Chapter 8
‘Jenni, this is delicious,’ said Tim, shoving another piece of cake into this mouth and brushing the crumbs from his hands.
‘Okay, steady on, it’s for everyone. I said you could help me by carrying it, not eating the entire thing.’
‘Yes, well, I’m not sure Lucy deserves any, quite frankly.’ Tim looked around dramatically. ‘I’m not sure I can forgive her for what she did.’
‘Is this about how she borrowed your favourite pen without asking?’ Jenni said, gathering up some napkins, plates and a knife before balancing everything on a tray.
‘Worse.’ Tim lifted the cake and followed Jenni out of the kitchen and down the corridor, back to Circle Three. ‘She used up all the staples in my stapler.’
‘Oh God, he’s not still going on about that, is he?’ Lucy rolled her eyes as she joined them at the desk. ‘I’ve apologised a billion times, and I bought you a muffin to say sorry,’ she added, turning to Tim with a what-more-do-want look.
‘You bought me triple chocolate muffin – the ones I love and cannot resist – just as I was getting beach ready. That was not a thoughtful gift, that was a gesture of pure evil.’
Jenni decided not to mention that he was already on his second slice of cake.
‘Well, I thought it was delish,’ said Will, who’d been given the offending muffin to polish off, helping to unload the plates from the tray and divvy up the cake. ‘Quick, grab a slice before the others come over.’
Jenni made a mental note to tell her mum that her cake had been very popular, as more colleagues gravitated over to grab a slice, either chatting for a while or hurrying back to their desks muttering about deadlines.
Guiltily, Jenni thought about her own to-do list. The shoot was on Wednesday and she’d booked the models, lined up the samples, had a stylist in place and a photographer ready and waiting, but she still needed to coordinate the messaging with her influencers, finalise travel for everyone and book lunch. Argh, the list went on.
She’d arrived back at her flat just after ten last night.
Bertie had triumphantly managed the hill in a cloud of exhaust fumes and she’d made it to the station on time.
Her mum had waited for her to find a seat on the train before driving off, and Jenni had felt the usual pang of emotion: sadness at leaving her mum, but also relief to be returning to her own flat.
The train had slid through a landscape of green to grey, and upon arriving back in London, Jenni, juggling her bag and balancing a cake, had negotiated the busy concourse of Sunday-night returners, picking up her pace to match the speed of her fellow commuters, before catching the bus home.
Jo had texted to say that Oscar was fine, but Jenni had been anxious to get back and see him herself. He didn’t approve of her going away and, sure enough, had made his feelings very clear by vomiting on the door mat.
Oscar had hunkered down on the work surface to watch as Jenni deposited the cake – which didn’t look too battered, despite its journey – in the fridge, cleaned the door mat and hung it outside to dry, and then unpacked her overnight bag.
Jobs done, she had thrown herself down on the sofa and flopped back into the cushions, at which point Oscar had deigned to join her.
Peace made, the two of them had watched a few episodes of Sewing Bee before bed.
She’d obviously not been completely forgiven, though, as this morning, while she was getting ready for work, she’d noticed that Oscar had elected to go out early rather than join her for breakfast.
She’d buy some cat treats on the way home and shamelessly bribe her way back into his affections, she decided.
Her thoughts of Oscar were interrupted when Tim nudged her, nearly knocking the cake that was halfway to her mouth out of her hand.
‘Uh-oh, here’s Clive. Brace, brace.’
Jenni turned to find Clive bearing down on her, draped in some sort of waterproof fabric, despite the fact they were indoors. Even if he had gone outdoors, the current mild weather didn’t merit him wearing what appeared to be a knee-length tent.
‘Hello, hello, what’s this. Refined carbs on the premises? You know my thoughts on the danger they present to the gut biome and the need for wholegrain flours.’
Jenni did indeed know far too much about Clive’s thoughts on diet, and was in fact permanently scarred from the conversation about his quest for a healthy gut. No one needed to hear the words ‘faecal transplant’ during lunch. Or ever, in fact.
Deciding to cut him off before he began discussing beneficial bacteria again, she offered him the last slice of cake. ‘It’s been made with, um, fermented milk and the jam is unpasteurised – full of good bacteria,’ she improvised wildly as Tim suppressed a snort of laughter.
‘Oh, well, yes, that’s very good,’ Clive said taking a bite. Even a mouthful didn’t stop him talking though and, spraying crumbs, he asked, ‘You’ve got the snow shoot this week, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, everything’s organised and we’re good to go,’ replied Jenni, mentally crossing her fingers.
‘I’ve had an idea,’ Clive said, filling Jenni with alarm. She desperately hoped he didn’t want to come too. An hour and a half on the train with Clive and his gut microflora and fauna would be too much.
‘This rain poncho has just come in. What do you think? It doubles as a picnic blanket, and you could sleep under it if you were bivouacking, so it’s reuseable.
And, of course, it’s green, so very eco-friendly.
Jenni, come with me and let’s discuss it,’ he ordered, plonking his empty plate down and striding back to his office.
Jenni shared a look of horror with Lucy before reluctantly following Clive.
She paused and turned back to hiss, ‘Someone come and get me with something urgent if I’m not out in fifteen minutes.’
She spotted Clive beckoning from his office door.
‘Actually, make that ten.’
‘And then he made me try one on,’ she said in a distressed voice.
‘A—and the toggle got stuck where the poncho gathers around the neck. And… and I began to panic, and Clive kept shouting at me for tearing at the fabric. B—but I couldn’t breathe, and then, finally, Tanya took pity on me and…
and she cut me out,’ finished Jenni, between heaving breaths, finally back at her desk.
Lucy and Tim made sympathetic noises as Will returned with a cup of coffee.
‘Ryan’s just made it, so it’s nice and strong. Good for the shock,’ Will said, placing the mug down.
Jenni took a sip and shuddered. Strong didn’t adequately describe it, but the shot of caffeine seemed to be doing the trick so she braved another gulp.
‘Oh love, that sounds hilariou—’ Tim wiped his eyes and then, seeing Lucy’s glare, hastily amended, ‘Hideous! I mean hideous.’
‘Apparently, he once made someone in sales try on a balaclava, one from the Extreme Blizzard range that just has tiny slits for your eyes, and the poor guy was claustrophobic – he passed out in a panic!’ Lucy nodded knowingly.
‘Was that Tony, who mysteriously disappeared without saying goodbye and no one knew why?’
‘Yes, apparently he got a pay-off on the condition he signed an NDA and didn’t sue. Another one of HR’s “deals”.’
‘Our HR department could work for a Mafia boss or something,’ Will said with a note of awe in his voice. ‘They’re like fixers, tidying up after gangsters, making sure no one knows where the bodies are buried.’
‘Maybe don’t describe HR as being like the Mafia,’ Lucy said. ‘If they hear you, you might be next to be “fixed”.’
‘Yeah, I’ll come in and find a horse’s head on my desk.’ Will seemed unnervingly excited about this idea, Jenni noticed.
Turning to Jenni, Tim said comfortingly, ‘Well, you’re okay now, and you can hardly see the rope burns on your neck.’
‘Thank you, that’s such a comfort,’ Jenni glared at him crossly.
Tim decided to change the subject.
‘You know what, why don’t we call it a day? It’s nearly five now, so let’s go home.’
‘Or better still, how about we pop across the road to the Red Lion for a medicinal drink?’ suggested Lucy, already gathering up her stuff.
‘Good idea,’ said Jenni, pushing down the lid of her laptop and turning off her monitor. ‘But no one is to mention the words “drawstring” or “toggle” in my presence ever again.’ And with a shudder she left the office.