Chapter Three
I had been working as a window designer at Selfridges, on and off, for the best part of two years, and I couldn’t really blame my tall, handsome, charming boss Joseph ‘don’t call me Joe’ Davies, for putting me in line for the redundancy instead of Shauna.
He had been kind enough to grant me the chance to take a sabbatical for my Manhattan adventure.
Besides, Shauna deserved to stay. I mean, she was prepared to spend a whole weekend making four hundred miniature origami swans when they were required for a Swan Lake-themed Christmas window.
I had to hold my hands up – I could never be that committed, let alone that good at origami.
Shauna lived and breathed the window-dressing life.
A life that she took great delight in sharing with her three thousand strong TikTok following – a niche, yet dedicated community in which she extolled the highs and lows of her busy working life.
Entering the office today I already felt like an imposter.
Ideally, I would creep in unnoticed, grab the stuff from my desk drawers (mainly Pret cutlery, Tampax, and chewing gum) and leave.
But it was never going to happen with Shauna around.
She was up and out of her seat and flinging her arms around me the second I appeared.
‘Babe, this is horrendous. I’m so sorry!’ she announced, trying her hardest to feign sympathy and failing. She shoved a Tupperware box in front of me. ‘Have a Mars bar slice. Approximately one thousand calories per piece. I guarantee you’ll feel better.’
‘I’m not into emotional eating,’ I responded, the smell of milk chocolate hitting my nostrils in a tantalising way. ‘But I am hungry.’ I lifted one out and held it to my lips, ready to take a bite.
‘Wait!’ she yelled, putting her hand on my arm to stop the slice just short of my lips. Her long fingernails decorated with little diamanté jewels on the ends dug into my leather jacket, while with her other hand she artfully lifted her iPhone and snapped. ‘TikTok opportunity!’
And there it was: me, lips parted, eyes wide, chocolate slice just shy of my open mouth, uploaded to TikTok and Snapchat simultaneously, complete with a salivating dog GIF and the hashtags #workOG #bae #missyoualready #solongamigo #ambergreen.
‘Thanks, Shauna,’ I mumbled, appreciating the sugar hit. ‘I’ll miss you, too.’
Joseph peeked over the top of the large screen on his desk and stood up. ‘Hey, Amber.’ He came over, ready to embrace me too.
‘It’s okay, no one’s died,’ I said. ‘No need to hug it out. I’m honestly fine.’
‘It’s shit and I’m sorry.’ Joseph hung his head. ‘We’ll do drinks, right?’
‘Sure,’ I commented noncommittally.
Tempting as it was to brag about my job news to them today, I was sensible enough to know that I had better wait until everything was agreed in writing before I made it public, and there was still no official word from Julie-Ann.
As I threw away most of the contents of my desk drawers – and put the spare knickers, box of Tampax, deodorant, and array of business cards I might need one day, plus a stash of unused Post-it Notes into a bag – my hand was never far away from my phone, as I checked my inbox precisely every three seconds.
An email from Julie-Ann would be very welcome right about now.
Fridays can mean a lot of different things to people every single week.
There can be special Fridays and insignificant ones; Fridays so full of fun that I have not wanted the night to end.
And ones when I have been very happy to say sayonara to the working week.
Fridays with a bottle of wine, TV, and the sofa.
Fridays with girlfriends, Fridays with family, Fridays alone, and Fridays with Rob.
It’s the day I generally enjoy the most in the week.
The evening in which I regularly eat a family bag of Maltesers, and the night Rob and I nearly always have the best sex. But what about this Friday?
Right on cue, a new email appeared. It was from Julie-Ann.
Today would be remembered as the Friday I left Selfridges for the last time as an employee – and walked straight into a new job.