Chapter 40
Forty-eight hours later, she was in Dixon Astley’s main boardroom, watching herself go through the motions as Wolfe and two of his cronies, plus Ollie and Tony looked on. The whole thing had thus far been an exercise in self-restraint. The meeting had begun with her trying very hard not to throw a jug at Tony’s face when, even with five grown men in the room, he deemed it her responsibility to play mum and pour everyone a glass of water. She’d then been forced to mentally shave time off her painstakingly rehearsed script. Tony had used ten of the allotted ninety minutes to ask Nora to come into the room, sweeping his arm like a circus master on her arrival, and announcing that this, gentlemen, is why I got into PR! And of course, there had been the general disparaging chit-chat about ‘her indoors’ and the ‘ankle-biters’, all delivered with a level of snide eyerolling that made her want to scream. There was so much macho bullshit being bandied around, the air reeked of it. It was a good job she was wrapping up the final idea, because, with Wolfe looking at his phone more than the PowerPoint document she’d agonised over, her performative enthusiasm was becoming harder and harder to fake. She had no idea why he was even part of the pitch process – surely the guy had far more important things to do than worry about a tiny fraction of the marketing plan? Still, despite the storm raging within, her audience’s reaction indicated her presentation had been well-received.
‘So,’ she concluded, ‘as I hope we’ve demonstrated, if you award us the account, we’d be ready to hit the ground running with any one of these ideas. We’d anticipate getting the space filled before you’ve so much as started excavating.’
‘Very impressive,’ said Wolfe. ‘I can see you’ve all put a lot of effort in.’
Ollie nodded. ‘It’s not every day we get the opportunity to work with someone of your immense stature.’
Trust him to prove it was possible to both suck up and dribble at the same time. He had, of course, done practically nothing to help, but clearly he was hedging his bets in case she landed it. The question was, was she landing it?
Wolfe cast around to his cronies. ‘If everyone’s in agreement, I’d say we’ve got ourselves a new partner.’
Everyone nodded. Ollie looked like his head was going to spin 360 degrees and he might projectile vomit on Wolfe’s fancy suit, but he managed a plastic smile.
Wolfe’s gaze fell on her. ‘And as for you, young lady…’
His mouth stretched into a self-satisfied grin that gave her the instant ick. This was how the three little pigs must have felt.
‘It seems you and I are going to be seeing a lot more of one another.’
‘I’m sure you’ll be far too busy for all the detail.’
She desperately hoped there was someone other than this cartoon villain with whom she’d liaise day-to-day. But she could worry about that later, because right now, she was quietly celebrating the fact that she would finally get that promotion.
‘This calls for champagne,’ said Tony, clapping his hands. ‘Simone, ask Nora to do the honours.’
Given the circumstances, she was happy to fetch a couple of bottles and the flutes herself. She did a little victory dance in the kitchen and then returned to the room composed. Once everyone had a drink, Tony rose to his feet.
‘So, can you tell us where this next site is going to be? You’ve been keeping it all very quiet.’
Wolfe hadn’t disclosed the details for the response; they’d had sight of the general plans, but not the location in which they would reach fruition.
‘We’re under NDA,’ Tony added. ‘Your secret’s safe with us.’
‘It’s in Whitechapel,’ said Wolfe. ‘On Stepford Street.’
Simone flinched. That was the street the shelter was on. Hearing it out of Wolfe’s mouth, in this incongruous setting, brought back the hollowing rot of self-loathing about what had unfolded since she left. Still no word from Jasper or Tasha. But surely it was mere coincidence that this was where Wolfe’s next operation would be happening? Odd synchronicities lending perceived significance to unrelated events – there had been a few recently. But where exactly was the site? She’d been up and down that road, and there hadn’t been an obvious place where a development could easily be slotted.
‘It’s some old hospital,’ said Wolfe. ‘Not been operational for years. Being used as a soup kitchen or something.’
This must be a joke. Tony must have disclosed her community service whilst she was out of the room, and they’d agreed to play a trick on her.
‘Very funny,’ she said. ‘I know full well that’s a council property.’
‘Which can be sold off for affordable housing,’ said Wolfe.
‘But this isn’t affordable housing. This is, strictly speaking, fucking obscenely priced housing.’
Wolfe smiled, appreciating the reference to just how much money the development stood to make, but she hadn’t meant it as flattery.
‘There’s a legal loophole. Isn’t there, Graham?’
One of the cronies went into some lengthy explanation about not having to fulfil policy obligations due to calculations of residual land value versus a developer’s financial viability assessment. It was impossible to keep up. She didn’t need to. The gist was that he was very definitely not joking, and was very much planning on the shelter being his next plot.
‘But it’s currently being used, no?’
She was trying to play it cool, like she had no emotional investment in the answer to the question. Tony fired a warning look across the boardroom table.
