Crazygirl Falls in Love

by Alexandra Wnuk

  It was one of those awesome imagination-stretchy conversations, brainstorming new ideas about life and what it all means. Good stuff, bad stuff, and everything in between. Also, and quite randomly, the conversation drifted into the realm of conspiracy theories and I guess that’s when I must have drifted off. Last thing I remember Blue was insisting 9/11 was an inside job.

  I stand from the couch and stretch my legs, happy that my foot feels so much better. I’m surprised when I notice my head isn’t sore from last night, although my tummy feels queasy.

  I spot my old Gribbles compendium on the coffee table, with a note scribbled on the top sheet of the pad. I lean down to read it and see it’s from Blue,

  ‘Morning my little Peanut, meet me at the Loft tonight at 8pm. Also, it’s time we exchanged numbers, 07 474 964 7557

  I smile and pick up my phone to save his number, and can’t believe my eyes. Seven messages and eleven missed calls, but not from scary work people, but from my mates. There’s Mags with five (!) missed calls and a few Whatsapps explaining she was at an Amnesty International seminar last night and couldn’t answer, but I should call her back because she has news. There’s Emma with a long voicemail saying how worried she’s been, and did I really do that to He Who Shall Not Be Named, and that she’d been out rock climbing and hadn’t seen my messages until later but to call her first chance I got. Stalker’s tried calling, and there’s messages from Maya, Arianna and even Juan (don’t remember texting him, I guess Arianna or Emma must have said something).

  And there’s Chloe,

  I can’t believe you resigned, that is immense! I’m sorry too about the other day too

  There’s also a frantically worded email from my parents calling me a lunatic for resigning like that and that I must Skype them immediately.

  I want to call everyone at once. I sit back down on the sofa, drape the soft duvet around my shoulders and call Emma.

  “Hey sis,” she answers, managing to sound concerned and pissed off at the same time.

  “Hey Em. Look , before you say anything I need to tell you how sorry I am for what I said on Sunday. I am so, so sorry, I don’t think any of those things about you, I said them because I was hurt and angry and you were an easy target.”

  “It’s okay. You’re delivery needs a little work but the message was right.”

  “No no no, I was wrong, completely wrong. I take you for granted and worse I think because we’re family and we know far, far too much about each other, it’s hard to find a comfortable distance. I’m going to respect you and treasure you and never take you for granted again.”

  “Thanks sis,” the tone of pissed-off-ness has dissipated, “but you weren’t wrong. I delved a little further and found out that Dublin has two kids he somehow neglected to mention. Two little girls.”

  “Oh Em, I’m so sorry. Will you keep seeing him?”

  “No, I told him it was off as soon as he told me. He broke my trust and there’s no going back from that. He told me he’d fallen in love and wanted to start a life with me, but two kids... Kids should come first, shouldn’t they?”

  “Yeah, they should. I just want to put it out there, I think what you’ve done is really mature. I do know how much you liked him.”

  “I did, I think, but it wasn’t right from the start and I felt that whenever we were together. The fancy dinners were nice though.”

  I laugh. It’s my first since... Gosh, I can’t even remember. The courtesy laughs I was giving PJ Staples don’t count. We talk for a bit more before she needs to get back to work. I call my parents next even though it’s 11 p.m. in Melbourne and I know they’ll be sleeping. They answer with drowsy voices, but when they register it’s me are suddenly fully alert and telling me off for worrying them so much. I tell them to chill out, that everything is okay and I’ll call them tonight when it’s morning in Aussie-land.

  Next, I dial Chloe.

  “Hi Pen.”

  “Hey, do you have a second?”

  “Sure, I’m in a meeting room. Everyone just left.”

  “Great. Chlo, I’m so sorry for everything, I know that sounds like a blanket cop out apology but there are so many things I’ve done in the last few weeks, months, that I’ve regretted. So many it’s like they’re merging into one monsoon of regret. I never wanted to hurt you.”

  “I know. Apology accepted and I’m sorry too, I was a right bitch the other day. Anyway enough about that, so you quit your job? It all sounded a bit... dramatic.”

  We speak for over an hour, with me relating everything from the Incident (which she fully approved of and patted me on the back for), to the resignation, to PJ Staples, to the note from Blue. She asks whether I’ll go to Loft and I tell her that the plan is yes, but that I want to see her tonight too. She says she’s got dinner plans but we could meet up for drinks afterwards. I yell, “Yes yes yes!” into my receiver, probably deafening my friend but I can’t help it because I am so happy it’s all okay between us again. I ask her who she’s having dinner with and choke on the green tea I’ve made,

  “Majnoon.”

  A cough, gasp and green-tea-splutter later, I apologise and say,

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “There are two philosophies in life we should all apply more often, keep your friends close and your enemies closer, and revenge is a dish best served cold.”

  “You’re plotting revenge on Majnoon?”

  “Absolutely. He and his girlfriend split over the weekend and he’s already been asking around the office to see if I’m available. Talk about getting back on the horse. Anyway, I’ve accepted, it might give me the goods I need for ultimate sabotage.”

  “You know Chlo, the best revenge is living a good, fulfilling life.”

