Dream a Little Dream

by Giovanna Fletcher

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And when will Brett be back?’

  ‘Should be the 30th of January if they don’t go to New Zealand,’ I say, knowing the itinerary that I helped put together, and have dreamt of for the last month, by heart.

  ‘Then perhaps that’s your silver lining?’ she says, widening her eyes at me in delight.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’ll still have your date for the wedding …’

  Cue lots of smirking and sniggering from my Cheeky Cow friend.

  30

  With Julie gone and me playing PA for the two bosses in the company I become snowed under at work fairly quickly – especially when all the other offices around London and beyond return from their Christmas breaks and start phoning or emailing in. The only positive is that because I’m doing everything on my own I’m not asked to do anything non-work related – which means I don’t have to talk to Jonathan’s bitch of a wife Dianne. God knows what I’d say if she phoned in. I’d probably say something awful and get fired … or hang up on her to stop myself saying something awful and still get fired. Fingers crossed she’ll realize she can reach Jonathan on his mobile and then decide to hire her own PA instead of harassing his – although I’d feel sorry for the poor soul who takes on that job.

  Unfortunately my chaotic workload doesn’t mean that I’m not aware of the meetings still going on in the boardroom without me. I have been invited along by Real Brett, but with no one to hold the fort for Jonathan and Derek’s needs, I can’t go in – even though it is only sixteen steps from my desk and I can hear almost everything they say as they talk of all their plans for the trip I organized.

  My blood nearly boils over one morning when I hear Poutmouth squealing over her lack of wardrobe for the hot weather – I even hear her proclaim that if she doesn’t have any luck sourcing summer clothes out of season then she’ll have to spend the duration of the three weeks in her bikini (of which she has plenty).

  Cue lots of laughter at her own ‘joke’.

  I’ve no idea what Real Brett’s reaction was as he was sat with his back to me at the time, but I can just imagine the look of sheer delight on his face at the thought of it.

  Even though I really don’t want them going on the trip without me, I’d rather they just left so that I could forget about them and immerse myself in dreary January in London.

  I huff and puff my way through the week – wishing it could be over. Especially as Real Brett takes a step back from talking to me so much – or maybe I take a step back from him because I’m still walking around carrying a ball of anger in my tummy and hating everyone in the office – even the innocent bystanders. Him kissing me at the Christmas party seems like a world away as I find myself wondering if perhaps it was just a ‘caught in the moment thing’ and that maybe we only ever talked because we were working together. Maybe the fact that I was the subject of his flirtatious ways was simply down to convenience.

  My paranoia isn’t helped by us both being busier than usual. Seeing as I’m flooded with skivvy duties and he’s only days away from a huge trip, time slips away and robs us of the times in the day that we would usually spend together. Even the mornings seem rushed – especially as Poutmouth has started to appear around the same time as us, apparently desperate to get on top of all their plans during the last few days.

  I am wretchedly unhappy.

  This week is the worst I’ve had to endure during the whole eight years of being with the company, and I’m relieved when Friday rolls around and it’s almost over so that I can go straight home, hibernate in my room for two days, watch repeats of The Desperate Housewives of New Jersey (much more dramatic than the one set in Beverly Hills), and eat lots of crap. It’s a far cry from the visions I’d previously had of me this weekend – sat on the beach in sunny Sydney sipping on a cocktail and munching on watermelon while perving on Real Brett in his swimming shorts – but a weekend of feeling sorry for myself is certainly what I feel like I need. I’m quite looking forward to letting myself shamelessly mope over the ordeal.

  The night before they fly off on their big recceing adventure, Real Brett comes over to me as I’m sending off an email to a recruitment agent called Tor (a task Julie used to take care of), saying thank you for putting Mark forward for the position (he was successful and starting a week on Monday).

  ‘I can’t tell you how much I wish it were you coming with me,’ he moans, his knees cracking as he crouches down next to me and rests his chin on my desk, looking glum.

  A smile creeps across my lips at the admission – and there I was thinking he’d gone cold on me.

  ‘It sounded like you’ve been having a wonderful time in there,’ I say casually, nodding towards the boardroom as I tick sending the email to Tor off the to-do list in my notebook.

