by Cassie Hamer
Alex.
Brianna pushed it in her direction. ‘Please,’ she began, in a gentle voice, so unlike her normal direct one that Alex’s stomach sank even further.
‘Nope. Not today, Brianna. I cannot deal with this today. Come back tomorrow. Or not at all, ideally.’ Alex shuffled files on her desk. ‘I cannot afford to lose you. Not now.’
Calmly, Brianna took a seat while Alex continued to rearrange papers on her desk, sensing her assistant’s eyes on her.
‘My mother is sick.’
Alex stopped and put down the files, her stomach plummeting. ‘How sick?’
‘Pretty bloody awfully sick.’ Brianna broke eye contact. ‘It’s lung cancer. Stage four.’
Alex’s hand flew to her mouth. While she wasn’t exactly au fait with the precise stages of cancer, she knew enough to understand there was no stage five. ‘Oh, Brianna. I’m so sorry.’
Brianna accepted the condolences with a nod of her head.
‘What can the firm do? What can I do? I think you’re entitled to some type of personal leave … it’s probably written down in your contract somewhere.’ She started shuffling papers again, knowing full well the answer didn’t lie in them. ‘Not that anyone ever takes it,’ she muttered under her breath.
‘Alex,’ Brianna began. ‘I’m resigning.’ She pushed the letter forward again. ‘I need to be with her.’
Alex pushed it back. ‘But you don’t need to resign. We can make this work. More flexible hours. The occasional work-from-home day.’ She leant forward in her chair. ‘You’re about to become assistant to a partner. Do you know what that could mean for your career? You don’t need to throw it all away. Remember that pep talk you gave me, about owing it to women everywhere to take up the challenge?’
‘This is different … My mum’s dying, and I owe it to her right now to be by her side.’ Brianna gave a weak smile. ‘I’m going to keep studying and I’ll be back, but when I do come back it’ll be with a degree under my belt.’ She paused. ‘I’m good at what I do, and I need to back myself on this one. It’s not like this place is going anywhere.’
The unspoken words hung in the air. Work would always be there. Her mother would not.
Alex placed her palm over the envelope and slid it closer. ‘All right.’ She exhaled. ‘I accept your resignation. Reluctantly.’
Brianna stood. ‘Thank you, Alex.’
‘When do you plan to leave us?’
‘Friday, if possible.’
Alex blanched. ‘This Friday?’
‘Mum starts intensive chemo next week.’
The timing couldn’t be worse. She had a manic schedule of meetings booked up for weeks over the takeover matter. She was counting on Brianna to keep all of her other matters ticking along. A new assistant would take at least a couple of months to be brought up to speed, and that’s presuming HR could be bothered to get off their arses and hire one in a hurry.
Brianna paused at the door. ‘She’s very grateful, you know.’
‘Who?’
‘My mum. I know you’ve never met, but I’ve told her about you, and your family … The twins and everything. She thinks you must be some kind of miracle worker to handle everything you do. She doesn’t want me to quit.’ Brianna’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘She says I won’t find someone else like you who doesn’t care about where I went to school, or that my clothes aren’t the latest and greatest.’
Guilt smacked Alex in the mouth. Here she was, worrying about how she’d handle her work schedule, when her assistant’s dying mother was expressing gratitude to her, for giving her ridiculously talented and efficient daughter a go!
‘I’m the lucky one,’ said Alex. ‘And as long as I’m at this firm, you’ll have a job here whenever you like. No question.’
The phone on Brianna’s desk started to ring and, as always, she went to answer it within the first few trills.
‘Wait.’ Alex held up her hand. ‘Leave that for a moment.’ She rose from her desk and walked round to the other side, while Brianna stood in the doorway. ‘I know you’ve always said you don’t want children, but is that the honest truth?’
Brianna made a face. ‘One day … If the right person comes along.’
‘Okay, okay.’ Alex folded her arms and leant against her desk. ‘If Macauley offered you ten thousand bucks to freeze your eggs in your thirties so you could consolidate your career and have kids later, would it make you want to work here? More than another company?’
