by Tara Bond
I took a sip of my beer, and continued my rant against Richard. “None of this would have happened if he hadn’t forced me to work for him in the first place. I don’t know why he had to stick his nose into my business.”
Lindsay didn’t respond. In fact, I suddenly realised that she wasn’t looking at me—instead she was busy ripping up a cardboard beer mat. My eyes narrowed as I watched her. “You haven’t said much.”
“Haven’t I?” She continued tearing.
“Look, I know we had that argument a few weeks ago, but don’t you think it’s about time you got over it by now. I told you, I didn’t mean to mess this meeting up at work. I don’t understand why you aren’t on my side over this—”
“You really want to know why?” she said suddenly. “Because I’m sick of hearing you bitch about this!” I stared at her, too shocked to respond—which was just as well, because she didn’t seem to have any intention of letting me get a word in edgeways. “Even though I’ve been trying to stay out of your way, I’ve still had the misfortune of overhearing you drone on about how hard done by you are. It’s driving me crazy! All the times you’ve moaned about Richard—has it never occurred to you that he’s actually trying to do you a favour? He saw you were going off the rails, and he cared enough to try to intervene. God!” She shook her head in exasperation, her pink spikes moving with the force. “Do you know how fortunate you are to have someone looking out for you the way he is? You’re one lucky girl, yet all you can do is complain.”
“Yeah?” I said, once I’d finally recovered enough to respond. “Well, I didn’t ask for his help, and I don’t remember asking for your opinion, either. I’ve had a shit day, and I came here for some sympathy tonight from the person I thought was my best friend. But all you can do is attack me.”
I looked round the bar. My eyes settled on Gavin, who was there with a group of guys I vaguely knew. Without another word to Lindsay, I slid from the stool.
Lindsay had obviously guessed what I was planning. “Charlie, don’t do this—” she said as I walked over to where they were sitting, but I ignored her.
I dropped into a seat next to the guys. They turned to look at me, and I flashed a broad smile, ever the party girl. “So what are we drinking, boys?”
* * *
“Drink! Drink! Drink!”
It was an hour later, and the group was chanting at a skinny guy, Joe, who had just lost out on the drinking game again. I joined in, but my heart wasn’t in it. Even though I wanted to forget what Lindsay had said earlier, her words kept going through my mind. Was she right? All this time, I’d been obsessed with the idea that Richard was interfering in my life. I’d never really considered that he’d been trying to help me, at great expense to himself. The realisation left me feeling confused and disturbed.
They all drained their pints. “Hey.” Gavin nudged me, and nodded down at my untouched drink. “What’s up with you?”
“I’m not feeling great.”
“Yeah?” He didn’t look like he was about to ask more details. This wasn’t the kind of relationship where you shared intimate details of your life. “We’re off to Inhibition. You coming?”
Inhibition was a nightclub I’d been meaning to get to. Usually, I’d have agreed without a second thought. But for the first time in a long while, I hesitated. I was always the party girl, the one who wanted to stay out longer, drink more. It had never occurred to me to feel guilty about it.
“Not this time. I’ve got an early morning.”
He just shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
He rose with the others, and the guys headed off. I looked down at my half-finished beer. I really wasn’t interested in drinking it. The mix-up today hadn’t been deliberate, but I still felt guilty. Not just about that, but about the way I’d behaved since Richard had given me the job. Maybe his methods had been a bit barbaric, but now I could see that his heart had been in the right place.
Lindsay was still working at the bar, so I headed home on my own. I’d planned to go straight to bed, but the events of the day were still swirling around in my head. So I made myself some tea, and brought it into my room, intending to read. But instead, as I sat up in bed, I took out a notepad and began to jot down everything I remembered about the PURE client brief. I then thought back to the discussions I’d overheard between Helena and Rex, about the feel that they wanted for the campaign.
Half an hour of brainstorming later, I dug out an old sketchpad and began to draw.
Chapter 12
I worked through most of the night, sketching ideas for a print ad for the PURE campaign. By three in the morning, I had something that I was happy with, so I decided to get some sleep.
I set my alarm for six thirty, and was up, showered and dressed in twenty minutes. I didn’t have time to think much about what I was wearing, so I grabbed a pair of fitted black trousers and a black T-shirt. I also didn’t have time for make-up or to style my hair, so I went bare-faced for a change, and pulled my platinum frizz back into a ponytail. It was a much more conservative look than normal. I needed something to carry the storyboard in, so I rummaged in the back of my wardrobe and took out my black portfolio case—the one I’d used for my art lessons at school and when I went to college. I hadn’t taken it out for nearly six years, since I’d dropped out of art school.
I got to my desk just before eight, the earliest I’d ever been in. Helena and Rex were already there. Even though the door to their office was firmly closed, I could hear them brainstorming inside. I dumped my bag on the floor, and slipped my coat off, playing for time.