  ‘Really?’ he asks, surprised at my assumption. ‘I’ve hardly managed to say a word. She’s so self-absorbed. I’ve never known anyone to talk about themselves so much. It’s relentless.’

  ‘At least you won’t run out of conversation, then,’ I quip, enjoying his description of Poutmouth and letting it reassure me.

  ‘Conversation? Aren’t they usually two-sided things?’

  ‘You’ll cope,’ I say, sighing lightly as I look back at my computer screen. ‘I’m not about to start feeling sorry for you, Brett. You’re off to Oz while I’m going to be sat here watching Jonathan stuff food in his mouth and then spray it all over me while he gives me an endless list of boring and unfulfilling tasks to do – at least he won’t be shaking my hand with his saliva-riddled hands any time soon, though – probably worried I’ll bite it off if tempted.’

  He laughs. ‘Want to come grab a Wagas?’

  He leans his shoulder on mine, trying to tempt me.

  ‘Oh, you know – I’d love to,’ I say, looking at him and breathing an apologetic sigh. ‘But – I’m off to spend the weekend with Mavis Rose. Heading straight there once I finish work. Sorry.’

  ‘No … I should’ve asked sooner,’ he sighs sadly.

  ‘Yeah,’ I mumble, happy that he’s accepted the lie, although suddenly sad that he hasn’t questioned it as an excuse as he’d previously done – we’re a funny breed us girls, always unhappy whatever the outcome.

  ‘Feels like I’ve not seen you this week,’ he grumbles, his green eyes wide and lugubrious as they look over at me.

  ‘Yeah, it has felt like that,’ I admit, glad to know I’m not the only one who’s felt estranged. ‘A busy week. Everything look good with you guys, though? You looking forward to it?’

  ‘Hmmm …’ he groans, acting as though his trip is going to be a complete ball-ache – something I’m sure he’s only doing to make me feel better. Because, let’s face it, if we were going together we’d be giddy with excitement right now and singing Men at Work’s ‘Down Under’ while jumping around the office pretending to be kangaroos without a second thought.

  I push back my chair and take a copy of the new guy Mark’s CV into Derek’s office, leaving it on his desk – just so he can remind himself exactly who’s going to be working for him instead of Julie. Mark seemed nice from the brief chat I had with him while ushering him in and out of his interview, but he’s certainly not going to have as big an impact on the office as his predecessor did.

  When I get back to my desk Real Brett is on his feet, putting on his coat.

  ‘I’ve decided something,’ he says thoughtfully, wearing a frown. ‘And I don’t want you changing my mind here.’ Pause. ‘But you can finish the jam off.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I can get Nan to make us some more,’ he winks.

  ‘That’s good, because her last batch is no more.’

  ‘You ate it without me?’ he asks, his jaw dropping as he tries not to laugh.

  ‘Look, I’ve just been grounded in London – I think I deserved it.’

  ‘Fair dos,’ he winks. ‘I will miss you, you know.’

  ‘I’d miss me too,’ I say, my dodge
of an emotional goodbye making him smile.

  ‘Well – be good while I’m away,’ he says, loitering around my desk.

  ‘As if I’d be anything else.’

  He lunges for me then, his arms spreading around me and giving me a hug. ‘I really am sorry you’re not coming. I wish there was something I could’ve done to change that.’

  With a kiss on the cheek and a further squeeze, he releases me, turns and leaves.

  I stand, looking after him, and feel totally bummed at the situation as I stop myself from bawling my eyes out.

  Five minutes later, once I’ve composed myself, I grab my red moleskin notebook from my desk and pop it in my bag, put on my coat and head out of the door – still thinking of Real Brett as I leave.

  I wonder why I lied to him about seeing Max and my family tonight, and why I impulsively ducked out of spending time with him.

  I’m embarrassed, I realize, sadly. Embarrassed that Jonathan thought so little of me to strip me of something he knows I’ve worked hard for, and humiliated that Real Brett saw him do it.

  Even though Real Brett was right in telling me not to act without thinking in the heat of the moment, I’m ashamed that I slid back into the role of Jonathan’s doting PA so quickly. That I was there making him coffee, replying to his emails and booking his car in for an MOT the very afternoon that he trampled all over my loyalty.

