Life's What You Make It

by Sian O'Gorman

  Over the years, Roberto tried to disentangle me from Maribelle, but even he was giving up. ‘You might be a lost case by now,’ he’d said. ‘I don’t know if you could function with a normal job.’

  ‘Says the man who performs as a Kylie Minogue tribute act.’

  ‘You need to get out of there,’ he’d continued. ‘Before she brains you.’ He gave me a hard stare, the effect of which was somehow lessened by the sprinkling of shimmer clinging to his cheekbones. ‘With one of her overpriced, under-styled shoes. You’re co-dependent,’ he went on, warming to his theme. ‘It’s not healthy.’ He gave me another hard stare. ‘Where’s your crown, Liv? You had better find it and put it on! You can’t work for a sociopath all your life.’

  All I could do was agree. And yet I was still here. But life for Roberto was always more adventurous than me. Last year, he had a wild and passionate fling with a sexy Spaniard. Felipe was on a round-the-world gap-year trip, his time in London radically extended because of Roberto. For months, Felipe became our flatmate, making the bathroom permanently inaccessible as he spent hours bathing and showering, and replenishing food supplies became quite a struggle as he soon discovered the delights of cereal and toast with Irish butter. Felipe was five foot one with the appetite of an elephant. But then came the bombshell. He announced, ‘I have to go to Buenos Aires!’

  ‘Buenos Aires?’ Roberto was shocked into silence.

  ‘And Christchurch and Singapore and… back to London?’

  Roberto took it as a very personal rejection and told Felipe never to bother contacting him through any means ever again. But not one to let anything break his stride, not even heartbreak, the night Felipe left, Roberto took to the stage as Miss Minogue, putting in the kind of performance you wish Kylie herself had witnessed. It only made me love Roberto more, and I wished I had half his strength. And he was right, when it came to wearing crowns and knowing your worth, he was born in a tiara. I hadn’t quite located mine.

  I looked at the clock: 7.59 a.m. No sign of Maribelle. Maybe I had forgotten about a breakfast meeting? But I knew I hadn’t as one thing that helped me survive this job – and her – was being super-organised, always checking and double-checking every appointment in her schedule. Keeping away the constant threat was part of my job. Except… she wasn’t here.

  I started to worry. Despite everything, Maribelle was always at her desk at 7.45 a.m. every morning. She’d never missed a day, even when we’d arrived back from New York that time and she’d nearly got us thrown off the flight, or the evening after her divorce hearing from Doug – she’d rung me crying, but had turned up the next morning in brisk mode as though nothing had happened. So where was she this morning?

  My phone rang and I grabbed at it. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hello.’ It was an exceptionally posh woman’s voice. ‘Is that Olivia?’

  ‘It is,’ I said, sitting at my desk in my little corner outside my boss Maribelle’s office which was the size of the entire flat I shared with Roberto in Hackney.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind me calling you so early. I took your number from Jeremy’s phone…’

  ‘Who is this, please?’

  ‘I’m Cassandra. Jeremy and I are old, old friends,’ she said. ‘I’m sure he’s told you about me.’ Cassandra was Jeremy’s ex-girlfriend who had finished with him the year after she’d met some hedge fund manager and decided that Jeremy, being a mere investment banker, wasn’t quite enough.

  ‘No… not a word.’ He’d claimed to be over her, but he hadn’t actually stopped going on about her – the things they’d done, the Barry Manilow song she used to sing as her party piece, the fact that she once parked on the double yellows outside Harrods because she needed some kind of special cheese for a dinner party, the trip to Tuscany where she’d roasted an entire hog she’d bought in a market and the fact that she once spoke perfect Portuguese to José Mourinho when they met him in a pub one evening. ‘She sounds,’ Roberto had said, when I confessed I was feeling a little put out by the mentions, ‘utterly tiresome. Like Princess Margaret crossed with Violet Elizabeth Bott.’

  ‘We used to live together in Fulham?’ said Cassandra, sounding slightly irritated and surprised. ‘For five years?’

  ‘No, sorry.’

