Chapter 2
Chapter Two
The fun chat with the gardener had topped up the endorphins. Or was it dopamine? Or serotonin? The feel-good hormones, anyway. They probably wouldn’t stick around for long; would likely vaporise the minute she entered the office lift, but she felt a whole lot better than she had an hour ago.
Rosie noticed the trees either side of the canal coming back to life, their unfurling leaves a fuzzy, lime-green haze stretching in parallel into the distance.
Buffered by those endorphins, she allowed herself to revisit this week’s double-whammy, hoping that an initial, brief dip of the toe might enable her to begin processing those events so that she too could come back to life.
Reuben. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment as a little knife stabbed her heart.
Had she missed any warning signs? There had certainly been a growing sense of impatience on his part.
She’d been stressed about her book; it had been clear its progress to publication was faltering.
Her former editor, a woman in her forties, had been replaced by a younger one who was focused on the Booktok subculture.
Her expression during their initial Zoom call, when Rosie had said, I don’t really engage much …
had been pained. And then came that comment, about the World War II trend being over.
Rosie’s resulting distress had made her snappy and distracted, and Reuben had only seemed exasperated with her.
‘You should have talked yourself up,’ he said, as she sat staring into space over dinner that evening, ‘dropped in a few stats to prove World War II’s always on trend.
If it’s a new editor, you should have basically re-pitched, gone in with all guns blazing. Has she even read it?’
Had she?
His words filled her with dread, rather than hope. Self-promotion wasn’t her forte.
‘I need to have a proper think, about what to do,’ she’d said.
‘Well, given the speed things are changing, I’d say time isn’t a luxury you can afford,’ he’d replied. ‘And you’ve probably only got a year or two before AI’s writing all the books, anyway.’
Had that been a joke? Not helpful.
‘What an arsehole,’ she said to a duck on the canal.
Reuben, a lawyer who worked with media organisations, didn’t seem to get how an author’s investment in their book wasn’t all about money.
In his world, the deal was what mattered, and if necessary, she could renegotiate or simply go after another.
Relentlessly positive and pragmatic, he was unable to understand how such a setback might impact on a more sensitive person’s ability to carry on.
But … to be fair, his upbeat personality, his unwavering self-confidence, had been what had attracted her to him. Along with his beautiful, long-lashed blue eyes, fit bod and lush dark curls, of course.
Once they’d moved in together, however, his positivity had begun to feel more like nervous energy, and it had rubbed off on her, making her uneasy, often tense.
He rarely sat still for long; his attention span was short, and his phone was never far from his hand.
Thinking back, she realised she’d never seen him relax with a book, or enjoy a gentle hobby, like …
what did other men do to relax? Her father loved fly fishing, spent quiet evenings tying flies from feathers and colourful thread.
Her brother, a librarian, took close-up photographs of bugs which he shared on Instagram.
She thought now, how gentle, weird little hobbies suited some men.
But not Reuben. He’d been into the gym, and cars. And he couldn’t understand why anyone would want to be a librarian.
Her mind returned to the night after that portentous Zoom call, a month or so ago.
As ever, he’d assumed that time in bed with him would make everything right.
She’d just wanted a soothing cuddle, for him to hold her close, to indulge her with a small cry.
But no, he’d moved things on, and she hadn’t been strong enough to say, Not tonight, I’m really not in the mood. She’d just wanted it to be over.
He’d required feedback, as per. He was like one of those ‘How did we do?’ retailers, always demanding a review, both during and after: Does this feel good? Is that nice, Rosie? Did you come?
Following that Zoom call there had been a long silence from the publisher. The date the page proofs were scheduled to arrive – Tuesday – came and went.
‘This is really hard for me,’ she’d said, fighting back the tears. ‘It’s taken me three years to get to this point, and now it feels like it might be snatched away.’
Reuben had all but rolled his eyes. ‘So, like I keep saying – don’t just sit there, ask them what the fuck they’re doing!’
