Chapter 27
27
Fiona had never been one to believe that a positive outlook made a difference to the success of your day. That wasn’t to say it didn’t have any effect. Being in a good mood did mean she was a little more tolerant of some of the idiots she had to deal with – always a good thing in her line of work. But positivity alone wasn’t responsible for success; that was all down to efficiency. Efficiency and hard work.
Monday morning somewhat altered her views on this.
‘You’re in a good mood,’ Annabel observed, as she placed a strawberry and caramel Frappuccino on the desk in front of her.
‘I am,’ she said. ‘And look. I got you a reusable cup. You need to use it a hundred times to compensate for its carbon footprint though. So, drink up.’
Once in her office, she’d barely sat down when the telephone rang.
‘Oh,’ she said, surprised by what she was hearing. ‘Well yes, brilliant. That’s brilliant.’ She hung up and swept back through to Annabel. ‘Now that’s a bit of good news,’ she announced.
‘What is?’
‘I’ve just got off the phone with The Truncton Recruitment Group.’
‘I thought they dropped us.’
‘They did. But that was last week. Now they’re saying that they’ve read through the manifesto I sent them, about our new ethos and direction, and had a rethink about their restructuring – their word, not mine – and that they’re hoping we can continue to work together.’
‘Fantastic!’
‘It is. It really is.’
Annabel’s enthusiasm, as she sat there biting her lip, wasn’t up to its usual level, though.
‘What is it?’ Fiona asked, sensing that something was wrong.
‘Do you think I could I have a look at our new manifesto too?’ her assistant asked.
‘Oh shit! Yes, of course!’
For the next two hours, Fiona proceeded to talk her through a slightly abridged version of recent events. (Annabel was a good friend, but she was also an employee and some things had to remain private.) She also told her about Rory, in terms of the things that he was doing and all that he had taught her – once again from an environmental standpoint only.
‘And now you’re going to talk at this conference tomorrow?’
‘Yes,’ she said, feeling for the first time a frisson of excitement at the statement. ‘Yes I am.’
After that, the day only got better. Two more companies had a change of heart and did an about turn on their decision to leave her and, when she went around to Rory’s that night for dinner, they retired to the bedroom for dessert.
‘I just hope I do her justice,’ she said, eating sticky toffee pudding, propped up against a pillow, something she would never have considered in her own house, yet now felt like the only way to do it. ‘Martha, that is. It sounds stupid, I know. She was an animal, for crying out loud. But it’s like you said to me before, if I can make even one of those companies listen, if just one of them changes their mind about wrapping everything in a double layer of plastic, that’s got to make a difference, hasn’t it?’
‘That would make a whole world of difference.’ He moved in for a lingering kiss.
‘Will I see you tomorrow?’ she asked, separating so she could finish off the last of the sauce. Sex or pudding? Sometimes, it really was a tough call. ‘The meeting isn’t until the evening. I could text Ben. See if you could come too.’
‘It’s Ben now, is it?’ he smirked, moving their dishes away before flopping back down on the bed and pulling her against him. ‘I wish I could, but I’m going to be busy all day. I’ve got to do pickup in the morning and then I’m on my own in the shop.’
‘I could pop in?’
He wrinkled his nose. ‘That’s going to be a bit difficult. You don’t mind, do you? Only I have a load of deliveries coming in too, and they’ll need to be sorted and?—’
‘It’s fine.’
‘I don’t want you to think that I don’t want to see you.’
‘Honestly, it’s fine.’
With a relieved smile, he brushed a strand of hair behind her ears.
‘Wednesday? I can see you on Wednesday though. And you can let me know how it went.’
‘Sounds good.’ She nestled in against his chest. ‘Sounds very good.’
The advantage of Rory’s early mornings was that she felt under no obligation to stay the night. In fact, it was better that she didn’t. At half-past eight, she gathered up her things and headed home, with time for a little more fact checking and research ahead of her presentation.
How this project had swept her away was unlike anything she’d experienced before. Of course, she was always absorbed in her work, often to her detriment, but this was all consuming.
There would be a projector available, if she wanted to show photographs or illustrations. And she did, one thing in particular. She would lay herself bare for Martha.