Brianna’s eyes shot to the ceiling. ‘No. But if there was on-site childcare I might. The tech firm across the street has one. Seems pretty good.’
Alex stared at her. How did a twenty-three year old know so much about kids? About life?
‘My sister has a two year old,’ Brianna explained, as if reading her mind. ‘No point taking the ten grand unless you can figure out a way to look after the kid.’ The phone was still ringing, and she pointed at it. ‘Can I get that now?’
‘Of course.’ Returning to her chair, Alex stopped in front of her framed university degrees, hanging on the wall. Her Bachelor of Arts, her Bachelor of Laws, and her Masters. All that work, crammed into three pieces of gold-framed parchment and funded off the back of pulling beers at shitty pubs, and shovelling fries at greasy spoons.
She sat heavily and rotated in the chair to look out the windows and down onto the busy CBD streets. From this vantage point, twenty storeys high, the vehicles were like Matchbox cars and the people like ants, marching with focus and determination, as if it was actually really important.
Alex swivelled back to her desk. Putting Brianna’s envelope to one side, she opened up a new document on her computer and started typing.
The Macauley Egg-Freezing Program: Why you can’t bribe women into staying
‘A bit too punchy,’ said Alex under her breath. She pressed delete and poised her fingers over the keyboard.
Ten ways Macauley can make itself family friendly that don’t involve injecting women with hormones
‘Passive-aggressive much?’
Delete.
She started again.
A Family-Friendly Macauley: The vision and the business case
Yes, that was more like it.
‘Hey, Bree,’ Alex called through the door. ‘Could you call Rex’s PA and get me an appointment for this afternoon?’
‘Sure.’ Brianna came to the door. ‘What do I tell her it’s about.’
‘Tell her—’ Alex paused. She picked up the framed photo of the twins – the one from the professional shoot where they’d had to bribe the boys into smiling with the promise of a Ninja Turtle each. ‘Tell her it’s important, and that I’ll meet him in the cafe downstairs.’ She ran her thumb down the side of the frame.
‘Tell her that it’s about the future.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Beth read through the recipe for pork and sausage cassoulet that Cara had left pinned to the door of the shed. Thanks to the big influx of orders over the weekend, today promised to be a huge day of cooking and Beth couldn’t wait to get started. Cooking would clear her mind and help put the events of the weekend behind her. Thank goodness for Nourish. It was saving her bacon in more ways than one, giving her a distraction from Max and a very tidy nest egg that would grow into an ostrich egg if the orders kept up like this.
First things first. Music. Though Cara tended to play music through her phone, Beth knew she had an old radio in here somewhere. Ah yes, there on the shelf. Beth turned the dial to the classical station and allowed Vivaldi to fill every corner of the tiny room. Next she put on her apron and set about sharpening Cara’s biggest knife. The cassoulet required her to break down three pork shoulders into four-centimetre cubes. Normally, she would have been less than thrilled to undertake such a messy and fiddly task; butchery was not exactly her forte. But that was the old Beth. Today, the new active-wearing, Zumba-loving, unemotional-sex-having Beth positively grinned with murderous glee as she set about slicing throug
h the fat and flesh.
Max’s golf bag was made of pig skin.
Beth brought the knife down hard against the chopping board.
Bloody Max. How dare he damn well do this to her, and to Ethan and Chloe?
She prepared to bring down the knife hard again but paused.
There was a knock at the door.
She grunted in irritation. Cara wasn’t due back till after one and it was far too early for the kids to be home from school. It was probably a tenacious door-to-door salesman or some other annoying type of creature.
Beth stomped over to the door and wrenched it open, knife in hand.
‘Yes?’
The man before her took a step back. He was small, and everything about him was little, grey and gloomy, from his hair to his pants. He reminded Beth of a little teardrop.
‘Is this Nourish – the catering business?’ he said, eyeing Beth’s knife.
‘Yes, and who might you be?’
‘My name is Terrence Mooney and I’m a food safety inspector with the local council. And you are?’
