Don’t tell the Boss

by Unknown

  ‘Cat,’ I say, in shock.

  ‘You’ve got the same look on your face that Mum had when she came to pick me up last week.’

  ‘It’s just a big change from what you looked like before.’

  ‘Hmm, those weren’t my mum’s exact words,’ says Cat giggling mischievously.

  ‘Do you mind?’ I say, pointing to her arm. Cat shakes her head and I take her arm to study it in detail. The artwork is amazing, all full-colour; there are flowers and people and abstract shapes, and it really is a work of art. But why she would want to get it done is beyond me. She’s always going to have them; Cat’s nineteen-year-old arms will stay encapsulated like this for ever. I squint and try and imagine what her arms would be like if she puts on weight or got bingo wings. Or, heaven forbid, in a wedding dress. I know, I’m sounding old before my time.

  ‘They’re lovely,’ I say. I hope that I’m doing the right thing introducing Beth, the impressionable teenager, to Cat. I’m failing miserably as a mentor trying to get Beth to stop gambling, I’m sure that her mother would be even less impressed if I managed to plant the idea in her head that she should get tattoos and ear tunnels.

  ‘I’m just dreading going to see Nanny Violet,’ says Cat.

  Now that, I’d like to see. Mark’s got a little tattoo on the side of his arm, it’s a tribal symbol, the type that was big in the nineties. He still never lets his Nanny Violet know he’s got it. He has to make sure that when he goes to see her in the summer, his T-shirts are long enough to cover it, and if he’s got his top off on holiday, I always have to stand in front of it when photos are taken.

  ‘Good luck with that one,’ I say smiling.

  I look up and see that Beth is coming towards us. She’s walking slowly and unsurely over to us, and I guess she’s probably shy about meeting an older teen.

  ‘Hey, Beth,’ I say.

  ‘Hey,’ she mumbles.

  ‘This is my husband Mark’s cousin Cat, Cat, this is my friend Beth.’

  ‘Nice to meet you. Penny tells me you want to hear what being at uni is like?’

  Beth looks unsurely at me and I nod at her.

  ‘Yeah, I guess,’ she says.

  I cringe, this is going to be like pulling teeth.

  ‘I’ve been trying to tell Beth what my uni experiences were like, but I’m guessing things are a bit different now. I couldn’t imagine what it’s like with Facebook. When we took photos they were for the eyes only of those who saw the developed copies.’

  ‘Oh my God. How old are you, Pen?’ laughs Cat.

  I give her my best stern look.

  ‘Yeah, I guess it’s changed a lot. We used to have to queue up in the library to use the printers and the Internet.’

  ‘You didn’t even have Internet connection?’

  ‘No. Not in our student houses off campus. I used to type my emails in the middle of the night, on the way home from the students’ union, when the computers were free. My poor mother thought I had an alcohol problem as she didn’t get a sober email from me for three years.’

  ‘Beth, it’s nothing like that now.’

  Now I really feel like a dinosaur. It wasn’t even ten years ago that I left uni, but by the eye-rolling and looks I’m getting from the girls, I know that I’ve got nothing to add to this conversation.

  ‘Why don’t I go grab us some drinks. Cat, you could start by talking about where you live and your friends, and then talk about your course.’

  ‘Sure. So I, like, live in halls with three guys and two other girls.’

  I drift off inside the coffee shop and let them get on with it. There’s clearly a lot about Cat I don’t know, and although I’m slightly dreading what she’s telling Beth, I think they’re better off talking by themselves. Penny the dinosaur will only get in the way.

  After I deposit their drinks on the table, I excuse myself and, as we’re in the town centre, I decide to pop into a hiking shop. The escape and evasion trip is approaching rapidly and, unless I want to go in my new Kurt Geiger’s or old, faithful Converse, I haven’t got any appropriate footwear. I threw out my walking boots the last time we went to Wales, swearing that if I ever went again I’d get boots that were actually waterproof.

  Walking into a hiking shop fills me with the same fear as walking into somewhere trendy like Abercrombie & Fitch. The clothes are always so androgynous that I’m worried that I’m going to be browsing in the men’s section by accident.

