Chapter 1 #2
‘So tell me about work. How’s life at Go Big?
’ said Amy. She and Jenni were both employed by the same company, a top-end outdoor clothing business.
They both worked in marketing and had bonded over a particularly fraught campaign that had involved the launch of a range of walking gear.
The words ‘Wickaway fabric’ still reduced both of them to hysterical laughter even three years later.
Amy was currently on maternity leave as baby Tilly had recently joined brother George.
‘Well, Clive’s being a complete nightmare again.
He’s determined that we have to outperform Patagonia and has come over all ethical as he thinks we need to become a B Corp company too.
I admire the sentiment, but he doesn’t seem to understand that going green is not as simple as sticking “sustainable material” on our labels, and that a circular economy has nothing to do with cycle wear. It’s all rather exhausting.’
Amy rolled her eyes in sympathy. ‘What about Susan? How’s she doing?’
‘She’s great, but even she gets frustrated with it all, and usually you can’t tell what she’s thinking.’
Susan was the new MD who had been brought in to manage Clive. A thankless task, but one she seemed more than equal to, although on this occasion explaining ‘greenwashing’ to Clive had resulted in her having to go home for a lie down.
Jenni continued to fill Amy in on what was going on at work: who was sending passive aggressive emails to who, how Ryan had had a meltdown about the strength of the coffee and now no one dared refill the coffee machine, and how Lily, the new intern, was still in shock after seeing Clive model the new, very fitted, base layers.
Both Jenni and Amy agreed that Lily probably had grounds for some kind of legal action – no one needed to see Clive encased head to toe in just a thin layer of three-ply merino wool. Fortunately, Sandra in HR had come to the rescue and a costly lawsuit had been averted.
‘Oh, and the other big news is that we’re planning a massive photoshoot at a snowdome so we can get some really good images of the new ski-wear range.
I’m in charge of coordinating it and it’s going to be huge.
I wish you were there to help. I’ve got to find five key influencers to come along – it’s giving me sleepless nights! ’
Jenni took a gulp of her drink.
‘You’ll be great,’ said Amy, reassuringly. ‘It always feels out of control when you start these things, but it will all come together.’
‘Hmm.’ Jenni felt doubtful, but she took comfort in her friend’s confidence.
‘I’ll do some research for you when I’m doing the 2 am feed. If I see someone who looks a good fit for a brand collaboration, I’ll let you know.’
‘Thank you, that would be great. There’s so much to do, I haven’t really had time to give it a proper look. I don’t want the obvious people and it needs to feel genuine. Anyway, you know all that, so let me know who you find.’
Just then, Thomas appeared with their food.
After putting down the plates, he went off to find them knives and forks before reappearing with a small terracotta flowerpot filled with cutlery, paper napkins and various condiments.
He headed back to the bar to get another round of drinks.
G&Ts delivered, he left them to it and the friends tucked into their food.
Jenni loved her evenings out with Amy. She was a friend who she could just relax with and be herself, she didn’t feel like she had to put on an act.
Although they were at different stages in their lives – Amy was married with two children, while she was single, still recovering from her break-up with Alex – there was no competition between them, and Amy never made Jenni feel inadequate for being on her own, which some friends, however unintentionally, did.
Jenni never went home feeling lonely after seeing Amy, and she enjoyed hearing stories about George and now Tilly, sharing Amy’s enjoyment, and frustration sometimes, at life with young children.
‘Oh this is delicious,’ said Amy, swallowing a mouthful. ‘Here. Try a chip, I’ve got loads.’
Jenni took a chip and dipped it into her risotto – nothing wrong with double carbs.
‘So what are you up to tomorrow?’ Amy asked.
Jenni, finishing her mouthful, was about to reply, and then broke off as the waiter came over to check they were happy with everything.
As the waiting staff were obviously trained to do, he arrived when they both had their mouths full, so they had to nod enthusiastically, hoping this adequately conveyed their appreciation.
‘I wish they wouldn’t do that,’ said Jenni, having swallowed and now able to speak.
‘I know, they definitely do it on purpose so we can’t say anything’s wrong, it’s so annoying. Anyway, where were we? Oh yes, what are you up to tomorrow?’
‘Well, I really want to get into the shed and have a bit of a sort out. I’m going to try tie-dying some tote bags. Which reminds me, I’ve got a little present for Tilly.’
She handed Amy a tissue-wrapped present.
‘I had some lovely natural dyes, so I tried them out on some sleepsuits and I wondered if Tilly could be a tester. If the colour holds, I thought I might do a few and see if I can sell them at the May Day craft fair.’
‘Oh yes, that’s a nice idea. I’ll let you know, although I’m sure it’s perfect. George loves his pyjama set.’
Jenni had studied textile design at college and had intended on a career making clothes, but the reality of finding a job in the fashion industry had soon put paid to those ambitions, and she was grateful when she’d got the job in marketing with Clive’s start up, Go Big, even though selling someone else’s clothes, particularly active wear given that she struggled to commit to even a yoga class, was not quite what she’d had in mind.
She’d always loved sewing and making things herself, but a small one-bedroom flat – and Alex’s determination that the shed was for practical things like lawnmowers – meant that she hadn’t had anywhere to experiment with her designs.
One morning, a month after he’d left for good, she’d decided that the shed was now hers and she was going to use it.
