ONE
Kat’s To-Do List
Milk
Bread
Cheese
Lunch? NO MORE PRET
Stop thinking about funeral
Stop thinking about Dad’s stupid house
Client rebrand prep
Therapist???
“Kat!” Willa’s melodic shout bounced off the stark white office walls, giving my co-workers Clara and Kieran—a.k.a. the twins from The Shining —a rare opportunity to look up from their laptops.
As graphic designers, staring at screens was what we did best, but even by those standards, Clara and Kieran were robots. They hadn’t looked up from their screens since nine this morning. It was noon, and there wasn’t a fidget in sight. Meanwhile, I’d got up three times to make myself a coffee. Twice, I forgot what I was doing. The first time, I got distracted by my phone and the second, I reorganised the stationery cupboard. And after all of that, the coffee sat next to me, cold, amidst scrunched-up Post-it Notes and a graveyard of chewed biros.
Willa, my boss and best friend, came hurtling around the corner to where I hid in my little booth. She was wearing a nude structured dress, usually reserved for client meetings. Her blonde hair was styled in immaculate waves, never a root in sight, thanks to her award-winning hairdresser, whom she visited every three months. Willa stepped her nude stilettos into the booth I’d picked on purpose four years ago. I figured if I was having a bad ADHD day, I could hide my hyperfixation. Last month, it was the Russian royal family and the conspiracy theory that one of them survived their downfall. My cubbyhole meant the office could be spared from my Wikipedia rabbit holes.
Now, I’m realising that Willa may have cottoned onto my most recent hyperfixation.
Willa threatened to freeze me with her icy-blue eyes. The two of us met at university when we were studying graphic design. Willa had always planned to start her own agency. She’d even told me that first semester that it was , making me feel sufficiently inadequate, given I didn’t know what I was having for dinner. But that was Willa—a force of nature. We were the same age, but I always looked up to her like she was my big sister, something that an only child like me could only dream of having.
“Willa, I can explain.” I frowned, unsure what she was actually angry about. I know that last week, I forgot to send a client brief and the week before that, I’d felt so heavy and tearful that I couldn’t get out of bed without bursting into tears. And then, there was a general state of tardiness that followed me around like a bad fart.
I am such a fuck up.
Since the funeral, I had been a liability across every single aspect of my life, and I wanted to fix it. I wanted to fix it badly but couldn’t pull myself out of the ditch I’d created.
She took a deep breath. “Did you hand our biggest client a business card with your used gum on it?”
Clara and Kieran exchanged looks.
“Ah—yes.” A strangled noise came from Willa. “But Alan seemed to find it pretty funny.”
Alan had been perplexed when I’d wiped off the piece of gum and handed the card back to him. I would have handed him a new one, but I’d forgotten to order more. What else was I supposed to do? Dinosaurs like Alan didn’t know how to AirDrop. I wasn’t even sure if Alan had a phone.
“They’ve been on the phone.”
“Oh.”
“They want you off the account.”
My mouth fell open. “No. Alan was fine! He laughed. I’m sure he laughed.” I wasn’t sure he laughed. It was more like a wince.
Willa groaned. “Kat, that was your last chance to impress them. They have itchy feet! They’re one foot out of the door. Especially after you went on that call with a penis straw!”
“They were left over from Sam’s hen do!” I exclaimed. “What was I supposed to do? Throw them away?”
Willa and I met Sam on our graphic design course at Brighton University, and we became close. Since then, Sam got married, had a baby and bought a house in Brighton. Meanwhile, I still rented an apartment in Camden with five other people, could barely function at my job, had no boyfriend and was just a general fuck up.
“That would have been better than using them on a call with a load of strait-laced white blokes, Kat, yes.”
I winced. “I’m sorry.”
Willa sighed. “I know.”
Willa deserved better than this. Before Dad died, I hadn’t been a perfect employee, but I’d been focused enough. And then Dad died. I thought it was the grief that made me numb and disinterested in everything, and it would pass. But in the eight months since his funeral, nothing had changed. Autumn, one of my favourite seasons, came and went. As did the bright lights of Christmas and New Year. And now, we were in February, and it was the same. I was going through the motions each day, and every night, I lay wide awake, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep.