  ‘Are you all right there?’ asks a sales assistant, a mere second after I’ve walked over the threshold. Either this shop has particularly amazing American-esque customer service or he’s taken one look at me in my little summer dress and flip-flops and decided that I’m lost.

  ‘I’m looking for some hiking boots. Must be comfy and extremely waterproof.’ I feel like I’m giving a personal ad for the walking boots, but after almost developing trench foot last time, I feel this is an important acquisition.

  ‘OK, well, in that case I’d recommend that you go for something Gore-Tex, they’re a little bit more expensive but you can stand in a puddle for an hour and not get wet feet.’

  ‘Just an hour?’ I say thinking back to the risk assessments from the SSM.

  ‘That’s as good as you’re going to get.’

  ‘OK.’

  I slip on the funny little free pop socks and try on four pairs of boots. I examine myself in the mirror and in pair number four, I don’t look too bad. I could actually pull this off as an outfit: summer dress and big boots. It looks like I’m a bit rock and roll and that I’m off to a festival. And they certainly feel comfortable.

  ‘How much are these?’

  ‘They’re £149.99.’

  I gulp and look down at my feet. I guess Mark can’t get mad at this kind of shoe expenditure. But holy moley, I’m not going to think about how many pairs of nice dainty shoes I could have bought for that.

  ‘I’ll take them,’ I say.

  I also eye up some hiking trousers and fleeces. I know I’m clearly in the women’s section as the fleeces are bright colours of pink and purple. I settle in the end with a zippy turquoise fleece and a pair of trousers. Apparently we’re given army fatigues to wear during the escape and evasion task day, but we need something to wear the night before.

  I take my purchases up to the till where I’m reunited with my walking boots and I try not to let my jaw drop too much when the cashier asks me for £210.

  ‘Would you like to buy any of these items for half price?’ says the man waving his hand over the shelf behind him. Now usually, I love these kinds of promotions: new scarf, giant chocolate bar, salon products. But as I look at the selection on offer: Deet mosquito repellent, hiking socks, waterproofing lotion, head torch, I shake my head. When would I ever use them?

  ‘No thanks, I’m fine.’

  I enter my pin into the machine and wait for the ‘please remove your card instruction’, only it doesn’t come.

  ‘I’m sorry, but your card has been declined.’

  ‘Declined?’ I say in surprise. I rack my brains to think what I’ve put on it lately, but I can’t think of anything. I haven’t used it for months, I’ve been trying to be good and actually save up for things I want. ‘Can you try it again?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Sometimes these things happen.’

  The cashier takes my card out for me and puts it in again, and we go through the same process with the same outcome. I’m aware that there’s a slight queue behind me, and I’m mortified that it looks like I have no money.

  ‘I don’t know what’s happened there,’ I say deliberately loudly so that the other people behind hear.

  ‘Sometimes the phone lines to the bank go down and cards are declined like that. It may be nothing to do with your card whatsoever,’ says the cashier.

  ‘That explains it then.’

  I’m not too sure how much money I’ve got left in my current account, so I use the debit card to the joint account instead. I’ll just have to remember to
tell Mark and to put the money in on payday. We’ve always got surplus money in the joint account just in case we have a domestic emergency: blocked drain, massive electricity bill or, more often than not, a takeaway before payday. What? It’s a domestic bill as it’s food for us both, and it’s an emergency as we obviously don’t want to cook.

  I walk away with my giant bag of purchases and hope that by the time I get back to the girls that Beth still has perfect, tattoo-free skin.

  ‘And you only have to go to fifty percent of your classes anyway, so it’s not that bad,’ says Cat.

  ‘Hey, guys.’

  ‘Hey,’ says Cat, perking up. ‘We were wondering where you’d gone.’

  ‘Just had to do some work shopping. So how did it go?’

  ‘Yeah, good,’ says Cat. ‘I’ve been telling Beth all about uni life.’