I looked down at my black portfolio case. I’d been excited about showing them my work, but now I was here I suddenly felt nervous. Just because I thought I’d done a good job, it didn’t mean they would. And Helena had been so furious with me last night . . . it suddenly occurred to me she might not even agree to look at my drawings. In some ways it would be easier just to stay quiet, and keep my head down, rather than putting myself out there and trying to make amends.
But that would be the coward’s way out. I’d gone to the trouble of putting this together, I might as well show it to them.
I picked up my portfolio case, and walked over with a determination I didn’t feel and knocked once on the door. Through the glass I saw both Helena and Rex look up. Neither of them seemed especially happy to see me. Helena said something I couldn’t hear, but I presumed it was something derogatory about me. Rex allowed himself a smirk, and then he straightened his face, and called for me to come in.
“Whatever it is, can it wait?” Rex said brusquely as I opened the door. They’d obviously decided it was best if he did the talking. “We’re in the middle of something.”
“Yes.” Helena’s voice was like ice. “We’re trying to work out what the hell we’re going to pitch to the client on Friday so we don’t look like a couple of idiots. Because right now, we’ve got nothing.”
I flinched at that. I caught Rex shooting her a look, frowning at her and shaking his head a little. Obviously he’d suggested it was best not to engage with me. Helena just shrugged back—as if to say, I’m not pussy-footing around to make this idiot feel better. I can’t say I blamed her.
I looked between them, shrinking a little under Helena’s expression of contempt. Even the usually playful Rex seemed cool towards me. It would be easier just to turn and walk out of here, and keep a low profile until I finished up at the end of the week. And perhaps I would have done just that if all I wanted was their forgiveness, because I knew I didn’t really deserve that. But I realised now, standing here, that forgiveness had never been the point. I had no chance of winning their respect, but I did feel what I had put together could help them with their campaign. Maybe it wasn’t perfect, but I could always amend it for their suggestions. Perhaps they’d even reject my idea outright—but if I didn’t show them now, then I’d never know. It would be better to risk the rejection. After all, at this stage, what did I have to lose?
So I took a deep breath, and started to speak. “Look, I appreciate you’re busy. But this won’t take long, I promise—”
Rex flashed a worried look at Helena. “Charlotte, this really isn’t a good time—”
“I know that. But I just had something I wanted to show you.” I lifted up my portfolio. “It honestly won’t take a moment.”
“Maybe later—” Rex began, but Helena cut him off.
“Actually, why don’t you show us what you’ve got there?” She leant back in her chair and folded her arms. “I, for one, wouldn’t mind seeing what you think is so important that you need to disturb us.”
I could tell she wasn’t expecting much, and that she was primed to rubbish whatever I showed them. But I tried to block that out. I looked around the room. I needed somewhere to rest my portfolio, so I could unzip it and take the storyboard out. One of their desks would have been an obvious place, but I didn’t think either of them would take kindly to that. The couch caught my eye. So I rested the portfolio on the spare chair, and started to unzip. As I did so, I talked.
“Look, I know you guys think I haven’t been paying attention.” Helena snorted at this. I ignored her, and ploughed on. “But I did hear you brainstorming over this anti-drugs advert.”
“Charlotte, please—” Rex said warningly. But I ignored him, and carried on.
“So I went home last night, and jotted down everything I remembered you saying.” I took out the storyboard, and straightened up. I was standing in the centre of the room, with them both facing me—Helena staring at me with a bored, contemptuous look, while Rex was shooting her worried glances, as if he expected her to explode at any minute. “And I wondered—what about something like this?”
I turned the storyboard around, so that they could both see it.
I’d spent the night focusing on the print ad. The picture showed a family huddled together by a graveside, sobbing softly. To the side, stood the ghostly figure of a teenage girl. On the headstone, I’d written the words, “It’s Your Funeral,” and then at the bottom ran the line, “Think Before You Take Drugs.” I’d kept the colour scheme simple—black, white and grey—to suit the sombre tone of the message.
My eyes were focused on Helena, wanting to gauge her reaction. At first, she sat with her arms folded, looking bored. But as she took in what I’d drawn, I saw interest flicker across her face, and then she leaned forwards, wanting to get a better look. Her forehead creased a little. She didn’t say anything, but she held out her hands for the picture.
I guessed there was a chance that she might just want to rip it up, as a way to get me back for yesterday. But somehow I sensed that wasn’t the case. I walked over, and gave her the drawing.
She shook a little as she took it. Her eyes roamed the scene, taking every detail in. I watched her mouth soften, and her eyes begin to water.
Without warning, she let the drawing slip from her hands onto her desk.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured.
Before I could say anything, she got up and hurried from the room. I stared after her, completely stunned. Of all the reactions I’d anticipated, I certainly hadn’t expected that one—particularly not from her. I knew people who cried at the drop of a hat, to the point where it became meaningless, but with someone like Helena, you had to take a breakdown like this seriously, because she was one of those people who no doubt cried only once every few years, if something really deserved it. What had I done now?
I turned to Rex. “What the hell was that all about?”