‘It won’t make any difference!’
The new editor’s email had landed a day later, like a bomb in her inbox. After reviewing our list, I’m sorry to let you know that we’ve taken the difficult decision not to publish …
She saw it in Reuben’s eyes. He’d loved introducing her to colleagues and clients as ‘future best-selling author Rosie’. Now she was just kooky-blonde Rosie, who worked for a magazine nobody had heard of, with a novel that might never see the light of day.
Reuben was into high achievers; losers – not so much. That evening he’d thrown up his hands, told her he was sick of hearing about her bloody book, and left. He’d texted to say he was moving in with a friend and would be in touch about collecting his stuff. No apology, no explanation; zero warmth.
She took a deep breath; the air at last smelt of spring. She’d fallen hard for Reuben, but his words as he’d walked out the door had confirmed what she’d probably known for a while. That Reuben only really cared about himself.
Amara Ross waved Rosie into her office. Immediately, the editor-in-chief’s eyes went to Rosie’s boots, and her dark, beautifully shaped eyebrows rose.
‘New?’
Rosie swallowed. Amara’s clothes were excruciatingly tasteful, and with her shiny hair, toned body and glowing skin, she was the embodiment of the Holistic Health ethos.
‘I just bought them. Seventy-five per cent off!’
‘Good,’ said Amara, nodding. ‘Finally, a glimpse of the old Rosie.’
She breathed out in relief. While there was no dress code at the office, Rosie was aware that today, her look was dangerously close to bag lady.
Amara fiddled with her computer mouse for a moment, then stopped and peered at Rosie over her metal-rimmed glasses.
‘Since when were you a beige-and-black kind of girl? Actually,’ she added, as Rosie opened her mouth to reply, ‘thanks to Lucy, our last word in indiscretion, I am aware of your book situation, and that Reuben’s done a runner. Sorry to hear about that.’
‘Yes,’ said Rosie, pulling over a seat and sitting down. ‘I haven’t been doing great lately.’
‘Our Little Miss Sunshine seems to have disappeared behind a raincloud.’
Reuben’s voice slid into her head: You should have talked yourself up.
While she suspected Ross the Boss was kind at heart, the hard-nosed editor rarely let that interfere with her work.
Rosie would need to do better in this meeting than she had in that Zoom call, if the sword of Damocles really was hanging over her job.
She would attempt to ignore the knowledge that bad things happen in threes.
‘It hasn’t affected my work, though,’ she said, sitting up straighter. ‘I’ve met all my deadlines.’
‘That’s good. But you’d probably benefit from some time away.’
Rosie’s stomach dropped. Shit! Was she being put on unpaid leave? Or reduced hours? Or–
‘So … we’re doing a sponsored promotion with Vybe,’ said Amara. ‘They’re setting it all up, and I want you to write it.’
‘Oh, right!’ said Rosie, attempting to keep the relief from her voice.
Vybe, who advertised regularly in Holistic Health, made gorgeous, top-quality activewear in signature vibrant colours.
Rosie had invested in a pair of their pale pink leggings, and before book-gate had been coveting a fuchsia-pink sleeveless jacket to wear with them.
How cool would her new Docs look with that combo?
‘And the part you’re going to like,’ continued Amara, ‘is that the photoshoot is at a health spa up in the Lake District. I was going to do the piece myself, but I can’t make it now – family dramas. It’s this weekend; sorry for the short notice.’
Rosie gave a hollow laugh. ‘Pretty sure I’m free.’
‘Good. So the hotel’s holding a wellness retreat, sponsored by Vybe. Yoga and Pilates sessions, facials, massages – all the lovely things. And it’s being hosted by Madison Tyler–’
‘Oh my fucking god,’ blurted Rosie, before she could stop herself. ‘The Tempt Me woman?’
Amara chuckled. ‘Is there another Madison Tyler?’
