by Ellen Berry
‘Oh, sorry. I did text you back …’
‘Yes, but we were still concerned—’
‘It was just so hot in there,’ Roxanne said quickly, striding into the office now. From now on, she wouldn’t be the last one to sit down and ‘connect with the breath’.
‘It was awfully stuffy,’ Kate agreed.
‘… So I went out on the fire escape for some air but that didn’t help, so I snuck off home …’ They all knew she was lying, but it didn’t matter now as they arranged themselves cross-legged on their mats.
Across the room, Tina was already installed at a desk just outside Marsha’s glass office. Her first day, and she was casually swinging on her swivel chair, twirling a Biro in the air absent-mindedly and yacking away on her phone: ‘Yeah, so I’m here to basically oversee the fashion, steer it in a new direction …’
Class commenced, and Roxanne obediently followed Lily’s instructions, working her way through the poses whilst trying to figure out how she might possibly handle working with this woman.
‘Yep, any queries should come through me now,’ Tina went on, seemingly unconcerned that class was in progress. ‘Yes, and invitations too – send them to me. I’m your main point of contact now …’
Cat, cow, upward dog … Roxanne flipped about on her mat, on autopilot as a realisation began to build. She couldn’t take this. She would not allow Marsha and Tina to take over as if she didn’t exist; it felt imperative now to make it clear that she mattered. When she had started here, the magazine was regarded as being pretty low down in the fashion hierarchy. These days, they could access any photographer or model they wanted – and it was Roxanne who had built their reputation and garnered respect. Both Marsha and Tina needed her very much, and she needed to make that clear.
When yoga class finished, Roxanne changed back into her polka-dot wrap dress which always made her feel so right, so pulled together. Minutes later, she tapped on Marsha’s glass door.
‘Roxanne? Can I help you?’ Marsha gave her a terse I’m-rather-busy frown.
‘Yes, I wondered if we could have a quick chat, if you have time?’
‘Oh. Yes, I suppose so. Come in, sit down …’
Roxanne bobbed down onto the chair and cleared her throat. Now she was here, her confidence had dwindled and she wasn’t so sure about being invaluable after all. Besides, it wasn’t in her nature to blab on about how ‘needed’ she was. Bigging herself up simply wasn’t her style. ‘Erm, I wondered if I could clarify a few things,’ she began, ‘about my role on the magazine, if that’s okay?’
Marsha frowned again. ‘Yes, of course. What do you mean exactly?’
‘Well … it’s just, obviously things are changing around here, and …’ A tremor had crept into her voice … ‘I think, I, er …’ Spit it out, she willed herself. You have every right to know what’s happening to your job. ‘I’d like to know, do I still have a position here?’
Her editor’s brows swooped down. ‘Well, yes, of course you do! Why do you ask?’
‘Because, as you explained last week, you’ve brought in Tina to head up the fashion department …’ That was better. She sounded calmer now, more in control. ‘Which sort of implies that I’m not needed …’
‘Of course you are!’ Marsha exclaimed. ‘Gosh – I don’t want you to feel that. Absolutely not. You’re highly respected, Roxanne. Your name is synonymous with this magazine. No, Tina’s role is to steer things in a new, more commercial direction …’
‘Yes, but what will I do?’ Roxanne cut in, all trace of nerves having evaporated now.
‘You’ll support her, of course.’ Marsha’s brow furrowed. ‘Won’t you?’
‘Well, yes, as much as I can – of course I will. But on a practical level, I’m just not sure where I’ll fit in day-to-day.’
For a moment, Marsha looked genuinely stuck for words. She scratched her head and shuffled a scattering of unopened mail into a tidy pile. ‘Tina will have a huge job on her hands,’ she said carefully, ‘and she’ll need you working alongside her every step of the way. You’re a wonderful asset …’
‘Yes, well, that’s great to hear, but I do need to know what I’ll be doing.’
‘Oh, I thought I just explained.’ She fixed Roxanne with a cool stare. ‘You’ll be supporting Tina …’
So that’s where they were: stuck in a ‘support Tina’ loop, with Roxanne still none the wiser about her position.
‘Yes, but what will that actually entail?’
Marsha blinked at her. ‘Well, I see you moving away from the creative aspect and more into an organisation role …’
Something heavy seemed to have lodged itself in Roxanne’s gut. ‘What does that mean?’
‘Well, Tina will be incredibly busy managing the shoots,’ she explained breezily, ‘so she’ll need you to keep tabs on the budget. Cutting costs is a big priority now, so you can be in charge of that.’
Roxanne realised her mouth was hanging ajar.
‘… You’re very experienced,’ she went on. ‘I’m sure you’ll be able to come up with lots of ways we can save money …’
‘Er, I don’t think that’s quite my—’
‘… and competitions!’ Marsha continued, seemingly unaware of Roxanne’s growing dismay. ‘You can set up loads of those. They bring the punters in …’
‘Competitions?’ This was the kind of thing the juniors and interns usually took care of.
‘Yes, you know the kind of thing – ten pairs of jeans up for grabs, a lifetime’s supply of tights. That kind of thing. You have amazing contacts, so I’m sure all the big companies will be falling over themselves to give us their stuff.’
Roxanne cleared her throat. ‘Actually, Marsha, this isn’t really what my job’s all about.’
Marsha blinked at her. ‘Yes, but it’ll be good for you. Ten years is an awfully long time to be sitting there in the same old role. I see this as a career development for you. So, does that answer your question?’