Willa should have someone focused on client work, someone present, someone who coaxed clients back, not gave them the ick. After all, Willa had her own problems. Last week, I’d heard her softly crying in the bathroom stalls after meeting with her accountant, Philip. Willa started Horizon Creative with the help of her dad and built it into a small ten-person team—a “boutique” agency. It had been a success until recently when some high-paying accounts left for Dunamis, the bigger agency upstairs. Dunamis did everything—marketing, SEO, graphic design and web building. Clients liked the convenience of having everything in-house, but I hated sharing a building with their stupid staff. They all had big square glasses and walked around with their iPads like they were important.
With clients fleeing, Willa was becoming more and more desperate by the day. She even asked me to write client pitches, which was not my forte. My spelling was atrocious.
Willa ran a hand down her face, paused and then turned to Kieran. “Kier. You’re on the QRS account.”
Kieran flinched but nodded—the ever-loyal robot lapdog.
Willa turned back to me, folding her toned arms across her chest. “Show me your laptop screen.”
Blood rushed to my cheeks and my stomach plummeted to the marketing offices on the floor below. I gripped on harder to my half-closed screen.
“Kat,” Willa warned.
She leaned over and opened my laptop. The house listing was the only tab, for once. Usually, I had fifty million programs and tabs open, my laptop gasping for air. But this had been the only link to grace my screens since the phone call with the probate lawyer three weeks ago .
The house that I’d inherited.
The house I’d visited once seventeen years ago.
When Dad and I visited the little house, it felt much bigger. But then, I was only ten years old. The owner, Rose, smelt like lavender. On the drive, Dad explained it used to be his house until Rose bought it from my grandparents. When we arrived, Rose smiled, crouched down and hugged me into her slim body. In the living room, I spun in one spot as Dad talked to Rose about her sons. Polite questions and polite answers.
Rose had let me explore the sprawling garden. Stone birdfeeders and ladybugs. I walked on wet grass under my light-up trainers. The birds sang loudly and soared into the sky together.
On the long drive back to Reading, Dad promised to buy it from Rose one day. I nodded, agreeing it was a good idea. We’d make it our home again. We’d convince Mummy to move back to Everly Heath—the words of a naive ten-year-old.
Now, my dad was gone, and the house was two hundred miles from London. So why was I so possessed by the impulse to renovate the place? It reeked of ADHD, and I resented being a neurospicy stereotype.
Mask it up, push it down.
I tried to, but it was no use. I couldn’t get the house out of my bloody head. On the Tube, during client meetings, at the pub with my shitty Hinge date with broccoli in his teeth. All I could think about was how I’d change the layout, rip out the seventies carpets and replace the rotting bathroom.
My dad wasn’t haunting me. His bloody house was.
I looked up at Willa, who was perched on the edge of my desk. She had been so patient. She had given me a load of time off, no questions asked. She had steered through my missed deadlines. She kept checking in, making sure I was okay.
“I’ll stop, I swear,” I promised, more guilt trickling in. I wanted to help turn things around for her. I would help turn things around.
Willa angled her blonde head towards her office. “Come on, let’s talk.”
We walked past Clara and Kieran, looking down at their laptops like nothing had happened.
Freaks.
I followed Willa to her office; my eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to her round bum. I was no better than a man.
“Your arse looks insane in that dress, Wills.” This was not appropriate for work, but given we were old uni friends, I figured we were well past the usual employee-employer relationship.
“No sweet talking, bitch,” Willa added over her shoulder, “but thank you.”
Willa was in her “slay your enemies” look today, which had been getting more action than usual recently. I wondered if it had something to do with Aidan, the sales director of Dunamis. Willa insisted there was nothing but hatred between her and Aidan, the son of her dad’s best friend, but I wasn’t convinced. There was always a weird energy about them. Sometimes, I spotted them marching out of the lifts, bickering, only to part in a huff to their separate offices.