‘Not for very much longer,’ said Graham. ‘Their council funding has just been cut. If it’s not a going concern, then it’s closing.’
‘And then I get to sweep in and scoop it up.’ Wolfe grinned like a killer whale.
‘Couldn’t they get a grant? Or raise the funds?’ She kept her voice even.
Wolfe let out a horrible low rumble of amusement. Ollie, the simpering cockwipe, joined in.
‘A leaking boat is a sinking boat,’ said Wolfe. ‘Other funding will take too long, and no one in the neighbourhood will rally to save a shelter. It’s a blight. This will increase the value of their own properties. Mark my words, it’ll take a miracle to stop this.’
‘But what happens to the people who live there?’
‘Who cares?’ said Wolfe. ‘The bottom line is more important than a bunch of bums.’ He drained his glass and gestured that he wanted another.
She tried to unball her fists, then took some levelling breaths and considered making her excuses and taking some time out in the toilets. She was like the unopened champagne bottle in front of her; the pressure of repressed energy fizzed inside, a million bubbles of resentment and frustration ready to erupt. The idea that Tasha, Hozan, Steve and the rest could be displaced once more had loosened the cork.
‘You can’t do that,’ she said quietly. Her heart quickened.
‘Simone…’ Tony’s tone was reproachful.
‘I think you’ll find I can,’ said Wolfe.
‘Just because you can doesn’t mean you should.’
Wolfe looked at her through slitted eyes. ‘Maybe it’s time you left us big boys to talk things through.’
‘Do you think?’ She levelled him her steeliest stare.
‘You’ve done a great job with your pretty pictures, but now we need to get down to business.’
Condescending prick.
She turned to Tony. ‘Are you going to let him talk to me like that?’
‘If you’re about to make a scene about a few down-and-outs, then yes.’
Ollie sniggered.
‘Don’t you dare,’ she said, rounding on him. ‘You’ve done fuck all on this, so don’t think you get to sit there and take any of the credit.’
‘Is it the wrong time of the month?’ said Ollie, knowing exactly which buttons to push. ‘You have been a bit on edge these last few weeks.’
‘I’m not on edge because of a period, you misogynistic shitstain. It’s because it’s the wrong thing to do. There must be loads more sites you could pick?’
‘There aren’t,’ said Wolfe.
‘But I know them.’ Desperation tinged her voice. ‘They’re decent people who just need a break.’
Wolfe’s face registered some curiosity at how she might know them, but not enough to actually ask. ‘Then you can help them pack their bags, can’t you?’
‘Why would you do this?’ Her mercury was rising. ‘It’s not like you need the money!’
‘You’re being hysterical,’ said Tony.
‘Brilliant!’ she hissed. ‘The old hysteria accusation. Men strongly object to something, that’s passion; women do the same, they’re mentally ill.’
Tony looked like she’d pointed out a material fact, rather than highlighted the irony.
‘I’m not bothered because I have a uterus, you moron. I’m bothered because I have a conscience.’
What was she doing? She needed to let it go. People were fucked by Big Corp every single day. This was a battle far bigger than her.
‘Go home,’ said Tony. ‘Get yourself a hot water bottle and a bar of chocolate. We can talk tomorrow.’
‘I’m not on my fucking period!’
‘Perhaps I need to take my business elsewhere?’ said Wolfe.
‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Tony.
Simone felt like her skin was on fire. This wasn’t just about the shelter. This was also about her sense of agency, or lack thereof.
‘Do you know he felt me up at that event you made me go to?’
‘That was kind of the point of sending you,’ said Tony.
‘Would you be happy with your daughter getting groped at work?’
‘She’s a minger. It wouldn’t happen.’
‘You need to grow a pair.’
He cocked his head, canine-like, weighing something up. She imagined she could see an understanding between them, an appreciation of all the effort she’d made for him and his business.
‘You’re right,’ he said eventually.
‘Thank fuck for th?—’
‘You’re fired.’
‘What?’
Ollie’s eyes sparkled with unadulterated joy. If he could have grabbed popcorn, he would have done.
‘You heard me,’ said Tony.
She shook her head in disbelief. ‘You can’t do that.’
‘I just have.’
She swallowed hard. ‘I’ve worked my ass off for you.’
Nausea flooded through her. It was inconceivable that he’d actually sack her. This was posturing, surely, playing up to the audience in the room. Yes, she’d overstepped the mark, but there were procedures. Processes. The ten years of blood and tears she’d poured into the place. And who the hell was going to manage the account?
‘Ollie, I assume you can pick this up,’ said Tony as if he’d read her thoughts.
Ollie now had a look of such intense rapture on his face, he might have been getting sucked off by invisible angels.
‘Of … of course,’ he spluttered.
