by Unknown
Desperate Bride
Dear Desperate Bride
How about fridge magnets? Big Internet printers do business card fridge magnets for almost peanuts. You can add a photo of yourselves too for that extra personal touch. Always select slow shipping and it will probably cost you under fifteen pounds for fifty! I’m sure the M-i-L-to-be will be impressed she’ll have something to stick on her fridge for all to see.
Penny x x
It’s bad enough walking into work on a Monday morning normally, let alone when you’re walking in with a shiny black eye. Despite being incredibly clumsy and always falling over, I’ve never had a black eye before, and I was very naive to the problems they cause.
We walked into Chez Vivant on Saturday night, and to say I had a lot of make-up would be an understatement. I had practically taken a cement trowel to my face. I made Nikki Minaj seem like she goes for the natural look. And, despite my two-inch thick foundation, my eye got blacker and blacker as the night went on. Instead of shutting us in a curtained booth for privacy, like we were when we got engaged, we were placed in the middle of the dining room. I’d have thought the maître d’ would have wanted to keep us ‘ruffians’ out of the sight of his up-market clientele. But, instead, it seemed that it was better to give them something to gawp at.
I could probably have just about coped with the funny looks that I’ve been given, but that’s been nothing compared to looks that Mark’s been receiving when we’ve been out together in public. People have been giving him the evil eye and I’ve had to tell them that it wasn’t him that gave me the enormous bruise. The problem is that I’ve developed a nervous giggle when I tell them that I got hit in the head by a cricket ball and it makes my story seem so far-fetched they still give Mark the evil eye. He’s now refusing to leave the house with me until the swelling goes down.
‘Penny.’
I freeze on the stairs at hearing Giles’s voice. I turn round and pray that he is too polite to notice that it looks like I met Lennox Lewis at the weekend.
‘Morning, Giles,’ I say, putting on my best pleased-to-beat-work voice.
‘Crikey, Penny. What happened to you?’ No such luck then.
‘I, um, well I had an unfortunate encounter with a cricket ball.’
‘Oh, do you play?’
‘No, just a spectator.’
He nods and the flicker of humanity disappears and the work-mode-robot-Giles appears again.
‘Any luck with bootcamp?’
‘Yes, I’ve found a great place that seems to tick all the criteria.’
By this I mean it has people who will shout at us, it involves losing any hint of personal pride about appearance and it sounds like hell. I’m pretty sure that was the brief from up high.
‘It’s a slight variation on your trip in the States,’ I say continuing. ‘It’s an escape-and-evasion package where we have to complete team-building challenges whilst trying not to get caught by chasers.’
‘Excellent. That sounds excellent. I’d like to come on the trip myself.’
Before I can stop it, a mental image of Giles in a shell-suit circa 1990 appears in my mind. It makes me shudder.
‘Oh, that would be great.’ I’m surprised my nose isn’t growing in Pinocchio fashion.
‘Yes, Gunther is taking a special interest in this, Penny. A really special interest. No pressure.’
I swallow hard. No, no pressure at all. It could be worse though. Gunther could have decided to come on the team-building trip rather than Giles. ‘Have you got an idea of the dates?’
‘Yes, Wednesday 3rd to Thursday 4th July.’
‘Great, that is perfect timing. That will work very nicely indeed.’
I’m surprised at this point that he isn’t rubbing his hands together and cackling as it sounds like he’s got some evil plan.
‘Good,’ I say, trying to share his enthusiasm.
‘So, have you thought how you might pick who gets to go on the trip?’
I think I should do a raffle. Those whose lucky numbers come up get to stay behind and those that lose have to come to wet-Wales.
‘I thought I’d invite each department head to nominate three individuals based on who they think would benefit the most. You know, those who would make good leadership candidates.’
‘Great. Seems like you’ve thought of everything.’