  ‘Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter, but the reason I’m calling is because I’m a girl’s girl and I thought you should know that Jeremy and I met up last night… in fact, I’m still here in his flat. He’s just in the shower. We met at the wedding and… well, he never mentioned you until this morning.’

  ‘Okay…’ I tried to take it all in.

  ‘If I’d known about you,’ went on Cassandra, ‘then obviously we wouldn’t have…’ She paused. ‘Done anything.’

  Oh God.

  ‘I love your accent,’ she said. ‘I just love the Irish. They are so friendly!’

  I really didn’t feel like being friendly. How long would it be before I could end this awful conversation and then dwell on what she had said?

  ‘Do you know the Fitzgeralds?’ she went on. ‘The Glin Castle Fitzgeralds? I was there for a wedding last year.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Oh…’ she trilled. ‘That’s a shame. They are such absolutely lovely, lovely, lovely people. So down to earth.’ Cassandra pronounced the word ‘earth’ as though she was regurgitating air.

  ‘Okay then, thanks…’

  ‘I thought you should know,’ she said. ‘Being a girl’s girl…’

  ‘Yes, thanks for letting me know.’ I put the phone done. Firmly. I had stayed with Jeremy for months because I felt sorry for him and then he went and did this.

  I dialled Roberto, he’d know what to do.

  ‘Liv?’ The sound of the TV was turned down. ‘Just muting Good Morning Britain. Susanna is wearing what can only be described as mother of the bride of Frankenstein…’

  I wished I was back in the flat right now. ‘Jeremy and his ex-girlfriend slept together last night.’

  ‘How do you know?’ I could imagine him narrowing his eyes in that way he did when he was feeling particularly overprotective of me.

  ‘She called me. She got my number from Jeremy’s phone… what’s my next move?’

  Roberto thought for a moment. ‘Right, you call Jeremy and tell him what you think of him,’ he said. ‘You, in no uncertain terms, tell him what you would like to do to the softer, more delicate parts of his body. You eviscerate him. Got it?’

  ‘Maybe I will just tell him that I don’t want to go out with him any more?’

  ‘Where are we?’ said Roberto. ‘Junior school? No, this is your chance for a “scene”. You’ve earned one.’ He sounded almost delighted.

  ‘A scene?’

  ‘Yes! Where you get to be all dramatic and you can shout and stomp around and say terrible things… I’m quite jealous, actually. My last scene was the night before Felipe left.’ His voice wobbled, which was my cue to bolster him. Roberto had ordered me to stop him from dwelling on Felipe under any circumstances. He was going to get over this heartbreak in express time.

  ‘Don’t think about him!’ I said quickly. ‘Snap out of it!’

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, his voice back to normal. ‘So, back to Jeremy the worm. Call him and dump him. Make that scene! Add a few bon mots, a few pithy remarks. But, most importantly, Liv, you’re rid of the lame duck. Run free, my pretty one! Run for the wind!’

  The scene with Jeremy – which I knew would never be up to Roberto’s standards – would have to wait, however, because it was getting on for 8.45 a.m. and there was still no sign of Maribelle. I began repeatedly calling her mobile.

  By 9.15 a.m. I had gone to the drastic length of calling her ex-husband. After working for Maribelle for eight years, there was no way I would call us friends, or even friendly, and she remained unknowable and often unlikable, but I had been involved in her life in an intimate way. I’d organised her fiftieth birthday in Positano, I looked after the buying of presents
for her son, Sasha, and organised getting him to and from school, and it was me who’d filed all her divorce papers last year.

  ‘Ah, Olivia,’ Doug said, sounding wearier than usual. ‘I thought that perhaps HR might have called you by now. But then I seem to spend my life thinking people are doing what they ought and then being bitterly disappointed.’ He sighed heavily. ‘Well, suffice to say, Maribelle was stopped by the police while driving under the influence last night. And as it is the third such auspicious event this year… and where are we? The end of May? Well, it’s not bad-going. Impressive really. She’s obviously determined to make it a record year. Except this time, Sasha was in the car.’

  ‘Oh my God.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘So, where is she?’

