Chapter Twenty-Three
The office looks and smells exactly the way I remember it. It’s clean. Bright. The waft of coffee is heavy in the air. How can it be only a week since I was here last? And why does it feel like this place is so foreign to me now? I blinker myself as I stroll through the central area where the customer service reps usually sit. They won’t be here for a few more hours. The glass walls between us are too revealing. It feels dangerous. I want to hovel away somewhere. Out of sight. In a small, dark den. I don’t feel like being approachable and available today.
Admittedly, I came in later than I usually would. If I arrived too early, then I might find myself alone with James again. And I hated the way my body responded to that. It felt good. And horrible. I can’t handle this chaotic pile of emotions today.
But obviously, I couldn’t be late. Mum was right. I can’t give up just yet. I can’t let it all go after one bad week. What if I’ve got the wrong end of the stick about the notes?
All the hard work. Six years of slaving away out of hours. All those weekends I’ll never see again. And for what? To throw it away because I had a fling with a colleague. Oh god, is that what I’m calling it now? Was it a fling?
Me, Felicity Rainer, having a fling. It’s preposterous.
So, here I am, at quarter to eight, in my bright blue dress and fun shoes, staring at my screen as it comes to life. None of my team have arrived yet. They don’t need to be here until nine. And even then, I try to be relaxed about when they arrive and leave, as long as they do their hours.
I don’t need to look to know when James arrives. His team are all in early, keen to get on the phone to make sales as soon as they can. They chant and joke as he comes in. He replies with good-natured quips. My heart rate increases, my palms feel clammy when I hear his voice. I can’t move. I’m sat statue still in my chair as I watch over one hundred emails pour in as it loads. I sigh, tapping my fingers restlessly. The sales team settle down and I pray this means James has too.
Gemma arrives with a Starbucks coffee for me. “Thank you,” I say with surprise as she sits at her desk. The gesture relaxes me a bit. So, they don’t hate me then like James alluded to early on in the trip?
“What do I owe you?” I ask.
“No, nothing. We missed you.” She smiles, looking across at the few who have poured in after her, setting their water bottles, notepads and bags down by their desks. Then she gives me a conspiratorial grin. “Did you really have to camp with Gloatman?”
I feel his name in my gut. I panic. Look around. I catch the back of his head in the sales den. His hair is perfectly gelled again, the sight of it almost breaks my heart. What did I expect? Of course, he’s back to his usual self. He was hardly going to come into the office in his hiking gear stinking of pine and mud.
“Who told you?” I say.
She shrugs. “There were whisperings about what Michael had planned for you both. I think it was Millie who spilt the beans.”
I nod. “Well, that makes sense, I suppose.”
I don’t like being the topic of gossip. I picture the whole team huddled together, placing bets on who was more likely to succeed. Little did I know it wasn’t even a competition. Nothing about last week was mine for the taking. It was all for James’.
I feel fleeced, cheated and robbed of something I’ve worked exhaustively for over the past six years. I’m angry. Though I’ve adopted a calm composure… for now.
Once my team have all arrived, I call a meeting to see how they’re getting on. My emails are utter chaos. So, instead of wading through them, I sit and listen. I’m taken through all that was achieved in my absence.
“We finished your list,” Gemma says proudly. “Dylan and Mo sorted the campaign for the August event. We’ve got the ticket sales set up on the website. The radio advert has been recorded and it’s just going through their internal approvals system,” she rattles on.
Gemma even attended some of the meetings I should’ve gone to, taking notes and providing me with a full rundown of decisions made. I can feel my heart beating slowly. It’s adjusting to the truth James already knew. The one he told me about always being replaceable. It’s true. They don’t need me. In my absence everything was fine, it all ran smoothly.
It takes all my effort not to burst into tears right in front of everyone. I subtly take a deep breath of air, biting the inside of my cheek. They carry on sharing details about the week and the challenges they faced but ultimately overcame. Problems I’d usually take the brunt of. The ones they’d knock on my door and ask for help with, or for me to intervene. Not this time. They didn’t need me. They forged on bravely.
They’re so proud of themselves. I can’t help but smile despite the sadness swelling inside of me. All the effort. All the pain and long hours. All the times I arrived before everyone else. None of it was really necessary. I’ve burnt myself out, like a charred, exhausted piece of kindling. And now, maybe, I’m no use to anyone. I need to find somewhere to be alone for a moment. I need to reset. I need to strengthen my facade.
But it’s not possible.
When I check the clock, I see it’s nearly nine thirty. Time for the Monday morning heads-of-department meeting. With five minutes to go, I’d usually be in there already, clicking my pen impatiently.
This time, however, I go back to my desk first. I select all unread emails and click delete. “Gemma, if anyone asks, I’ve deleted any emails I’ve received in the past week. I’m not reading all one hundred and fifty of them. If they’re important, they’ll send them again.”
She seems to find this hilarious, cackling away. “Go you! I might do that from now on if someone emails me at the weekend.”