‘Beth Chandler, one of the co-owners of the business.’ She lowered the knife. ‘How can I help you, Mr Mooney?’
He shuffled uneasily and tucked a clipboard under his arm. ‘Well, there’s been a complaint.’
Beth kept her face neutral even though her pulse had moved from a trot to a canter. ‘A complaint? What about?’
The inspector consulted his clipboard. ‘We’ve been alerted to a possible outbreak of food poisoning caused by items prepared on these premises, and I’m here to investigate.’
Oh, bugger that silly message that Alex posted.
‘Of course, Mr Mooney. Please come in and I’ll explain everything. Can I get you a cup of tea?’ It was a good thing she hadn’t entirely erased the old Beth – the one who was conciliatory and obliging and offered cups of tea to little men with nothing better to do with their time than follow up vexatious, time-wasting complaints.
The pork would have to wait, but she would get to it eventually, and dice that flesh to perfection if it’s the last thing she did.
New Beth wasn’t going anywhere. Not really.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Alex sat at the table, fidgeting. She checked her phone. Took a sip of water. Watched the comings and goings in and out of her building and wondered, not for the first time, at the strangeness of ties on men. Who exactly decided their necks needed a strange little knotted strip of material, she pondered. Anything to keep herself from thinking about what she was about to do.
‘Alexandra. This is an unexpected invitation.’ Rex sauntered across the foyer and went to take a seat at her table.
‘Don’t sit,’ she ordered.
‘Pardon?’ Her brusque tone wiped the confident smile from Rex’s face. He wasn’t used to being bossed around, especially by wannabe-partners.
‘I mean,’ she stammered. ‘We’re going across the road. I … I need to show you something.’
Rex regarded her. ‘Are you going to tell me what it is?’ His gaze narrowed. ‘First rule of law school – never allow yourself to be led down the garden path. By anyone.’
Alex squared her shoulders. ‘I think you’ll find this interesting, and useful.’ She started walking, and motioned for Rex to follow. ‘Martin told me about the fertility assistance program you’re planning to introduce.’ She stopped at the curb.
‘I read about the concept in the paper. All the big tech companies are doing it,’ said Rex with a self-satisfied smile. ‘Seems a neat solution to our woman problem.’ He stepped into the traffic and Alex resisted the urge to push him in front of a bus.
‘I’m not sure if you’re aware,’ said Alex, directing Rex into the foyer of another glass-walled high-rise. ‘But the live-birth rate using frozen eggs is just nineteen per cent per embryo. In other words, you’d be encouraging women into a process that either may not work at all, or at the very least, will probably take several rounds to succeed. At worst, that could be seen as unethical, at best, it could be seen as the company offering a ten thousand dollar discount on a fifty thousand dollar process – hardly enough of an incentive to keep women engaged with the firm. You have to ask yourself, would this be a cost-effective solution for Macauley at all?’ Alex swallowed the bile in her mouth and silently apologised to the little being in her stomach. After this conversation with Rex she planned to never again discuss a baby as a commodity.
‘You think there’s a better way?’
‘I know there is.’ She ushered Rex inside the lift and pressed the button for level two.
‘I’m intrigued.’
Alex produced the file she’d been keeping tucked discreetly by her side. ‘I’ve compiled a few ideas – by no means exhaustive, just some suggestions around best practice at other corporates and the return these companies have achieved by investing in family-friendly work practices.’
The lift pinged. As the doors opened, a wall of high-pitched squeals and shrieks flooded the confined space of the elevator. Rex recoiled and Alex took his elbow.
‘It’s fine. They’re just playing,’ she reassured him.
Behind frosted glass emblazoned with a rainbow, blurred shapes ducked and weaved. Alex pressed the intercom and gave her name. ‘We spoke on the phone earlier. Alex O’Rourke, from Macauley across the road. Just here to have a quick look round.’
The door opened with a smiling young woman in jeans and trainers standing beside it. ‘Lunchtimes are a bit of a madhouse here.’ She stood aside and ran a hand through her fantastically wild curls. ‘It’s when a lot of the parents drop in, which is great, but it does raise the energy levels.’ She outstretched her hand. ‘Ginny Taylor. Director of the centre.’