  ‘Still at Her Majesty’s pleasure, or rather the cells of Marylebone police station,’ he said. ‘I’ve been asked to go and pick her up.’ He let out another sigh. ‘Anyway, I believe your esteemed workplace has decided that Maribelle goes to a rehabilitation centre. It seems she’s too valuable an equities strategist just to fire. When there’s money to be made, it’s amazing how solutions and sticking plasters can be found.’ He paused. ‘So, there you have it.’

  I’d known about Maribelle’s drinking for years, but now it was public, my heart went out to her. The fact that her bosses, the board who ran this equities company, knew her deepest and darkest would be awful for her. Worrying about Maribelle had displaced the scene with Jeremy and Cassandra. They were welcome to each other, I thought. Roberto was right, I was free as a bird. Unlike Maribelle.

  At 11 a.m., Valerie from HR called me. ‘Olivia? I take it you’ve heard? Now, we want to keep it quiet, obviously. We can’t let any competitors know that one of our finest has something of a problem. Hush-hush, you know how it is. We’re saying there’s been a bereavement and she is taking time out to be at her mother’s side. Does she have a mother? No one seems to know. Do you?’

  ‘Um… she must do,’ I said. ‘Or at least one somewhere along the way.’

  ‘Anyway,’ went on Valerie, ‘it’s five weeks in an exceedingly swish clinic. Can you use the word swish when referring to rehab? Anyway, it looks lovely on the website. The Cotswolds, obviously. More like a spa really. I wouldn’t mind checking myself in!’ She gave a little laugh. ‘I’ll have to hit the cooking sherry, won’t I?’ Her voice turned serious again. ‘No, it’s very sad, that’s what it is. Did you know about the… vodka?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Of course I knew about the vodka, but I’d been covering for Maribelle for years, watching her jealously guard her ‘water’ bottle in the same way Gollum minded the ring.

  ‘Or the Tia Maria in her coffees?’

  ‘Really?’ Now, this I wasn’t aware of. It sounded like something Roberto would insist we drank on Christmas morning.

  ‘And the car accident last year?’

  ‘She had cut her face…’

  ‘Under the influence, I’m afraid. There were rumours, obviously. But she is such a talented woman – an equities strategic genius, really. The general consensus, according to our grapevine, was that Maribelle would conquer her demons herself. But… obviously not.’

  I wondered what it meant for me, while Maribelle was baring her soul in this Cotswolds rehab, would I be twiddling my thumbs? Or would I be redeployed to one of the other strategists? Which maybe wouldn’t be a bad thing… it might be quite nice to work for someone who was easier than Maribelle. I felt a pang of guilt for being so disloyal. Maribelle may have won awards for being a truly awful person to work for. But she was my truly awful person to work for. And there she was in rehab. On her own. Probably scared and lonely, sans mobile phone, her only comfort a towelling dressing gown.

  ‘So,’ went on Valerie, ‘suffice to say, you have a month off, longer if you want to tag on some holiday leave? If that’s all right with you? Obviously, full pay. Take time to rest and recoup. Mr Edwards is aware of Maribelle’s slightly more eccentric managerial style and says we won’t redeploy you, but we will see you back here when Maribelle is released from her… confinement.’

  My silence in return for time off. ‘Full pay?’ I checked. ‘A month off?’

  ‘Mr Edwards does, however, hope that not a word will be breathed to anyone in the industry.’

  ‘I promise…’

  Breathe a word? I could barely breathe with excitement. I could already feel a weight being lifted off my shoulders. I was free. Well, five whole weeks of free, but still free. It was like that feeling on the last day of summer term when you had weeks and weeks stretching into the future.

  ‘That sounds fine, Valerie,’ I said, actually punching the air. And I knew exactly where I was going.

  3

  Me: Cassandra called me and told me what happened.

  Jeremy: Don’t believe a word she says. Cassandra is a well-known liar and fantasist.

  Me: I believe her though.

  Jeremy: Well, you shouldn’t.

  Me: …

  Jeremy: Do you want to meet? I can come and see you after work? Grapeshots at 6?

  Me: Meeting Jeremy after work.

  Roberto: Can I be in the audience?

  Me: It’s not going to take long. Will be home later.

