Epilogue
CHLOE
So this is real life, and back in real life, it turns out you can be fired from your job but, legally, you still need to work out a notice period of two weeks so your job can dole out the ultimate humiliation of having you in the office to ‘tidy up loose ends’, threatening to not pay you your full severance pay if you refuse.
And so just like that, I go from sunny, golden Ibiza and back to a grey office in Shoreditch, eating olives out of a tub and realising the start of the rest of my professional life has to be put on a tiny pause.
But next month, new chapters are ahead. I’m starting a brand-new job at Zaha Hadid Architects. I got the job – the job of my dreams.
‘I didn’t think you were the Ibiza type,’ Thea says from behind a fridge door as I wait for the kettle to boil.
Thea has said nothing about my dismissal since my return but she obviously knows everything.
I’m not sure how I’m supposed to engage in watercooler holiday chat but this work kettle is the slowest appliance known to man and I don’t want to add more fuel to this work fire by getting reported and punished for not taking part in office gossip.
‘It’s more than nightclubs and parties. It’s full of nature, beautiful beaches, amazing food,’ I say. Thea looks unimpressed. ‘I met Pedro Pascal out there,’ I say. I might as well go out with a flourish.
‘Really?’ she says in disbelief.
‘Yeah, we went skinny-dipping. It was good,’ I say, pouring hot water over my teabag.
She side-eyes me. I used to hate that look she gives me: it felt like a bullet to my self-esteem, confirmation that I was beneath her, that she was somehow superior or better.
How awful that I thought so little of myself.
I stand a little taller now, because essentially I am funnier and smarter in many ways.
I am moving on to better and brighter things, not that I’ll ever let her know that.
And I did meet Pedro Pascal or some perfect version of the sort of man I imagine him to be.
His name was Ben. And the feeling of physically missing him so much overwhelms me for a moment, it makes me ache.
I went to his restaurant in Notting Hill yesterday but I lacked the confidence to walk in and have a look.
Maybe it was a sign that I need to shelve those feelings.
It was just the bubble and magic of that holiday after all.
He didn’t want me in the end. He didn’t want to give us a chance.
Maybe I need to respect his feelings now and not draw out a complicated long-distance love affair.
In real life, the here and now, it’s about trying to find a teaspoon in a kitchen full of forks.
It’s about labelled milk in the fridge and the first sips of tea staring at a kitchen sign stuck to a cupboard telling people to wash up their cups.
A sign written in Arial. For crap’s sake, this is an architect’s office.
We’re much more stylish than that. Ten more days of this trite office nonsense and then you can go, Chloe. You can fly out of here.
‘Yes, I’m looking for Julian Jaffa,’ I hear someone say. I don’t recognise the voice at first but then the strangest feeling seeps through me. I know that voice. It doesn’t belong here. ‘Zara Solomon,’ the woman says.
I flinch, peer around the kitchenette wall and see Zara standing there.
But why? I’m used to seeing her in a bikini, a kaftan, without any clothes at all, so to see her here in a suit is very confusing.
Her hair is styled, she’s carrying a bag, and wearing some classy earrings. She sees me and waves, smiling broadly.
‘HEY!’ she says as people peer over their computers to investigate the new person in the office. The stylish and flamboyant person who’s here with me, the office nobody.
I take her behind a rubber plant to where our visitors usually wait on comma-shaped sofas. ‘You’re here! At my work! Did we organise coffee or something and I forgot?’ I say, still trying to work out why she might be here.
‘No,’ she says, smiling and shaking her head.
‘Did you want to see where I work?’ I ask. ‘You tracked me down? But why do you want to chat to Julian?’ I say, my pulse racing at the mystery of it all. I would say I’m jet-lagged but there’s only an hour’s difference between the UK and Ibiza and I’ve been back a full week.
‘I never told you about my job, did I?’ Zara tells me. ‘I think I spent so long complaining about my kids and family and never having a break that it never came up. Probably rightly so, holidays aren’t a time for work.’ Zara says that last bit emphatically.
‘Mr Jaffa can see you now,’ the receptionist says, holding the door to Julian’s office open. Zara never said what she did for work. I didn’t even know she worked. I thought she just wrangled teenagers and drank wine. Please finish your sentence.
