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‘Please, Min, let it go,’ I say tiredly. ‘It’s one weekend of my life. I think we can all get through it without killing each other.’
‘We’ve got nearly seven weeks,’ Min says, changing tack with dizzying speed. ‘I’ve got this great diet – you’ll love it. Paleo meets Weight Watchers, you’ll drop a stone without even noticing. I’d lend you something of mine to wear, but you’re too tall—’
I hear small footsteps upstairs, and close the kitchen door so I’m not overheard.
‘Min, I’m not trying to compete with Caz. That ship has sailed. She’s twenty-nine and looks like a supermodel, whereas my boobs are in a race to my navel, and even my earlobes have wrinkles. I could diet my arse off and I’d still never have her cheekbones.’ I sigh. ‘I appreciate the pep talk, but even if I could afford a celebrity makeover, what’s the point? How would breaking up Kit’s family help anyone now?’
‘It would putyourfamily back together.’
‘No. It wouldn’t.’
Min’s scowl fills the screen. ‘You’re too nice.’
I eye the invitation on the mantelpiece. Andrew and I had a deal. A deal that didn’t involve accepting invitations to my parents’ golden wedding celebrations, orcoming anywhere near the rest of my family, for that matter. A deal he’s broken, even though I told him there’d be consequences.
‘Actually, Min,’ I say, turning the invitation face down. ‘I’m not that nice.’
Chapter 3
Caz
Angie is already jammed in our usual corner at the bar of the Chelsea Potter when I arrive. The pub is packed, with people spilling out onto the street, and it takes me several minutes to elbow my way to her side. ‘That better be a double,’ I say grimly, as she hands me a gin and tonic.
She raises a pierced eyebrow as I drain it in a single gulp. ‘Tough day?’
‘Tough week, and it’s still only Thursday.’ I slide onto the stool she’s saved me and put my mobile on the bar in case Andy calls. ‘You’re not going to believe this. Tina Murdoch’s going to be my liaison on the Univest account.’
Angie whistles. ‘You’re kidding. How the fuck did she pull that off?’
‘Her career’s soared since she left us and joined Univest.’ I signal to the barman for another drink, twisting my long blonde hair up away from my face and securing it with a silver clip. ‘What I can’t get over is why Patrick’s agreed to it. After she sabotaged us onthe Tetrotek ad campaign, you’d think he wouldn’t let her within a hundred metres of the building.’
Angie reaches for a bowl of pistachios. ‘If he’s on board, you’re stuck with it. Think you can work with her?’
‘Not so far. She’s nixed every idea I’ve presented, and already gone over my head to Patrick to complain. She’s insisting on bringing in a PR consultant from outside. I almost hope he takes me off the campaign and gives it to someone else.’
‘No, you don’t.’
‘No, I don’t.’ I scowl at my drink. ‘I’m not going to let Tina win, but if this goes on, one of us is going to end up in a body bag.’
Tina Murdoch, my bête noire. Last time we worked together, she almost got me fired. The irony is, she’s the one who gave me my big break in advertising, promoting me to a major campaign when I was only in my first year at Whitefish. She saw herself as my mentor, and made a big show of supporting the ‘sisterhood’ and helping young women up the ladder. Then she introduced me to Andy at an RSPCA fundraiser whose campaign Whitefish had worked on – although Andy doesn’t remember that first meeting. But when Andy and I officially became an item, my relationship with Tina instantly went south. I suspect she had her eyes on him herself, but whatever it was that chapped her ass, she’s had it in for me ever since.
I haven’t even worked up a campaign pitch for Univest yet, let alone presented it, but Tina’s insistingon a written promotional plan, copy platform details, and a full budget breakdown per territory and media format, all by the end of the month. It’s impossible, and she knows it. Nolan, our Creative Director, is threatening to quit, and the rest of the creatives are on the verge of revolting. Although, as Andy dryly pointed out last night when I’d finished ranting, they’re pretty revolting at the best of times.
Angie clinks her glass to mine. ‘Fuck it. It’s nearly Friday.’
‘Yeah. Fuck it.’
She cracks open another pistachio, and tosses the shells back in the bowl. ‘You in town this weekend? There’s a great band playing at Borderline on Saturday night.’
I grimace. ‘Can’t. We’re in Brighton.’
‘Shit,again?’
‘It’s our weekend with the kids.’
‘Can’t they come up here? My sister would babysit for the night.’
‘Louise won’t let them.’ I reach across the counter for the bowl of pistachios. ‘She says they’re too young to travel up on the train on their own. It’s ridiculous. Bella’s sixteen. At her age, I was hitching to Crete.’ I sigh. ‘Mind you, there’s barely enough room to swing a cat in our flat, never mind find room for three kids. Kit has to bunk in with Tolly, and Bella ends up on the sofa with her shit all over the place. At least in Brighton, they have their own bedrooms.’