The lawnmower was Freecycled – Monty Don said lawns were now to be left to grow, so no need to cut it anymore – Alex’s old bike was gifted to Nick next door for parts, and the fold-down table had been set up as a work station.
The space reclaimed, Jenni had spent many happy hours in her shed, and her passion was tie-dying.
There had been some unfortunate colour accidents, more distressed hippy than hip, but she’d got the hang of using more muted colour combinations, and Amy, who always mysteriously knew what the next trend would be at least six months before everyone else, had declared Jenni’s creations a triumph and had encouraged her to branch out into babywear.
‘What else are you thinking of selling?’ asked Amy, eating her last chip and putting down her knife and fork.
‘Perhaps some T-shirts, and I’m thinking socks as they are pretty easy to dye and have a good mark up,’ Jenni said, taking the last mouthful of her risotto.
‘What about printing some business cards to hand out?’ Amy suggested. ‘Have you got your website up and running?’
‘Not yet, I mainly sell through Instagram, but that’s a good idea. I’ve had some commissions for presents.’
‘That sounds good. Pudding?’
Jenni, momentarily confused by the idea of a tie-dye pudding, shook her head. ‘Oh. Umm. No, thanks. What about you?’
‘I’m stuffed,’ said Amy with a shake of her head. She glanced at the clock above the bar. ‘In fact, I think I’d better head off soon. I know it’s ridiculously early, but I’ll have to get up in the night, so I don’t want to be too late.’
Waiter summoned, bill paid, coats collected and Jenni’s pink and green striped scarf finally located under a nearby chair, Jenni walked with Amy to the train station and then carried on the short walk home. There was still a bit of a chill in the air despite the lighter evenings.
As it was a Saturday evening, the high street was busy with people either heading home or only just setting out for the night.
People spilled out of the pub, laughing and chatting, nursing pints of beer and balancing wine glasses.
The Victoria was always really busy, which is why she and Amy had chosen the Dog & Duck further up the road, the one favoured by the locals, as it meant they could always get a seat and hear themselves talk.
Pausing at the zebra crossing for the cars to stop, she continued down the road, past the organic bakers, the general store – expensive but delicious – Rosie’s vegan café and the very un-vegan local butchers that, come Saturday morning, always had a queue snaking around the corner.
All the ingredients that made the area where she lived one of London’s self-declared villages.
Having grown up in a small rural community, Jenni knew the high street, which was full of life, people and bustle, was very much not a village, but she loved where she lived: and she loved that here you could choose your own community rather than having it forced upon you.
She remembered, just in time, that she had run out of cat biscuits, so she stopped at Barry’s, the local grocery store, conveniently open 24/7.
Rather confusingly, both of the people who worked there were called Barry. Smiley Barry was always friendly and happy to chat, while his co-worker, Grumpy Barry, would greet customers with a snarl – if they were lucky. Fortunately, Smiley Barry was on till duty that evening.
Biscuits bought, Jenni walked down the street, enjoying looking through the windows where the curtains or blinds had been left open, glimpsing snapshots of people’s lives and marvelling at how the seemingly identical terraced houses, although all so similar in design and layout, each had their own quirks.
Some had a wall knocked through here, a door added there, some were painted innocuous shades of cream and white, while others had chosen colours in bright, bold hues like magenta, aubergine and, surprisingly, a green that Jenni thought looked more Shrek than emerald.
Turning into Copestone Road, it was a short walk to her front door.
Thinking about her flat felt slightly bittersweet – she knew she was lucky to own somewhere in London, but it had come at a cost. Although her dad had wanted her to use the money he had left her to buy out Alex, wanted her to have a secure future, she felt sad he wasn’t here to share it with her.
Fumbling for the key, which, as usual, had hidden itself in the deepest recesses of her bag, she opened the front door and stepped into the shared hallway. Her upstairs neighbour was home, as evidenced by the fact that she could hear his TV blaring away as usual.
Over the sound of canned laughter, Jenni heard a loud meow. Oscar was obviously hungry.
Jenni opened her door and snapped on the light to see him sitting on the mat radiating a distinct, ‘What time do you call this?’ vibe.
Shrugging off her coat and scarf and hanging them on the peg in the hall, Jenni closed the door behind her and headed for the kitchen, Oscar weaving impatiently between her legs.
‘I’m sorry, Oscar. Look, I’ve got biscuits. Let me take my shoes off and I’ll feed you.’
Hearing the rattle of biscuits, Oscar collapsed dramatically on his back, paws in the air, purring. Obviously, all had been forgiven now and normal service had been resumed.
Jenni laughed as she shook the food into his bowl and watched as Oscar leapt up to get to his dinner. While he ate, Jenni retrieved her cup from the draining board and filled the kettle. She’d have herbal tea and watch some telly – perhaps whatever upstairs was enjoying – before going to bed.
The cat flap banged shut, signalling Oscar’s exit and leaving Jenni alone in her kitchen.
Nursing the hot cup between her hands, she tried not to picture Amy returning to her family, or Nick and Jo next door watching TV together.
She knew she had friends and she’d see people at work, but sometimes trying to ignore the loneliness was exhausting.
This was not how she’d imagined her life in her late thirties.
Deciding not to think about the rest of the weekend stretching out ahead of her, she snapped off the kitchen light and headed for the distraction of Netflix.