Then, I would see Aidan staring at Willa as the two of us trotted through the foyer for after-work drinks, not a hint of hatred on his bespectacled face—instead, a sad sort of longing. But I never pointed this out to Willa. I liked my head on my shoulders.
“Right,” Willa announced, settling into her pink velvet office chair, “we’ll do this properly. Like we can afford HR.”
Was she going to fire me? Oh my god. Was I about to be fired by my best friend? Because that would be a new low.
I blew a curly strand of hair from my face. “Willa. Please. I swear I’ll put together some extra client pitches. I’ll do sales pitches for you in person if you want. I will pull myself together.”
I will stop being such a fuck up. Somehow.
“Relax, Kat. It’s nothing bad. Sit down a sec.”
I lowered myself into one of the two chairs opposite her huge desk, which was organised with pastel highlighters and Post-its—the complete opposite of mine, which was littered with wrappers and bits of paper with gum squished in. Willa’s office was painted a muted plaster pink. It was subtly girly—the kind of pink that wouldn’t put off her dad, who might question if she would be taken seriously with Barbie-pink office walls.
Willa flicked her wrist. “Okay. Explain.”
“Explain?”
“The house listing. Every time I look at you, you’re staring at it. In the office. When we go get lunch. Even when we’re at Elias’s, and I know you usually like to stare at Elias.” She raised an eyebrow.
“I think you mean you like looking at Elias.”
“Don’t change the subject.”
Elias’s was the Italian bar and restaurant opposite the office. Willa and I went every Friday for after-work drinks, sat at the bar and ordered Campari sodas. It helped that Elias, the owner, looked like a tanned Greek god. Unfortunately, he was very gay but declared that he adored us anyway. And the feeling was mutual.
I took a deep breath. “My dad left me this house. It’s his childhood home. It meant a lot to him. At least, I think it did. You know we weren’t… close. For years.”
“Right.” Willa nodded.
“Well, he has left it to me. It took a while for probate to go through, but the solicitor called me last week and confirmed it. It’s mine. And I had no idea he’d even bought it. I think it was going to be his next project. I was going to sell it and try to buy a flat here. But I could only afford somewhere between here and Reading nearer Mum and Graham.”
Willa huffed. “Womp womp.”
“Well, exactly. I’d prefer somewhere a bit closer to work…”
Willa’s nose wrinkled. “And somewhere fun .”
“Hey! Reading isn’t so bad.” Willa raised an eyebrow. “But, yeah. I’d prefer somewhere in London, but it’s so fucking expensive, Wills. And I spoke to the estate agent in Everly Heath, and they said if I do some work on the house, it will go for loads more.” I waved a hand. “Something about it being great for new families. Especially with the size of the garden.” My voice picked up speed. “So I thought I could renovate it. I’ve always loved the idea of a fixer-upper and this is probably my only opportunity.”
I left out that I woke up with a sick feeling in my stomach. I left out that sometimes I wondered if I’d ever get over it—get over Dad’s death and the mess I’d made at the funeral. I left out that I thought it might give me some closure, some peace.
“Okay.” Willa looked away, nodding. “I’m giving you extended compassionate leave. I can’t afford to pay you for it, but your job will be here when you get back.”
“What?” The blood drained from my face. “No, no, it’s fine. I don’t need it. It’s a stupid idea. I can’t just uproot my life.” I laughed.
Willa rose and sat in the chair next to me. She grabbed my hands and pulled them between us—a rare moment of physical touch from Willa.
“You know I love you.”
I tried to pull my hands back. “Stop being mushy. It’s freaking me out.”
“Shut up.” She squeezed my hands. “You need to hear this. Since the funeral, you’ve been crap. I know that sounds harsh, but you have. I wanted to give you time to process and grieve, but it’s been months, and you aren’t yourself. I get it. When I lost Mum, I was a fucking mess. And it doesn’t go away, not completely. But it does get better. Slowly. But in the last few weeks…” She paused and exhaled. “You’re coming into work more and more pale. You look exhausted. You aren’t the usual you.”
I opened my mouth to object, but Willa ploughed on.
