Chapter 17
Ididn’t hear anything from either Josh or Megan the next day, despite multiple texts from me, both separately and in the group chat. But I had a text message from Denise, Megan’s mum, saying Bob had driven to collect Megan and Alfie the night before, and she was at home with them in Kent.
I was relieved that Megan had had the sense to call her parents and ask for help – and unsurprisingly that they immediately offered it.
Bob was the sort of father that still waited up for Megan, and me, during a night out, even though we were both nearing thirty.
And I could picture Denise getting fresh bed sheets ready and making sure all of Megan’s favourite meals were defrosting out of the freezer before Bob had even got his car keys.
‘We’re not getting much out of her at the minute, but she just needs to sleep it off. We’ll call you later this week. Don’t worry about anything, she just needs some time,’ Denise had texted.
How much had Megan told her about our blow-up? About Josh, and my knowing more than I’d said, even if I’d never condoned what he was doing?
I still wasn’t quite clear on why I had become her proverbial punching bag.
Was it because I kept it from her, as I knew she’d have absolutely kicked off at him, or was it simply misdirected anger at Josh for bringing it up on the night we were there to comfort her about her absentee husband?
We didn’t even know if Alex had cheated.
I didn’t even fully understand what was going on in their relationship at all.
It was all one big mess.
Meanwhile, the internet had exploded.
Michael Holland and Pim’s exchange outside the BBC had gone megaviral. The clip had spread like wildfire once the tabloids had got hold of it.
Pim’s calm evisceration of Michael for his outdated, condescending comments, as he stood there, face increasingly puce, the unpleasantly placed shirt stain, stammering in response was hot gossip.
The comments were a mix of applause and horror:
‘Pim for PM.’
‘Did she just verbally destroy the most feared man in TV?’
‘Oh my God, I work at the BBC. The tea is SCORCHING – not just Holland’s shirt.’
Of course, this meant my phone would not stop buzzing.
The Pim’s O’Clock producers were demanding to know how we’d handle the PR fallout, whether we should lean into the moment or ignore it completely.
The takeaway was that Pim was coming out as a voice of the people, victorious over the man who appeared to have pissed off half the UK by once saying Shakespeare was mid, at best, and that Sunday roasts were ‘just an overhyped meat-and-veg pile’. The philistine.
Pim, for her part, was now delighted and was already planning to casually reference it in her next interview.
My inbox, however, was on fire.
Claire from PR was fuming that I hadn’t responded to her about an exclusive interview with Pim before Christmas, and I had eighteen separate voicemails from journalists asking for an official comment. My brain felt like an overloaded browser with too many tabs open.
And then there was Pim herself – though she was delighted by how the story had turned in her favour, she seemed oblivious to the stress it had caused.
‘What is wrong with you, Evelyn?’ Pim finally asked when we were back in her hotel room. She had her feet in a bubbling foot spa and her hair in rollers, looking the picture of self-indulgence, while I sat opposite, running purely on caffeine and Polo mints.
Hearing Pim use my full name, though, was a bad sign.
Evie was what Megan had christened me as children, since pronouncing Evelyn as a three-year-old was always going to be a challenge, particularly for the likes of Megan, who had a short attention span, and three syllables was one too many.
‘Nothing,’ I said, exhaling, which only made it sound more insincere.
Pim raised an eyebrow. ‘I know you organise my schedule and get me from A to B – usually, anyway – but I feel like I’ve been doing most of the heavy lifting this week. I won’t take “nothing” as an excuse for sloppiness.’
It must have been obvious to her something was up; mostly because of the stupid errors I had been making all day.
I got the wrong coffee order from Starbucks – who genuinely enjoys iced teas?
– forgot to book the car to take her to her last dress fitting, and I hadn’t got back to Alison about meeting with Pim before Christmas.
I was usually so on it; I couldn’t let it slip now. Especially not as someone leaving a job.
I was not going to work my arse off for eight years only to get a reference from Pim stating that I was unorganised and didn’t care. My job was all I had truly focused on for years, even if it appeared I should have focused on a few other things more.
I braced myself for a well-earned bollocking, but Pim simply tutted and picked at her freshly manicured fingers. ‘So tell me, what is bothering you?’