I lift my eyebrows, realising she means me. Her cheeks colour slightly, and I think she notices her mistake, but we both laugh at the same time because life is too short. And the world outside of these walls is so very big.
I’m three minutes late to the meeting. Rajesh is just opening the door. Mel has taken my seat near the head of the table opposite James, who is watching me seriously, a notch formed deeply between his brows. Thankfully, Fiona is between us, and as my seat is on the same side as his, I don’t have to stare at him the whole time.
Everything hurts being this close to him, my limbs, my heart, my chest. Part of it is still recovering from sleeping on the ground for three nights and nearly getting drowned in a river, but I’m certain some of it’s also from being in close proximity to him. I’m sure at some point it will return to normal. I’ll hardly feel a thing. Maybe he’ll do something to really piss me off in this meeting and we can go back to the way it was before.
Michael comes in, his usual jubilant smile on his face. I’ve never wanted to punch someone harder. I notice James move in the corner of my eye. He clenches his hand into a fist, leaving it to rest on top of the table.
“Good morning, team,” Michael says.
I can’t even look at him. Instead, I doodle on my notepad.
“I want to start by congratulating James and Fliss for their brilliant efforts team building last week.”
I’m speechless. I should be kicking off. I want to, but my mum’s advice thrums on loop in my head: you’ll regret making a rash decision .
Will I, though? Right now it feels like I should scream and storm straight out of here, smashing a few glass dividers as I go. Michael seems unfazed by the collective silence as he runs through current stats. He talks about the upcoming event and how he’s decided not to make any last-minute changes. I should be celebrating. I won! I won the argument with Gloatman.
But there’s a problem: a strangely exhilarating feeling lingering in my bones. I don’t care anymore. I’m not interested in the outcome of this event or anything after it.
I thought long and hard last night about what I was going to say to Michael. How I was going to make him pay for last week. How I was going to demand a pay rise. How I was going to assert myself over the director position. Yet, I have no desire to do any of that anymore.
I laugh. Everyone turns to look at me. I’ve interrupted Michael.
He smiles at me as I finally face him. “Did you want to add anything, Fliss?”
“Sorry,” I say. “No. Carry on.”
Michael makes a strange face as if he wants to frown but can’t. He carries on anyway, eyeing me suspiciously.
I watch the way he talks and wonder if anything he says is even real, if he’s ever actually meant any of the compliments he’s given me. Does he really think he can pay me in recognition?
“And finally,” Michael says, clapping his hands. “I’m pleased to say that the board has come to a decision about who our next director should be.” Michael pauses for effect. The room spins. He can’t possibly have made a decision already, can he? I didn’t even get an interview. But, of course, his ideal candidate already passed their final test with flying colours. Fuck, I’m stupid.
“James,” he says. “Congratulations!”
There’s a lump in my throat that drops to my stomach. The notes were for him then. I was the challenge. It slices through the core of me. I knew it; deep down I already knew this. It shouldn’t come as a surprise.
My mind races. I could leave. I should just get up and storm out. He doesn’t even want it, I remember. They’ve let me win a battle because inevitably, I’d already lost the war.
I feel so gullible .
But I clap along with the rest of the room. And I smile.
I say, “Congratulations. Well earnt.” And I mean it. He deserves to stay here forever.
James hasn’t said anything. He simply frowns and blinks at Michael, then shakes his head ever so subtly at me. Whatever. He can pretend he doesn’t want this right now, whilst I’m sat beside him, but he’ll be lapping up the extra income. Isn’t that what he said? That’s all he cares about, isn’t it? Money, money, money.
Well, I hope it makes him happy.
*
“Felicity,” James says, hot on my heels as I stride back to my desk. I don’t stop to hear what he has to say. The heart-wrenching pain I’m in is most probably because I’m confident he knew that was going to happen but chose not to say. I’m trying to work out what game I lost. When, over the last week, did I miss it? Or was it before all of this? Either way, he was hanging onto something. Hiding it.
“Fliss,” he says, when I don’t stop or turn, his voice low but urgent.
“What!?” I spin on him. He comes to a halt in front of me. Some of the people at nearby desks turn in our direction. I can feel their wide-eyed expressions on us before they go back to their work, pretending not to listen.
James exhales slowly. His face is contorted as if he’s in pain. But how can he be? He’s just been made a flipping director of Starr.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t think he’d announce it then.”
“Ok,” I say with a shrug. I want to say, so you knew, so you didn’t tell me, so you’re precisely the arsehole I always thought you were . But my lips are firmly sealed for two reasons: not fighting him right now is probably the more painful way to defeat him, and because, miraculously, I’m already over it. Over here. Over this. Over it all.
The ache in my core, however, suggests I’m not quite over him. But confronting him about it all would make me splinter in front of the whole office and that certainly isn’t an option. Better to let him stew over it.
