‘Not at all,’ Olivia said without missing a beat. ‘Shall we begin?’
‘Good afternoon, Olivia,’ Rachel said, determined to be polite even though Olivia seemed typically indifferent to pleasantries. ‘Of course. I’ll take you through the content plan, though there’ll be no surprises there. Then we can chat about further additions and where they should sit.’
Olivia nodded, and Rachel talked through twenty slides on the advice guides and FAQs that had been agreed and drafted, plus her proposals for organising them – all of which were based on Olivia’s own sketches.
‘Fine,’ Olivia said, brushing something microscopic from the sleeve of her navy suit jacket. ‘I have a list here of the additional items I’d also like included.’ She handed a sheet of A4 to Rachel, and then another to Greg.
‘Where were these ideas drawn from, out of interest?’ Greg asked. He was smiling and sounded as easy-going as always, but Olivia prickled immediately.
‘They’re based on my experience – on my priorities for this organisation, which I’ve worked in for thirty years. Does that satisfy you?’
‘It’s not a question of whether your content satisfies me,’ Greg said, calm and unflappable. ‘Fortunately I’ve never experienced anything like the families and individuals up here on your walls – but I know we have access to research that tells us what people in their situations might want. I’m just trying to ensure we make the most of that. Also, it’s important we consider the role of search engines in growing your visitor numbers – Google being the main priority. If people are googling for things your website doesn’t offer, they’ll be directed elsewhere.’
Olivia narrowed her eyes. ‘I’m not interested in thinking about search engines,’ she said, as if they were something Greg had made up. ‘This is about creating an orderly, coherent resource that ticks the right boxes – gives a good account of us as an organisation.’
Greg, still smiling, was undeterred. ‘Olivia, forgive me – but you’re imagining the website as some sort of shop window for Lighthouse, as if it’s an interactive ad for your charity. I’d encourage you to think of it as a resource – something that grows and changes to reflect what users need. Something more like a library, perhaps, where the range of books is constantly being refined and updated.’
Olivia scoffed at this and Rachel cringed at her discourtesy. ‘If our website is to be a library, I shall decide which books it carries. I know which books are required.’
‘I’m not sure you do,’ Rachel said, so softly she wasn’t sure that anyone had heard.
‘Excuse me?’ Olivia demanded.
‘I said, I’m not sure you do,’ Rachel repeated. Her voice was stronger, clearer now. ‘I presented you with a number of ideas for extra content some time ago – all based on the research Lighthouse commissioned at the end of last year. You rejected them and – as an experienced content strategist – I still question that decision.’
Olivia was sneering again. ‘I suppose you think reading one report qualifies you to understand what families like these’ – she gestured at the walls – ‘need to hear from us. You think you know better than I do because you’ve looked at some data.’
‘No,’ Rachel said, cool and steady despite the hammering of her heart. ‘I think I know better because I come from one of those families. I am a bereaved sibling. And I know that what’s in this content plan’ – she pointed at the screen – ‘and on this list of yours, barely scratches the surface of what someone in my shoes feels when their brother or sister is sick, or slips away forever.’
Silent tears had started spilling from Rachel’s eyes. Somehow, she didn’t care. Greg’s mouth had fallen open, and Olivia had turned an even paler shade of grey than usual.
As Rachel registered their astonishment, she asked herself what she was doing. But no one else spoke, and suddenly she was filling the silence with words she’d held in for too long.
‘My sister Lizzy had osteosarcoma,’ Rachel said. ‘She was first treated for it at fourteen, and we thought she was going to make a good recovery – that she’d been lucky, even. Some kids have to have amputations, as well as chemotherapy, but Lizzy got away with it. She didn’t lose her leg. Life while she was in and out of hospital was … nothing like life had been before. I’d always been a loud, clumsy, outgoing kid – always clowning around, always the one in trouble. I had to learn to rein that in – be calm in the hospital, gentle with Lizzy at home, and quiet whenever my parents managed to snatch a bit of sleep. But there were days when I didn’t want to rein it in. Days when I resented it. Days when I’d rather go to the park and play with my gran’s dog than visit my sister in hospital. In my rational mind, I know those were natural feelings for an eleven-year-old, but even twenty years later I feel ashamed of them. She was my sister, and she had cancer – and there were some days I just couldn’t be bothered to see her.’
