by Julie Caplin
I’d let my dad and brothers get away with being lazy and thoughtless. By bailing them out, helping with the mortgage, tidying up after them, I’d just reinforced their behaviour, making it OK. It wasn’t OK at all, but I was as much to blame as them.
Mum wouldn’t have been impressed at all. She wanted us all to do our best for ourselves. She’d wanted us to have choices, not be stuck in dead end jobs. Education for me had been the key to opening up my horizons. But I’d shut them down myself. If I was honest, my job had begun to define my life. It was restricting my choices.
Eva had hinted as much … you have choices, Katie. You can choose to change things.
She was right. Like the space I’d tidied up around me, I no longer had any excuses for not clearing up my own life. With sudden resolution, I jumped up from the bench. It was time I made those changes.
Chapter 29
If I’d been a bit more myself, I might have wondered at the unmistakable smell of roast chicken or the total absence of shoes in the hall. Instead I slipped through the front door, peeling off my soaking coat and letting it fall to the floor. I was still in last night’s dress but it was doubtful my family would notice.
‘Dad?’ I yelled, taking my wet shoes off. My feet were killing me. I’d walked for a couple of hours this morning before finally stumbling on a tube station and then for some bizarre reason, deciding I had to come home.
My mobile thankfully had died, a merciful relief from the gazillion texts from Megan, Connie and Ben. Lots from Ben that were deleted without even being read.
I hadn’t bothered letting my family know I was coming. Not that they’d have bothered to stir themselves to pick me up. Blind instinct had propelled me to Euston.
I still had no idea why I was here.
‘Dad,’ I called again, needing him to be there.
‘Katie?’ Dad’s head popped through the lounge door, like a startled turtle and it looked as if he wanted to duck straight back into his shell. ‘I wasn’t … erm … expecting you … love.’ He squeezed through the gap and pulled it not quite shut behind him.
‘I can tell,’ I said, snapping, hurt that I seemed an unwelcome intrusion.
Then I did a double take. The carpet on the stairs had that recently hoovered look to it. ‘Can I smell Sunday dinner?’
‘Erm … no, not really, er yes.’ Dad’s eyes darted left and right to the gap between the door and the jamb.
‘New jeans?’ My voice had an accusing shrillness to it. Here was I having a crisis and he had new jeans.
‘Might be.’ With a lift of his chin, minus the usual grey whiskers, he tried to look casual, smoothing down the dark blue denim.
‘Patrick, who are you talking to? Are you going to come and carve this chicken?’
The door was wrenched open and a sturdy woman stood there, glorious in an eye-catching flowery skirt, covered in brilliant turquoise petals and a perfectly co-ordinated matching T-shirt stretched over a magnificent bosom.
Dad’s mouth opened and shut, he looked excruciatingly awkward, shifting from foot to foot like an errant stork as his face turned redder than an overripe tomato.
The woman bustled past him, put her hands on my elbows, giving him a resigned head shake. ‘You must be Katie, love. I’m Eileen. Nice to meet you … at last.’
‘H-hello.’ Eileen. I shot a look at Dad. Since when had there been an Eileen around?
She rolled her eyes. ‘He hasn’t told you has he? Men, bloody useless. Come on through love. Crikey, you’re wet. Come on in and get yourself dry, although why I’m saying that to you I don’t know, this is your house.’
I liked her immediately for saying that.
‘Are you going to have a bite to eat? There’s plenty.’
‘That would be great, thank you.’
She nudged Dad. ‘At least offer the poor girl a cup of tea. Have you walked here love from the station? You must be gasping. You should have rung. One of your brothers could have come and got you.’
I pulled a face at that.
‘Sorry, love. Stupid. Of course. They don’t think, do they.’
Brandon was in the kitchen … washing up!
‘’Lo Sis. Didn’t know you were coming?’
‘Spur of the moment thing,’ I said fascinated by the suds on his hands.
He grinned.
‘How’s the Sith Infiltrator coming along?’
‘Finished. And a bloke contacted me via my website. Wants to meet me.’ His face lit up. ‘I’m hoping he’s an enthusiast and might buy it.’
