Chapter 36
Dear Adam
I’m sure you don’t remember, but I wrote to you a few months ago, about my daughter. I told you how I’d lost my wife to cancer, and I was worried about how I’d manage parenting my daughter alone as she goes through her teenage years.
Well, it was her thirteenth birthday yesterday and I found myself recalling your advice. Actually, that’s not quite true, because what you wrote has been with me every single day since I read it. Your words gave me confidence – helped me to believe that I can do this, and that really meant the world.
I’m not going to say it’s been easy, and we’ve still got a long road ahead of us. We still miss my wife like crazy. But I tell my daughter all the time how much I love her and how proud her mother would be of her. I talk to her about my feelings, too, and I know that if one day I meet someone else and I’m ready to embark on a new relationship, we’ll be able to make that work together.
Adam, I wanted to thank you. I needed your advice and it helped me to find what was there inside inside me all along.
Jonno, London
At Heathrow airport, Amelie said goodbye and got on the train in the opposite direction to us, back home to Mum and Dad, who’d been alerted to her arrival by text and were ready to welcome her with a freshly made bed, shoulders to cry on and Mum’s legendary roast chicken.
Ross and I headed east. He’d told me he was going to visit his own mother, as he always did when he got home from a trip to New York. She still felt a heavy burden of guilt, he said, over having left his father, and needed reassurance from Ross that it had been the only possible choice for her to make.
We said our goodbye on the platform before boarding our train, standing there amid the crowds of suitcase-wheeling travellers, holding each other close then kissing on and on like two people at the end of a sad French art-house movie.
‘But I’ll see you tomorrow, at work,’ I said, rubbing my face on his shoulder to wipe away a tear. ‘Why am I being so daft?’
‘Because when you’ve only had twenty-four hours together, twenty-four apart feels like a long time.’
‘It really does,’ he agreed. He wasn’t soft enough to actually cry, but his usual cheerful smile was absent.
‘We could get a coffee together tomorrow before we go into the office?’ I suggested.
‘Deal.’
‘Don’t change your mind.’
‘I won’t. Scout’s honour. Say hi to Astro for me.’
‘I will. Promise.’
Then our train thundered into the station and we pushed our way on, strap-hanging by the door because there weren’t two free seats together.
When his stop came, he kissed me one more time, promised he’d text later and stepped off. I watched him until he disappeared around a corner, the doors thudded closed and I was left alone.
My New York adventure was over. In a sense, I’d achieved what I’d set out to: Amelie was home, and we both knew the truth about Zack.
But it felt like a hollow victory. My sister was putting a brave face on things, as she always did, but I knew her heart and her pride were hurting badly. And her future looked uncertain, having to find somewhere to live and somehow get a job with a new baby on the way – a baby who would grow up with a mostly absent father, same as Ross had.
Inevitably, my thoughts turned to Ross. For him, the trip must have been a bitter-sweet one. Bitter because it was his first pilgrimage to the city of his birth since his father’s death; I wondered whether he’d continue to visit every year, go to the shady park with the giant stones and remember what he’d lost. And I wondered whether every time, from now on, he’d remember meeting me there, and that would be the sweet part – the beginning of something wonderful.
But was it? He’d given me no reason to doubt him. In the months since I’d met him, I’d never heard him say an unkind word about anyone. I’d never known him to slag off a colleague or flake out on a deadline. He’d never treated me with anything but respect.
But what if us sleeping together had changed that? What if the memories I had of that night, which still made a wave of delicious pleasure wash over me, were something else entirely to him? What if…
For God’s sake, Lucy, pull yourself together, I told myself sternly, gulping down the lump in my throat. Keep the faith. If it’s meant to be, it will be. If it’s not, it’ll hurt and you’ll get over it, same as Amelie will – same as every woman does who’s found a good man and lost him. And at least now you know men can be good.
Because of Adam, I thought. Because of all the men – the young ones and the old ones, the arrogant and the diffident, the single and the attached, the dicks and the not-such-dicks, who’d confided their problems in Adam.
It must have been quite a leap of faith for all of them, I realised. Even if they genuinely believed in the existence of the smiley, bearded 30-something chewing on his pencil, they’d put their future in the hands of a stranger in an online column.
And what they’d got was me. Lucy Masters, twenty-nine and perennially single, who didn’t have a clue about men.
