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“Mark, there’s something I need to tell you before you go any further. I’ve been reflecting over Christmas, and I’ve decided that I won’t be tendering for any more work.”
“What? I thought that you’d accepted our apology. Look, if there’s something more that we need to do…”
“It’s not about that. I’ve really enjoyed the last ten years, but you know as well as I do that you can’t do this job forever. There comes a point where you want to spend more time in just one place and start to have a more normal life. I’ve reached that point.”
He studies me for a long time before he speaks.
“I can’t say I’m not disappointed, because you’re one of the best writers I’ve worked with. I’m not just saying that to make you feel good, you genuinely are. You have an ability to bring a place to life and make the reader feel that they’ve been there. It’s a rare talent, and I doubt I’ll find anyone as good to replace you. But I do understand. You’re describing exactly how I felt when I gave it up. The stuff you have done this last year with Toby has been truly exceptional. I’m not exaggerating when I say it’s game-changing.”
“Thank you. I have enjoyed working with him,” I’m surprised how hard this is to say, “and we were both very grateful for the award. However, even if I hadn’t decided to give this up, Toby and I wouldn’t have continued working together,” I search for a plausible excuse. “It was becoming too much pressure.”
“I understand. You two have been revolutionary though, and our circulation figures have risen sharply over the last year. I think you can both take some credit for that.”
I smile at him. “It’s been a lot of fun, and I just want to say thank you to you and Voyages Luxes for all the opportunities you’ve given me over the years. I really appreciate it, and I wish you every success in the future.”
I stand up to go. Now that the initial shock from the start of the meeting has subsided, and I’ve had the opportunity to say my piece, I feel strangely calm and detached. I’m just about to step out into the main reception area when I see Peter come through the security barriers into the reception area. He’s carrying a box, and is accompanied by the woman I assume is Deborah. I watch as they walk to the reception desk, where he hands in his pass. He looks completely defeated and, despite his efforts to destroy my career, I feel terribly sorry for him.
“Where do you think he’ll go?” I ask Mark.
“No idea. I’m sure he’ll find something that suits him better,” he replies.
As Peter turns around, he sees me through the glass. I’m expecting his face to contort with anger, as it did at the Gala Dinner, but it doesn’t. For a moment it looks like he’s mouthing the word ‘sorry’ at me as he walks towards the front door, but I’m sure my mind must be playing tricks on me.
“Before you go, I’ve just had a thought,” Mark pipes up, suddenly. “Have you got five more minutes?”
“Sure,” I reply, and sit back down at the table.
“Peter’s departure leaves us with a vacancy in the editorial department. How would you feel about applying for it?”
“Are you offering me a job?”
“Not exactly. We have to advertise the vacancy, but off the record I’m sure we’d be very receptive to an application from you. You have tons of experience, you know the market, and you know good writing when you see it. These are all qualities we look for. Plus, your spelling and grammar are first rate. I can’t remember the last time we had to correct your work. Think about it? I imagine the vacancy will be posted on our company website in the next few days.”
“Thank you, Mark,” I tell him as I stand to leave again. “I will think about it, I promise.”
It’s all I can do not to cartwheel down the pavement as I leave the offices. Not only did I get to leave on my own terms, but the perfect job is within my grasp. I’m just about to do a little skip of joy, when I spot Peter, sitting outside the same café I sat outside almost a year ago. He’s got a cup of coffee, and his box of possessions is balanced precariously on the rickety table. He looks so pathetic that I find myself drawn to him, even though he’s never had a nice word to say to me in the entire time I’ve known him.
“I’m really sorry, Peter,” I say to him.
He looks up at me, and I’m surprised to see no malice in his face at all.
“Don’t be,” he replies. “I brought it on myself, I know that. In a funny way it’s probably a good thing. I’ve wanted to be a travel writer since I was very young. All the other kids in my class wanted to be footballers or pop stars, but I wanted nothing more than to see the world and write about it. It turns out, of course, that it’s not as easy as that. You can’t just will yourself into a job like that, you need talent, and it didn’t take me very long to realise that I didn’t have any. But I was lucky, and I managed to get the editing job instead. It was as close to my dream as I knew I was ever going to get, so I slogged away dutifully at it. Unfortunately, it turned out that I wasn’t much good at that either, and I found it a real struggle.
“When I first met you, I was so envious of you. There you were, young, beautiful, posh, and so, so fucking talented. Excuse my language, but you are. You made it look easy, and I hated you for it, because you were producing stuff that was better than anything I’d dreamed of writing, and you didn’t even appear to break a sweat. It all just seemed so unfair, and I started to get a bit obsessed about bringing you down. When I saw what people were saying online about the Bellavista, I thought this was my opportunity to prove that you weren’t as infallible as you appeared to be. You were supposed to be Icarus, and I reckoned I was the sun that was going to melt your wings. I was so pleased when I showed my findings to Mark and he called you in. I knew he was going to let you go and I thought I’d won. Only you took it, made something even better from it, and then won a bloody award! I think that tipped me over the edge. I knew that I’d gone too far as soon as I woke the next day, so I wasn’t surprised when I got called in this morning. I’m sorry, Madison. I really am.”
“What will you do now?” I ask him.
“Nothing to do with writing or editing!” he laughs. “I don’t know yet. They were kind enough to give me a severance package, which they didn’t have to do. It was ‘in recognition of my many years of service’, apparently. I’m sure I’ll find something.”
“I hope you do. Good luck, Peter.”
“Thanks. Good luck yourself.”