I hesitated. Pim wasn’t exactly a shoulder-to-cry-on type, but she could read people like a book.
‘Is it all this Michael Holland rubbish? He’s an odious man,’ she said, swishing her feet in the foamy water.
‘The world is aware of what you think of him.’ As is Michael Holland himself.
He had remained suspiciously silent on the reaction to the video.
I’d had no contact from his people about the publicity angles or how to smooth the corners of his disaster.
But no one could tell me who his people were; perhaps he had scared them off as well?
Or he was just waiting to catch me off guard and then spin the story his way.
Who knew with the likes of him? He had been in the business four times longer than I had, he could play a master hand any second, and I would just have to roll with the punches.
Just something else to look forward to this Christmas.
‘I don’t mind admitting I once flirted with him,’ Pim carried on, ignoring me. ‘Or rather, I flirted, and he rebuffed me like I was a fly and he a swatter. I can take rejection, Evie, but there is something so needlessly cruel about him.’
‘That sounds awful,’ I said vacantly. I didn’t mean it.
Pim nodded, sipping her Starbucks. For a moment, I considered confiding in her about Megan and Josh. About how their silence was suffocating me. What did I have to lose? My job? I had already changed that.
But before I could say anything, my phone rang.
‘Who’s that?’ Pim asked, cheeks flushing in fear. ‘One of the producers?’
I checked the screen. ‘It’s a personal call.’
‘Ugh, during work hours?’ she muttered, but I ignored her, stepping out into the corridor.
‘Hello?’ I answered, pressing my fingers to my temple.
‘Evie, it’s Alex.’
My stomach clenched. ‘Alex?’
‘Yeah. Look, I—’ he hesitated. ‘I got home late last night and… Megan and Alfie weren’t there.’
‘She’s in Kent,’ I said stiffly. ‘With her parents.’
There was a long pause. ‘I thought so. I tried calling but no one answered.’ His voice was quiet, hesitant. Denise and Bob probably didn’t want to chat to him, not unkindly but for fear of setting Megan off. ‘Did she tell you every-thing?’
I frowned. ‘Honestly… no. She didn’t tell me anything. Just that you left her.’
He let out a long, shaky sigh. ‘I didn’t mean for this to happen, Evie, really I didn’t.’
‘Alex,’ I began unsteadily, feeling suddenly dirty, like I was the one cheating rather than Alex, or even Josh.
How did Josh stand it? I wasn’t even the other woman, but having this conversation without Megan’s awareness or permission felt wrong.
‘You know what, I can’t talk to you, Alex. You need to talk to Megan.’
‘Are they okay?’ His voice wavered. ‘Is she okay?’
I exhaled sharply. ‘She’s… coping. As well as can be expected.’
He let out a long, shaky sigh. ‘Evie, I didn’t mean for it to happen like this. I didn’t plan on walking out.’
I swallowed. ‘Alex, I can’t do this. She’s my best friend.’
‘I know,’ he said quickly. ‘I’m not asking you to take my side. I just—’ He cut himself off. ‘I feel… relieved, and I hate that I feel that way.’
I said nothing. There was nothing to say.
‘It wasn’t just the last fight,’ he continued, his voice thick with regret. ‘You know that, right? We’ve been going in circles for years. I work from home, she’s always in the city, and when we are together, it’s like we’re on different planets. We both feel it. We just don’t say it.’
I shut my eyes. ‘Alex, you should be saying this to Megan, not me.’
‘I know.’ He sniffed. ‘I just… I don’t know if she ever told you, but last year, she almost left me.’
My eyes snapped open. ‘What?’
There was silence. ‘She didn’t tell you, did she?’
I hesitated. ‘I was abroad.’
‘She didn’t tell you when you got back?’ His bitter laugh was quiet. ‘Jesus!’
‘That’s not—’ I faltered. I didn’t know what to say. Megan had kept that from me? Pot, meet kettle.
‘Evie, I love her. I always have. But we were breaking long before I walked out that door.’
I felt my grip on the phone tighten, feeling a rage against Megan and then a shift to feeling suddenly calm. I knew my place in this situation and I wasn’t risking it. ‘I’m not being pulled any further into this Alex.’
