by Anna Bell
Why is this all happening to me?
Sian and Ben aren’t talking to me, and now the only stable thing in my life – my job – is being taken away from me.
I guess I could focus on Joseph walking back into my life, but I can’t help but think that my break-up with him and the pursuit to get him back have landed me in this mess in the first place.
As I see it, there are two ways I could go with this. Sorting out my friendships and proving that I didn’t sabotage my own career; or going back to my flat, ordering a takeaway Chinese and having the mother of all moping sessions. And right now, I choose moping.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Tomorrow is the dreaded abseil, but with Joseph back on the horizon and me suspended, I’ve got absolutely no reason to do it – yet I’m not exactly jumping with joy . . .
I’ve been semi-unemployed Abi for all of four days. Four days and I’m already bored.
After spending the rest of Monday in stunned silence and denial, watching episode after episode of Grey’s Anatomy, by Tuesday reality had sunk in.
I decided that maybe I shouldn’t be hanging around in suspension limbo, and should look for a new job instead. I started the day in a flurry of activity getting excited that this could be my new start. I reasoned that I’d been in my job for seven years and perhaps it was time to spread my wings and have a fresh challenge. I earnestly looked at the jobs pages online, and then remembered how few design agencies there are in Portsmouth. After applying for a random design job that I’m not suited to, I had the brainwave that I’d go freelance. Seven years of contacts surely would mean that I’d be able to get some work.
I began making list after list of possible leads and things I’d need to do to get it up and running. I set up my own free website on Weebly and searched my Mac for things I could put in my portfolio, but aside from a freebie book cover that I designed for my friend who self-published, I had nothing that didn’t belong to the agency.
I’d always intended to grow a little sideline for when I had my 2.4 kids, only with me not getting anywhere close to that stage in my life, I hadn’t done anything about it.
Pissed off that I’d spent the evenings in my twenties going out drinking and watching too many box sets rather than setting up a side business, I sulked for the rest of the night and put on more Grey’s Anatomy.
On Wednesday I had an even better brainwave: I could still go freelance, and start my own company from scratch designing book covers. My self-published author friend said there was a huge demand for good cover art and since I love books, it would be perfect. I spent the morning researching other firms that offered similar services, and decided that there was room in the market.
Then I had probably the best idea ever, which was to write my own book. What better way to get my cover art noticed than to write a bestseller that would storm the charts and have everyone wondering who designed the cover? I’d always wanted to write a Jilly-Cooper-type bonkbuster.
But by midnight I had exactly the same number of words written as I had at midday. Zero. I’d spent most of the afternoon and evening trying to come up with a sexy man’s name to rival Rupert Campbell-Black. I went to bed exhausted and depressed.
Yesterday, I got up thinking that I’d move from Portsmouth. With Joseph potentially back on the scene, I widened the search to include the surrounding towns like Chichester and Petersfield. I even started to imagine that I could move in with Joseph to make a new commute easier and to save me from financial ruin. It was a win-win situation. But then I started to think of him and our relationship and my head started to spin. I’d been putting off seeing him all week as I still didn’t feel ready to hear what he’s got to say.
Really could my life be in any more of a mess?
The only saving grace in this whole thing is that now that I’m suspended I don’t have to go through with that terrifying abseil and, with Joseph potentially wanting me back, I have no reason to finish the list, no matter what Ben said.
When I woke up this morning, I didn’t know what to do. I’ve realised I don’t want to start my own business. There aren’t any jobs locally. I can’t write a bestseller. If I’m honest, I don’t want a new job. All I want is my old job.
And that’s when it hit me: I’m only suspended – I’ve still got time to fight to get my job back.
I’ve been at the company for seven years and apart from letting things slide when I was moping post-Joseph, I’ve done nothing but good work.
I love my job, my colleagues, and, when they don’t constantly change their mind, I love my clients. Pat the office manager always keeps the biscuit tin well stocked and I’ve just got my leather seat perfectly moulded to my bum. I don’t want to start somewhere new.
Is that bad? There are still plenty of things that I could achieve there and the company is expanding all the time so it’s not like I’ve got no room to grow.
And even if I didn’t want my job back I feel like I need to clear my name. What sort of reference would Rick give me if I got fired? Who would dare employ me?
If I’m going to leave Design Works it’s going to be on my terms.
I dial a number on my phone and wait for it to be connected.
‘Hiya,’ says Giles, the smile evident in his voice.
‘Hey, any news?’
I know I probably should start with some niceties to be polite, but I was born three weeks early and I’ve been impatient ever since. When I told him the whole story of the suspension on Monday, he’d offered to do some digging at work, and I’d finally rung him back this morning to give him the go ahead. It’s been the most agonising two hours waiting for an update.
‘Hang on.’
I hear a loud clatter that I recognise as him opening the bar on the fire escape.
‘Right, then, I’ve managed to get Sue from finance to pull up the purchase order and she found that there had been two created. Your original one, and another one.’
‘There are two?’ I say, wondering how he’d got Sue from accounts to do anything nice. She usually barks at me and writes me emails in capital letters telling me that I haven’t done my paperwork properly.
