‘What choice do I have? Thanks to her reclusiveness and her recent stint in rehab, Marcie is the only artist that could generate the sales we need.’
‘Well, there’s still Hands Down, and Nick Jones is rather keen.’
Anger flared in my gut. ‘Are you and he planning something behind my back?’
‘We’ve spoken a couple of times.’
I shook my head. This wasn’t like Mike at all – it had to be Nick’s doing.
‘I will hit those targets and I’ll do it the right way, Mike.’
*
Back at my desk, I had a missed call from Nick and an email. Sod him. He’d made his bed with Mike, he could bloody well lie in it. I would find another way to get to Marcie.
I’d managed to get a couple of hours’ work done when Jody called from reception.
‘You’ve got some visitors.’ Then, without waiting for me to ask who, she added: ‘I’m sending them up.’
I heard them before I saw them. My parents marching towards me in matching reversible jackets, making that swishing sound that only anoraks produce. I checked the sky out of the window. Not a single cloud. But that didn’t stop the voice in my head scolding me for not having brought an umbrella today. My parents could smell rain two continents over.
‘Mum, Dad, what are you doing here? Is everything okay?’
‘We came to do some shopping and wanted to say hello,’ Mum replied. ‘You’ve got a big M&S up here.’
Dad was not known for his love of shopping, and it was only now that I noticed he was carrying something that looked suspiciously like a toolbox.
Gavin was staring at me with ill-concealed glee. Crap, what had I told the office about my folks that was about to bite me on the backside?
Before I could warn him to be discreet, he spun round in his chair to face them. ‘Hello Mr and Mrs Frixos, I’m Gavin.’
They shook hands, their expressions mirroring Gav’s delight.
I was racked by filial guilt that this was the first time they’d ever come to the office and I hadn’t thought to make the introductions myself.
‘Shall I give you a tour?’
Dad held up the plastic case he was carrying. ‘I brought my tools so I can fix your dishwasher.’
‘You don’t have to do that, Dad.’ Surely there was some sort of health and safety directive he’d be infringing?
‘Oh, that’s great,’ said Lucy, who’d mooched over. ‘It was my turn to buy the washing-up liquid – now I don’t have to bother. I’m Lucy, by the way.’
I glared at her. ‘Maybe you could go and get some dishwasher tablets, then.’
‘Oh, we’ve got loads of them,’ she replied. ‘We haven’t been able to use them in weeks.’
Dad shook his head in a ‘this is serious’ way. I needed to get them away from Lucy before she accidentally let slip that last week I’d got a mild electric shock when I’d tried to sort out a paper jam in our dodgy photocopier.
‘Why don’t I make us all a nice cup of tea,’ I suggested, trying to herd them towards the kitchenette.Please God, don’t let there be a half-eaten curry in the microwave.
‘So, what have you been up to since the weekend?’ I asked Mum as we waited for the kettle to boil. Well, Mum and I were waiting for the kettle; Dad had declined the offer of caffeine and was already unscrewing the sides of the dishwasher and inching it away from the wall.
‘We went to see Father Michalis today to go over everything for the wedding. He asked about you.’
I hadn’t been to church for years, so I suspected I was about to get a telling-off.
‘That’s nice,’ I muttered, hoping I could avoid what was coming. Perhaps I could develop a sudden interest in broken dishwashers and join Dad on the floor...
