Chapter 3
One of the only good things about January is that it’s one of our busiest times in the office, so the first day back passes relatively quickly.
Coxsmith Careers, where I work, specialises in recruitment within the financial sector, mainly in the City of London.
Like Priya and her divorce Monday, the return to the office after Christmas always sees a spike in people who suddenly decide they need to move jobs immediately.
We may be a small agency, but we punch well above our weight, mainly due to Alan Coxsmith, our founder and CEO.
A wiry man of indeterminate age, Alan cut his teeth in investment banking before setting up his recruitment agency ten years ago, and his success is due in no small part to his extensive network of connections.
We often joke that there isn’t a mover and shaker in the square mile that Alan isn’t on first name terms with.
We’re a close-knit team. Sonya was his first recruit, followed by me five years ago, and then Lily most recently.
The fact that we’re an all-female team is, according to Alan, pure coincidence, but we secretly believe he finds women generally easier to cope with in the workplace.
He makes no bones about his dislike for what he calls ‘preening idiots with vastly over-inflated opinions of themselves’.
Given the industry we work in and the nature of the personalities it attracts, this can be tricky, which is why he leaves the bulk of the work to us, focusing his own time on board-level appointments, which work in a very different way to the stuff we deal with.
On the face of it, our role is fairly simple.
People who want to seek a new opportunity register with us, and we put them forward for positions that seem like a good fit and take a hefty commission from the new employer if the match is successful.
In reality, there’s a lot more to it than that.
We help our candidates to hone their CVs, provide interview coaching and generally do everything we can to help them present themselves in the best possible light to potential employers.
Alan also expects us to keep on top of what he calls the ‘domino’ effect, which is that anyone moving to a new position should leave a vacancy behind them, which presents another opportunity for us to place someone, and so on down the line.
It’s challenging work, especially when we’re flat out as we are now, but it’s also incredibly satisfying when we manage to place someone successfully.
This January looks like it will be no exception.
It may only be the first day back, but I’ve already fielded a number of enquiries and tried to give each person the impression that they’re the new centre of my world.
Lily and Sonya are similarly busy and Alan is nowhere to be seen, which means he’s probably got a deal on the go as well.
As I’ve already mentioned, appointments at the top levels work in a different way.
There’s nothing so crude as applications and formal interviews; it starts with a whisper that an opportunity might be about to open up, followed by several lunches at exclusive restaurants where theoretical ‘options’ might be discussed and preferred candidates softened up, culminating in a quiet chat to thrash out the final details over a glass or two of something eye-wateringly expensive in a private members’ club.
Alan likens it to fishing with a double-ended rod.
One end has the bait to draw in the employer, but you also need the right lure at the other end to tempt your candidate away from their current, highly lucrative position.
It sounds exhausting, but Alan seems to thrive on the adrenaline.
Lily, on the other hand, is definitely not herself today. On the surface, everything seems normal; she’s making calls with her customary efficiency, but I can tell something is off.
‘Is everything OK?’ I ask her when we take advantage of a rare lull to slip into the kitchen to make a cup of tea.
‘Yes, why shouldn’t it be?’ Her tone is guarded rather than hostile.
‘I don’t know. I get the impression something’s bothering you. Did you have a difficult Christmas? You were with your in-laws, weren’t you?’
She sighs as she pours boiling water into three mugs. ‘Yes, and it was fine. Well, sort of. I get on really well with Dan’s family, and his brother brought his girlfriend, Amy, along too. She’s one of my best friends, so it’s always lovely to see her. They met at our wedding, did I tell you?’
‘No, but I’m guessing that’s not what’s on your mind,’ I say, determined not to let her lead me off on a tangent.
‘It isn’t. It’s the baby thing.’
Of course it is, I realise. Lily and her husband Dan have been trying to conceive for a while, but haven’t had any luck. She doesn’t mention it often, but I know it’s getting her down.
‘Things came to a bit of a head,’ she explains. ‘Dan’s mum asked when we were going to give them some grandchildren to dote on.’
‘Oh, that’s a bit insensitive.’
‘She didn’t mean anything by it. We haven’t shared our troubles with her, so she wasn’t to know, but it just brought the whole thing up to the surface again.
Dan and Amy got into a long discussion about IVF, adoption and so on, and I ended up getting cross with both of them because it made me feel like I was a broken piece of machinery. ’
‘It might not even be you,’ I reassure her. ‘It could be him.’
‘It’s neither of us, as far as the medical tests can tell anyway,’ she says sadly.
‘His sperm count is just fine and they can’t see anything wrong with me either.
It’s just not happening for some reason.
Anyway, ever since the conversation with Amy, Dan’s convinced himself that we should look seriously at IVF and won’t shut up about it. It’s getting me down.’