  “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

  “True,” I reply, laughing.

  “Maybe we can plot together. I want blood, Pen!”

  Here we go again, I smile to myself. We arrange to meet at 10:00 p.m. for drinks near Loft, after I’m done seeing Blue and she’s done luring Majnoon into a false sense of security. I do wonder what she’s got in store for him. Chloe is very clever, she’ll use any personal information he offers to her advantage. Guess he should have thought of that before planting typos in her work.

  I call Mags next,

  “Oh my gosh Penny, are you okay?”

  I go over what happened yesterday and last night, thanking her for her concern,

  “Of course I was worried, no one knew where you’d gone. I’m so glad you’re safe.”

  “Thanks baby.”

  “Before I go, Sam asked me to pass on a message.”

  “Oh my, I’m not sure I want to hear it!”

  What if Gribbles are working on a case to deport me? Can’t I live in blissful ignorance for one more day before the world caves in on me?

  “He told me to tell you that your manager is in trouble. She’s being investigated for workplace bullying. A few people in your team lodged complaints against her after you left.”

  “Maybe they were inspired by that disgraceful resignation letter?” I say.

  “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad?”

  “Define ‘bad’?”

  “You shouldn’t feel guilty, she sounds like something straight out of that Horrible Bosses movie. Sam also said she’s in trouble for ‘writing on’ your Lloyds hours? I’m sorry I don’t know what that means, but I hope it helps?”

  “Oh wow. Yeah it does Mags, thanks for that. Tell Sam I said thanks too.”

  We arrange a Penny Mags Retro Movie date for this Sunday to catch up properly. Before she goes back to her class a thought strikes me. If I’m going to turn over a new leaf and be a better person, I should try cooking something she’d fancy for brunch. I ask her what her favourite breakfast is. When she replies with porridge, berries and honey, I’m thrown. Here we’ve been all these years, me cooking her English fry ups because I thought she liked them, when in actuality she would have preferred something comple
tely different, all because I never bothered to ask. I tell Mags I’ll cook porridge for her this Sunday. And it’ll be good porridge too, not the mushy boarding school stuff.

  I’ve been talking for hours. I place my phone down and head to the kitchen to make another cuppa, pondering Stalker’s information as I prepare. I can’t believe Angrypants was stupid enough to write on so many hours.

  You see, Partners have carte blanche to alter timesheets as they see fit. Mostly it’s to write off, or decrease, the hours a consultant has put on a timesheet. There’s nothing a client hates more than seeing fifty hours charged to a job when it should have taken half that time or less.

  Writing on is done if a Partner thinks they can get away with it. If there’s an efficient consultant who is churning out heaps of work at a fraction of the budget, that’s not necessarily a good thing. Too few hours means that next time the client asks for the same work they’ll want it cheaper, because they know it can be done quicker. So a Partner will write on hours to prove to the client they need that amount of dosh and not a penny less. Ethical, huh?

  But to write on thirty hours is insane. Maybe it was a typo and she only wanted to write on three. Maybe she was confused because Stalker and I were both supposed to be working on Lloyds that week. Maybe Tesco were pressuring her to bill less, whilst the Lloyds budget was so bloated she thought she could steal a week or two with no one the wiser. Or maybe it was just a brain fart. Happens to the best of us.

  Regardless, it’s nice to know I can move on with a clear name, and even nicer to see that Angrypants wasn’t such a perfect consultant after all.

  It’s lunchtime so I decide to visit Sainsbury’s to restock. After hitting the fruits and yogurts and wholemeal breads (soy and linseed all the way!), I scour the place for their nicest oats and honey. I’ll get the berries over the weekend so they’re fresh. Then I start wracking my brain for the ingredients Blue liked in his sandwich. The very least I can do is make him one, after all he’s done for me. What were they again? There were heaps of meats in it but I can’t remember which ones so I end up buying them all – smoked ham, honey glazed ham, prosciutto, roast beef, pepperoni, bresaola, salami, turkey breast, chicken breast. He had mentioned lettuce and tomato, of that I’m sure, but he wanted extra of one of them and I can’t remember which. So I buy extra of both. I guess he’d like cheddar, everyone likes cheddar, even the cheese snobs who won’t admit to it, but I can’t remember if he mentioned any other cheeses specifically. So I buy most of those too, from Gouda to gorgonzola to everything in between. And I think he may have mentioned avocado, so I grab one of those before I check out.

  I end up with ten heavy shopping bags. By the time I’m back home I’m hot, sweaty and out of breath, my hands sore from the plastic bag handles digging into my palms. But I’m happy.

  I dump the food in the kitchen and take our Blue’s sandwich ingredients, arranging them neatly on the counter. It’s a mountain of gastronomic joy and goodness. Look at how much cheese there is! I take a photo and send it to the number he wrote down on the pad, with the caption,

  I.O.U. one Epic Sandwich. Signed, Penny

  Before filling the fridge with all the yummy things I take out that bottom tray with the dried syrup puddle and scrub it senseless under hot water. No more expired olives, no more liquid lunches, no more biscuit binges, no more take out six nights a week, and I will never, ever eat tray-syrup again.

