Chapter Eight #2
‘Sorry, cherry pie, you wouldn’t believe the shit coffee machine Michael is trying to palm off on us.
And after I delayed my summer vacation this year!
I threatened to quit and he’s given in, but then told me I’m only allowed to use the quitting thing a maximum of once a month.
’ He pauses to inhale. ‘So, I threatened to quit again and he’s upped that allowance to twice a month. ’
Usually I find all of Fabian’s chatter delightful but today I’m not in the mood. Especially not with Edward sat across my desk, eyeballing me, with his tight trousers and uptight expression. I wonder what he’d say if I told him he had a resting bitch face? I wonder if anyone’s ever told him?
‘Right, so, anyway,’ Fabian breathes, ‘this therapy thing, my darling…’
‘No.’
‘Yes, Liv,’ he says calmly. ‘This has to happen, my little scrumpy dumpy doodle.’
‘It’s ridiculous!’ I say, feeling the heat of Edward’s eyes on me.
‘I don’t need it. You don’t understand, I had a whole story I tried to tell you earlier, about going to the cinema yesterday and teenagers wanking…
’ I make eye contact with Edward, who frowns.
But his presence in my office gives me an idea.
‘Oh, and I’m basically already in therapy, Fabian!
I have regular therapy supervision sessions with Ed, here at the office.
’ I wave a hand in his direction, though Fabian can’t see us.
Edward raises an eyebrow. ‘In fact, we’re actually in a session right now. So, if you’ll excuse us, Fabes…’
I pause hopefully, wondering if my agent will buy this.
‘Right now?’ Fabian sounds intrigued. ‘This minute?’
‘Yes.’ I swallow, nodding at Edward who is watching me, eyebrows knitted together with interest.
‘Perfect.’ His reply down the phone is confident. ‘Put me on speakerphone. I want to talk to him.’
‘What?’ Horror tap dances across my stomach. ‘No! God no, why would you need to—’
‘Now, Tinkerbell,’ he instructs. I swallow hard, then I do as I’m told in slow motion. Fabian’s distinctive voice fills the room. ‘Hi, Ed?
‘Edward,’ he corrects crisply.
‘Edward then,’ Fabian calls out in a sing-song voice. ‘I’m Liv’s divine agent, Fabian, I’m sure you’ve heard all about me. I hear the two of you enjoy a spot of therapy here and there?’
Edward shifts uncomfortably. ‘Well, I am the clinical supervisor here at the therapy collective, but—’
‘Perf!’ Fabian crows with delight and I want to scream as he continues, ‘So, we’ll just formalise that arrangement. Six weeks of sessions with Edward. That’ll be easy peasy. You can do it at your own office, once a week.’
‘No!’ I stand up at my desk now, horror dawning.
‘Absolutely not! Not Edward! He’s… Edward is…
absolutely not.’ Edward raises his eyebrows at me.
The animosity between us isn’t exactly a secret but I’ve never been quite so brazen about it.
I bring the hostility down a notch. ‘What I mean is… erm, let’s not agree to anything right now.
I’ll just have a tiny little think and come back to you both. ’
‘Liv.’ Fabian says my name slowly down the phone and I try to listen. ‘It’s this or nothing, piglet. I’m serious, are you hearing me? Morning Tea are ready to let you go right now. And I’d bet all my bitcoin that you have patients cancelling on you—’
‘We call them clients at the therapy collective,’ I murmur, feeling the need to be right about at least one small thing.
Fabian ignores me. ‘Edward, are you still there, honeybee? Are you happy to do six therapy sessions with Liv? The studio will pay you, just let us know your hourly rate.’
Edward shifts in his seat again, clearly blindsided. ‘Well… look, I have quite a full roster of clients already and the next couple of weeks are fairly booked up—’
Fabian interrupts. ‘Edward, sweetums, I’m going to call you directly to work out all of these lovely details. But just so you know – just so you both understand – this will save Liv’s job. She doesn’t have many other options right now.’
Edward and I lock eyes and it’s the first time I’ve ever seen this man look uncertain. He’s always had this innate confidence; this surety about him. It’s infuriating, honestly. Who lives their life knowing all the right answers? Only sociopaths, surely.
He looks away at last and clears his throat. ‘I understand. And if Olivia is happy for us to go ahead, then…’ Edward’s Adam’s apple bobs lightly. ‘… then yes, of course. I’m sure I can move some things around.’
I stare at him. This can’t be happening. ‘Both of you, just hold on a minute.’ I jab at the phone’s loudspeaker button, taking Fabian out into the hallway with me – away from Edward.
‘Fabian, you cannot be serious,’ I hiss into the receiver once we’re alone.
‘Okay, John McEnroe,’ he snorts.
‘I’m too young for that reference,’ I murmur as he continues now, speaking over me.
‘Look, Liv, I’m not kidding, darling. Your options are very limited.
You have a few sessions with that hot-sounding therapist over there, who you say you’re already working with anyway.
Or you throw your toys out of the pram completely, lose your job and everything you’ve worked so hard for.
’ He sighs. ‘And you know what’s happening with the book, of course… ’ he continues blithely.
‘Wait, no, what?’ I interrupt, suddenly very, very afraid. ‘What’s happening with the book? I’m working on it right now, it’s all in hand. I have chapter headings and everything.’
‘Oh, babe.’ His voice is full of pity. ‘You didn’t listen to my voicemail? And you haven’t read my email?’
I remove the phone from my ear and quickly pull up his email. I hadn’t read any further than the first line; the one scolding me for ignoring his calls. I scroll down. There’s another paragraph, and a forwarded message from my publisher. I hold my breath as I scan it.
They say – very nicely and with lots of enthusiastic energy – that they’re ‘pausing announcement’ of Orange Flags for now.
They’re still ‘hugely excited’ about publication but there have been ‘a few scheduling conflicts’ that mean they need to ‘hold fire’ for now.
Fabian has generously translated it for me:
‘Babe, this means they’re probably binning the whole project and you’re unlikely to get the rest of your advance. They may even come after you to repay the money they’ve given you so far. That scheduling thing is bullshit, it’s all about Tiramisu Girl going viral, soz.’
‘No,’ I whisper, reading and re-reading the email. ‘No.’
‘You see,’ Fabian calls cheerfully from down the phone. ‘There really isn’t any option. Going to therapy is the only chance you have of saving everything you’ve worked for.’
‘Can I think about it some more?’ I whisper into the phone at last, my brain blinking on and off. ‘I need to process this a bit.’
‘Nope,’ he says with even more apparent joy.
‘I’m working up a press release right now.
I’ll have to get it okayed by odious little Spencer – do we know if he’s gay by the way, because I would probably go there and yes, I know I also need therapy – then I’ll send it out by lunchtime.
Time is of the essence here, snookums.’ He pauses.
‘Anything else you want to add before I hang up on you?’
‘Only that I hate you and I’m glad Mike bought you the shit coffee machine. I wish you’d gone to France and I wish I hadn’t called you back.’
‘Can’t hide out forever, babe,’ he sings and then the line goes dead.
I stare at the phone in my hand, then at my office door, where Edward sits just a few feet away.
Why can’t I hide out forever?