‘Rex Macauley, chairman of Macauley Partners.’ But as he shook Ginny’s hand a strange look came over the older man’s face and he withdrew his hand quickly and held it up.
There was a slash of red across his palm.
‘Oh gosh, sorry. Mustn’t have got all the paint off after I finished with the kids. I’ll show you the bathroom and you can wash off there.’ Ginny turned on her sneakered heel and walked efficiently down a hallway, off which led a number of doors.
‘This one?’ Rex went to open the first door.
‘Ooops, not that one.’ Ginny gently directed him away. ‘That’s our breastfeeding room.’
Rex jolted, as if zapped by electricity. ‘Best not go in,’ he muttered.
‘It’s empty now.’ Ginny laughed. ‘But we have mums coming and going all the time.’ She directed him to another door. ‘Bathroom’s in that one.’
He nodded.
‘I’ll wait here,’ said Alex.
‘Feel free to take a look around.’ Ginny’s eyes went to two little boys scuffling over a truck. ‘I’ll be right back,’ she murmured.
‘Take your time.’ Alex leant against the wall and, for the first time since coming into the centre, she took it all in. The scattering of small chairs and tables, the buckets and buckets of Lego, a corner for dress-ups and another filled with books and beanbags. It was exactly like the twins’ preschool, the one she used to race into on the rare occasion when James wasn’t available at five minutes to six to avoid paying the late pick-up fee and facing the pissed-off carers. If she closed her eyes, it even smelt the same – craft glue, paper and crayons.
But there was something that was different.
There were parents around. They had to be parents, unless the carers had taken to wearing sharp suits, high heels and ties. There weren’t many. Maybe five or so, either reading or playing Lego or colouring in. Just doing the normal things parents did when they weren’t working.
Ginny was back, the contested truck in hand. ‘We get quite a few parents coming down during the day,’ she said, as if reading her mind. ‘For some kids, it’s a bit unsettling and the parents drop it after a while. For most, it’s just about knowing they could be here in two minutes if they needed to.’
Alex thought of all the
times the twins’ preschool had called her at work, with one of the boys either sick or injured, even though she’d told them, repeatedly, that James was the one to contact – he was at home, after all. It was impossible for her to drop everything and run, much as she wanted to. ‘Must be reassuring for the parents, to be so close.’
‘That’s what they say.’ With that, Ginny darted off in the direction of a little girl poised to demolish a carefully constructed tower of blocks, completely unbeknown to its proud builder, a small boy with sandy hair.
Alex held her breath. Ginny was just out of reach. The girl nudged her toe against the bottom block. The whole thing teetered and crashed to the ground. The boy wailed and buried his head in the carer’s legs.
‘Now, come on, Marcus. You did have a good long go with the blocks and Isla had asked you several times if she could join in but you wouldn’t let her. I’m not saying she should have knocked them over, but this is what happens when we don’t share.’
Calmly, Isla had picked up the blocks and started rebuilding.
‘Alexandra, I think it’s time for us to leave. I have a two o’clock.’ Rex was back, his hands clean but empty.
‘Where’s that vision document I prepared?’ she asked.
‘Oh, it got wet in the bathroom. Send it to Ava. She can print it again,’ he said and glanced around. ‘I think we’re done here. You’ve made your point, Alexandra, but a childcare centre? I really think that’s beyond our resources.’ He went to leave.
‘Wait, Rex, this is important.’ She raised her voice over the din of children. ‘There are other things Macauley can do – job sharing, more part-time roles, working from home, more generous maternity leave. That’s how you get women to stay.’ Alex hated the pleading tone in her voice. ‘Are you really not even going to have a look around?’
It was only at the door that Rex stopped and waited. ‘Alexandra, come on. You sound hysterical. Let’s talk about this in the office.’ His voice was soothing. Gentle. Like he was talking to a five year old. Like he was lying, because he wanted the child to obey.