‘Hopefully,’ I say. We’ve arrived at my desk and I remain standing awkwardly next to my chair. Shelly looks up and is looking between me and Giles as if she is trying to work out what we’re talking about. I see the two steaming hot cups of Costa coffee on her desk. I’m guessing the extra one isn’t for me.
Giles flashes a quick smile at me before turning and walking away. ‘Morning, Shelly, Marie,’ he says as he passes.
I see Shelly look down at the coffee on her desk and back at Giles. I’m wondering whether she’s going to run after him and give him the drink.
‘Do you fancy a coffee, Pen?’ says Shelly, passing the cup between our desks. Marie looks over, she’s obviously as confused as I am. We both thought it was destined for Giles. Marie gives me a quick conspiratorial wink. She isn’t being left out – she’s a tea-only girl.
‘Thanks, Shelly. That’s really nice of you.’
I take it from her and have a quick sip. My head is nearly blown off by the strength of it. Clearly it wasn’t originally destined for me, I’m more of a latte drinker and this tastes distinctly like a black coffee with an extra shot of espresso. Why didn’t she give it to Giles when she had the chance? Surely that would have earned her some brownie points.
I know where Shelly lives and there isn’t a Costa near her. The only time we’ve ever gone out of our way for treats for the office is the week that the new branch of Krispy Kreme opened.
‘Well you look like you could do with it. Did you …’
I raise my eyebrows at Shelly as I try and get her to spit out what she’s trying to say.
‘Did you, um you know, have a rough weekend?’ she says, hurriedly.
Oh, the black eye. That’s what she’s looking at. Or, more accurately, that’s why she’s looking down at her desk and avoiding eye contact.
‘I had a great weekend. I just went to watch a cricket match and a rogue ball hit me.’
I can tell that Shelly, like most people I’ve told, is trying to work out if I’m telling the truth or not.
‘That’s a bit unlucky.’
‘Sure was. Well, thanks for the coffee, Shel. So, are you doing the appraisal stuff today?’
‘Yeah, I’ve got a meeting with the design department to go through some test processes.’
My nostrils do an involuntary flare of jealousy. Shelly gets to hob-nob round the office with different departments in the conference rooms, where it’s nice and warm and dry. And I get to hang out with them in the mud when everyone will be just about ready to kill me. It’s not exactly a level playing field.
‘Well, have fun.’
‘Thanks.’
Shelly turns back to her computer and I switch mine on to see what joys the weekend has bought, but my mobile rings before my login loads.
It’s Mary from my gambling group. What does she want?
‘Hello, Mary,’ I say as I answer it. Mary has never phoned me during office hours. In fact, she’s only phoned me once before when we were organising our Christmas do.
‘Hi, Penny. Have I caught you before work?’
‘I’ve just got in actually. Hang on a second.’
I’m wondering what could have happened to warrant a phone call before nine a.m. on Monday. I’m very aware that Shelly has her head cocked to the side as if she might be listening. I stand up, walk away from my desk and find myself in the safety of the stairwell. No one knows about my dirty little secret at work, and that’s the way I want it to stay. I know from personal experience when dealing with other colleagues who have had personal problems that you just don’t look at them in the same way after.
‘Sorry a
bout that, I needed to go outside. Is everything all right?’
‘It’s Beth.’
Mary sighs the kind of sigh which makes me think this isn’t going to be something I want to hear.
‘What about her?’
‘Her mother called me to say that she went to a casino on Saturday night.’
‘A casino? She’s not old enough to go inside, surely?’
‘There was something about a fake ID.’
‘Right,’ I do a sigh to match Mary’s. What is Beth playing at?
‘Her mum’s worried that if she’s doing that, she could still be gambling online. How’s she doing with giving up?’
I bite my lip and start to feel a little guilty that I’ve been neglecting Beth over the last few weeks. I meant to drop round and see her, to see how she was getting on but what with everything that’s been going on, I haven’t had time. Aside from when she came over to mine for tea and cake about a month ago, I’ve only seen her briefly at the Tuesday meetings.
