‘God, yes. Who is Katie?’ he says, trying to plaster over his gaffe with a joke.
‘There isn’t a Katie in the office and I…ummm…I didn’t go on holiday.’
‘But you weren’t here last week,’ he says, tilting his head and frowning.
‘I was.’
‘Oh.’
‘I was in the meeting with the Spooner Group. We took an Uber over to Canary Wharf together for the presentation.’ My eyes widen. It was only a few days ago. Clearly, this is how memorable I am. I even offered him gum. I am also more senior than Thea and Nancy who he seems to have no problem remembering.
‘That was you?’ Julian asks. ‘I thought it was…Of course, you’re Chloe.’
I can’t hide the disappointment in my face that I am so off his radar that he thought I was on holiday last week and he’s just had to double check my name.I’ve only worked here for two years, Julian.I think I’ve taken two holidays in that time because every time I want to get away, there’s a new tender to bid for and it’s a ‘difficult time to have staff on leave’. I literally sit opposite his office in his eyeline and those walls are made of glass. I look over at Nancy and Thea who are not like me; their work rate is poor and their output is always littered with mistakes, but they wear cool clothes, they join in with all the corporate, mildly misogynistic banter in meetings, so heads are turned. They glow out of their very pores, whereas I am the opposite, my bulb turned down so low that I’m barely visible.
‘Well, you learn a new thing every day, eh?’ Julian says, laughing off his gaffe. ‘Did you enjoy Nancy’s wedding reception? I didn’t see you there.’
‘That’s because I wasn’t there,’ I say.I wasn’t invited.
‘Oh, it was very good,’ he continues.
‘I’ve heard. There was beef. I’m hoping the meat kind as opposed to a full-on fight.’ No one laughs again.Please laugh, that was vaguely funny.
‘There wasn’t a fight at my wedding,’ Nancy says, taken aback.
No one laughs. There’s a desperate feeling welling up inside of me that I can’t show for my own pride, my own sanity. I thinkback to all the times I’ve shown up for this business, for him, for these two glowing bitches filling up their water bottles.
‘I really thought your name was Katie,’ Julian says. ‘Easy mistake really. You look like a Katie.’
I give him a tight smile.You look like a twat, but I can’t say that out loud, can I?
‘Right, let’s get some coffee on, ladies,’ he announces. ‘Lots to get done today.’
MARCH
JESS
Tenerife, Spain
‘Señora, is there a problem?’
For the love of Christ.Please, please, please. No, no, no. I desperately don’t want to have to admit this, but yes there is a problem. A major problem. I am stuck. In this dress. And not just stuck. In an attempt to take it off over my shoulders, my arms somehow got stuck in the air, the fabric is tight around me, like someone wedged in a windsock. It’s literally me and my knickers in the wind and they’re not even great knickers; I’m talking about three years old, been around the block, the elastic hanging on by a whisper and a prayer. I’ve seen this happen to a woman on an episode of a programme I’ve binged. Either the firemen came to cut her out or the surgeons had to amputate something because it was stopping her circulation.
‘Estoybien, gracias,’ I reply. I’m not fine but I need at least five minutes’ grace to try and get myself out of this conundrum before I humiliate myself. I need to roll the fabric back down, so I make a strange wave-like motion with my stomach. This is basic physics. But my skin is so clammy and strangely pink thatnothing seems to work. It’s the panic. If I take some deep breaths maybe my body will magically slim down. I fall to my knees and try and rub myself against the velveteen pouffe in the corner. I spy my phone at the top of my open tote bag and look out the corner of the curtain that precariously separates me from the rest of the shop. The sales assistant has disappeared.
‘Siri, call Dean. Put call on speaker.’
‘You’ll need to put in your passcode first.’
‘Piss off, Siri.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t understand that.’
I grab at the fabric around my fingers and try and push it down, kneeling on the floor as I look up to try and type in the numbers. The phone starts to ring.
‘Hola,Señora!’ Dean says chirpily. ‘How are the shops?’
‘Dean, shit. I’m in a pickle.’