  Do I really have no self-respect? No dignity?

  Do I really place my own fulfilment so low down on my scale of priorities? After all, it’s not the first time I’ve put someone else’s needs and happiness before my own. I did the same with Dan all those years ago.

  Perhaps I’m someone that people take for a pushover.

  A total mug.

  Mum’s completely right about people like me being totally undesirable.

  Well, I’m sick of being that person. I no longer want to make things easier for everyone else just to keep the peace. Fuck that. Sometimes in life you have to stop and say to yourself, ‘You know what? Now’s my time to be selfish …’

  Well, now’s my time to be a little selfish and make my life about me.

  I walk home with great gusto and feel fully charged when I get back to our little flat.

  Saturday morning I wake up happier than ever, which is surprising seeing as I should’ve been thirty thousand feet in the air at that very moment. I rebuff my plans for a weekend hiding under my bedsheets watching crappy TV – instead I pull out my moleskin notebook and flick through my initial pitch notes for Grannies Go Gap. I loved brainstorming for that and developing my tiny idea into something worth watching, that viewers would connect with. I’m not prepared to settle for being someone’s unappreciated PA when I loved doing something else so much.

  Continuing to flick through my notes, I stumble across a page that’s not written by me, but by Real Brett. He must’ve written it while I walked away from my desk the night before.

  ‘All our dreams can come true, if we have the courage to pursue them.’ Walt Disney.

  I take a deep breath.

  I turn to a blank page.

  I start conjuring up new creative ideas and scribble them down.

  31

  When I walk into Jonathan’s office on Monday morning carrying his coffee and the requested pain au chocolat, I feel confidently ready for action. The last time I asked to be considered for a promotion I felt timid and shy, nervous of being rejected and laughed at for my audacity to dream bigger than my current role. But this time, I’ve done it. I’ve created, I’ve developed – I have a show that’s currently being recce’d (albeit without me) on the other side of the world, and have proved that I’ve got what it takes to do the job.

  This time I have self-belief.

  This time I know my self-worth.

  ‘Jonathan?’ I ask, putting his treats down on his desk.

  ‘Yes Sarah?’ he answers without even looking up as he grabs his sweet roll from the plate and jabs it in his pie-hole.

  ‘I was just wondering what the plans are moving forward?’ I say, my voice as steady and calm as I feel.

  ‘In what way?’ he asks, flakes of croissant spraying over his desk.

  ‘Well, will you be getting someone in to cover me? When I go to Oz?’

  It’s bold, it’s brazen. It’s necessary.

  ‘Erm. I see … well it’s a tricky situation, you see,’ he coughs, taking a moment to swallow his food.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Well, no one’s left the Development team – there’s no position to move you to yet. I can’t just magic one up. And, the fact of the matter is you are my PA. I can’t have you swanning off when we’re so busy. Your job requires you to be here.’

  ‘I see,’ I say, giving him an understanding nod.

  ‘Don’t be too despondent,’ he sighs, in a way that is just that.

  ‘No, of course not. I totally understand your point,’ I nod. ‘I’ll just get back to my desk. Unless there’s anything you need?’

  ‘Oh, wonderful, thank you Sarah. Couple of biscuits if there’s any going spare. That would be fabulous,’ he says, stuffing the remainder of the food on his plate in his face.

  ‘Certainly, Jonathan,’ I say, turning and leaving his office.

  I find two chocolate bourbons to accompany what I’ve already taken in and efficiently deliver them with a smile on my face.

  When I’m back at my desk I email recruitment agent Tor about getting a new job, as I am now in absolutely no doubt that I need a fresh start somewhere new, in a place where I’m going to be valued and taken seriously.

  Tor emails back within five minutes, telling me that there are already a few jobs out there that might suit me and asking if she can put me forward for them.

  I say yes straight away.

  I then stand up from my chair and leave my desk. Walking tall and full of self-belief, I head towards Jonathan’s office. I don’t want to stay here a moment longer than necessary now that I’ve made the decision. Yes, I realize I’ve got nowhere to go yet – but I will.