I owed them all something, I realised. I owed them for their time and their trust and their honesty, even the dicks. They’d given me that and, in a roundabout way, they’d given me Ross.
In return, what had I given them? I’d never really thought about it before. I’d been so focussed on getting the job done, meeting my deadlines, producing answers that I hoped made some kind of sense. Greg’s focus on click rates and read-through had made me spend far more time considering the response of Max!’s readers to my replies than that of the men who’d actually written to Adam in the first place.
Jonno’s email had changed that. I remembered how I’d felt writing my reply to him in the office all those months ago, shy and hesitant. I remembered showing the draft of it to Ross and how he’d reacted, and realised now that it must have reminded him painfully of the loss of his father.
But Jonno had read it, and taken it on board. It probably hadn’t changed anything – he’d clearly been a great dad before he read it, and he was still a great dad now. But it had given him confidence to keep on doing what he was doing – loving his daughter, talking and listening to her, parenting her.
I hadn’t just done my job – I’d done a good job, and the knowledge filled me with satisfaction and pride. I wished I could meet Jonno, shake his hand and tell him how much his story and its sequel had moved me, although I knew that could never happen.
The train rumbled to a stop and I got out, surprised that the journey had passed so quickly. I was almost home – and suddenly, I was looking forward to that. My flat would feel different now – I’d be able to see the dent on the sofa cushion where Ross had sat and imagine him sitting there again, right next to me.
I’d probably need to invest in a second controller for my X-Box.
By the time I reached the stairs up to my flat, I was almost running, my bag thumping on my back. I was out of breath when I unlocked the door and flung it open, and when Astro came to meet me I scooped him up and kissed him and told him how much I loved him.
By the next morning, my see-sawing emotions had settled down a bit. I’d unpacked all my stuff and done a load of washing (although I have to admit I didn’t wash the sheets that Ross had slept in) and spent lots of time catching up with Astro and telling him all my adventures. I ate a ready meal and went to bed early, and woke up with a stomach full of butterflies at the prospect of seeing Ross again – not just that day, but maybe that night too, and every day in the office after that.
He was waiting for me when I got to the coffee shop and we placed our latte orders together and walked to the office together. For the first time, I got into the lift with him and neither of us blushed. We walked across the office together and took our seats at our desks.
I was so buoyed up by happiness that it was only then that I realised something was wrong.
Well, not necessarily wrong, but definitely weird. There was an air of tension across the pod of desks. Although it wasn’t yet nine thirty, everyone had their heads down and their eyes focussed on their screens. Chiraag had already changed out of his cycling gear into his work clothes. Marco wasn’t using the reflection on his screen to fuss with his hair. Neil got up and offered to make a round of drinks but no one took him up on this once-in-a-lifetime offer.
Something was definitely going on, and I didn’t know what it was.
Had the office grapevine somehow got wind of what had happened between me and Ross? But if that was the case, why weren’t they relentlessly taking the piss out of us, like they had when Simon snogged one of the girls from Accounts?
Had they learned not only of what had happened, but somehow knew Ross had changed his mind about me? But there’d been nothing amiss between us that morning, and even now, when I looked up at him across the desk, I could see his face was just as puzzled as mine must have been.
And then it came to me. The reply to Zack that had gone viral and sent Adam’s column shooting to the top of the Max! landing page hadn’t been enough. Greg and the ad sales people had run the analytics and decided that Ask Adam wasn’t washing its face, that they’d run it up the flagpole and not enough people had cheered, that the whole thing lacked long-term sustainability – or however they’d have phrased it in their meeting.
Ask Adam was for the chop. I was for the chop.
I knew how that felt. I”d experienced it before – not just a few months ago when Marion had told me my job was in jeopardy, but years before that.
After Kieren ended things between us, I’d thought I’d never be able to show my face in the office again. But I knew I had to. Even though I”d spent the whole night crying, I forced myself to get up the next morning, shower, dress and go to work. My job mattered to me – it was my future. A future that would no longer have Kieren in it – but if I was honest with myself, I’d known that for a while.
So I needed to focus on what I could control. What I was good at. What I was doing that was for me, not for a man.
I gave myself this little pep talk, and it worked. Kind of. When I arrived at the office I was shaking, feeling sick and wanting to run away. But I was there. I squared my shoulders and forced myself to walk through the door, into the lift and to my desk. I didn’t look in his direction.