This wasn’t what she’d intended to happen. Sure, she was tired of being devalued. Tired of being objectified. Tired of the silent judgment of people when she didn’t act like she was expected to. Tired of the groupthink. Tired of being at the wrong end of the gendered power spectrum. Tired of repeatedly being put on and knocked off a pedestal of someone else’s making. But she was also just tired, right? It had been a rough few months. No matter how unjust Wolfe’s actions were, the fact was she had everything riding on this. No matter how much she hated the job, she still couldn’t afford to not have it.
‘Tony…’
She asked him to reconsider; tried joking that it had been her wayward womb to blame after all. She despised herself for her neediness.
‘You’re losing it,’ he said. ‘You’ve gone weak. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.’ He opened the boardroom door. ‘Ollie, if you can help Simone get her stuff together.’
‘The shit I’ve done for you,’ she said.
Ollie took her by the arm, but she wrenched it away.
‘Don’t touch me. You lay a single finger on me, and I will tear your bollocks off and turn them into earmuffs.’
Ollie shrank from her.
She made for the door on shaky legs but stopped at its threshold. If this was happening, if she really was being cast aside like a toy they’d grown bored of, she had to say something to let them know it wasn’t okay.
‘I will get you all back for this.’ The words sounded hollow to her own ears.
Ollie, Tony and Wolfe all chuckled.
‘I very much doubt it,’ said Tony.
* * *
Back at her desk, she found a couple of plastic bags and stuffed things into them. Nora asked her if she was okay, but she wasn’t paying any attention. Her fight or flight response had kicked in and it had chosen flight. She just wanted to be out of there as soon as possible. Her drawers were full of shit: pointless corporate excreta that included USB dongles, adapters and chargers from obsolete tech, three rulers, two staplers, enough Post-its to cover the building, and a box of business cards. Well, she wouldn’t be needing those. The personal gear was more telling of a life squandered at work: deodorant, toothpaste and toothbrush, make-up bag, cystitis treatments, cold flu tablets, a packet of probably unneeded contraceptive pills, unused gym kit, a jumper with the label still attached that she’d forgotten she’d bought, and two pairs of heels. She considered nabbing the laptop, but she already had backups of her work files on a personal cloud, and she wouldn’t give Tony the satisfaction of accusing her of stealing from him. There was also her desk plant, an unwieldy peace lily that was almost a metre tall, but she’d be blowed if she was leaving it here with these bastards. She picked it up, half hiding her face in its foliage, and made for the lift.
Once she reached the building’s reception, she put everything down. There was no way she was getting on the tube with this lot. She’d need to order a cab. She took a deep breath and steadied her trembling hands. She’d be okay, even if her body was telling her otherwise. She unlocked her phone to find she’d missed a call – from Jasper of all people. Her stomach did a 360. There was no message. No text or WhatsApp. Who even makes calls nowadays? Was he getting in touch to apologise for the other night? She wouldn’t let herself hope that, and besides, she needed to warn him about Wolfe’s plans.
He answered in two rings. ‘Simone, thank goodness. Have you seen Tasha?’
There were no pleasantries. No how are yous or I’ve missed yous. Still, after what had just happened, it felt good to hear his voice.
‘Tasha? No, why?’
‘She didn’t come back to the shelter last night. She’s never missed curfew before. Do you know where she went after the scan?’
Her stomach went into freefall. ‘I didn’t go to the scan.’
There was a condemning silence at the other end of the line.
‘I had to prepare for a meeting.’
Still nothing.
‘I told her I couldn’t go.’
She sounded even more pathetic than when she’d originally made the excuse. And what had she missed it for in the end?
‘Do you have any idea where she might be?’ he said.
‘No, none.’
‘Fuck.’
He was obviously concerned, which meant now she was. She didn’t want to add to his woes, but she also needed to warn him about Wolfe’s plans.
‘There’s something else.’
She heard raised voices in the background.
‘Hang on,’ he said. ‘Gayle needs me.’
‘Jasper, this is important. Wolfe, you know, that guy at the gala.’ He’d know full well who she was talking about. ‘He’s planning on buying the shelter.’
‘What? It’s not for sale.’
‘Not yet. But he’s got wind of the funding problems. He thinks it’s just a matter of time before the council offload it.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘I had a meeting with him today.’
She explained what little she knew as quickly as possible, the words rushing out so that he knew her intel was a result of a professional encounter, not a personal one. She distinctly heard Gayle shout shit a brick at someone or something in the background.
‘Gayle’s going to do her nut. I need to go. If you hear from Tasha, message me, okay?’
‘But Jasper?—’
The line went quiet. Goddammit! She desperately wanted to call him back, tell him what else had happened in the meeting; perhaps to have him offer her some words of comfort. But there was no time for that because she needed to find Tasha. London only had nine million people living in it – ten thousand of them homeless and a hundred thousand on the brink of homelessness. How on Earth was she supposed to find one single solitary girl?