‘I know. And I’m not asking that. Just… please know she’s not the only one hurting here.’
My throat tightened. Megan had never told me.
Not once. I thought she and I shared everything, even when I was abroad.
We texted and FaceTimed, I sent presents and postcards.
We always made time for each other and swore that we’d never keep anything like this from each other, and yet we had. Both of us.
‘Are you going to Kent?’ I asked after a beat.
‘Yeah,’ he murmured. ‘She probably didn’t take any of her things. She’ll be missing her skincare routine, and she hasn’t got her charger.’
The fact that he was listing off her essentials made my heart ache a little. He knew her. He loved her. But love didn’t always stay the same.
‘Okay.’ I cleared my throat. ‘If you see her, tell her I love her. And I’m always here for a chat.’
‘I will.’
I hesitated. ‘And maybe… don’t tell her we spoke. Not yet.’
A pause. Then, ‘Will do.’
The line went dead, and I was left standing there, phone in hand, unsure if I had just made everything worse, but glad I had a tiny bit more of an understanding of what Megan was going through. Her marriage was breaking down, slowly eroding, and she was afraid.
I wanted to speak to her; I was desperate to, in fact, but I knew she wouldn’t answer me.
I opened my phone to text instead when I received an email alert from Elijah at Salient Studios, my future boss, with the subject line: Getting a head start.
Hey Evie,
I hope you’re surviving the Pim Hardcastle chaos – what a whirlwind!
Must be a relief knowing you’re moving on soon.
We’re all so excited to have you join us in January, and I just know you’ll hit the ground running.
Speaking of which, I’d love to get your thoughts on a few projects ahead of your start date.
I completely understand that Pim is your current priority and, of course, you’ll want to enjoy the holidays, but if you could carve out a little time, it would make a huge difference.
Plus, it’ll give you a great jump on things before January – familiarising yourself early can only make your transition smoother!
I’ve attached some documents. If you could review them and send over your notes by Christmas Eve, that would be ideal.
Let me know if you have any questions, though I’m sure you’ll find it all pretty straightforward.
Looking forward to officially having you on board! And don’t forget to book that travel insurance, flights are a nightmare this time of year.
Best, Elijah
Great, I thought, putting my phone back into my back pocket. More work.
Not only did I have Pim to manage, organising the recruitment of her new assistant, and dealing with Megan, Alex, and Josh’s drama/silent treatment. And now, Salient wanted me to get a ‘head start’.
It wasn’t just the extra tasks that made my stomach sink, it was the tone.
The assumption that I’d be eager and grateful, even knowing how complicated things were with Pim – and always were with Pim.
Maybe they believed chaos was something that didn’t impact me because I’d built a reputation for handling it while working with Salient.
When I heard I had got my first job with Pim, I couldn’t wait to get started. Sure, I had just graduated from university and was grateful for the job, but there was an anticipation to get started that only comes with a new job or a new opportunity.
There was no such feeling with Salient, not right now. It didn’t feel like possibility, it was starting to feel like an obligation. Like a mistake I hadn’t quite admitted to yet.
Instead of anticipation and excitement, there was a low, persistent dread.
It didn’t feel like a door opening so much as another set of expectations snapping quietly into place.
Another role where I’d be competent and agreeable and endlessly adaptable, where my ability to cope would be mistaken for enthusiasm.
The more I tried to tell myself this was what I wanted, the more it began to feel like an obligation.
I wasn’t imagining a future in Toronto with any real clarity, just bracing myself for it. For being good at something without ever asking whether it was actually making me happy.
And the most unsettling part wasn’t the dread itself. It was how familiar it felt.
I’d spent years of my life with Pim, moving forward without stopping to check whether the direction still made sense. Not until I applied for Salient, and even that was because I felt I had the best shot of getting a job, not a job I really wanted.
I hadn’t let myself fully sit with that truth until now.
I heard the ding of another email arriving in my inbox. Followed by two more. Apparently, Elijah’s ‘few projects’ were more like an avalanche.
I closed my eyes and rubbed my forehead.
Could I ever catch a break?