‘That’s right. She said it would have usually been flagged up on the system, but she’d had a note on her desk asking her to cancel the first one, so she had.’
My heart’s starting to race. Up until now I’d started to believe that Rick had been right, that I’d been so distracted lately that I’d fucked up. But here is proof that I hadn’t. Unless I somehow forgot that I’d created a whole other purchase order and written a note cancelling the first – and even I know that’s unlikely.
‘So when was it done?’
‘Um, the second one was created at seventeen twenty-five on 19 April.’
I usually have a terrible head for dates and times, but I know categorically where I was at that time.
‘I wasn’t in the office,’ I say, relieved that I haven’t had some weird spell of memory loss. ‘I left work at five on the dot as Ben and I got the train up to London, the night before we went to Paris.’
A jolt of pain hits me as I fleetingly remember Paris and then subsequently my argument with Ben.
‘It says your name on the order.’
‘But I didn’t send it.’
‘Is there anyone else that could have used your account?’
I rack my brains and screw up my eyes. ‘Well, Linz has been doing some of the orders for me, as she hasn’t got her own finance login yet, and I’ve been showing her how to use it.’
The words tumble out of my mouth. I’ve been showing her how to use it, and how to get my job.
‘Then it must have been her. Rick’s already given her the Vista account to work on – it’s only going to be a matter of time before he takes her on permanently and gives her your job. She must have planned it all along. We just need to present the evidence to Rick and then you can have your old job back.’
‘Hang on there, Columbo, what evidence? It says I di
d the order, it doesn’t prove it was her,’ I say with a big sigh.
‘Yeah, but you know it couldn’t have been you. Have you still got your train ticket?’
I scratch my head. ‘Probably. I expect it’s still in my backpack.’
‘Great, I’ll talk to Rick and –’
‘Giles, I think you’ve done enough . . . hello?’
I’m talking to my phone but there’s no one there. Giles has hung up.
I can feel the perspiration starting to form on my brow. What’s he saying to Rick? I slip my shoes on and wonder if I should go to the office. No, I think, sitting down on the couch. I don’t want to cause a scene.
I wanted to phone Rick when I’d worked out what I was going to say, and when I had a considered rational explanation. I don’t think having half the evidence and accusing Linz, the golden child, of orchestrating some crazy scheme to oust me is going to cut it.
My phone buzzes into life and my office number comes up.
‘Hello,’ I say, hoping that it’s Giles and that he hasn’t managed to find Rick.
‘Hi, Abi,’ booms Rick. ‘Giles has just given me the two purchase orders and he’s flapping around saying something about Linz interfering with your work.’
I take a deep breath. ‘I know this all sounds crazy, but I was on a train to London, and someone cancelled my original purchase order. I’ve probably got the train ticket to prove that I wasn’t in the office, but you’ve got to believe me.’
‘It should be easy to check if you were in the office or not. I’ll email IT now and get them to send me everyone’s login and logout times. What was the date and time?’
‘Seventeen twenty-five on 19 April.’
I hear the tip tap of keys as Rick types and I can’t quite believe that he’s doing this. I got the impression on Monday that he was looking for any reason to get rid of me, but now he’s actually listening and co-operating.
‘OK, so I’ve sent that to them and we’ll see what they come back with.’
‘Thanks, Rick. Look, I know that my work was shoddy earlier on in the year and I freely admit that. I was going through some stuff and I let it interfere with my work and I shouldn’t have done. But I feel I’ve worked so hard since then. With the Vista account and the work on the Spinnaker pitch. I don’t think I gave you much of an impression of how much I love my job and think I’m an asset to the company. I know it sounds crazy to accuse Linz of this, but someone’s been sabotaging my work and the only person I can think of is her. I mean, she’s ambitious and she wants to be taken on permanently. She’s made no secret of that.’
‘That’s no reason for her to have done these things,’ says Rick. ‘If they have been done by someone else.’
‘I know it sounds far-fetched, but she’s the only person that would have access to my finance login and be able to do the purchase order.’
‘Abi, it wasn’t Linz that did it.’
‘I know that it sounds ridiculous, but it had to be her.’
‘It wasn’t.’
‘You don’t know that for sure,’ I say, pacing my living room so much that I’m thinking I’m going to wear a track into the floor.
‘I do know that for sure. You’ll have to trust me.’
I’m about to point out that it’s hard for me to trust the person that practically sacked me earlier on in the week, but I bite my tongue. I don’t want to piss him off when I’m getting him on side.
‘So you believe that someone was trying to sabotage me?’
‘I’m considering it.’
I know it’s not a total vote of confidence, but it’s an improvement from Monday.
‘What changed your mind?’ On Monday he’d been so dismissive that he’d almost laughed at me.
‘Well, Linz did. I was talking to her about your museum meeting and she told me about how thorough you had been with the measurements and it just didn’t add up.’
Neither does the fact that Linz has been scheming to get me fired and then is trying to convince Rick that it wasn’t me.