When she woke the next morning, she hadn’t expected to be such a bundle of nerves. Neither her first coffee nor a shower did much to alleviate them and, by the time she reached the office, she was a quivering wreck.
‘Can I make you another coffee?’ Annabel asked, perturbed by her employer’s inability to sit down for more than fifteen seconds without jumping back up again.
She shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think I should have any more. That damn cafetière has already got me drinking double my normal amount.’
‘Do you want me to fetch you something to eat, then? Maybe food would help.’
‘Honestly? I don’t think I could stomach anything.’
It had been a mixed morning. To Fiona’s disappointment, no more of her clients had decided to return to Omnivents’ fold. On the plus side, no more had left. That meant she was just at the break-even point she’d calculated. It wasn’t ideal, but it was sustainable, if no costly surprises came along. What she needed to do was find a way to pare back her costs, the biggest one being rent.
By midday, she’d had enough searching for possible new premises and needed to get out of the office.
‘Actually,’ she said, despite her reaction to Annabel’s earlier offer, ‘I think I’ll head out and grab something to eat myself. I’ll see you back here in a bit.’
She had almost been on automatic pilot, heading towards The Dumpster Dive. Shawarma was no good; she needed to go further, to stretch her legs, and sushi was a nonstarter – just the thought of eating fish, after her last few days research – put paid to that. Besides, she could swing by and see if Rory had managed to sort out all those deliveries and, perhaps, spare half an hour for a quick lunch together after all. Calm her nerves. So, it would make sense, she thought, to head to the shop first.
As she arrived, she anticipated his surprise and pleasure at seeing her there. She pinched her cheeks and stepped inside.
‘Welcome to The Hive, can I help you?’
‘Oh.’ She was taken aback, as a woman in a grey apron stepped out from behind the counter.
‘Were you looking for something in particular?’ she asked.
‘Actually,’ Fiona leaned to the side, peering towards the staircase. ‘I was looking for Rory. Is he in?’
The woman’s smiled broadened, as if it was a question she was frequently asked. ‘Sorry, no, my dear. He’s not working here today.’
‘Oh,’ she said again and frowned.
Most probably she’d got it wrong and he’d said he’d be working in the café. Why would a person do that? she wondered, run two businesses at the same time? Would they not realise how infuriating it would be to track them down when someone wanted them?
‘Not to worry then. I’ll catch him later. Thank you,’ she said, and went back out onto the street.
Lunchtime was the worst time to head to the café. The road was a nightmare to cross, with crowds huddled together by the traffic lights, or else loitering in random places along the pavement. And a stream of people was already bustling through the café door. She wasn’t going to stay, she told herself, just pop her head in and say hello. Maybe grab a quick bite if there was a free table.
She peered through the window. Three-quarters of the tables were already filled and both the normal members of staff – the scowling girl and the overly tattooed older man – were busy serving, with no sign of Rory, meaning he was most probably out back. Disappointed, but determined to stick to her vow of not disturbing him, she turned to leave, only to notice something out of the corner of her eye.
It was the familiar loose bun that had caught her attention: that flop of unruly hair that just begged to have her fingers pulled through it. A moment later and he came into full profile. It wasn’t his hair that struck her now though; it was his hands. Placed in front of him, but not flat on the table. They rested on another pair. A woman’s.
A tremor struck her knees and lungs simultaneously.
‘No,’ she whispered to herself.
It was a miracle they didn’t see her, with her nose almost pressed up against the glass. But, from the looks of things, they were too absorbed in each other to notice anyone else. Every time the girl’s mouth moved, Fiona watched as the creases around Rory’s eyes deepened and dimples appeared in his cheeks. She had never seen dimples when he smiled at her. Her head buzzed, as the sounds of the street amplified around her. Car horns, people chattering. All at a volume that had become cacophonous and jarring. With her heart hammering, she tried to back away. But her legs seemed paralysed. Her feet were rooted to the spot and she couldn’t take her eyes off this beautiful young woman. And she was beautiful. She was graceful too and her smile had a luminosity to it. And her face… well, if she was over twenty-five, it would be a miracle.
‘Bloody prick. You’re all the same,’ she muttered, finally stepping back onto the foot of an unsuspecting passer-by. ‘You stupid, stupid…’ Even as she said the words, she had no idea who she was aiming them at – Rory, or herself.