  Walking in, I’m surprised to find Jonathan at his desk, slurping on his coffee and reading rugby player Gareth Thomas’ autobiography – so much for being manically busy and needing me around.

  ‘Jonathan, could I have a word? If you’re not too busy?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Come in, sit down,’ he says without even a hint of embarrassment as he dog-ears the page he’s on and rests his hands on top of the closed book.

  ‘I’m sure this won’t come as a complete shock given recent events, but I’m afraid I’m handing in my resignation,’ I say, wanting to laugh as the words come out of my mouth – shocked that I’m seeing this through and making the change.

  ‘What? But you just said you understood …’

  ‘Yes, and I do. I understand that there’s no room for me here to do what I want and that if I want to further my career I have to move on.’

  ‘And you’re sure?’ he bumbles.

  ‘Very sure.’

  ‘But your project?’

  ‘Oh, it is my project now?’ I say, my face one of amused bewilderment. ‘I thought I was just your PA?’

  ‘That’s not what I meant. That’s not what I was saying,’ he stammers.

  ‘It was, Jonathan. Regardless of whether I stayed or not I wouldn’t actually be a part of that show – so I’m happy leaving it in the capable and kind hands of Brett while I contribute my ideas somewhere else.’

  ‘But, Sarah …’

  ‘Yes?’ I answer.

  He sighs.

  ‘Very well. I’m actually sorry we couldn’t make this work.’

  ‘So am I,’ I respond, leaving the room.

  It’s a slight lie. Although I am sad not to be seeing my Grannies Go Gap idea come into fruition, I know a fresh start somewhere else is exactly what I need. If anything, Jonathan’s done me a favour by not fully seeing my potential.

  My only regret is that I might not be here when Real Brett comes back, dep
ending on whether they extend their trip to include New Zealand too.

  I try not to let the thought dampen my independent-women-moment that’s worthy of a few finger clicks and some questionable head flicking.

  For the rest of the week, as Tor successfully lines me up with some last-minute job interviews, Jonathan graciously lets me out of the office, knowing that I’ll make up the workload and have even set about finding my own replacement to make things easier for him – well, I am still his PA.

  By the end of the following week I’ve magically bagsied a job in another production company a few streets away. As soon as Tor sent me over the job description I knew I was right for the role – especially as it’s with the people who made Four in a Bed, Gogglebox and many other reality TV shows that I’ve spent hours of my life watching.

  It wasn’t an easy interview process, but Tor’s feedback was that they loved my passion for their genre of shows and thought I’d bring great ideas to the table. They were gutted that they couldn’t nab Grannies Go Gap from Red Brick, but I think knowing I was going to jump ship without it anyway made them realize I was serious about the role and my future in Development. Having slashed their own Development team a decade ago, they understood how difficult it was waiting to be bumped up.

  When Tor phones me with the good news I’m flabbergasted. I sit at my desk for a whole five minutes wondering if I’m dreaming the whole thing – although the chance would be a fine thing, seeing as my dreams seem to have vanished, taking Dream Brett with them.

  32

  There have only been a handful of times in my life when I’ve had to phone Mum and confess to some sort of naughty behaviour – like when I drove home from uni one Saturday morning stupidly tired from an all-night party and got pulled over by the police (they’d been driving behind me for ten minutes and noticed I had my windscreen wipers on full, even though it was a scorching hot sunny day). Although I passed the breathalyser test (I’d responsibly stopped drinking at midnight), I was in no fit state to drive and the nice policemen made my parents pick me up from Milton Keynes. They weren’t impressed. Then there was the time I was caught stealing chocolate from Budgens by my friend’s mum (luckily not the shop staff), who then made me phone Mum and tell her what I’d been doing. And finally there was the time I’d played truant from school and went to Brighton with my friends. After getting too enthralled by the two-pence machine I got separated from everyone in the arcades and my friend Laura Ponsford wandered off with my purse. With no clue as to where I was or how to get home, I panicked. Thankfully I managed to phone them with the handful of two-pence pieces that I’d won, although their stony faces when they came to collect me will never be lost from my memory. Even Max was pissed off with me because them making the drive to Brighton meant that he had to miss a karate lesson. It was a shit night, to be honest.