  As I clean I hear my phone. It’s Blue,

  OH MY GOD! It’s a meat tornado, a sandwich to rule all sandwiches! How are you feeling today? Looking forward to seeing you tonight.

  While I’m replying my phone starts ringing with a number I don’t recognise. I hesitate for a moment. Have I got the balls to take this call? It could be anyone. I manage to put my fears aside and swipe the green dot. If it’s someone nasty I’ll simply hang up on them. Gribbles don’t own me anymore. I am free.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello Penny, this is Gerald Winterbottom from Lloyds.”

  Oh no.

  “Hello there...” I venture.

  “Hello. Miss Jones, let’s make one thing clear from the outset. I owe you an apology for yesterday.”

  Come again?

  “No way sir, the apology is all mine. There was no excuse for my behaviour and you didn’t deserve it.”

  “Not entirely true, and I’m man enough to know when I’ve wronged a person and I do believe I wronged you.”

  “I think I wronged you more. I acted childishly, abused you and your staff in your own office then accused you of being a chauvinist. In my defence, I think yesterday may have been an overdue psychotic episode.”

  “Perhaps, but your outburst caused a chain reaction that revealed a great deal about your former fiancé. I am not sure if you’ve been told yet, but there have been allegations of insider trading around this transaction. We were led to believe that you may have been the source, but after your, how did you put it, psychotic episode, which questioned his character, we undertook a background search. I am afraid to say, he was the culprit, trading stocks to his advantage.”

  “Oh my.”

  “Yes, most unfortunate. We can’t have that sort of behaviour going on, it upsets the Board and unsettles the stomachs of our investors.”

  “Of course.”

  “But dear, this is where my apology comes in. The reason I suggested that a man should fill in for Sam was that at the time, we believed you may have been the offender, not because you are female. I was caught off-guard in the meeting and it was the first thing I could think of for removing you from the project. I can imagine how it must have sounded, and I do apologise.”

  “Oh, that’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

  Then I don’t believe my ears when he says they fired He Who Shall Not Be Named. I do a double take,

  “You fired him?”

  “It’s illegal activity, the scallywag will be lucky to get away with only a lost job. Our legal team will be pressing charges. Which is the other reasons I’m calling. Have you decided for certain that you’ll be leaving Gribbles?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Without a shadow of a doubt?”

  “No shadow here, I submitted my resignation letter yesterday.”

  “Then would you be interested in interviewing for a position with our legal team here at Lloyds? We have a group of twelve, led by a Mr Thomas Shears. Their workload is increasing and they are looking to hire. Some of it would be very similar to what you did at Gribbles, lease reviews et cetera, but other parts would be very different, delving into criminal law I’m told, and quite a rewarding challenge for you to be sure. Would you be interested?”

  “You want to hire me?”

  “We’d like to interview you. If you agree I’ll contact HR and they will set up a time for next week.”

  I still don’t get it.

  “I still don’t get it, sir. You want to interview me after all the things I said?”

  And what about the emotional element of women and their crusades, eh? What about that?

  “We thought it would be wise to contact you before Tesco do. You have a good reputation amongst your clients, my dear. Why, I used to work at Tesco back in the dark ages and they tell me you are the backbone of their leases in the South East. Another thing, I would want your help with the evolving field of sustainability law. It’s not one of my strengths, as you would have picked up in yesterday’s meeting. I simply haven’t the foggiest what it’s all about. Sarah told me you wrote an article on sustainable property recently that has been well received, is that so?”

  We discuss my IEMA paper on ethical leasing and he seems impressed. He tells me HR will be in touch to arrange a date and time.

  I hang up and walk in a daze back to the sitting room. I lie on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. I have a feeling I’ll be looking back on this moment with the same sense of bewilderment and shock I’m feeling right now. How has this happened? I am over the moon, but really truly con
fused at the same time. My professional reputation is still intact? He Who Shall Not Be Named is ruined? I might make the dream move from consulting to in-house? Old Man Gin isn’t a chauvinist pig after all?

  I message everyone the news, including Blue, then head downstairs to check on the General and Captain. I’ve neglected them recently, and that’s stopping right now. No workload, no idiot Spanish wankers, no manager, nothing, will ever stop me looking after the people I care about again.

  The General greets me with his usual energy and enthusiasm. He takes me to the kitchen, where Captain is lying on his doggy bed looking bored. The General tells me he only came back from the vets yesterday but is doing much better. He says they can’t wait to get back out to Hyde Park,

  “We’re both feeling rather cabin-feverish in this old hut, wot wot?” Mr Harold laughs.

  I offer to go to the park with him to keep him company but he doesn’t want to leave Captain by himself. After a cup of tea I make my excuses and promise to come back tomorrow. The General and I pump fists on my way out, and I head back upstairs.

  It’s late afternoon, perfect time to go for a run. I only do three kilometres, I don’t want to risk injuring my foot, but by the time I finish, do my stretches (I never usually stretch, but that yogi in Goa was right – the more flexible I am the better my running will be), grab a shower and do my hair. And by then it’s time to head to Loft.