He watches me, a mix of emotions flitting across his face. I miss his floppy hair. I miss the way it falls over his eyes and has to be pushed back. I miss funny, kind, compassionate James. The one who pulled me from the river and bandaged my leg with his ripped-up shirt and told me stories about his sisters. Not this version. The corporate, slimy, scheming James.
Was any of it even real? Was all of it just a way to complete Michael’s stupid challenge?
“Why aren’t you saying anything?” he whispers.
“What would you like me to say?”
“I just…”
“What happened to you suing, Michael?” I ask in hushed tones. “What happened to you hating it here? You seem to have settled right back in.”
He scoffs, his eyes alight. “And you haven’t?”
I open my mouth to say, “No.” But instead I say nothing, turning away, leaving James running his fingers through his hair.
I log in to my laptop, typing as fast as my fingers will go. I read through it once and then hit print.
*
My heart races as I walk to Michael’s office. I don’t bother to knock, what civilities or courtesies does he deserve at this point? No, I let myself straight in, marching right up to his desk, allowing the door to slam shut behind me. Michael looks up in surprise. I slap the letter down in front of him. He blinks.
“I quit.”
“Pardon?” he asks, confused. I cross my arms and stand my ground. “Fliss, surely you’re not quitting because I promoted James. You’re better than that, and we both know it.”
I smile, relief flowing through my veins.
“Actually. I can. Effective immediately, in fact. I’ll just collect my things and be on my way now. I’ll expect to be paid three months’ severance.”
“Well, hang on now. I don’t think so…”
“For six years you’ve not given me the respect I deserve. I’ve worked my arse off for you. And you’ve been knowingly paying me almost half what you pay James.”
“Fliss,” Michael says my name with care, surprise, hurt crossing his features. I hate him. The patronising bastard. I can see the confident glow in his eyes. He thinks he can walk me down off this ledge. “The reason James got the role was because he proved himself. He makes The Starr Agency an incredibly profitable business.” Michael rises from his chair, splaying his fingers on his desk. “You don’t need to leave. I’ll increase your salary in line with his. How does that sound?”
Like he should have thought about that years ago.
I laugh at the absurdity of it. “Goodbye, Michael,” I say as I walk back to his door.
He steps around his desk as if he might chase me out of here. “Your contract says you have to give three months’ notice. You can’t really think I’ll just let you leave?”
“Oh, I think you will.” I grab the door handle but don’t open it just yet, half-twisting to say the next part. “You’ll pay me three months, or else I’ll sue you for being a fucking lunatic, endangering my life and breaking several employment laws!”
“Now come on, it was an adventure,” he says, disappointment rife in his tone. “You can still do big things here. If another position comes up on the board, you’ll be the—”
“Stop right there, Michael,” I interrupt. “There’s nothing you can say that would change my mind. I’d rather shovel shit than spend another second working for you.”
And with that I turn on my heel. He doesn’t call after me, and I think I even detect a newly found hop in my step – a weight lifted from my shoulders. James’ eyes are on me now, following me as I practically glide across the office. I ignore him.
I stride over to Gemma and give her a big hug.
“What’s that for?” she laughs.
“I’m going,” I whisper, not wanting to cause a fuss.
“You taking an early lunch?”
“Something like that,” I say. “Only I won’t be back.”
“Ever?”
“Ever.”
“Good on you,” she says quietly, a sad smile on her lips. “Stay in touch.”
This time she hugs me, and once she releases me again, I take no time in grabbing my bag. Mel is talking to Michael over by the water cooler. They watch me, whispering to each other.
I take the steps towards the exit slowly. I don’t expect anyone to chase me out of here. Partly because nobody except Michael, Gemma and maybe Mel knows I’ve quit. The rest probably think I’ve got a dentist appointment or am going to a meeting.
I think about all the times I’ve climbed these steps. All the times I’ve arrived early and finished late. I think about the days when I felt on top of the world, like the work I’d done had made everything possible. There’s a beauty in working in events. You get to see all your hard work unfold before your eyes. People having the time of their lives because of you.
Then I remember the days when I left the office on the verge of tears, slowly descending these very steps, a quiver in my breath. Nearly every time, it had something to do with James. Somehow knowing that both softens and hardens the memory.
And now the good days, the ones where Michael made a big song and dance about how important I was to the company, cloud over. I know now they were never real, that he’s completely disingenuous. I’m grateful James helped me to see the truth. How long would I have carried on if he hadn’t?
There’s something incredibly toxic about this industry. It’s addictive. It’s exhausting. But worst of all it exploits your passion. I’m sure there are many others like it.
I close my eyes for a minute, holding the banister, my fingers gripping onto the cool metal. It’s time to let go. It’s time to adapt and change. My heart beats a little quicker.
Then I let go. And I’m free.
Once I’m out the main doors, I take a deep breath. London smells like cigarette smoke, exhaust fumes and dirty drains. It’s not quite the same as it was in Scotland. I miss fresh air.
And luckily, I know exactly where I need to go to find it.