Olivia was staring at Rachel as if she’d never seen her before – as if she’d metamorphosed into an entirely different person. Greg was wide-eyed, not even attempting to catch the tears quietly making tracks down his face.
‘You don’t stop being a normal kid,’ Rachel continued, ‘just because you have a sibling who’s ill, or who dies. Your range of emotions doesn’t shrink to include only grief, loneliness or anger at the universe – which are pretty much the only permitted feelings on your content plan, Olivia.’
Olivia blanched, but said nothing.
‘You’re not always sorry, and you’re not always sad. Sometimes you’re bitter, resentful … vindictive, even. I feel terrible about it – I’ve felt terrible about it for the best part of two decades – but I remember one day I saw this boy from school that Lizzy liked, snogging someone else on the bus. I told her about it, even though I knew it would hurt her – revenge for some stupid, big-sister-y thing she’d done to piss me off the day before. Something I can’t even remember now. Lizzy was always cleverer, cooler and more beautiful than me,’ Rachel said, a sad smile twisting her lips. ‘She had the shiniest, loveliest golden-brown hair … I idolised her. She was the firstborn, the one who always led the way. My parents adored her. I drove her mad trying to copy her, wanting to do everything she did. And I was so, so angry with her for leaving me. I didn’t just miss her – I was scared too. Scared that everyone would feel they’d drawn the short straw because Lizzy was gone and I was the one left behind.’
‘Oh, Ray …’ Greg blew his nose noisily, his eyes shining and sad.
Olivia sniffed, then rubbed at her own glistening cheeks. Wait – what?
‘Please go on, Rachel,’ she said, ‘if there’s more you want to tell us.’
‘Lizzy’s cancer recurred when she was seventeen,’ Rachel continued. ‘This time it was in her lungs, and then it spread again. It was unstoppable. But I don’t think I or my parents ever really believed she was going to die until she did. I was fifteen then. Awkward. Hormonal. Ginger. We lived in a small town and literally everyone suddenly knew me as the gobby girl whose older sister had died of cancer. My parents were broken, so I tried to become more like Lizzy had been – I made it my mission never to add to their load, never to cause them anxiety. And when I went to uni, I found it easier just to say no when people asked if I had brothers and sisters. I got so good at pushing my feelings down I became an emotional pressure cooker – something I’ve only realised very recently. And when you keep too much in, you get to a point where you don’t think clearly. You end up doing rash, self-destructive things … Things like this. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen. If you’ll excuse me …’
Rachel pushed her chair back swiftly and stood up, wiping at her eyes. Greg shook his head and Olivia motioned for her to sit back down, but she was already at the door.
‘I’m sorry,’ Rachel said again, her voice trembling, tears coursing down her face.
She left the room, found her way out of the building and crossed the road into Kensington Gardens. After finding a secluded spot behind a bush, Rachel slu
mped down and let herself cry. She sat for what might have been five minutes or fifty – gasping and sobbing until her tears subsided and she could breathe normally again.
Birds were singing. Somewhere nearby there was a bunch of teenagers laughing.
She heard footsteps, the buzzing of a wasp right by her ear and snatches of more conversations than she could count. Someone was mowing the lawns too, riding up and down the park on a motorised vehicle that reminded Rachel of a toy tractor she and Lizzy had had when they were little.
The smell of freshly cut grass tickled her nose, making her want to sneeze. It reminded her she was alive.
‘Forgotten something?’ Greg asked, looming over Rachel. He had her laptop bag, handbag and jacket hanging from his arm.
‘Oh God. Thanks,’ Rachel said as he flopped down beside her on the grass. She turned to him and felt her eyes filling up again. ‘Greg, I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry—’
He gathered her into a hug before she could get properly started with her mea culpa.