‘Thank you,’ she says firmly. She moves towards the door. ‘You’re coming, right?’ Zara asks. She leans into me. ‘You won’t want to miss this.’
I won’t? I follow her into the room, walking slowly behind her as Julian rises from his desk. At first he smiles to see Zara because he’s an outrageous, misogynist flirt, but then a suspicious look rises on his face as he notices me too.
‘Zara Solomon… Mr Jaffa, a pleasure,’ she says, putting down her bag and sitting. I scurry to take the seat next to her.
‘And how can I help you today, Mrs Solomon?’ Julian asks in a grating, annoyed tone.
‘I’m here today representing Miss Raymond. I’m from Solomon and Gould,’ she says, placing a business card on his glass desk. She touches my foot slightly with hers, nudging me to play along. Play along with what? This is either some very elaborate role-playing or Zara is a fancy lawyer lady.
‘You are, are you?’ Julian says, sitting back in his chair like nothing can touch him.
Zara immediately notices his arrogance and sighs under her breath.
A look that says, Yes, I sometimes have trouble wrangling teenagers but gobshites like this, I can take them on.
I’ve seen this one fight on a beach, I wouldn’t mess.
She smiles sweetly. ‘Miss Raymond approached us to get advice over her recent dismissal. We’ve reviewed her case and we can inform you that it is a breach of employment law and her rights as an employee. ’
I did? I told you in the villa. I texted our new group chat last night to say I had to head into work with a crying emoji attached.
‘Miss Raymond has been underperforming for weeks now, she was impertinent to me, her superior, and she took unsanctioned holiday time,’ Julian says, never once looking at me while he reels off this crap.
Zara gets a notebook and pen out of her bag and props it up on her knee.
‘Did you keep a record of her performance? We have records which show the hours she’s logged, the projects she’s worked on, and the specific projects that you have won tenders on based on her skill set.
’ It looks like she’s referring to notes but she actually draws a penis in her book and writes the word KNOBLET.
I try not to laugh. ‘You gave her no written warnings; there have been no meetings to discuss underperformance and there’s no evidence that taking a holiday is actually in breach of her contract.
From what I can see, her recent week’s leave was the first holiday she’s taken in years. ’
‘But her contract says it needs to be sanctioned by me,’ Julian retorts. ‘She didn’t give us any notice of her absence.’
Zara flicks to a page of writing in her book. ‘Miss Raymond had been overworked and burnt-out but she also witnessed a traumatising incident within this office and took a leave of absence for the purposes of her mental health.’
‘Lies,’ Julian says, snorting with disbelief.
‘So, do you deny having sexual relations with a company colleague in this office?’ Zara continues with the sort of verbal eloquence that makes me want to cheer loudly with pom poms. ‘Because at least two other people who work here can corroborate this story and have agreed that this said relationship has led to incidents of preferential treatment at the detriment of others’ professional standing, such as Miss Raymond’s. ’
I can hardly breathe. She really went there, didn’t she? She does it so calmly, so sanely. My mouth is dry from the drama; my shoulders are hunched into my neck.
Julian’s mouth slowly opens, letting out tiny gasps of fury, the colour draining from his face. ‘Which other colleagues?’ he says, his voice raspy and stern.
‘I’m not at liberty to say. They would like to remain anonymous to protect their employment status.’
I knew Zara was smart in many ways, but oh my, she is absolutely killing it right now. I bite my lip, trying to hide my glee at her presence, her confidence, and most of all her solidarity in helping someone she hardly knows. I want to hug her but I fear that might give the game away.
‘State your demands,’ Julian whispers.
‘Miss Raymond mutually agrees to the dismissal but she should not have to work any notice. She will very gladly go to her desk now and clear out her belongings. There will be zero recrimination from this, and you, Mr Jaffa, will provide her with a glowing reference for her next place of employment.’
He glares at me and I return the look. You sad, sad little man. ‘Plus, I want a decent severance package. Eight weeks,’ I say, trying to match Zara’s confidence.
‘That’s double what you deserve,’ he tells me.
‘Factor in the one-month notice I should have been given then, I think that’s fair,’ I say, my jaw clenched tightly from having to be so serious.
‘It’s tantamount to blackmail,’ he says.
‘No, if I wanted to blackmail you, I’d go to your wife and tell her you’ve been putting your big hairy cock in another woman.’ Now my mouth is dry, very dry.