The idea didn’t immediately appeal. I wanted to keep Simon to myself for a bit longer. I couldn’t explain it, though.
‘He’s really busy with work.’
Georgia frowned. ‘That’s not going to cut it, my dear. Bring him to Dean’s surprise birthday.’
She’d been planning a fancy-dress party for her husband, Dean, with military precision for months. Many a lunch had been taken up discussing the finer details: were cheese and pineapple sticks ironically retro or just plain odd? This was my chance to divert the conversation away from Simon.
‘Have you picked out a costume?’
‘Of course.’
‘What about Dean? He can’t be the only one not in fancy dress, George.’
‘Got his sorted, too. It’s the white uniform fromAn Officer and a Gentleman. He’ll love it. Or at least, he’ll love it when he sees how hot I find him in it.’
‘You’ve thought of everything!’ I said.
‘I have to – I can’t just have fun at the drop of a hat anymore. I haven’t had a drink for two years. His mum’s going to take the twins for the night and we’re going to bloody well enjoy it.’
I had a quick glimpse of the old Georgia. The one who wasn’t weighed down by having to keep two mini-humans alive. It was great to see her excited by something other than her babies’ digestive tracts.
‘Looking forward to it, Georgia.’
*
After lunch, I swung by Mike’s office to give him an update on the forthcoming issue. But of course, after a few minutes, the conversation strayed towards the longer-term future of the magazine – and if it still had one.
‘I spoke to Ed the Shred, earlier,’ said Mike.
My muscles tightened. Ed Fairbanks was the head of special projects at Octagon. No one really knew what he did, but his job mainly involved firing people and slashing budgets. Hence his nickname, Ed the Shred.
‘What did he want?’
Mike rubbed the back of his neck. ‘He’s set all of us new sales targets.’
All of usincluded the two other magazines the company had recently bought – a car review monthly and a baking magazine. None of us had anything to do with one another, although I sometimes wondered whether I could swap some of my comp gig tickets for salted caramel cupcakes.
‘What numbers are we talking about?’
‘We’d need to double our ad sales.’
If I hadn’t been sitting, my knees would have given way.
‘Why do they keep moving the goalposts?’
Mike sighed. ‘Rumour has it that Ed the Shred wants to come in as executive editor if these new targets aren’t reached.’
‘He’d come in over my head?’
Mike pursed his lips. ‘You’d be out, and I suspect the rest of the team wouldn’t be that far behind.’
‘But...’ I went woozy for a second. ‘Ed isn’t a journalist and he knows nothing about music.’
‘I don’t disagree, Zoë. What they aren’t saying is that Ed’s tenure would be short-lived. He’d come in, strip everything he can from theRe:Soundbrand and then close the magazine. We’d be lucky if we ended up with an internet radio station.’
I stared at him, dumbfounded.
‘Are you sure you still want to focus all your energy on getting Marcie Tyler?’
