Terms of Agreement

7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Charlotte

‘ Y ou haven’t said anything about my hair,’ Nan remonstrated later that week, patting her newly trimmed hair. We had a standing weekly call every Sunday at three—we’d been having them ever since I first moved out over a decade ago, and this Sunday was no exception.

‘It looks wonderful, Nan.’ I leaned closer to the phone, which I’d propped up against the kettle, smiling at the video image. In truth, it looked no different to how she’d looked on our call the previous week. For as far back as I could remember, Isla Hall had only ever worn her hair in a pixie cut. And the only difference between present day and the photos from forty years ago, is that the warm chestnut brown colour of Nan’s hair had been replaced by a dark, steely grey.

Nan beamed, preening at the compliment, even though she’d heard it, or something similar to it, a hundred times before.

‘What have you been up to?’ she asked, the carefree expression slipping off her face as her brows pulled together.

‘Oh, you know,’ I said off-handedly, looking away from the concern etched across her face, ‘nothing much.’ I walked over to the sink to refill my water glass, well aware that the interrogation was about to begin.

Don’t get me wrong, I loved my nan, but our weekly calls followed a pattern. First, we’d gush over how well the other was looking, then Nan would move on to share any of the local gossip or little titbits she’d overheard at the club. After this, we’d go into what she’d busied herself with and which of her friends she’d seen. I could always tell our call was drawing to a close when the focus of the conversation would turn to my life or, in Nan’s opinion, my lack thereof.

I took a gulp of water, hoping to stall for as long as possible before I turned back to face the camera. Nan’s deadpan expression looked back at me, her face open but expectant, and then she waved a hand at me as if to say ‘go on then.’

‘Honestly, Nan,’ I started, wiping away any lingering dampness from my mouth, ‘not much. We had a deal set to close on Tuesday, but we ran into some issues and we ended up having to stay late trying to reach the stakeholders in California. We finally managed to sort everything out on Friday at like nine, but by then I’d had to push off all of my other tasks to Monday so that I could get a handle on the California deal. I ended up going into the office to finish all of the work I’d put off yesterday.’

Nan arched an eyebrow, her lips thinning.

‘You were in the office yesterday?’ She asked.

‘Yes, and for a couple of hours this morning.’

‘How many hours did you work this weekend, Charlotte?’ Her tone was disapproving, and I heaved a sigh.

‘Nan, it’s fine. This is just part of the job. It’s what it takes.’ I smiled weakly.

‘At what cost, Charlotte?’ Nan’s pale green eyes narrowed at me. ‘You give up so much of your time to that place. You barely sleep—don’t deny it. I can see the purple under your eyes from here.’ I grimaced, my fingers lifting to finger the poorly concealed bags beneath my eyes.

‘You never miss a call with me,’ Nan continued. ‘For ten years, you’ve never rescheduled. Not once. That’s not normal.’

‘You’ve never cancelled on me either.’ I pointed out defensively.

‘I’m nearly eighty years old, Charlotte! I’m not supposed to have a roaring social life that pulls me away from family commitments.’

I flinched.

‘You have no friends, no social life, and let’s not even get started on when last you went on a date,’ Nan admonished.

I looked away, focusing on the tree outside of the kitchen window. I was fine. Happy enough. Was I excited to get up and go to work most days? No, but that was normal, wasn’t it? Not everyone loved their jobs. I told Nan as much.

‘Yes, but most other people have something else besides their work. Something that makes sucking it all up for a paycheck worth it. What do you have, Lottie?’ Nan’s voice softened, her eyes growing glassy as concern deepened the wrinkles of her face. I looked down at my hands, struggling to swallow past the tightness in my throat. ‘Just promise me you’ll think about it? Hmmm?’ All I could do was nod.

Nan sighed, but forged ahead. ‘I just want you to be sure that it’s all worth it. Is it worth all that you’ve given up?’

The question hung in the air long after the call ended. It wasn’t that what she’d said had been anything new—far from it. But this was what it took.

When I was younger, maybe around thirteen or fourteen, my mum and I had travelled down to attend a career fair in London one summer. We’d walked past hundreds of stalls and after a few hours, I’d begun to fear that I’d never figure out what I wanted to do with my life.

We’d just turned away from the tables promoting different culinary schools—tables we’d only really stopped by for the free samples—when we saw her. An immaculately dressed woman, standing in front of a simple-looking table with a handful of flyers. She wore a fitted, pinstriped navy-blue suit, kitten heels, and a friendly smile.

It’s kind of what I’d imagined love at first sight to be like. I’d felt this magnetic tug in my lower stomach, pulling me towards the woman and the table behind her. The table was well stocked with carefully arranged pamphlets and brochures for the different law schools and, in the place of free pastries, there were business cards and flyers advertising different events for prospective students to attend.

‘When you have faith in what you’re selling, you don’t need all the bells and whistles,’ Mum had said when I’d asked if it was a bad thing that the table was so plain and simple… so dull. I didn’t want a dull life.

We’d spent over thirty minutes at that table and left the fair with a plan. That evening, we’d watching a double feature of Erin Brockovich and Legally Blonde, giddy with excitement and ‘what ifs.’

What if you become rich and successful?

What if you become the youngest female partner at your firm?

You could change the world, sweetheart.

Mum had got sick a few years later. She never got to see me graduate from the school we’d always dreamed I’d go to or see me work at one of the firms from the Top 5 list we’d created that summer.

With a weary sigh, I moved away from my spot at the counter, tucking my phone into my trouser pocket. Nan just didn’t get it. She couldn’t get it.