‘Brandon, make your poor sister a cuppa, while I get the gravy on the go.’
Somehow, I found myself in the kitchen with a cup of tea while Eileen handed over a fistful of cutlery and placemats to Dad and Brandon.
I stared at the empty counter tops, the shiny stainless steel drainer and the clean tea towels hanging up.
‘Not me,’ said Eileen following my gaze. ‘I don’t mind coming round and cooking a roast for all the family, but I draw the line at the rest. And,’ she winked at me, ‘I’m not cooking in a filthy kitchen.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I bet it didn’t look like this come last Thursday.’
We both laughed.
‘So how do you … know Dad?’ I asked.
‘We met when he came to give a quote to do my driveway. Of course, stupid sod took weeks by which time I’d had it done by someone else.’
That sounded like Dad. ‘Only despite being efficient with their quoting process and making out they knew what they were doing, they made a right pig’s arse of it. Your dad finally rolled up with his quote … caught me short he did. I was having a little bit of a weep … and I tell you, I’m not a crier, but I felt so flippin’ stupid, being fleeced by them cowboys. Your dad, bless his heart, made me a cup of tea.’ Her chubby cheeks crinkled revealing dimples and she winked. ‘Yeah, I know … he can do it.’ We exchanged a quick understanding smile. ‘And offered to put it right for me, no charge, if I paid for the materials. Well I could see he could do good work … he needs someone to sort him out. Admin wise … and well we got chatting … and chatting and chatting.’
Dad wasn’t one for words; I suspected Eileen had done most of the talking. ‘And well, here we are. And it’s lovely to meet you. He’s dead proud of you.’
I winced thinking about what I’d come to say to him.
‘And I know what you’ve been doing for him.’
‘Are you some sort of mind reader? You remind me of someone else who does that to me.’
‘You’ve got one of them faces lovie … and it’s a bit of instinct. Mother’s instinct.’ She laid a plump warm hand on mine. ‘And I’m not looking to replace your ma, or take over here. Your dad’s very special to me but I don’t want to go upsetting the applecart. No family dramas, thank you. But …’ she lowered her voice, ‘Your dad needed a good kick up the backside. And I hope you don’t mind me saying, so do those boys. Not for me to say it, mind. I’ll take your dad in hand, that’s my privilege, but the boys they’ll have to do it for themselves. I think John’s new girlfriend, Stacey might bring him up to scratch and Brandon, what a sweet boy, but Lord he doesn’t know what’s under his nose does he? Connie’s a lovely girl.’
I shot her a wide-eyed what the look.
‘When did you meet Connie and why didn’t she say anything?’
‘She was home last week to see her dad, although she seemed to spend a fair amount of time helping Brandon out with his latest project. Said it was your dad’s place to tell you about me.’
‘Connie and Brandon?’ I whispered, taking a quick peek towards the lounge, where Dad and Brandon were laying the table at this end of the room.
‘Yeah, plain as pikestaff. Except I don’t reckon either of them realise the other has the hots for them. So, what’s on your mind, lovie?’
‘I need to talk to Dad.’ But now I didn’t feel quite so worried about it. Eileen’s influence had almost certainly paved the way.
While John and his
girlfriend – the spray tan queen, Stacey who was quite a savvy business woman, having picked my brains about PR ideas throughout lunch – did the washing up, Dad and I were somehow encouraged to go into the garden. Eileen had a talent for managing things but without being too pushy or interfering.
I stopped to reattach one of Dad’s peonies back onto its stake, stroking the petals of the florid pink head. ‘She seems very nice.’
‘Hope you don’t mind.’
‘Dad! Why would I mind?’
He shrugged bending to tug at a weed. ‘Your mum.’
‘It’s been a long time, Dad. I don’t want you to be alone. I guess one day, John will go, and I suppose Brandon.’ I shot a quick look over the fence at Connie’s house. Connie? Brandon? Never saw that.
‘Eileen makes me happy.’
His words gave me a brief pang but I pushed away all thought of Ben. He didn’t exist. I’d made a mistake. One I was going to forget with a capital F.