He hesitated for a second, I could tell he was debating whether to tell me or not. But then he obviously decided that Helena’s behaviour needed some kind of explanation. “It’s to do with her older sister. She died fifteen years ago, after taking Ecstasy at a rave.”
Suddenly I understood why Helena had had such an extreme reaction yesterday. Even though I’d appreciated that I’d messed up, I’d also felt she’d overreacted a little. Now I knew why. This was a campaign close to her heart. She hadn’t been upset for professional reasons—it had been more personal than that.
“The loss devastated Helena’s family,” Rex went on. “Her mum fell into a depression, and her father couldn’t cope and eventually left. I think that’s why Helena’s so straight-laced. She ended up becoming this perfect person, because she didn’t want to cause her family any more distress.”
I suddenly understood why she’d been so unimpressed with my slacker ways when I’d first started working with her and Rex. I’d felt irritated with her for giving me a hard time, without considering the reason she’d reacted that way—that there was something so awful in her past that she was just trying to compensate for it through her behaviour.
I swore under my breath. “I shouldn’t have done this.” I picked up my storyboard and walked back to where my portfolio lay open on the couch. “I was trying to put things right, and instead I’ve just made them worse—”
Suddenly Rex was by my side, his hand on my shoulder, stopping me from putting my picture away.
“It was a good thing that you did. And your picture was great—making someone cry . . . that’s the ultimate. It’s exactly what we’re aiming for in advertising—to create a strong reaction through our storytelling.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not sure Helena will see it that way.”
“Actually,” Helena said, “that’s exactly how I see it.”
We whirled round to see Helena standing in the doorway. She was back to her usual composed self—and there was no evidence of her breakdown a few minutes earlier.
She walked over and took the drawing from me, studying it again, more clinically this time.
“As Rex said, this really evokes a reaction. You’ve managed to capture everything that we talked about. It’s not perfect, by any means—but it’s the kind of quality that we could easily present to the client to get our ideas across.”
Relief coursed through me. But I didn’t feel I was out of the woods yet. “Look, I really am sorry about yesterday. I know you thought I did it on purpose, but I didn’t. It was an honest mistake.”
Helena stared at me for a long moment, clearly weighing up whether to trust me or not. “Tell you what,” she said finally. “If you manage to put together more storyboards like this for the TV advert, then I’ll forgive you.”
I smiled. “I think that sounds like a fair deal.”
“Good. Well, you better get on with it, then, because the one thing we don’t have is a lot of time to waste.”
* * *
I spent the next few days putting together the storyboards for the TV advert. It was an extension of the print ad I’d come up with—the teenage girl getting ready for her night out, saying goodbye to her parents, and then hitting the club and enjoying her evening, before accepting drugs. Then there were scenes of her collapsing, and paramedics working to revive her. This was all in colour, and intercut with scenes of the family getting ready for the funeral, all sketched—and to be filmed—in black and white. The final shot, by the grave, was the same scene as the print ad—the family gathered by the grave, while the ghostly figure looked on.
It was a lot of work, but I enjoyed it. The sketches were easy enough for me. I worked late each night, and came in early every morning to get it finished. While I was doing that, Helena and Rex worked on their presentation.
By Friday, everything was ready. The pitch had been moved at the request of the client, from midday to three in the afternoon, which meant more waiting around.
At two, I stood to say goodbye to Helena and Rex. “Thanks for everything you did for us this week,” Helena said.
“We would invite you along, sweetie, but there’s already going to be a lot of people there,” Rex added.
“Of course. I understand.”
It was only once they’d gone that I realised how exhausted I was. I’d been working flat-out for the past three days, and I’d been running on adrenaline. Now that my purpose for working had been taken away, I just wanted
to sleep. That wasn’t an option, though, so I busied myself for the rest of the afternoon, catching up on the mundane tasks that I’d put to one side over the past few days.
I tried to keep myself distracted, but my mind kept wandering to the pitch. I was surprised at just how desperate I was to find out how it had gone. I wasn’t sure how long it would take, but by five I was certain that it should be over. I doubted that Helena and Rex would come back to the office—they’d both worked their butts off as well, and no doubt wanted to head home and relax—but I thought they’d probably call to let me know how it went. After all, whatever had happened earlier that week, we’d worked as a team on this.
But over the next hour, I still didn’t hear anything. Whenever my phone went, I’d snatch it up, hoping it was going to be one of them, but it never was. Gradually I began to feel deflated. Either the pitch hadn’t gone well, or they hadn’t ever seen me as part of the project. Either way, I couldn’t help feeling disappointed. I’d put myself out there, but clearly it still hadn’t been enough.
By half six, I decided to leave. I was just sending off a last email when I heard a man clearing his throat above me. I looked up to see Richard, looking impressive as usual in a well-cut suit. I felt my heartbeat speed up a little at the sight of him. It was strange, the effect he’d had on me ever since I’d started working here. I put it down to the fact that he obviously commanded so much respect around the office—I suppose anyone would feel a bit intimidated by him.
