cheek.
'Hello, yourself.' I turn my head for a quick peck on the lips before turning back to the screen and continuing to type.
My mouth runs on autopilot, uncaring that my ears aren't willing to listen for an answer. 'How was your day?'
'Yeah, it was good, thanks.' James looks around, peering through the glass doors that lead to the kitchen. 'Is dinner ready yet?'
'Dinner?' I glance at the clock. 'Oh, I didn't realise that was the time.' I think guiltily of the home-made pizza I had promised James.
When I first resigned, I was surprising him with a different dish every night. Now that I am busy, however, that practice has been sidelined.
James laughs. 'What time did you think it was? Didn't you notice how dark it was?' He flicks on a few lamps.
Now that I tear my eyes away from the white glare of the computer, I see how gloomy and dull the room has become without my notice.
James shrugs. 'Never mind. It just gives us an excuse to go out for dinner, doesn't it?' He grins at me. 'How about we go find a nice Italian instead?'
I shake my head distractedly, returning to type. 'I can't. I have to get this finished by tonight.'
'Heather... I think you've missed the point of being your own boss. You can do the work around your life, not the other way around. Make the most of it.'
Something stirs deep in the pit of my stomach. 'What do you mean, “make the most of it”? This isn't just some hobby I'm playing at here. This can be a chance at a real career if I do it right – a good one, too.'
'Of course it is. That's not what I meant. But don't put too much pressure on yourself. My salary takes care of the bills by itself. You don't have to work at all, you know.'
I glance up at him and suspect I know exactly what he means by that statement.
Judy, James's mother, hints at the same thing every time I see her these days. James is her only child and she keeps reminding me of how, by my age, she already had James starting school.
It's getting really awkward. I have found myself making excuses not to be alone with her too long at family engagements.
'Look,' I say to James's semi-hopeful face. 'My followers expect a new post every Friday, so that is what they are getting. If they don't, I'll lose engagement and another designer will become their favourite. Then they'll get picked by clients before me. You understand that, don't you?'
He looks slightly deflated, but nods. 'Of course.' He claps his hands together. 'Maybe I'll try my hand at pizza-making myself. I wasn't too bad at that outdoor class in Florence, was I?'
'I guess not,' I say vaguely, distracted trying to remember whether I was writing about seagrass or water hyacinth.
James trails into the kitchen, shutting the double doors behind him.
11
Winter seems to have long-settled into the country, like a distant relative at Christmas that doesn't take the hint that you want them to leave.
Cold and gloom linger on outside endlessly, even though the Christmas season is now only a memory.
Even though I broke it up with a trip overseas, I am sick and tired of it still getting so dark early.
Not dark in a cosy way either, like the kind on bonfire night when there is excitement, something to look forward to; bright lights and the smell of hot dogs and onions; the feel of James's strong arms around me, his thick hands squeezing my cosy glove-clad ones.
I know that if I can make it just another month or so, it will eventually be spring. That just seems like a million miles away when it's cold and dim-blue outside, with an even dark mood seeping in through every window.
The atmosphere outside does nothing for my motivation. I had vowed this week to get a few weeks worth of posts for my blog written and scheduled ready to post automatically.
Although, I have found I have been a lot less productive than I had intended. I am disappointed that I have only managed to write a few words here and there of each post, completing only one published yesterday.
Again, I don't feel like it is the best representation of my work; I hope John is satisfied with it.
I also busied myself taking photographs of my new scented candles where they stand proudly in their place in the bathroom. Creamy wax, pale against the dark tiles, akin to those of my slate driveway.
Other trivial little tasks got completed too, passing the time with very little to show for it.
Other than my latest project with Jones and Stanton, I see no other client-work looming on the horizon. The renewed confidence I had gained from John's promise of a range of products bearing my name now seems to have shrunk in my chest.
I feel almost like I imagined it, but that could all be down to the journey home when I let my imagination run wild with me.
Reality set in as soon as I parked my car on the immaculate driveway outside and stepped into the silence of the house.
Somehow, the end of the week has arrived despite the fact I haven't filled the days up with anything much.
