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“What was I saying?” Sophie comes back on the line.
“Did you post it to my old address?”
“Oh bollocks.”
“They’ll probably be with Andrew’s concierge.”
“You’d better fetch them quickly. I don’t want your concierge to wear the niceAgent Provocateurlingerie I sent you.”
I giggle at the image of Reggie Cobber wearing lace underwear. “It’ll do him more good than me, given how things stand.”
“No, go and get them. What?”
Is this last “what?” to me or to her family?
“I can’t go, I’m on my way to work.”
“Why are you working over the Christmas week?”
I start to tell her, again, but she interrupts. “No David, not the polar express, I already read them that. Honestly.” She comes back to the phone. “You’d think he can read them a bedtime story without my supervision.”
“Look Sophie you’re busy, and I need to catch my bus.”
“Okay, sorry Elodie. I really miss you. Come soon. Come in January when the kids are back in school.”
“I can’t. My course, remember?”
“Oh, then maybe February. Call soon, Mum misses you. Bye darling…what?” She seems to be speaking to someone else as she ends the call.
Happy birthday Elodie. I mutter under my breath as I put my phone away. I hope next year brings you more joy.
Thanks, Soph I answer myself. How nice of you to remember.
The woman in purple gives me a curious look as the bus arrives, and we both climb aboard.
I love my sister, but ever since the twins were born, she has more or less disappeared from my life. Every call is a bit like this, snatched words she only half hears between arranging activities for her little girls.
Chapter Three
Elodie
Courses are always held on the second floor. I’m too impatient to wait for the lift, so I hurry up the stairs to the training suite. There’s an easel with lists of names and workshop room numbers, but I can’t find my name.
There must be some mistake, I read through all the lists slowly.
Twice.
Then go down to the office to find out.
“Nothing personal, it’s just that there are limited places,” Jo explains ten minutes later. Jo is the kind of co-ordinator who is all sweetness on the outside like an air hostess.
“But I was offered a place,” I repeat for the third time.
“Yes, but all offers are at the management’s discretion and places are given based on job priorities. It’s employees whose duties require marketing skills. Your job as a manuscript assistant doesn’t require this training.”
“So basically, I can’t get into the marketing course unless I have the right kind of job and I can’t have the right job unless I have the training?” Surely even she can see how ridiculous a Catch-22 this is.
“It’s not my decision.” She falls back on the lamest excuse. Jo is impatient with me now and can’t see why I’m still here arguing. “Look, you need to take this up with your manager” – she checks her screen – “Steve Shepton…”