  I’m not too sure I like that Cat’s winking conspiratorially at Beth, or that Beth has cracked a smile in return. I think I’d rather not think about what they talked about. All I care about is trying to get Beth interested in her future, and then hopefully that will give her a focus other than gambling.

  ‘Great, thanks so much, Cat,’ I say.

  ‘It’s fine,’ she says, shrugging. ‘Anyway, Beth find me on Facebook if you want. I’ve gotta run as I’m meeting some friends.’

  ‘Thanks,’ says Beth.

  ‘I’ll see you at Nanny Violet’s sometime,’ I say laughing.

  ‘Ha, I’ll be the one in a burka.’

  I laugh and turn back to Beth, who looks like she’s been punched in the stomach.

  ‘Beth, what’s wrong?’ I ask.

  I think Beth is actually going to cry. The plan was to give her a kick up the bum by showing her what she could have, not to make her feel worse.

  ‘I thought that might help you,’ I say.

  ‘It’s just … Never mind.’

  ‘What, Beth?’

  She sighs in the way only a teenager can.

  ‘I’m never going to make it to uni.’

  ‘Don’t say that. Your mum said you’re a good student.’

  ‘Ha, yeah. My mum thinks I am.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Do you, like, promise you’ll not tell anyone? Including Mum, or that Mary?’

  I wonder just what promise I’m about to keep. But if I say no, then none of us will know.

  ‘Promise,’ I say. I’m about to do the Brownie salute, but I get the impression that it will probably be lost on Beth.

  ‘I can’t go to uni.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I’m failing, Penny.’

  ‘Failing? What, at college?’

  Beth nods her head sullenly.

  ‘And you haven’t told your mum?’

  ‘No. I did well in my mocks at Christmas, but lately I’ve been doing really shit.’

  ‘How come?’

  Beth shrugs again. ‘I just can’t focus on the work.’

  ‘Are you gambling when you should be working?’

  I’m taking the guilty look written all over Beth’s face as a yes.

  ‘And I feel kinda bad about the money.’

  Now this is something that transcends the age divide.

  ‘I know all about that. I felt so guilty about the money I lost. I still do. And I try and put any money I make from my wedding planning into our joint account to try to make up for what I lost. Have you thought about getting a summer job?’

  ‘Yeah, but there aren’t any. And I’ve got no experience. I’ve got no chance.’

  ‘That’s not true. Couldn’t you try and get a supermarket job or shop work? When I was younger I worked at Asda and it was great. We were all about the same age.’

  ‘I tried everywhere last summer, and I’ve kept my eyes open for them since. There’s so much competition for them these days that they always take on older, more experienced, people.’

  I feel like telling Beth not to keep playing in the bitter-barn, but I’ve been there. When you’re low from gambling, everything seems to be against you.

  ‘Is that why you play your games?’

  ‘I’m doing badly because I’m playing my games.’

  ‘Then why don’t you stop?’

  ‘Because it’s the only thing I’m good at.’

  ‘Even if it’s ruining the rest of your life? I mean, what are you expecting to do? Go and work in Vegas as a croupier?’

  ‘Wow, that would be awesome.’

  ‘Beth!’ Gosh, I am so ready to be a mother. ‘Look, you’re at a really delicate age. If you mess up your life now it’s going to be really hard to sort yourself out and it could affect everything. You’re a smart girl, why are you doing it?’

  ‘Why did you do it?’

  ‘Because I was an idiot. But I did stop when I realised what damage I was doing.’

  Beth’s silent and I think she’s gone into full-on teenage sulking. I’ve tried to be nice to her. I’ve tried being her friend. I’ve tried to rub a magic lamp and show her what her future could become – in the guise of Cat – but none of it has worked. What Beth needs is some tough love.

  ‘How are you even getting the money to gamble anyway?’

  Beth’s still silent and keeps fidgeting.

  ‘Beth?’ I say, scaring myself at how much I sound like my mum.

  ‘I had some winnings. And I’m winning now.’

  I’m always doubtful when people say that they’re winning. No one ever wins all the time.

  ‘Can’t you give that money to your mum and then stop?’

