Chapter 42
42
SH*TE THE TIGHTS
‘Shite the tights!’ I say, turning the phone towards the girls. Clearly I say it a little too loudly and it attracts the attention of some of the other customers, who don’t look too impressed with my uncouth language. I raise my hands and mouth a quick sorry, while my face blazes once again. What must they think of me? This grown woman who almost dies eating cake then shouts about ‘shiting the tights’ in a lovely café.
But there is no more suitable expression than the one designed specifically to describe the level of nervousness where you feel as if the contents of your bowels could literally fall out of your arse.
I shuffle through the tables, mouthing my apology again as I go, until I am outside in the cool air and I can hear Grace Adams asking if I can hear her down the line.
‘Sorry. Sorry, Grace. I was just in the Green Cat there and wanted to come outside to be able to hear you properly,’ I stutter.
‘Oh, I love that place. Best. Scones. Ever,’ she says – so very casually it’s hard to imagine she realises just how much of my future happiness she holds in her hands right at this very minute. And yes, I know that I am being extra dramatic but it feels extra dramatic.
‘Yes. The very best. I’ve been meeting a couple of friends for coffee.’
There’s a squeak in the background, as if she is moving in her office chair. Perhaps getting more comfortable before she breaks my heart.
‘Is it Laura and Niamh?’ she asks. ‘Are you meeting your fellow retreat goers? I remember the three of you from school. Joined at the hip, you were. Seems you still are.’
‘Yes, yes. It’s Laura and Niamh and yes, we’re still close.’ I stop myself from immediately launching into a prolonged over-sharing of our back story, the big falling-out, the reunion and the drama of the situation .
‘Clearly. That really came across in your piece. Look, I’m really sorry?—’
My heart plummets.
‘—I’ve not been in touch sooner.’
My heart stops plummeting but now is unsure whether it should continue on a downward trajectory or return to its designated spot in my chest. So it just hovers around my lower lungs, making it feel sort of hard to breathe.
‘Things have been so busy at the magazine. We had a big advertiser come in with a last-minute campaign and in this economy that’s not the kind of thing you can say no to, so we basically had to replan the full edition and move everything about. Cuts had to be made.’
And off my heart goes again, plummeting downwards. But still, at least, this wouldn’t be my fault. It wouldn’t be because my article was rubbish. It was just that they had to rejig everything and advertising revenue has to come first. I know this. I’m not stupid.
‘Rebecca,’ Grace says, cutting into my thoughts. ‘So what do you think?’
Shit , is what I think, primarily. I wasn’t expecting to have to give feedback on being sacrificed to the gods of capitalism.
‘Well, I suppose. I understand. I know how tough the landscape is for print media at the minute.’ I swallow the lump in my throat, sending it downwards towards my heart, which is now no doubt sliding past my kneecaps.
‘Sorry. You’ve lost me there,’ Grace says. ‘I asked did you think the girls would be happy to get photos done. Properly. I know you sent the ones from the trip, but I think it would really top the article off nicely to have a good, professional shot of you all.’
Now it’s my turn to wonder if I have slipped off into some alternate universe. ‘Wait… you want a picture? For the article? You like the article?’
‘Are you okay, Becca?’ Grace asks, but I can tell by the tone of her voice that she is smiling. ‘You heard me when I said I loved it, didn’t you?’
As my heart does an emergency stop and starts to soar, I decide honesty is the best policy. ‘To be honest, my brain shut down when you said you’d had to make cuts and I just assumed…’
‘God, no!’ Grace says and laughs. ‘You poor thing. You need to have more confidence in your ability, girl! I loved it. It is exactly the kind of thing I wanted to appeal to our slightly older demographic, provide a fresh voice and something different. Honestly, I think I’m convinced on wanting to go on this retreat the next time it rolls around.’
I listen in surprise as she heaps praise on my shoulders, and yes, I might be crying now but they’re happy tears. Honestly. I hastily wipe them away because I don’t want the customers in the café to peek out the window and see ‘the mad woman’ making a show of herself for the third time.
‘What I didn’t want was a straightforward advertorial-style breakdown of the retreat that sounded as if we’d been paid to only say nice things but not in a genuine way. That doesn’t sell magazines, or get us online clicks. What works is fresh, funny and, most of all, with heart. This has so much heart.’
‘Thank you,’ I stutter. ‘That means so much.’
‘Good! It should. But back to my point – do you think your friends will be up for getting their photo taken?’
I look through the café window to where both Niamh and Laura are staring at me and making thumbs up and thumbs down gestures in a bid to get me to let them know how this conversation is going. I raise my free thumb and grin and watch as they erupt into spontaneous applause. It seems we really are, all of us, dead set on making a huge impression in the café today.
‘Yes,’ I tell Grace. ‘I think they will.’
‘Perfect!’ Grace trills. ‘So look, if you can speak to your people and let me know a day and time that suits for a photo then we’ll get that taken. The bad news, because there is always bad news, is that our deadlines are even tighter now, so if we can make it happen on Tuesday or Wednesday of next week, that would be ideal.’
‘I’ll see what I can do. I’m sure I’ll sort it out,’ I say, now smiling ridiculously widely. ‘I’m sure it won’t be a problem.’
‘Thanks, Rebecca. And well done!’ Grace says, before she hangs up and I am left standing in the front garden of the Green Cat Bakery doing my own little happy dance – much to the amusement of the departing customers.
‘I’m sorry,’ I call. ‘I’m just really, really happy.’
They smile back, but scurry on anyway.