‘Shut up, shut alllll the way up,’ he said. ‘Don’t you dare apologise. You have nothing to be sorry for.’
She made a gurgling sound that was half-laugh, half-cry. ‘I’m not sure Isaac or Toby would see it that way. And it’s my own fault I got so worked up – let Olivia push my buttons for months. I should never have worked on the account. I should have known I couldn’t handle it.’
‘Why did you work on it? Tell me it wasn’t just because Harper was involved.’
‘No,’ Rachel said. ‘It wasn’t that. I just couldn’t see a way to avoid doing the project without telling someone – probably the whole senior management team – why.’
‘Would that have been so bad?’
‘Yes. Maybe …? I don’t know. Talking about Lizzy has … unpredictable results. Some people are amazing, like Anna was when I told her, or Will and Tom. For other people, it changes how they look at you. You become a person who’s suffered – some sort of victim – or they get upset that you haven’t been totally honest with them. Jack said he felt like I’d been lying to him for three years when I finally told him what had happened.’
‘Colour me shocked,’ Greg said, rolling his eyes. ‘I’m guessing that was around the time he cheated on you?’
‘Yeah.’ Rachel nodded.
‘Nothing like a little gaslighting,’ he groaned, shaking his head. ‘For the record, Jack’s decision to put his pencil in some other woman’s case had absolutely nothing to do with your reluctance to talk about losing your sister. It had everything to do with him being a common or garden shitbag.’
Rachel laughed, but she knew Greg was serious – and that he was right.
‘Can I say something?’ he asked. ‘Something you might find hard to hear?’
‘Yes,’ Rachel answered. He’d earned the right, and she trusted that whatever awful thing he might come out with, it would be because he cared.
‘You keep quiet about Lizzy because you don’t want people to think of you as the girl whose sister died. You keep it in because it’s more comfortable – because you think it’s easier.
‘Did you ever think that you are the girl whose sister died, whether you want to be or not? Losing Lizzy is only part of who you are, and anyone worth two minutes of your time will understand that – but it’s a part that’s real. It’s not going to disappear just because you refuse to look at it. And I don’t believe denying that part of yourself is comfortable – let alone easy. If anything, I’d guess it takes a tremendous effort. One last point, if I may. You lit up in there while you were taking about her: how smart and lovely she was, how much you wanted to be like her. When you choose not to tell people you lost Lizzy, you cut yourself off from telling them you ever had Lizzy. And it sounds to me like she was pretty cool. And maybe more people should know that.’
Rachel cry-laughed again. ‘Greg, you could charge by the hour for this.’
‘You couldn’t afford me. Just promise me you’ll think about it.’
Rachel nodded, then pulled up her knees to rest her head on them.
After a few moments of silence, she asked, ‘Am I sacked, do you think?’
‘Why would you be sacked?’
‘For totally fucking up the meeting. For crying in front of the client. For telling her she was wrong about everything. Professionally speaking, I think it’s fair to say this has not been my finest hour.’
‘Perhaps,’ Greg said, ‘but you seem to have gotten away with it. Olivia was quite moved by what you said in there. She wants to rejig the website plan and give you free rein to recommend what you think is best.’
‘What?’
‘She cried, Rachel. Actual tears. I mean, not many, but it’s blown my theory that she’s a real-life Cyberman … Maybe she’s just seen so much sadness over the years she’s learned to shut it out, unless someone catches her off guard. She and I have also agreed that there’s no need to tell anyone else at R/C exactly what inspired the rethink.’
‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘I think the phrase you’re looking for is: Thank God for that.’
‘No,’ Rachel said, leaning towards Greg as he wound his arm around her. ‘It’s just thank you.’
Greg sent Rachel home early with instructions to come back to work tomorrow, head held high. She didn’t argue and promised that, when he called, she’d give Jack’s boss honest answers to everything he asked her.
When she got back to the flat, Rachel found Anna sitting at the kitchen table with a half-drunk cup of tea and a half-eaten packet of Hobnobs in front of her. Rachel pulled up the chair opposite and flopped into it, and then they both started speaking at once.