You’ve got this, Lucy, I told myself.
But I hadn’t.
It was mid morning when the blow fell.
I’d been keeping my head down, getting on with my job as best I could, managing not to cry. There had even been moments when I was engrossed enough in my work to not think about Kieren for whole minutes at a time.
Then my desk phone buzzed with a call from my line manager. Deep down, I suppose I knew what was going to happen, but I made myself pretend I didn’t. I stood up and walked as calmly as I could to his office, smiled, said good morning and sat down to wait for the words I knew were coming.
‘As you know, Lucy, your probation period comes to an end next week,’ he said, and I nodded.
‘Your work here at the Sentinel has never been less than satisfactory,’ he went on, and I listened mutely.
‘But character matters to us as a business,’ he pontificated, and I felt tears beginning to sting my eyes.
All I could do was sit there and wait while he fired me. I listened to the little lecture he gave me about conduct and professionalism and disrepute, and I knew every word of it was true. I knew I was getting what was coming to me.
And I knew something else, too. I knew that this wasn’t going to happen to Kieren. He wasn’t a junior working out a probation period; he was senior and valued. It would cost money to get rid of him. I knew he’d keep his job while I took the punishment for what we’d done.
When the lecture was over, I asked whether I was expected to work the remaining days of my probation.
”I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘You’ll be paid for them, but we think it’s best if you pack your things and go. HR will be in touch.’
So I packed my things and went, and three days later Amelie came to my flat and found me there.
I’d picked up the pieces of my life and my career. I thought I’d learned my lesson – but here I was again, on the brink of being sacked from Max! in disgrace.
I’d managed before and I’d manage again, somehow. I was a different person now. I was more experienced, more self-assured, tougher. I’d find another job. But I didn’t want another job – I wanted this one.
The prospect of leaving Max! made me realise how much my attitude to it and my colleagues had changed over the months. I remembered walking into the office on my first day and seeing them all there – the Man Blob. Now they were just Greg, Neil, Marco, Chiraag, Simon and Barney. They were my colleagues and my friends.
Oh, and of course Ross. I knew that if things were going to work out between him and me, they’d do so whether or not I was sitting at the desk opposite his all day. Still, the stress of job-hunting and the challenges of adjusting to something new would place strain on our relationship – only days old – which I’d much rather avoid.
And then there was Adam. I was only just learning how to be Adam and I didn’t want to stop learning. I didn’t want to leave Adam’s readers in the lurch; I cared about them all, even the dicks.
Damn it, I thought, please don’t let this be about to happen.
More than anything, I wanted to talk to Ross – to confide my worries in him, hear him reassure me that whatever happened, it would be all right. I caught his eye across the desks and mouthed, ‘Coffee?’ even though we were still drinking the ones we’d bought together. He nodded, half-standing up out of his chair the way he had on that first day, when he’d ended up arse-planting on the floor. .
But before we could get to our feet, Greg approached the pod of desks like the angel of death in a stripy button-down shirt.
‘Morning,’ he said. ‘Good to see you two back. How was the Big Apple?’
His tone was genial, but I wasn’t fooled.
‘Good thanks,’ I muttered. ‘Hot.’
‘Yeah, great,’ Ross said. ‘Glad to be back.’
‘Any chance you two could spare a few minutes?’
Here it was. I stood up and so did Ross. Everyone’s eyes followed us as we walked behind Greg, back the way we’d come to the enclosed meeting room.
We pulled out chairs and sat. I could see a sweaty handprint on the blank page of my notebook. Ross looked bemused, but not afraid. He didn’t know that something bad was about to happen.
‘I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve called you in today,’ Greg said.
We both nodded mutely.
‘As you know, here at Radiant Media, we’re always looking for new ways to leverage opportunities and grow our business,’ Greg went on.
And then those opportunities aren’t working, they get the chop.
‘The technology column has always been a high performer for Max.’
In sharp contrast to Ask Adam.
‘And therefore, the board has decided that now is the time to launch a dedicated technology portal, alongside the main Max! and Fab! sites. We’re thinking of calling it Future!, but that’s still under discussion.’
What?
‘It will be a wide-ranging brief’ – Greg was smiling, actually smiling – ‘covering not only how we can keep our readers abreast with new and emerging technologies, but also lifestyle elements such as gaming and wearables.’