‘I’ve been sort of sleepwalking since your mum went. Going through the motions. Relying far too much on you. She’s organising me … or I’m letting her organise me.’ Dad smiled, the first proper smile, one that touched his eyes and ridged his skin in wrinkles, that I’d seen for a long time.
‘That’s great, Dad. I’m pleased for you.’
‘And I owe you an apology and a ton of money.’ He dug in his pocket and pulled out his old battered leather wallet, his thick fingers rifling through notes.
‘No, Dad, seriously it’s fine.’ I waved his hand away.
‘No, it’s not love. Those two boys should have been pulling their weight. Paying rent. With Eileen’s help I sorted out my finances. And this is what you should have. Here.’
He thrust a wodge of notes at me.
‘Take them and don’t argue. And there’s more coming. All the money you’ve paid on the mortgage. You should have it, you will have it back.’ His attempt at belligerence, standing there bow legged and determined lightened my heart. For so long he’d worn an air of defeat and weariness. I took the folded notes and put them in my back pocket.
‘Thanks Dad. I appreciate it.’
‘And I appreciate the sacrifices you’ve made. Working so hard. Bailing us out, when it’s so expensive in London. I should have seen it before. Your mum would have been dead proud of you, you know, I know she went on about you making the most of your brains, but she would have been the first to say, do something that makes you happy. What she really wanted was for you to have choices. To choose what sort of job you wanted, not to be stuck in something because there was nowt else you could do. I’m not sure that job of yours makes you that happy. Money isn’t everything you know.’
‘Thanks Dad, but I do like my job.’ But I didn’t love it. Not the way I used to. I was dreading tomorrow. A strategy meeting. A raking over of the coals. A post mortem. My performance would once again be brought into question, except this time, I’d been questioning my own judgement.
Dad patted me on the shoulder. ‘As long as you’re happy.’
I gave him a wan smile. Happy. I’d spent a week chasing happiness in Denmark and look where that had landed me.
Ben had gone and shafted me, literally and metaphorically. I’d trusted him and he’d played me.
I couldn’t believe I’d been so stupid. Or that I’d fallen for him.
Now I looked back there were plenty of clues, he’d never any intention of playing the game. But he didn’t have to sleep with me … with a wince, I’d offered it on a plate. He was a red-blooded man. I’d been guilty of being indiscriminate. There’d been attraction there and I’d acted on it. He was hardly going to turn it down.
I really did have bad taste in men. First Josh and now this. I was a complete fool.
Chapter 30
‘Well this is a fucking dog’s dinner, isn’t it?’ snarled the Managing Director as I walked on shaky legs into his office. Megan and Josh were huddled like generals in a war cabinet around his desk.
I had nothing to say. What could I say? Inside I was fuming. It was eleven-thirty and they’d kept me waiting for three hours, after issuing a summons as soon as I walked in the building that morning. I didn’t think I was going to get the sack and I did anticipate a lengthy post-mortem, but not this level of anger.
Some instinct or maybe it was pure self-preservation made me press record on the camera on my phone and pop it into the top pocket of my blouse. It looked to everyone else in the room as if I were switching it off and putting it away.
‘You clearly took your eyes off the ball on this one.’ He sneered at me over the top of his coffee cup. ‘You had a whole fucking week … and this is what you achieved. Bloody marvellous.’
I stiffened and clenched my fists. I hadn’t even been offered a seat. Megan and Josh looked uncomfortable, him toying with the keys on the laptop in front of him and Megan twisting one of her rings.
‘Have you spoken to the little scumbag?’
‘No,’ I said thinking of the unanswered texts from Ben.
‘I assumed as much and in the interests of damage control, we thought we’d cut out the middle man. Since you’re incapable of handling him, I’ve had Josh draft an email to the editor asking for an explanation. Not that it’s going to make a blind bit of sodding difference. The damage is done. Johnson must be pissing himself laughing. A week’s hospitality with a bimbo of a PR girl on call, and then screw you. Surely you had a heads up on this.’
I shook my head, my lips clamped tightly together. Christ knows what he’d say if he knew I’d slept with Ben.