‘Actually, I haven’t really got through to her properly yet and I get the impression she’s still …’ I desperately don’t want to say the ‘g’ word at work. ‘Still, you know, although I don’t know how.’
‘I was hoping that wasn’t the case. Do you want me to help you with her? I mean, are you not connecting? I hoped with you being the youngest mentor, that you’d be the most likely to get through to her.’
Mary’s making me feel awful. I should have been making more of an effort.
‘We’re connecting fine. She’s just evasive when it comes to meeting up. But I’ll try harder. I’ll drop round on my way home from work tonight. See if we can have a little chat.’
‘Would you, Penny? That would be a great help. Her mum’s so upset, and getting her into the group was her last hope.’
‘I’ll get it sorted, Mary.’
‘Thanks, Penny. And maybe you could try and do that looking to the future stuff. Talk about your university days or courses she might want to do?’
‘Yes, I’ll try.’
‘Great, well I’ll not keep you as you’re at work. Thanks, Penny. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Will do, Mary. I’ll let you know how I get on. Wish me luck.’
‘Good luck!’
I hang up and stare at my phone. Trust me to get stuck with the teenager. I can’t believe she went to a casino. There’s a tiny bit of me that’s impressed that she even managed to get in as she looks young for her age. But really, what’s she playing at?
When I went to the group I realised I had a problem and I wanted to do everything I possibly could to get rid of the habit. But Beth didn’t come to the group voluntarily. Her mum wanted her to and therein lies the problem.
I think that Beth’s mum hoped that if she just got her through the doors, that we’d cast a magic spell and she’d kick the habit, only the rest of us know that it isn’t that easy. It takes all your self-control not to go online and dabble. You’ve got to want to give up. I’ve been clean for well over a year, but even now I still get tempted sometimes. Whenever I feel the urge, I write a post or reply to a comment on my Princess-on-a-Shoestring blog instead. I get a buzz knowing that people value my site, and it’s a high that isn’t followed by the kind of low I used to get when I lost gambling. What Beth needs is a distraction, something else to put her energies into.
I slowly walk back to my desk, wondering what I’m going to do about Beth. How am I supposed to get through to a teenager? I used to think I was still practically a teenager myself, but the limited time I’ve spent with Beth has made me realise that there might as well be a hundred years between us rather than the ten or, cough, twelve years there actually is.
‘Everything all right?’ asks Shelly.
I sit back down at my desk and look over at her. She’s actually got a concerned look on her face and it’s not her rubbing in that I’m taking a personal call at work. It must be the black eye. Maybe there are some perks to it after all.
‘I mean, if you want some personal time, you know, to sort stuff out, I’ll cover for you if anyone asks.’
I look up at her in surprise. Of course, over the years Shelly and I have done a lot of that kind of thing. But not since we’ve been in direct competition for the promotion.
‘I’m fine. But thank you, I appreciate it. It’s just a friend with a problem. Nothing that can’t wait until after work.’
Or at least I hope it can wait until after work. I haven’t got time today to think about it any more, I’ve got a load of graduate application forms to sift.
‘Well, just let me know if you need to sort anything out for this, “friend”.’
Shelly has just done air quotes around the word friend. I stare at her open-mouthed and really I want to scream, it is a friend with the problem – not me. But what’s the use? No one believes me about the black eye. It seems that when a story forms about how I got my shiner, it’s impossible to get them to change their mind.
I get on with my work instead. After fire-fighting the weekend emails, I pick up the pile of applications. The first sift is just to eliminate those without the required number of UCAS points and the right type of degree. And then, on the second round, I’ll start to look at the more nitty-gritty reasons as to why they think we should employ them, essentially looking for key buzz words. From there, Marie will double-check my selections, and then I give the shortlisted candidates to the managers of the relevant departments to look through. Sounds simple, yet with the economy being in such a dire state for graduates, the last few years has seen the applications shoot up by about 400 per cent. What used to be a couple of days’ work for me, now takes me about a week.
