by Amy McLean
More like belts, Grace caught herself thinking as she spotted the size of Fran's skirt of choice that day. She didn't know why she even bothered wearing them; they barely covered anything.
It hadn't come as any surprise to Grace when she learned that Fran was in charge of writing about the latest fashion and beauty news. Although she avoided conversations with Fran at all costs, Grace had to admit that she admired Fran's ability to write extensively about celebrity faux pas. Grace simply didn't care about the latest must-have handbag, or which shade of denim goes best with green eyes. She never understood the vast desperation for fashion, and she didn't really wish to either.
Just as she was stifling a yawn, Grace noticed out of the corner of her eye that an email had popped up on the screen. She dragged her body around to face the machine, trying to feign an interest. It was probably just another offer for Fran to test out some new cosmetics line. It was never anything for Grace.
She was certain she wasn't in the position she had originally applied for at Anchor, but however it had happened, she now found herself responding to all of the emails that were received. She found no satisfaction in the mind-numbing repetition of clicking and forwarding. Her thoughts even started to echo the low drone of the machines that filled the air around her, anything to occupy the vacant space that increasingly grew inside her head with each tediously dull moment. And, as the online news site wasn't exactly popular, very few people ever had a need to email with general enquires for Grace to answer. On the rare occasion that they did, it was usually with a question that had already been answered on the site's designated section for Frequently Asked Questions. Copying and pasting answers wasn't exactly what Grace had dreamed of doing all her life.
Maybe, if she was completely honest, she envied the rest of the team. A tiny part of her was even jealous of Fran, but she would never admit that to her face. The rest were always hard at work on their projects within their own specialties, and here she was about to read yet another email that was going to offer absolutely no fulfillment to her.
"So much excitement I can barely contain myself," she sighed as she faced the monitor.
She recognised the name instantly. To her surprise the email was for her. However, when she read the subject line, she almost wished it wasn't. She opened the email:
Gracey, darling!
How are you? I'm hosting a lingerie party tomorrow at my place for all my girlfriends. You absolutely must come! You still have my address don't you? I'll see you tomorrow around 7. Oh, and do bring Harriet—there'll be plenty of nibbles for everybody!
Love Caroline xxx
She decided that no email would definitely have been better than this. She'd completely forgotten that Caroline even knew her work email. It had been so long since she'd heard from her. She was obviously struggling to make up numbers for the party otherwise there was no way Grace would have been invited.
Caroline Abbott had been on Grace's course at university, and they'd ended up being paired together for various projects. It wasn't that Grace didn't like Caroline. She just found her hard to handle. It didn't help that Caroline was now working for a much more acclaimed company than Grace was—at least Caroline's work made it to print every week. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that she was lively and full of character, and not actually a lot to do with her writing ability. Regardless of whether or not Grace was bitter, sometimes Caroline was just too full-on for Grace's liking.
If she didn't go to the party though, she'd never hear the end of it. Sometimes it was easier to give in to Caroline than to try and avoid her.
"Anything for a peaceful life," she muttered as she typed out a quick reply to Caroline. "At least it'll get me out of the house for a few hours, I suppose–even if it is to a lingerie party." It wasn't usually her scene, but it had to be better than spending another night in front of the TV nursing an oversized cup of hot chocolate. Her Saturdays were starting to become entirely too routine.
She had just responded to the email when Mr Barrie's office door swung open. He stormed out with a piece of paper in his hand and headed toward Andy's desk.
Once he had finished with Andy—Grace had tried to eavesdrop but his tone was too low—he turned his attention to her as she tried to avoid his stare.
"Working hard, are we, Grace?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, you've still got another ten minutes to get everything finished for today. You can leave when the clock hits five. And not a minute sooner," he ordered before making his way to a bag of mini cupcakes next to the kettle that Andy had brought in from the supermarket at lunch time. He grabbed one with lemon icing and stuffed a bite into his mouth. Crumbs flaked down his shirt. He patted at it with a meaty hand, trying not to smear icing over the taut fabric. He shuffled back to his office, smiling at the cupcake.
Grace spent the final ten minutes staring at the clock. She had to resist the temptation to cheer when the second hand crawled up to the final ten seconds before the top of the hour, fighting the urge to commence a full countdown. She shut down her computer and stood, sliding her arms into her coat at the same time. "See you on Monday, Andy."
"See you," he replied as he shut off his machine. No matter how busy they had been in the minutes leading up to the end of the day, nobody ever chose to stay longer than they had to.
"Bye, James."
Grace picked up her bag and headed out the door. She made her way down the stairs, a journey much less exhausting and much more exciting than the ascent, and turned to exit the building.
Fran stood in the doorway, holding a cigarette loosely between two fingers. Grace tried to ignore her as she stopped to button her coat.
"You know, if you made more of an effort, then he might let you do more," Fran smirked as she blew smoke in front of her. The chill of the wind didn't seem to bother her as she stood there in her skimpy outfit, her legs and chest exposed.