‘I’m sorry—’
‘I’ve been an idiot—’
‘I should never have—’
‘—can’t believe I’ve been so selfish.’
‘Cup of tea?’ Anna asked when they finally stopped talking over each other. She sniffed and shoved her seat away from the table.
‘Go on, then,’ Rachel said, rubbing at her damp eyelashes.
Anna switched the kettle on to boil, then turned to look at Rachel.
‘I should never have said I felt responsible for you, or made out like I was tired of it. It’s not true. I’ve been in hell over it, and deservedly so.’
‘It’s at least a bit true,’ Rachel said. ‘And I don’t blame you. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, but I’ve leaned on you so much the entire time I’ve known you. Any normal person would have kicked me into touch years ago … Especially because I ignore perfectly sensible, well-intentioned advice every time it’s offered.’
‘Are you saying I’m not normal?’
‘You’re superhuman. The best human. You were right about the whole fake relationship debacle, and about Jack. It turns out he’s the same selfish cesspit of a man he always was.’
Anna handed Rachel a mug, then sat back down – next to her now.
‘If I feel in any way responsible for you, it’s because I love you. It’s because you’re my blood. My family. The only family I have left – at least until I become the only woman in Will’s mob who didn’t go to Roedean. Caring about you and carrying some of your troubles isn’t a burden to me, it’s my privilege. Please, let’s never fight again.’
‘Never,’ Rachel said, pulling her into a hug and then opening the biscuit packet.
‘I’m sorry about Jack,’ Anna mumbled through a mouthful of Hobnob.
‘Don’t be,’ Rachel groaned. ‘I’m far more concerned about Tom.’
‘Ah.’
‘We had a row and now I think he hates me, which is pretty inconvenient since it turns out I’m totally in love with him.’
‘Oh God.’
‘Yeah.’
‘I can’t say I’m surprised. And I’m sure he doesn’t hate you.’
Rachel slumped and put her head face-down on the table, reappearing a moment later covered in crumbs. ‘You knew I had feelings for him? How did I
miss this?’
‘It’s been hiding in plain sight, I guess.’ Anna licked a finger and wiped a smear of melted chocolate off Rachel’s forehead. ‘I don’t know what’s happened between you, but apparently he came home in a mess on Saturday, then announced he was going off to Belfast for three weeks. Some last-minute work secondment or something.’
‘When does he leave?’ Rachel demanded, half out of her chair before she’d completed the question. She couldn’t let him go without talking to him – without telling him she was sorry … Without telling him how she’d (finally) realised she felt.
Anna looked up at her sadly.
‘He flew out first thing this morning.’
July
New Year’s Ongoing resolutions
1. Consider exercise an act with actual benefits – both mental and physical – not merely grim punishment for pizzas consumed. Have a proper go at Continue letting Greg drag me to yoga. provided he refrains from making snide comments re Jack/me and Jack. Give up trying to control subject matter discussed over dinner.
2. Also re-download Complete Couch to 5K running app and actually do the programme. Keep running at least twice per week. – always being careful not to perv on anyone improper.
3. Apply for promotion at work at first chance. Move to bigger account and try to get pay rise. Avoid, if possible, further projects concerning dog biscuits, disinfectant, high-quality printer ink cartridges, ‘miracle’ grass seed, organic vegetables, etc.
3a. Try to hang on to job (and temper) despite idiocy of gossipy colleagues. presence of evil ex-boyfriend hideousness control-freakery of certain clients.
3b. Ignore everyone who keeps banging on about how fit he Jack is.
3c. Ignore how fit he is.
3d. Ignore the fact he keeps trying to be friendly/nice/possibly quite flirtatious is openly trying to shag me.
3e. Ignore the fact he is getting divorced.
4. DO NOT agree to further dates with Laurence. Remember: it’s no use having a boyfriend who is good on paper if you do not actually fancy him.
Rachel Ryan's Resolutions Page 34