‘What do you think?’
‘It doesn’t matter what I think, because we don’t meet the NHS criteria, as I’ve explained to him about five times. You need to have been trying for over two years, and it’s only eighteen months for us, and you also need to have had at least twelve unsuccessful cycles of artificial insemination.’
‘Mmm,’ I murmur. ‘Sex with a turkey baster.’
This does at least raise a smile. ‘I know, and they say romance is dead.’
‘I’ve heard it doesn’t even buy you dinner first.’
‘Oh, it gets worse,’ she tells me. ‘At least six of the twelve must have been what they call intrauterine insemination, where they use a catheter to deliver the sperm pretty much straight into your fallopian tubes. Compared to that, the turkey baster is almost appealing.’
‘I get you. Did Amy have any better ideas?’ I ask.
‘I love Amy, but she’s never struggled with something like this. Her view is simply that I’m stressed and just need a good holiday to get things moving.’ After the brief moment of humour, her voice and expression have sunk again.
I smile. ‘That does sound more appealing than the turkey baster or catheter, to be fair.’
‘Yes, but the turkey baster does at least have a basis in science. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a fertility specialist recommending a holiday.’
‘Have you spoken to any fertility specialists?’
‘Not about holidays, but I’m pretty sure I’m right. Anyway, Amy’s also got a bee in her bonnet about it now, so I’m getting hassled in stereo. She’s decided we need to go to the Caribbean.’
‘Hmm. A week in the Caribbean or a catheter. I know which I’d choose.’
This raises another small smile. ‘I tried to deflect her by telling her about Alan’s January holiday ban, but she merely shrugged and said we could go in February instead.’
‘I’m not sure it’s an outright ban,’ I tell her. ‘Alan just doesn’t want to end up short staffed at one of the busiest times of the year. I’m sure he’d say yes if there was a good reason.’
‘And how do you think he’d react if I waltzed into his office and said, “Alan, I want to go on holiday in January when we’re really busy, so I can get pregnant and promptly naff off on maternity leave”?’
‘Lily, I hate to break it to you, but Alan’s fully aware of your situation, because he’s been in the room several times when we’ve been talking about it. You know what he’d do. He’d send you on your way with his blessing.’
She considers my point for a moment. ‘You’re probably right. Anyway, I’m not going to ask him because it’s not happening. I just need a way to tell Amy that.’
‘You could just say no.’
She laughs softly. ‘You haven’t met Amy. That’s easier said than done, especially as she’s decided she needs to come as well to lend moral support.’
‘Please tell me she’s not going to be sitting at your bedside, urging you two on,’ I say with a giggle.
‘Ugh. I think I’d rather do it with the turkey baster. Anyway, the fact is that the idea is fixed in her mind now. She’s already emailed me twice this morning with ideas.’
‘Is Dan on board with it?’
‘He’s not anti. I mean, he doesn’t think it will make any difference to our chances of success, but the idea of winter sunshine definitely appeals to him.’
‘Sensible man. If I win the lottery, I’ve always said I’d buy a house in Australia.’
‘Why there?’
‘Because their seasons are the exact reverse of ours. I could spend British summer here and then head for Australia as soon as the weather turned, so I could live in perpetual summertime.’
She considers this for a moment. ‘Christmas in the middle of summer would be a bit weird though, wouldn’t it?’
‘You’re right. I guess I’d need a Christmas house too. Somewhere where snow was guaranteed but I could still get about.’
‘A cabin in the woods, with a roaring log fire,’ she suggests.
‘I like the log fire, but not the woods.’
‘What’s wrong with them?’
‘I’ve seen too many horror films where people get murdered in the woods.’
‘OK, no woods.’
My attention is distracted by Sonya, who is miming dying of thirst at us from her desk as she talks to someone on the phone.
‘We’d better get back,’ I say to Lily. ‘What are you going to do about this holiday though?’
‘I don’t know,’ she replies as we make our way to our desks and I hand Sonya her mug. ‘Perhaps I won’t do anything. Or maybe I’ll let Amy and Dan slug it out and just go along with whatever they dream up.’
The rest of the day seems to pass in a blur.
By the time Alan finally arrives and summons us for a staff meeting at half past four, I’ve added seven new candidates to our client list. The major upside of this is that I haven’t had time to reflect on my idiotic hook-up with Stuart.
He doesn’t even get a look in on my journey home at the end of the day, as my mind is pleasantly engaged daydreaming about how much better January would be if I were drinking rum on a warm Caribbean beach instead of rattling along in a stuffy Tube under freezing, rain-soaked streets.
If I were Lily, I know exactly which option I’d be choosing.