Many times, I had thought of calling James. We had often used to use Skype to keep in touch when he took a business trip, or the first few times I worked away.
We didn't do that once on my Milan trip.
My phone buzzes and as much as I try to stop it, my heart leaps at the thought it could be James. Had my thoughts of him triggered him sending a message my way?
I feel guilty when I sigh out loud upon the sight of Nicole's name on the screen.
Hey, Bestie! Hope you aren't too up to your eyeballs in work and have forgotten we are supposed to have dinner tonight. It will do you good to get your head out of your big project for a while – honest! I can hear you saying otherwise. You can't skive out of it when we live so close. If you try, I'll come banging on your door until you give in! See you later ;) xx
A smile spreads across my face and I text back. I'm actually eager to get out and about. I can barely even imagine the hustle and chatter of people around me in my current solitude; the two environments couldn't be further apart.
Wouldn't miss it for the world, Nic. I'm really looking forward to catching up! xx
A few hours later, I am dressed and stepping into Nicole's cream Mini as she hovers at the bottom of my driveway. Her headlights bore through the dark hedgerow.
'I'm glad I didn't have to follow through on my threat,' she says with a grin as I pull the seatbelt across myself.
'Don't be silly, I was looking forward to this all week.'
We arrive at the restaurant front desk and Nicole asks for her reservation.
The thin, young man looks at his book. 'Miss Wilkinson. Table for three?'
'Yes, that's right,' Nicole smiles.
As we are lead to our table, I look questioningly at Nicole. 'Three? Who else did you invite?' I smile, tentatively.
'Have you met someone?' I ask as we take our seats.
'No, but you'll see,' she says with excitement. 'It will be all right, I promise. OK?'
I look at Nicole across the table. Her makeup is much heavier than I have ever seen it, her eyes blackened and sooty-looking. Her blow-dried hair shines more than usual, flowing in a long, soft sheet and much befitting of the dangling, sparkly earrings hanging from her ears.
Above all this, she wears an annoying, superior smile because she has a secret that I don't and she clearly has no intention of letting me in on it.
Before I have time to question Nicole further, the lanky front of house man returns, showing another woman to our table.
Unlike Nicole, she has her dark chestnut hair pulled back in a severe-looking bun above a nautical striped dress that makes her look even broader than before.
A jolt of recognition causes a flutter of panic in my chest.
'Lis
a,' I say, weakly. I find myself on my feet without really knowing why.
'Hiya, Heather. It's nice to see you again,' she says to me over Nicole's shoulder as the two briefly hug.
Lisa settles herself down stiffly in the spare seat without moving towards me and orders a gin and tonic.
I sit back down and take the opportunity to glare at Nicole who visibly wilts under the heat.
I straighten up and try to paint a more neutral look on my face. It must have been obvious that I knew nothing of this meeting tonight.
I feel one-upped, left out the loop, a step behind, and I don't like it. If there was one emotion that I associated with secondary school, this was it.
Now that I see myself sitting at a table once again with Lisa Richards, I feel like the same insignificant teenager, as though I have not progressed at all in the years since.
Then I remember I'm a grown woman now with what could best be described as a glittering career involving international travel.
Tonight, I've worn my favourite dress from Dior, jazzed up with crystal jewellery from Swarovski – gifts from my husband.
Under the table, my ankle brushes against my Prada handbag, just to remind myself it is there.
A far cry from the faded, charity shop clothes my parents dressed me in with second-hand shoes to match, permanently moulded to the feet of the previous owner.
Nicole smiles broadly, shrugging playfully. I've rarely seen her so giddy. 'Well, here we are, the three of us! Heather and I thought since you two are working together now, it would be nice to have a night out together. Catch up. So, Lisa why don't you tell us about yourself? I can't believe we haven't seen each other since secondary school!'
I suspect Nicole can't tell, but the look Lisa gives her tells me that she knows my friend doesn't remember her at all.
Lisa mirrors Nicole's wide smile. 'Yes, a lot of time has passed since then, hasn't it? You two both look so different now. I remember you, Heather, looked much different back then. Amazing what a bit of styling does, isn't it?'