‘Well you fucking well should have.’ Megan and Josh flanked him, looking accusingly at me. He looked at them. ‘Looks like we made the right decision. You need a lot more experience before we put you in charge of anything like this again. I can’t believe you’ve been so incompetent, but we’ll explain to Lars that you’re quite junior, and that in future we’ll have more senior personnel running the account. Luckily for us we’ve been distancing you from the account since you got back.’ He and Josh exchanged a look. ‘You’ve become too close to the client. Thinking of him rather than the company. I’ve not seen one decent idea from you about how we maximise more fees or income from this client.’ He shot one final furious glare at me before turning to Josh and pointing to the screen on the open laptop. ‘In fact, as of today you’re back to being a Senior Account Manager.’
‘Pardon? You can’t do that.’
‘I think I can. I’m your boss. I can do what the hell I like. Right, where were we?’
Josh, the weasel, gave me a sad insincere smile before saying, ‘How about if I add in here …’ He started typing.
Suddenly as if my fury had raced up a hill, reached the top and plateaued I felt utterly calm, an almost out of body experience. I swung around remembering Fiona’s Dalek impression. There was no laughter now. Conscious of the camera recording in my pocket, I deliberately asked the question.
‘Did you just call me a bimbo?’
The MD paused and looked as if I’d hit him. Megan’s mouth dropped open and Josh’s fingers stopped dead hovering over the keyboard.
‘A bimbo?’ I pressed again on the issue.
‘Yes, I bloody did.’ A fat pulse beat in his neck and he shook Megan’s warning hand from his wrist.
‘Just checking,’ I said, things popping into place in my head one by one.
My growing inner calm was quite surreal and in direct proportion to the rising tension among them. Inside me everything settled like dust motes dancing to rest.
He raised an imperious hand. ‘You should have known this was coming. Did you speak to him this week?’
‘Yes, but-’
‘The fact that you had no idea is doubly incompetent.’
‘And still a bimbo?’ I asked again.
The MD rolled his eyes as if to say so what.
I maintained eye contact with him waiting for him to speak.
‘OK, so I called you a bimbo. What of it. You screwed up.
You are a bimbo. But you did good with the breakfast thing. So keep going like that and maybe you’ll get promoted back to where you were before.’
‘I don’t think so,’ I said in a quiet calm voice, which belied my quivering legs. ‘Actually, not I think, I know it’s a no. I’d rather get a job cleaning the portaloos at Glastonbury. I quit.’
Sitting in the coffee bar, I felt quite proud of myself. Dignified if foolhardy. Before I vacated my desk, I’d pulled my phone out of my pocket and uploaded the video footage and emailed it to the head of HR. Bullying. Constructive dismissal. Sexism. I had no idea how many employment laws had been broken but she would be horrified and although I had no intention of letting the video go anywhere else, the company would worry it might go viral.
After that I grabbed my bag from my desk, a couple of files from the top of my in-tray and walked out of the building without saying a word to anyone. Shocked adrenaline carried me here but now nursing a large Cappuccino, I felt the pinch of a headache. What was I going to do now? Since coming back from Copenhagen, the thought of perhaps leaving and going to join a smaller agency had crossed my mind several times, but did I want to play this game anymore? I could go in-house. Work for someone directly instead of for an agency. I straightened and pulled out my notebook, starting to make a list of possible options.
After I’d filled a page of notes, I paused. Closing my eyes, I listened to the hiss of the espresso machine and immediately thought of cinnamon snails, blue earthenware plates, glass domed cake stands, coloured glass displays on the walls and Eva’s perky ponytail bobbing as she whisked around tables. When I opened my eyes, I felt a terrible sense of dislocation. Chipped Formica tables. Dralon upholstery in shades of green and plum, the same in every branch. The glass display cabinet with expensive packaged cakes and biscuits. The serving unit of milk in stainless steel jugs and wooden sticks. Not even real spoons. The lighting was all wrong. Too bright. Too false. Too cold. It all looked so ugly and commonplace. Not one of the waiting staff caught my eye.
I longed for the warmth and colour of Varme with bittersweet heartache. I wanted to smell baking, talk to people and feel I mattered. I might as well be invisible in this place. Once you’d paid for your coffee, you were done.