  Roberto: I’ll have the vino ready. BREAK A LEG LIV! LOVE YOU!

  Me: Love you too!

  Roberto would have been disappointed with the scene between Jeremy and me. It lacked all drama when Jeremy realised there was no wriggling out of this. He blamed it on Cassandra. ‘It’s all her fault,’ he said. ‘She’s needy and vulnerable and I felt sorry for her. But it’s over and it won’t happen again.’

  Jeremy was a handsome man, blond hair and a gym-honed physique but with a soft and squidgy face, resembling the boarding-school tapioca pudding on which he’d been raised. Once, it had made him endearing, but this evening he looked like an angry teddy bear. I wondered what I’d ever seen in him. I had felt sorry for him when he’d told me about his school days and then my empathy was even further magnified once I’d met his awful parents. But feeling sorry for someone was no reason to be in a relationship. Cassandra, I thought, had done me a favour. Without her, I might have wasted more months with Jeremy. I was already tasting freedom. Sitting in this dark bar with the summer evening stretching ahead, I thought of Sandycove and what it would be like right now. There was a pub that Bronagh and I used to go to, The Island, which had a small courtyard at the back, and on summer evenings the whole village would seem to be there, fresh from swims, their hair still wet, noise and laughter in the air.

  ‘Can’t we just forget about it?’ said Jeremy, turning his tapioca mouth into a little pleading smile. ‘We’re good together. We complement each other. I’m a leader, you’re the follower.’ He was looking increasingly confident.

  ‘Follower?’ This conversation wasn’t going quite the way I had imagined. Roberto had sent me off with the kind of instructions some barbarian might have imparted to his second-in-command, but this was less West End show and more end-of-the-pier summer special.

  ‘You can’t have two leaders or two followers,’ went on Jeremy, in his smooth public-school drawl, ‘didn’t you know?’ He looked at me fondly, as though I was slow on the uptake. ‘We suit each other. Follower, leader. Leader, follower.’ He pointed from him to me and back again.

  ‘Can we get back to Cassandra?’

  ‘Do we have to?’ he whined.

  ‘No, we don’t have to,’ I said. ‘But…’ I thought of Roberto. And I thought of Ireland. ‘I’ve got some time off. A month… and I’m going home.’

  ‘Home?’ He looked confused. ‘As in Hackney?’

  ‘No, home as in Dublin,’ I said. ‘Sandycove. My mother has had a Pilates-related accident and she needs some help in the shop.’ And that was it, my subconscious had organised everything. I felt an excitement I hadn’t felt in years. Four weeks at home, looking after my mum, working in Nell’s, making up for being a less than dutiful daughter, and makin
g amends for being a little difficult and resentful over the years.

  ‘Her shop?’

  I’d told him about it many times. ‘Her clothes boutique, Nell’s…’

  ‘And you’re going to what?’ He looked confused.

  ‘I’m going to work there. I can make sure she’s all right and do whatever she needs.’

  ‘Doesn’t she have someone else who can do that?’

  ‘She does, actually,’ I said. ‘But I want to help as well… and…’

  Jeremy was looking totally put out, as though this was all about him. ‘But what,’ he said, ‘about your job? Your proper job. Here in London.’

  ‘I’m on sabbatical,’ I said. ‘Time off for good behaviour.’

  ‘Ah! I see. You’re punishing me. You’re doing all this just to teach me a lesson. I’ve said I’m sorry! How many times do I have to say it? It’s because I went to boarding school,’ he said. ‘I’ve told you I’m trying to learn how to be more emotionally available.’

  I stood up, thinking how exhausting scenes were. I didn’t know how Roberto managed all of his. ‘I’m going to Ireland,’ I said. ‘I’m going tomorrow morning and… well… goodbye. Say hi to Cassandra.’

  ‘Be like that, then!’ he shouted, making me realise that I didn’t need time to think about it and I would be like that, then. He grabbed my hand.

  ‘Jeremy,’ I said. ‘I think it’s best if we just go our separate ways.’

  ‘What, now or forever?’

  ‘Forever.’

  ‘Are we still friends? Can I still text you?’

  ‘I don’t think so…’