"Sorry?" Grace responded, confused. She hadn't expected Fran to say anything to her. They rarely spoke to each other, engaging in conversation only when it was necessary.
"Look at you, Grace." Fran gestured toward Grace's outfit with her cigarette. Grace was aware that her grey trousers were a little plain, and her woolly coat was perhaps a little oversized, but it had been on sale when she bought it. Besides, she had never considered her wardrobe to be a problem.
"Don't think I haven't noticed you in there," Fran continued. "I've overheard your conversations with Andy. I know you don't feel challenged enough. Am I right?"
"Well, maybe..." Grace wasn't sure where Fran was going with this. She had never cared about her feelings before. Why was she taking an interest now?
"I know Arthur, Grace..." Grace shuddered at the sound of Mr Barrie's first name. It made him human, which of course was impossible. "...and I also know he's not going to consider your talents as a writer if you don't start making more of an effort with your appearance. I mean, take me, for example." Fran flicked the ash from her cigarette onto the floor. "He's given me more creative freedom than I could ever have asked for. Just last week I attended a press event for a boutique in Kensington. They loved me so much that they gave me this expensive dress with the most gorgeous little straps as a gift to say thank you for writing about them. Seriously, ditch this little girl look and try something a bit more womanly. It's the only way you're ever going to get anywhere in life." Fran stubbed out the end of her cigarette against the wall and threw the butt onto the floor. 'See you next week,' she grinned as she turned back into the building.
Grace stood still for a moment as she tried to take in what Fran had just said to her. The wind picked up around her, causing her to shudder. She drew the belt of her coat tighter around her and turned to walk up Regent Street toward the underground station. The sooner she shook away the sound of Fran's voice the better. Grace knew she was only trying to manipulate her. She couldn't let anything that Fran had said affect her. She tried to block out her words as she powered up the hill, g
etting as far away from the Anchor office as possible.
3
Grace stuffed her Oyster card back into her purse and headed out of the station. The road was surprisingly quiet for that time of the evening, as she found out when she managed to cross to the other side without having to wait at the traffic lights. Instead of being lit by the usual stream of headlights, however, the silver moon glistening in the blue-black of the night sky provided a soft, almost-magical glow across Hampstead.
It was only when Grace turned left down Rosslyn Hill that she spotted the pattern of stars above her. The nights had started to turn darker much earlier now that winter was fast approaching. The air was noticeably colder, and Grace was sure that it was going to start raining at any moment. She prayed she was wrong though, as her umbrella was hidden somewhere at the bottom of her bag. Plus, she'd taken a detour this evening, adding time to her journey home.
After a tiresome day she decided she was in need of some comfort. Had she thought about it before the Tube had pulled away from the previous station—her typical luck, she acknowledged—she would have gotten off at Belsize Park to save some leg work. But apparently that wasn't how this day was meant to go. She'd originally planned to continue reading the paperback she'd begun the night before, but the drone that engulfed the office had given her an awful headache; the last thing she felt like doing was concentrating on the tiny print of Great Expectations, however hooked to the story she was.
Instead, she emerged onto Haverstock Hill and continued down the road until she arrived at her destination.
"Portion of chips, please," she requested. "Large."
She paid for the chips, left the chip shop, and clutched onto the steaming bag for warmth as she braved the cold. It would take her only ten minutes to walk home, and she hoped that her comfort food wouldn't be stone cold by the time she arrived.
As she made her way up the hill Grace noticed how empty the streets seemed. It was almost eerie. The calm before the storm, she thought to herself. The wind blew lightly, barely enough to ruffle the ends of her scarf. A woman was walking briskly down the other side of the road, clutching onto an oversized bottle-green patent leather handbag, her heels echoing on the pavement as she walked. A young child ahead was bundled inside a padded winter coat with her face hardly visible, hidden beneath the hood's fur trim. The child's mother was frantically stuffing mittens onto her hands as they both moved along in unison. There was nobody else in sight. Although she had expected it to be busier on a Friday evening, she couldn't deny that she was enjoying the peace.
Her mind had started to relax so much, in fact, that she hadn't noticed that the inevitable had happened: it was raining. It wasn't until she watched the young girl's mother wrestling with an umbrella as she tried not to drop her shopping bags that Grace actually took note of the first rain drop to fall onto her shoulder. It was followed almost immediately by another. Not wishing to take any chances at the risk of soaking her food parcel, she quickened up her pace as the rain began to fall harder. By the time she came to her turning near the top of Haverstock Hill, the water had started lashing down on top of her. Hugging the chips tightly to her chest, she could do nothing but run the rest of the way home.
The door locked itself behind her as she threw her keys back into her bag. She shook her head, trying to cast away the water that was now dripping down her face. "I'm so glad I keep my hair up," Grace mumbled to herself as she dabbed at the back of her bun with the sleeve of her coat before hanging it up on the banister at the bottom of the stairs. By the time she'd arrived just moments after the heavens had opened, the front of her house had become decorated with streaks from the downpour.
"Is that you, Grace?" The muffled voice came from the living room.
"It's me, don't worry Harriet."