  ‘I don’t think I can.’

  ‘Not even after hearing about Cat’s experiences? You’ve got a year left to go, you could still get to a good uni if you work and catch up.’

  ‘I dunno.’

  I try and channel my inner peace to work out what I can do. The incentive of going to university doesn’t appear to have done what it was supposed to.

  ‘What about if I help you get some work?’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Well, I’m organising a wedding in a few weeks and one of the tutors from the college is doing the catering. He uses students to do the silver service, and maybe I could see if I could get him to take you on.’

  ‘Like waitressing and stuff?

  ‘Yes, posh waitressing.’

  ‘But I’ve never done that before.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure you could learn. Is it something you might be interested in?’

  ‘Yeah, if it was paid.’

  ‘It would be. But I’m only going to help on one condition.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You’re not allowed to use the money for gambling.’

  ‘That’s it?’ asks Beth, as if it’s some sort of trap.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘You’re not going to make me stop gambling?’

  ‘No, you’re going to do that yourself.’

  ‘I am?’

  ‘Yes, you are. You’re going to turn your grades around. You’ve got half a term left. You’re going to work your arse off cramming for your exams. You’ll do your best and see if you pass. If not, you’re going to have to repeat next year.’

  ‘Repeat? What about my friends?’

  Ah, so that’s something that bothers Beth.

  ‘Well, if your friends have their shit together then they’ll go into their final A-Level year and after that they’ll probably go off to university.’

  The tears start to roll down Beth’s cheeks, making me feel guilty but I know I’ve got to keep playing tough cop.

  ‘I just wish I’d never started playing.’

  ‘Well, it isn’t going to get better until you stop. Do you think you might be able to do it?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Good, well I’ll phone Brett and see what I can do about the wedding.’

  Beth seems to crying even harder than she was before.

  ‘Beth, you can stop crying, you’re going to get through this. I’m going to help you.’

 
‘Why are you being so nice to me?’ snuffles Beth.

  ‘Because I know how awful it is to be where you are, and I know how much the guilt can affect you, and how you feel like you’re alone. Well, you’re not alone. I’m going to be here for you.’

  Beth wipes her tears away and looks round self-consciously.

  ‘Thanks, Penny. I’m going to get going, OK?’

  ‘OK. You’ve done really well. See you later.’

  Beth waves as she walks off. I feel like I might have finally got through to her. I start beaming with pride; I, Penny Robinson, might just have turned someone’s life around.

  chapter seventeen

  princess-on-a-shoestring cost cutters:

  Saver Favours Part II

  There’s no doubt that eBay is a budget bride’s best friend when it comes to wedding favours. You can usually pick up anything from organza bags to old-fashioned sweets much more cheaply than you could in other online shops. My top tip for wedding favours would be to buy mini packets of Love Hearts in bulk from eBay or Amazon. Then you can buy labels on eBay that you can have personalised, usually with the bride and groom’s names on. They send you sheets of the printed stickers and all you have to do is stick them over the top of the original wrappers. Finish by placing in an organza bag.

  Tags: sweets, eBay, organza, favours.

  It’s 10.41 a.m. How long do you think I’ve been in the office for? Well, I’ll tell you: three hours and forty-one minutes. That’s right, for those with speedy maths skills, I got here at seven a.m. It was so early when I left the house that no one had even updated their status on Facebook. And just what could have dragged me from my bed, my bed which is the most comfortable bed on the planet, at that un-godly hour? Work. No special conferences, no VIP guest, just your average-Joe workday.

  I have several friends who have more high-powered jobs than mine and it’s not uncommon for them to be in the office at six or seven in the morning, and they’ll leave twelve hours later, and that’s a good day – often it’s more likely they’ll leave around midnight. I have never wanted to be one of those people. And yet here I am. The reason work is even worse than usual is that it’s only a week to go before the team-building trip and I’m making sure that I cross all the ‘i’s and dot the ‘t’s. I know I’m only going to be out of the office for a day and a half, but with Shelly in charge of the department in Giles’s absence, I don’t want her to have to do any of my work in my absence.