What was he saying? I looked at Ross and he looked at me, but he seemed no longer worried but only mildly surprised.
‘Of course, the editorial lead on the project will need to have in-depth knowledge of all those facets of the world of tech. Ross, you’ve delivered outstanding work in your role as Max!’s technology editor. I know you’d be the perfect fit for the role.’
And the perfect fit for other things, I thought, stifling a nervous giggle.
‘Wow,’ Ross said. ‘Thanks, Greg.’
‘However, the scale of the brief means it’s not a job for just one individual. The decision has therefore been taken to appoint a joint editorial team of two to spearhead the project.’
Oh. So that’s where this is going.
‘Lucy, since you came on board at Max!, I and the rest of the management team have been impressed by your talent and energy. You were given the opportunity to launch Ask Adam, and you did so to the best of your ability. Then, when expectations weren’t quite being met, you were given the challenge of turning it around, and you did that, too. But I know your heart has always been in technology, so we’d like to offer you the opportunity to join Ross in heading up this new venture.’
‘But what about—’ I began.
‘Of course, this would leave a vacancy to continue the Ask Adam column. I’m aware that it’s been your baby, Lucy, and we’d hope and expect you to be an integral part of the recruitment process. We thought perhaps a man…’
I felt light-headed with shock. Six months ago, this would have been a dream come true. The axe that had been about to fall on me would have been lifted – there’d have been a thrilling new opportunity where before there had been only the prospect of joblessness and penury.
I’d have bitten Greg’s arm off for it.
But that was six-months-ago Lucy, not the person I was now.
‘Greg,’ I said. ‘I don’t want the new job. I’d love to work with Ross on it – anyone would – but I want to carry on with the Ask Adam column more.’
‘You do? But it’s a very exciting opportunity, Lucy. Have you thought this through?’
I took a deep breath – maybe the deepest I’d ever taken in my life.
‘Yes, I have,’ I said. ‘And there’s something I need to tell you, as well.’
I looked at Ross, who returned my glance with a smile so warm he might just as well have stretched out and squeezed my hand under the table.
‘Over the past few months, I’ve been using artificial intelligence to help me out with the Ask Adam replies. I felt overwhelmed by the increased frequency of the columns, and I didn’t think I could cope on my own. So I got GenBot 2.0 to point me in the right direction and compose a first draft of some of the replies. Then I edited them. Except?—’
Greg was watching me, intrigued. ‘Go on, Lucy.’
‘Except I ended up changing the algorithm, so the answers the bot came up with were actually more like what I’d have written myself. That’s what happened with the most recent column, the one that went viral.’
‘Fascinating.’ Greg leaned forward, his hands pressed together under his chin like a church steeple. ‘So you’d say that the percentage of Adam – or rather Lucy – versus AI has increased over time?’
‘Exactly. And I’ve learned something, Greg. I’ve learned that sometimes men – Adam’s readers, that is, not necessarily all men – need gentle guidance, a hug and a handhold. And sometimes they need tough love and to be told when they’re being dicks.’
‘I think actually that is all men,’ Ross said, and Greg chuckled.
I smiled indulgently at the two of them having their man moment together.
‘And I believe I can do that,’ I went on. ‘I understand men so much better now than before. I don’t need the artificial intelligence any more. I can do it on my own. But it’s helped me – it’s made me better at being Adam. And all the men who’ve written to Adam over the months – have helped me, too. They’ve made me better at being me.’
The Lucy who Greg had first met – who Ross had first met – would never have dared to make such a soul-bearing little speech. I half-expected them to hastily change the subject, or even laugh at me, but they didn’t.
They both looked at me with something on their faces I didn’t quite recognise, until I did.
It was respect.
‘Sounds like your mind is made up then,’ Greg said. ‘And it certainly sounds like it’s a great decision for you and for Max!.’
‘I’m confident it is,’ I said.
‘Well, in that case I’ll let you get back to work, Lucy. Ross, we can have a chat about next steps, if you can spare a little more time.’
‘Sure,’ Ross said. ‘Catch you later, Lucy.’
‘Later,’ I said, and we smiled at each other in a way that must surely have told Greg what was going on between us, if he hadn’t already guessed.
And I returned to my desk. I created a new document, pasted in a letter from my inbox again and started typing.