“I wouldn’t expect you to be fine. But I also wouldn’t expect you to be getting worse. I can see you ignoring it and trying to push on. Work isn’t helping. You need time off. Especially after what happened at the funeral— ”
I interjected, not wanting to hear another word about that embarrassing display. “I’m fine. I’ll pull myself together. I know you need all hands on deck—”
Willa’s voice rose an octave. “Renovate the bloody house, will you?” She pointed at me, accusatory. “I’ve seen your Pinterest boards. They aren’t listed as private, you know. I know what you’re like when you have an itch to scratch, especially when it’s something creative. That’s why we need you here. Clients love that vision and that drive. So do the bloody thing and come back. How long do you think you’ll need?”
The cogs of my brain were struggling to keep up. Willa was about four paces ahead of me.
“Ugh—” was all I could manage to get out.
“Two months? I’ll give you two. Then I need you back and focused. We’re planning to pitch to some big clients, and I need everyone with their heads in the game, okay?” She patted my hand. She went to rise out of her seat like the job was done.
Panic pressed down in my chest.
“Willa. This is unnecessary. I don’t even know if I want to go up there. It rains constantly , and it’s not like I have any friends up there. I barely know my family. It’s ridiculous. And my mum would spit feathers—”
“I will say this as gently as possible because it’s what you need to hear. And because we have no HR. Stop listening to your mum. You are strong and capable when you believe in yourself. But the more you listen to your mum—” Willa exhaled. “Look, I like Paula. Mainly because she likes me.”
Mum approved of Willa almost immediately when she saw how accomplished she was. A business owner and so young! Mum had gushed.
Willa pointed a manicured finger. “But you don’t take risks when you listen to her. You get scared. Go and do the damn thing.”
Willa made it sound so simple, but she was right about one thing. I didn’t take risks like this. Mum hadn’t needed my diagnosis to train my impulsivity out of me. If I were a boy, my ADHD would probably have been endearing. I would have run around. I would have fidgeted a lot. I would have been disruptive in class, maybe—an endearing nuisance.
But as a girl, it wasn’t so cute.
As a girl, it was repetitive thinking, daydreaming and anxiety. It was all in my head. It was constantly forgetting things and letting people down, especially as I was diagnosed late and had been forced to mask my symptoms.
“It’s not that simple,” I said uselessly.
“It is now. ’Cos you’re fired.” Willa smiled like she was giving me a gift. “I’ve seen your plans. You have an eye for this stuff, Kat. Trust yourself.”
I played with the hair bobble on my wrist. “Well, I do have each room planned out.”
“Exactly.”
I bit my lip. “And I would come back and be able to focus.”
“Yep.”
“Are you sure? I know you need help here—”
“Kat,” Willa interjected, “if Horizon can’t function for two months without one staff member, I have bigger problems on my hands. Don’t worry about me. I’ve got some things in the pipeline.” Willa idly picked at her nails, then nodded. “By the time you’re back, we’ll have turned it around, trust me.”
Willa stood up, tucking her straight hair behind her ears and touched my shoulder. “I’m excited for you. It will be fun. Try to find some fun, okay?”
I nodded, a lump in my throat.
“Maybe find some sexy local to show you a good time.” She winked. “God knows you need it.”
“Hey!” I said. “I date.”
Willa barked a laugh and nodded sarcastically. “Okay. Beanie-wearing losers with a mattress on the floor. You are really treating yourself.”
Damn it, she’d got me there. That was my type in a nutshell.
“It suits me. I like to keep things casual.”
“You like to keep things non-existent.”
“This is not appropriate for work.”
Willa shrugged, grinning. “I told you—no HR, babes.”
I laughed despite myself.
Willa headed to the door and then turned around. “Oh, and don’t let your mum convince you out of it, okay?”
I winced. That was easier said than done. Mum wanted all of this house business done. She wanted it sold so everyone could move on. And I’d tried to move on. But this particular brand of grief wasn’t all that straightforward. It was thorny and prickly, and the more I ignored it, the more I bled.
“Kat.” Willa’s voice brought me back into her pale pink office. “You promise, yeah? ”
I would have to find a way to convince Mum it was a good idea, to get her on board.
I swallowed. “I promise.”