Chapter Seventeen
‘What I don’t understand,’ I said, bleary-eyed, ‘is why you keep trying to set me up with a man from Finance.’
Sara’s face appeared in front of me, beloved and beaming. We waved and howled hello at each other in our usual fashion.
‘So, what’s happening?’ she said.
‘I kissed someone at work,’ I blurted out. ‘An unsuitable person. In my defence, he has a lovely Scottish accent, so I can’t be held accountable.’
‘That’s not like you.’ Across thousands of miles, I could see doubts ticking across her brain. It was Sara who had nursed me through my break-up with Jack, listening to my doubts, my self-questioning as our relationship turned sour and my confidence faltered. ‘How unsuitable?’
‘Relax. He’s a nice man, if a slightly annoying one.’
I gave her the goss. She didn’t like the sound of him, but that might have been my fault.
Making out he was arrogant but missing out funny, mentioning he was ripped but not that he was steaming hot in more idiosyncratic ways.
I was unfair, because I wanted to reassure myself I’d made the right decision; convincing her was part of convincing myself that my commitment to work wasn’t cheating me out of the best kisses of my life.
And, unlike me, Sara was a clear-cut person; she dealt with absolutes, not nuance.
It was something I had always enjoyed about our friendship: the glorious certainty she had when she said things as opposed to my let’s-look-at-every-angle approach.
‘It was a great kiss,’ I said to her. ‘But, you know, unsuitable.’
‘Good practice though, for when the right one comes along,’ she said, sipping a spinach smoothie I immediately segued into taking the piss out of. We moved on to other topics, hoovering up the everyday details of each other’s lives. After a few minutes, she looked serious again.
‘Are you absolutely sure you’re okay about this bloke? After Jack…’
‘I’m fine, don’t worry. We’ve agreed to reset.
I’m only telling you because it’s the juiciest news I have.
Stop press: two colleagues get drunk and kiss inappropriately.
And stop frowning,’ I said. ‘You’ll ruin the Botox.
’ Sara had told me she had just come back from the ‘aesthetic pharmacist’ and her face was box fresh. She gave me her middle finger.
‘Can we just consider, for a moment, any men in your Finance department?’ she said.
I questioned her overly enthusiastic emphasis on men from Finance.
‘I like them, for you,’ she said. ‘They have to be relatively honest. Clever. Dependable. Sensible. Excellent qualities in a partner. Also, most are minted.’
‘You know that men from Finance don’t necessarily come with finance?’ I tilted my head at her.
‘Your Finance Director will be on six figures,’ she said, raising an eyebrow. ‘What’s he like? First of all, is he a he?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Although his opposite number is a woman.’
‘Picture Finance guy.’
I did. Lovely Jacob. Smooth-skinned, uptight, immaculately styled and living happily with his husband in Kensington.
‘He wouldn’t be interested in me,’ I said.
Sara was momentarily distracted by her husband, who walked past the camera, topless, drinking a sports drink.
‘Dex!’ I shouted. ‘Put some bloody clothes on!’
He waved and blew a kiss.
‘He’s eating me out of house and home,’ said Sara. ‘Honey? How many eggs was it this morning? The full dozen?’
‘Nine,’ he said.
‘Impressive,’ I said, wincing.
‘And how is work?’ Sara switched her attention back to me. ‘As the main achiever in our friendship group, please tell me tales of your kickass life. Not just about your hot colleague.’
‘I guess I’m just… kicking ass,’ I said. Then, after a pause. ‘Sara?’
‘Yes, love?’
‘Sometimes, when I’m having a hard day, I write a resignation email. I always delete it. Is that… normal?’
Her face told me nothing. ‘How often are you doing it?’
‘Once a week.’
‘Bloody hell. Maybe start looking for another job, then. Didn’t you say last time people keep trying to headhunt you?’
I nodded. ‘Yes – but. Thinking of leaving versus actually doing it. When I try to imagine the future, I run into a brick wall. It doesn’t feel possible.’
‘Love.’ Over the connection, I could hear her voice softening. ‘Of course it’s possible. You’re anything-is-possible Lizzy.’
I looked at her beloved face. Wondered how I didn’t have the faith she had. I’d been more confident in the past, hadn’t I?
‘Lizzy? Are you okay?’
‘Yes, of course! I should probably go to sleep for a bit,’ I said. ‘Now, go and eat some protein, or put some bee-flavoured serum on your face, or whatever it is you healthy people do.’
‘When are you coming to see us?’ she said. ‘You look as though you need some sunshine.’
‘My pallor is intentional. I don’t know, sorry. Things are pretty intense here.’
‘Don’t let them get too intense,’ she said, blowing kisses as we waved each other goodbye.
I shut my laptop and padded across the room, lukewarm cup of tea in hand.
Pebble had emerged from the shadows and was lying in the middle of my bed, watching me with her hunter eyes.
I got out my clothes for the approaching day: my uniform.
Black jeans, blouse, designer blazer. Other variations on that theme hung in my wardrobe.
Pristine shoes, some trainers, some high heels.
I selected a pair of large, geometric green earrings and a chic glass necklace.
Every day I did enough to keep the show on the road, to give an impression that I was high-gloss, impermeable, ready to go into battle – just like Olly, in my own way.
Mercifully, no one ever saw my place. It was shabby, borderline chaotic in a way that my work life and appearance never was.
The idea of a new boyfriend seeing it (not Olly, definitely not Olly) made me want to curl up with shame.
I’d kept Jack away from my flat until the disastrous day when he’d found his way here.
We’d always met at his place; we’d gone on minibreaks.
He’d only ever seen capable, smooth, polished Lizzy: neatly packed luggage, blow-dried hair, lip gloss and perfume.
As we’d got closer, he’d started identifying the chinks in my armour: asking searching questions, testing my responses, making covert criticisms which gradually sharpened over time into real malice.
Luckily, although our relationship had been intense at the beginning, some intuition had stopped me from fully letting him into my life.
Sex was okay, but my flat, my family? That was real intimacy.
The relationship had limped on, me feeling stuck but disorientated by the way he switched between adoring me and disliking me.
When he’d turned up at the flat, we had the argument which was the beginning of the end.
Our tickets had already been booked for a minibreak, so we went, but it was on that break that we eventually called it quits, and I emerged from what felt like cold fog into warm sunshine again.
I flipped open my laptop again and checked my calendar.
My previous schedule had been cancelled, meetings put on hold, projects stalled.
All I could see were finance discussions (without the romantic connotations Sara had hoped for), Chroma strategy meetings, an entire half day allocated to beginning ‘target audience’ discussions for the new platform, and the frustrating need to repackage old content because Esme had slowed down producing anything new.
With their love and enthusiasm, Esme and Ajax had relentlessly cleared the decks of any meaningful work.
There was nothing I couldn’t dial into. I decided to work from home.