She turned into the living room to find Harriet sprawled across the sofa in her pyjamas, a glass of red wine in one hand and a bag of popcorn in the other. A tabby cat was stretched across Harriet's legs, sound asleep.
"Been home long?"
"About half an hour." She noticed the drowned rat appearance Grace was sporting. "Raining?"
"Only buckets." Grace sat on the smaller sofa as Harriet shoved another handful of popcorn into her mouth.
"Want one?" The cat miaowed when Harriet turned her body to face Grace. 'Quiet, Bella,' she said as she petted the cat between the ears to stroke it back to sleep.
"No thanks," Grace replied, rejecting the sweetened offerings that had been thrust in her direction. She pulled the chip box out of the paper bag and let the warmth smother her face. She was relieved to see it hadn't been affected by the rain as she inhaled deeply to allow the hot aromas of salt and vinegar to fill her nostrils. There was something so comforting about chip shop chips that she could never quite put her finger on. She could think of nothing like it. As she bit into a steaming chip, she instantly forgot about the lousy weather and her boring plans for yet another mundane evening.
"What are you watching?" she finally asked as she nodded towards the TV screen. A pile of Harriet's DVDs lay next to the TV.
"A film." She threw a piece of popcorn at Grace and stuck out her tongue.
"I know that much! What's it about?" Harriet was in one of these moods. Grace guessed she'd been stood up again; snacking seemed to be Harriet's method for cheering herself up.
Maybe one day she'll realise he's not right for her, Grace thought to herself.
"I'm not going to tell you what it's about. You'll just have to sit here with me and watch it to find out for yourself."
Grace didn't want to leave Harriet on her own when she was feeling like this, but her headache was rapidly growing worse and she knew that staring at a TV screen wasn't going to do her any good. "I'd love to Harriet, but I think I'm just going to eat these and have an early night."
"I know how you feel."
She chewed away on the rest of the chips, comfortably tucked into the corner of the sofa. Once she was finished, she scrunched the paper bag into a ball and sighed.
"Well, I suppose I should head upstairs..." She forced herself out of the seat as she watched a pale-faced woman dance across the screen with a tray of pies. The film was actually quite good, but she knew she had to be sensible and occupy herself upstairs where the darkness would help soothe her aching head.
"I need more wine," Harriet said as she stood up, sending Bella shooting onto the floor. The cat licked her paw and skulked out of the room. "Here, give me that," Harriet said as she gestured towards the empty chip box in Grace's hand.
"Thanks," Grace replied, handing the rubbish to her. Harriet firmly held onto her empty wine glass in her free hand as she took everything to the kitchen.
Grace turned and stared at the pile of books sitting at the foot of the sofa. She'd left them there the previous evening when she'd attempted to organise them, having planned to donate some to the charity shop. She'd given up half way through sorting though.
'I think I'll keep them all for now,' she said as she shuffled as much of the pile together as she could carry.
She tried to balance them in her arms as she made her way up the stairs, taking each step slowly to avoid sending the paperbacks flying. Once she reached her room, she released them onto her bed, allowing them to spread out.
"I didn't really think this through, did I?"
The lack of storage space was precisely the reason why she'd instructed herself to give some of the books to a charity in the first place. Her reluctance to part with even one now meant she was back to square one. She scratched at her head, pondering. The drying rain water had left her hair feeling like straw. She'd deal with the books later. First she needed to shower.
She grabbed a towel from the linen cupboard and headed into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. Padding her bare feet across the navy tiles she stopped in front of the cabinet and took out her toothbrush. The chips had left a foul aftertaste in her mouth, the sort that started out satisfying but later served as a reminder of
why takeaways weren't the healthiest of options.
She scrubbed, spat, and rinsed before returning the toothbrush to the cupboard. She stared at her own reflection in the mirror, studying the wisps of hair that had escaped from her bun. Dark circles had started to emerge under her eyes.
Maybe Fran's right.
She didn't know where the thought had come from. Until now she'd successfully managed to ignore the conversation they'd had outside the office earlier that evening. Why she'd thought of it now, she couldn't tell.
Why don't you just give it a go?
The voice was coaxing her from the back of her mind. Suddenly it didn't seem like such a bad idea. She reached into the bathroom cabinet and produced a green drawstring bag that had been there since she'd moved in six years ago.
She emptied the contents of the make-up bag onto the side of the sink. Only a few items tumbled out: a pot of foundation that had dried up years ago; a mascara that had clumped up at the bottom of the tube; a few crumbling pots of eye shadow; a stick of cream blusher she'd never used, and half a lipstick in a black case that was caked in fingerprints. A rush of nostalgia came over her as she thought back to the last time she'd seen the collection. It must have been 2007, and she'd managed to land herself a date with a colleague from the coffee shop she used to work at part-time. What was his name? Nathan? Nigel? Something like that... She struggled to remember it now. He was cute though, and she had wanted to impress him, so she decided that she would experiment with cosmetics. Whether or not it had anything to do with make-up, they never did go on a second date.
