Page 121 of Love Letters on Hazel Lane

Either Si had changed his number or he was ignoring her.

She had texted him six times. No reply.

It was worse than waiting for messages on Buzzz, she thought ruefully. Far, far worse.

She looked up at Mona, still staring down at her from the wall.

‘Bloody men,’ she said.

She could have sworn that the Mona Lisa’s enigmatic smile got the tiniest bit broader.

Jo couldn’t settle to anything. At lunchtime, she’d gone for a walk round the shops, hoping that some fresh air would help her restless legs. She’d idly browsed through racks of clothes in TK Maxx in the hope of finding something a little bit special for her date with Razz at the weekend. If it was a date. She still wasn’t sure. And, in a way, she hoped it wasn’t a date. Much as she wanted to be with Razz, she wanted to get this business with Si over with first. To close that particular book before starting a new one. Anyway, she still didn’t know if the feelings with Razz were mutual, though she suspected that they were.

The fresh air hadn’t helped. She sat at her desk now, trying to plough through as much as she could. Despite how Leona had treated her, she was determined that when she left, she wouldn’t be leaving a huge mound of work for Leona to deal with.

‘Jo,’ David called, sticking his head out of his office. ‘Have you time for a chat?’

His tone was mellow. Friendly, even.

Not a missing spreadsheet then, she thought.

‘Yeah, sure,’ she said. ‘I’ll be there in a minute.’

A few weeks ago, she’d have jumped up immediately if he’d called her. But now, she was going to finish typing her sentence before making sure to save her document.

‘How can I help?’ she said.

‘I owe you an apology. I went into your computer at lunchtime, whilst you were out, looking for a document…’

Oh. So there was another missing spreadsheet? Was she in trouble again?

Jo was surprised to realise that she didn’t feel nervous.

In fact, he was the one who seemed nervous.

‘And did you find it?’ she asked. ‘The missing document? I’m sorry if I filed something on my own drive that should have been on the shared drive.’

‘No, it’s not that. Leona told me about Love Letters. She confessed that it was your idea, not hers. And I found the original document on your drive, which proves it. I owe you a huge apology, Jo. I should have believed you. After all the years you’ve loyally served this company, you deserve better, and I’m sorry.’

Jo was surprised; that was the last thing she’d expected. It must have taken a lot for Leona to admit her mistake. Hats off to her. She stood up to leave. ‘Thanks, David. Apology accepted.’

‘Sit down, Jo,’ said David, then added, ‘Please. Leona also said that stepping into Caroline’s shoes was proving too much for her.’

Jo decided she would be magnanimous. 16 points. ‘She’ll pick it up. She’s more than capable.’

‘Actually, she’s agreed to step down,’ he said. ‘So I’d like to offer you the job.’

*

She should have told him there and then, she thought, that she wasn’t going to take it. That she was, in fact, leaving Pop! Productions altogether and had already drafted her resignation letter. But she hadn’t; instead, she’d asked if she could slip off early, have a bit of time to think about it and he’d readily agreed.

She’d switched off her computer, picked up her bag and headed out of the office. It was fantastic timing, she thought, managing to wangle an hour or two off right when she needed it. And it wasn’t as if she wouldn’t make up the time. Anyway, she’d done more than enough hours of unpaid overtime for Pop! Productions over the years. Leaving the office at five past four was hardly a biggy, was it?

She walked through Manchester, past the statues of the giant Vimto bottle and Archimedes springing out of his bath, seconds after his eureka moment, and reached Piccadilly Station out of breath. Because of her fast pace, perhaps? Or at the thought of what she was about to do?

The next train to Liverpool Lime Street wasn’t for fifteen minutes. Jo bought a ticket, then waited on the platform, hopping from foot to foot. She glanced at her watch: still another few minutes. Would she be on time, she wondered? The train to Liverpool took a little under an hour, which meant she’d arrive at about half past five. And then, when she got there, she’d have to walk through the city and down to the smart office block near the Albert Docks. What was that? A ten-minute walk? Fifteen, perhaps? She’d be cutting it fine.

*