I’ve only made it through two applications when my phone rings. I sigh and wonder if it’s Mary again. Or if Beth has phoned me to admit her problems. But, on picking up the phone, I see that it’s Henri. I roll my wrist over to see the time: 9.17 a.m. What’s wrong with everyone today? Despite me laying down the ground rules, it seems that my definition of an emergency differs dramatically from Henri’s. From my experience of these 999 emergency drill calls, I know it’s easier to pick up the phone on the first call rather than the fifth or sixth. Henri is usually much calmer and I won’t have annoyed all my work colleagues in the process.
‘Hello,’ I whisper into the phone.
‘Penny. Sorry, is this a bad time?’
‘Um, yes, I’m at work.’
‘Ah, me too. Look, I’ll be quick. I was just thinking, do you think we could have big lights around the side of the marquee? You know, like big fairylights, ordinary sized bulbs but multi-coloured? To give it an English summer fête feel.’
Surely this isn’t why Henri has just phoned me? When I’m at work.
‘Um, is that all?’
‘Yes, I was just thinking about it, and it hit me, literally like a lightbulb,’ she says, laughing at her pun.
‘Right. Why don’t you make a list of these “lightbulbs” and we’ll discuss them in the evenings?’ I whisper into the phone. ‘I mean, there’s a lot to do before we get to the lighting side of things.’
Like actually hiring a marquee to hang the lights on.
‘OK, Penny. That’s a great idea. I’ll make a list and email it over to you.’
‘Great, I’ll, um—’
I look up as I’ve become aware that there’s a shadow over my desk. There, standing in front of me, is Giles. I almost drop the phone in horror.
‘I’ll call you later.’
I hang up and fumble the phone across the desk as I try and compose myself.
‘Sorry, Giles, I had a bit of a personal issue,’ I say, lowering my voice.
Giles, like Shelly, avoids eye contact.
‘Right, um. Well, if you need to take some time to get anything sorted then, um, feel free.’
This black eye’s amazing. Maybe I could get Mark to actually give me a quick nudge every so often. Before I even digest what I’ve thought, the image of Mark’s face after
people think that he’s a wife-beater pops into my head. I never want to see that look on his face ever again, he looked so hurt.
‘Thanks, Giles, but I think I’ll soldier on,’ I say in my melodramatic soap actress voice. I’m surprised that I didn’t take the back of my hand to my forehead and mock faint into my pile of papers.
‘Very noble, Penny. I’ve just had a word with Gunther about the team-building event and he’s very pleased you’ve managed to organise it. In fact, he wants to come too as he’s over in the UK that week for some meetings. I thought I’d let you know in person as I knew you’d be pleased.’
I’m actually in danger of fainting into my pile of papers for real now. Gunther is coming to Wales? Gunther, the CEO of the company, is coming? Gunther, who grew the company from his father’s basement when he was a teenager?
‘That’s, um,’ Penny, think of an adjective that isn’t a swear word. ‘That’s, um … wonderful,’ I manage to spit out.
‘I know. It will be great. An excellent opportunity for impressing him,’ says Giles.
I’m wondering if he means for him or for me. As the trip of doom is going to have the morale of an excursion to an abattoir, the only thing that will be impressive is if I’m not lynched by the end.
‘Great,’ I say in a squeaky I’m-having-trouble-breathing-type-of-way.
Giles disappears as quietly as he came over and I’m left trying to process the information. If only I still had the paper bag I used to carry round when I was having panic attacks during my gambling days, it would have come in handy, right about now.
‘Are you OK, Penny?’ asks Shelly.
I know the colour must have drained from my face.
‘You know what? No, I’m not. I think I need to take a moment.’
I know it’s going to take more than a moment to sort myself out. I glance down at my watch, it’s not even ten a.m. yet. I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that this is going to be a very long week.
chapter eight
princess-on-a-shoestring friend or foe:
Table Centres
