Chapter 12
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Because I thought you’d be mad.’
‘I am mad.’
‘Which is why I didn’t tell you.’
Tony was pacing his office, rosacea-tinted face further flushed with the effort of actually being on his feet. She’d had to come clean. She’d met her probation officer. She was going to work in a homeless shelter. Her skin itched just thinking about it. There was no way she’d fit the hours in around her existing workload without anyone noticing something was off. Still, he should be thanking her; this was the most exercise he’d done in years.
‘How long?’
‘Three weeks.’
‘Fuck’s sake Simone.’
‘I know it’s not ideal.’
‘It’s pretty fucking far from ideal.’
‘Calm down. I was due to be off for two weeks anyway. I can tag it on to the end. Unpaid.’
‘This is a setback.’ He stopped pacing and nodded to the glass behind her. ‘Astley is going to take a dim view of this.’
There he was, grey as a storm cloud and looking half as cheerful, talking to Ollie, who was looking like a twat.
‘Does he need to know? It’s only five extra days. I could call in sick.’
The most important thing was that Ollie didn’t find out.
‘You know the man doesn’t tolerate sickness.’
‘That’s because he’s already dead.’
‘This is a crucial time in the business.’
‘I know. I’m the one doing most of the work around here.’
‘Now, Simone. You know you’re the sister I never had.’
‘You have a sister.’
‘Yeah, but she’s a miserable cow. You’re going off the boil. Jeffers called me this morning and says you’re neglecting him.’
Jeffers was another man-child client who seemed to think that, because she worked on his account, he owned her. He’d invited her to a three-day corporate event that she’d politely declined – ironically because she had to work on his account – but he’d been pissy ever since.
‘He’s being unreasonable. I’m doing everything he needs me to,’ she said.
‘Everything?’
‘Are you suggesting I actually go away with him for the weekend? You know that doesn’t end in twin rooms, don’t you?’
‘What harm can it do?’
‘Why don’t you sleep with him if it’s so important to you?’
‘Because I’m not a ponce.’
‘Jesus. 1980 called. They want their homophobia back.’
‘It’s not homophobic to not be a ponce, Little Miss Wokeness.’
‘Everything’s ready for my handover,’ she said. ‘If anything, this is better for you because I can check in every evening, so you won’t have to. I wouldn’t do that on holiday.’
He tore a piece of paper off the pad on his desk and used it to pick between his teeth. There must have been some remnants of his long lunch trapped in there.
‘Fine. But you better come back fighting fit or else you are going to get knocked out by twinkletoes out there. He’s hungry for it. He’s already got you on the ropes; now he wants you on the canvas.’
‘I’m the heavyweight, Tony.’
‘Perhaps you can try and get some time off for good behaviour.’ He tried to raise an eyebrow but struggled to overcome the downward pressure of his jowls.
‘I’m not getting off with anyone at a homeless shelter.’
‘Suit yourself, Florence Nightingale.’
‘Just don’t say anything to anyone, okay? I’ll deal with it.’
She’d already posted some nonsense about a digital detox on social media, so she wasn’t left having to try and fake a whole trip to the States. Although faking your life was par for the course on Insta.
Tony made some vague gesture in the region of his chest. ‘Cross my heart. We’ll see you in three weeks.’