Madison had recently reached the final of Britain’s current reality TV obsession.
Although she didn’t win, she’d proved so watchable, in the same way you can’t look away from a car crash, that she’d become a mega-influencer on Instagram.
Her following had streaked past a million, while the actual winner was already all but forgotten.
Madison was a contradiction, in that almost everything about her appearance was ‘enhanced’, while her personality was unfiltered-authentic.
Her hair, skin, eyebrows, lashes, nose, cheeks, lips, teeth, neck, boobs, waist, bottom – all of it – had been extended, injected, sculpted or lifted until it was Instagram-perfect, from any angle. Especially from behind.
Madison hadn’t held back when it came to sharing her views on the other Tempt Me participants, and the viewing public had been appalled and delighted.
While her stated ambition was to be a TV presenter, producers were too nervous to give her a go, so for now she was back to modelling, and making a fortune endorsing everything from nutritional supplements to sunglasses to pet food.
‘She’ll be sharing the wellness retreat experience with her followers,’ said Amara, ‘and we’ll send Jono for the professional photos. You can Instagram it for the mag too. Maybe do a live feed or two.’
Rosie closed her eyes for a moment. ‘You mean I have to spend the weekend live-streaming Madison Tyler’s ridiculous bottom?’
A smile pulled at Amara’s lips. ‘That arse is going to look epic in Vybe’s teeniest, tightest workout shorts.
But the article’s just as important as the social media stuff.
It’ll be a puff piece, obviously, promoting the clothes and the venue, but I’d quite like people to actually read it so I want funny but not snarky.
Get some classic Madison quotes. Have fun with the whole London girl up north thing.
Maybe the two of you climb a big hill, eat Cumberland sausages. ’ She tittered.
‘Seriously? Madison Tyler up a hill eating a sausage?’
‘Seriously. Vybe wants her in their outdoor apparel, as well the yoga and gym gear. But nobody’s mentioned that part to Madison yet – it’s just a health spa photoshoot as far as she’s concerned, so …’ She raised her eyebrows.
‘Madison out of her comfort zone oop north,’ finished Rosie.
Amara nodded. ‘Should be gold. I’m sending you because I know you’ll write an amusing story, but you won’t be unkind.
’ She passed over a folder. ‘Here’s the stuff on the retreat and the clothing brand; Lucy will email you the travel details.
You’re on the train tomorrow, weekend at the spa, then you should take a few days off.
We’ve booked you in for the rest of the week; it’s comped. Just say nice things about them.’
As Rosie let herself into her flat, her eyes went to Reuben’s running shoes, still on the mat by the door.
He’d no doubt want to collect his stuff sometime soon.
It’d be best if he came round this weekend, while she was away.
Her day had ended a lot more positively than it had begun, but she wasn’t yet ready to face him.
She’d had a major setback in her life, and his response had been, Get over it.
Her lunchtime ponderings, following that resurfaced memory on the bridge, had strengthened her resolve: in the unlikely event of a change of heart on his part, there would be no second chance.
She’d tell him to post his key through the letterbox.
As she unlaced her boots, Rosie deliberately turned her thoughts to the weekend, registering a bubble of excitement at writing something new and a little different.
And the thought of heading north to the land of Wordsworth and Beatrix Potter was appealing, even if it meant being Madison Tyler’s handler.
Dealing with social media influencers was part and parcel of Rosie’s job – the wellness industry and Instagram were hand in glove.
Influencers were generally an annoying breed, but Madison was on another level.
Holistic Health was all about doing things the natural way, and there was nothing much natural about Madison.
But did that matter, if her posts got half a million likes?
Rosie kicked aside Rueben’s running shoes with more force than was necessary and placed her boots in their vacated spot on the mat. ‘I’m taking you with me,’ she said, admiring them. She hung up her jacket and looked down at her skirt and blouse. ‘But it’s the charity shop for you.’