‘I can’t work out what’s going on,’ I say, so confused.
In my head Linz is both Snow White and her wicked stepmother. I no longer know what to think.
‘It has to be someone that could have logged into the finance package as me and changed the files in InDesign.’
‘The InDesign angle doesn’t really help us as most of the account managers know how to use basic bits of it. Here we go – I’ve got an email back from IT. The only people in the office at that time were Fran, Greg, Heidi, Linz, Giles, Pat, Isla from accounts and Jo. Whilst Pat would be all over the finance programme I doubt she’d be able to manipulate the files in InDesign, and if she could she’s been wasted all these years. As for Isla, she’s about as creative as a black spot and Jo’s felt the brunt of you going. So that leaves Fran, Greg, Heidi or Giles.’
I think through the list. Giles can be discounted as I know it’s not him. Fran and Greg are my fellow designers and they’ve been with the company almost as long as me – we’re like siblings so it couldn’t be them. And Heidi, well I don’t know her very well – she works on the web team with Giles – but I can’t see why she’d be out to get me. Although I did spill a drink on her shoes at the Christmas do . . .
I still think the finger should be pointing at Linz as no one else has a motive.
‘I just don’t understand why anyone would do this.’
‘I don’t understand how anyone could have got your password to login to the finance package,’ says Rick. ‘You don’t have it written down anywhere, do you?’
I shut my eyes and wish I could turn back time.
‘Abi . . .’
‘I sort of have it written in the back of my work diary.’
‘Abi, what’s the number one rule of computer security? Don’t write your passwords down.’
‘But there are always so many to remember,’ I say in a whiney voice. I have a terrible, terrible memory for these things and we keep having to change them.
‘Right, so that’s that mystery’s solved – now to find out who did it.’
I sigh. We’re no Sherlock and Watson.
‘I’ve got an inkling of who it could be, I just need some time to do some fact-checking.’
‘It can’t be anyone but Linz. She’s the only logical candidate.’
‘Abi, it’s not Linz.’
‘Then who do you think it is? Can you at least give me a clue?’
‘Not until I’m certain. Look, come and do the Spinnaker abseil tomorrow. I know how much you wanted to do it and whatever happens I believe that it wasn’t you that did this. If you want to come back to work then you can.’
‘Really?’
‘Of course. So ten o’clock tomorrow morning at the tower.’
‘Or I could come to work on Monday instead?’
‘Come on, Abi, you were the inspiration for the abseil. Plus, I sort of have a plan regarding the saboteur and I need you involved.’
‘OK,’ I say, wondering if I should cast my net wider on the job front. There must be something else I’m qualified for other than graphic design . . .
We say our goodbyes and my heart feels a little lighter.
I only hope that Rick gets to the bottom of this, as I don’t really want to work there in fear that my work’s going to disappear or come out wrong again.
But on the upside, if I’m not going to get fired, then I won’t be getting evicted, so that’s one thing in my mess of a life that I don’t need to worry about. Now I just need to work out the fight with Sian and sort out my love life. But somehow I don’t think that’s going to be as easy.
As if on cue, the doorbell buzzes and I spring up to let Joseph through the main doors. I know it’s him without asking. He’s on time, as he always is, on the button of midday. He’d asked to meet for lunch as he had a client meeting round here and I’ve put off seeing him for long enough this week. I can’t hide from him for ever.
‘Hel
lo, you,’ I say, opening the door of my flat. His right hand is lifted as if he is about to knock, and as he brings it down he reaches over and rests it round my waist, pulling me into him.
I hadn’t expected him to kiss me, but I find myself melting and any resolve or resolution in my mind of how things are going to be different this time and how I’m going to be more like myself melt away. Because at this moment in time, I’d do anything he wanted.
He stumbles through the door and I hear it slam behind him as he pushes me up against the wall and kisses me more furiously. The hand that had been resting on my back is now moving under my shirt and he’s teasing me with his fingertips as he traces the pattern of my bra.
I’m going to have sex with Joseph.
My mind races through the mental checklist. Yes, I showered this morning, yes, my legs are shaved and whilst my bikini line hasn’t been waxed into action lately I don’t think it’s going to be like some jungle exploration.
He starts nibbling down my neck and I can hear myself groaning involuntarily with pleasure. It’s been a long three months.
Then it hits me again. I’m going to have sex with Joseph.
I instantly snap my head up straight and push him back.
He looks at me with hurt puppy-dog eyes.
‘What’s the matter,’ he says.
‘I want to take things slowly, remember. And you said you were going to tell me why we really broke up.’
My body is cursing my brain for its rationality as every part of me is crying out to be touched and caressed by him. But I’ve had a lot of time to think this week and if we’re getting back together it’s going to be a proper relationship – one where he gets to know the real me. Which means taking things slowly, including bedroom activities.
‘Do you want something to drink?’
‘No, I want you,’ he says, trying to grab my hips and pull me back into him as I walk into the kitchen.
‘And I want you,’ I say, my body still cross with my mind. ‘But we’ll get there. We’ve just got some stuff to work out first.’