Roxanne paused for a moment, allowing this new information to sink in. ‘Yes, it does,’ she remarked carefully. In fact, Marsha had answered a much bigger question – the one concerning Roxanne’s future on the magazine.
‘Well, I’m glad about that,’ Marsha said with a brief smile.
‘Yes, but it also means I can’t work here anymore.’ Roxanne regarded her new boss levelly across the immaculate desk. Although she hadn’t planned to say it, it was the truth. Some people would be happy to manage a budget and figure out how to cut costs. But it wasn’t Roxanne, and if she couldn’t be fashion director here, then she would have to go elsewhere.
‘You want to leave?’ Marsha glared at her, as if Roxanne were a child who had just had a small tantrum.
‘If that’s what my job will be, then yes, I think I’ll have to.’
‘But you can’t! I thought you’d be pleased to take a step back from the day-to-day running of things. I know how hard you work, always charging around …’
‘Yes, but I love what I do,’ she cut in.
‘Isn’t it exhausting for you, doing all these shoots?’
Now she was talking as if Roxanne was about ninetyseven. ‘No, it’s not!’
Marsha stared at her. ‘Please don’t do anything rash. Your name’s highly respected and you’re very much needed here. Perhaps you just need some time away from the office – how does that sound? Just while Tina settles in?’
Roxanne eyed her suspiciously. As she had mentioned to Isabelle, she did need a breather from the magazine. A full decade, she’d been here, with barely a break. Most years, she didn’t even take her full quota of leave. ‘You mean a holiday?’ she asked cautiously.
‘Well, perhaps a little longer than that. A sort of sabbatical … say, a couple of months?’
Roxanne frowned, confused now as to why Marsha wouldn’t just accept that she wanted to resign. She couldn’t regard her as important – not if she was happy to ship her off for two months. Perhaps it was just her name and contacts she v
alued? ‘I don’t really see how that would change anything,’ Roxanne murmured.
‘You’re very important to us,’ Marsha said, adopting an almost comically serious tone, as if she were trying to sell her a pre-paid funeral plan. ‘We want you to be happy. We certainly don’t want to lose you …’ Who’s this mythical ‘we’? Roxanne thought dryly. ‘You’d have full pay, of course,’ Marsha continued, ‘and you could keep in touch with the office as much or as little as you wanted to …’
Roxanne turned this over. Although it was tempting, the thought of returning to the office in this new role Marsha had dreamed up for her still filled her with dread. ‘If I did take some leave,’ she said hesitantly, ‘would I still come back as the cost-cutting, competitions person?’
Marsha shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t dream of pushing you into a role you’re not happy about, although naturally I do need you to work alongside Tina in a wholly positive way.’ She speared her a sharp look. ‘So perhaps, if you could use that time to think about what you want – bearing in mind Tina’s position here …’ She paused. ‘In that case, I think a few weeks off would be time well spent. Don’t you?’
Roxanne nodded. ‘Erm, yes, I think it could be.’
‘… You’d come back feeling restored, ready for anything,’ Marsha added. ‘I’m a great believer in work-life balance.’
‘So am I,’ Roxanne fibbed, because actually, she didn’t fully understand the concept. Oh, the work bit was fine; that part she loved with a passion. It was just the life bit she had trouble with.
‘So, does that sound like something we can work with?’ Marsha smoothed back her rather lank chestnut hair.
Roxanne considered this. Why not? she thought. It was a pretty generous offer and, if the situation was dreadful when she returned, she could always hand in her notice then. She certainly wasn’t trapped here forever. ‘Yes, it does,’ she replied, catching Tina’s braying voice as she conducted another phone call.
‘Excellent. Gosh – ten years you’ve been here, haven’t you? You deserve a carriage clock at the very least!’ She chuckled infuriatingly, and Roxanne smiled stiffly at the ‘joke’. ‘Excuse me a second,’ Marsha added, jumping up and marching out into the main office space, where she proceeded to have a hurried exchange with Tina at her desk. The two of them returned to Marsha’s glass box. ‘I just wanted to tell Tina that you’re taking a sabbatical,’ she explained.
‘Amazing,’ Tina enthused. ‘Have you any idea what you’d like to do with it?’
‘Erm, I’m not sure exactly,’ Roxanne replied, ‘but I have been thinking recently that I’d like to spend some time in my sister’s shop. She has a cookbook shop in the village we grew up in in Yorkshire …’
Marsha widened her eyes. ‘A cookbook shop? You mean selling only cookbooks?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’ Roxanne appraised her editor’s bemused face, wondering what was so funny.
‘How quaint and sweet,’ she gushed. ‘Oh, I can see the appeal of working somewhere like that. I mean, here we are, in these incredible jobs that most people would kill for, and don’t you sometimes think, wouldn’t it be so lovely to swap it all for a simple, down-to-earth sort of life?’
She was talking as if Della were a shepherd. ‘Um, yes …’
‘How about writing a blog for us while you’re there?’ Tina asked.
Roxanne peered at her. ‘What sort of blog?’
‘Oh, I don’t know … something fashiony, for the digital edition? How about, “What our fashion director is wearing during her summer in the north” sort of idea? How does that grab you?’
Roxanne tried to wipe the startled look off her face. ‘I’m not sure if—’
‘I think it’s a fabulous idea!’ Marsha declared.
‘We’d need photos of you, though, if that would be okay?’ Tina added. ‘The readers would want to see you striding out in the country in big boots, an anorak and a horribly unflattering hat …’
‘Oh. If you really think—’
‘This is exactly why I brought Tina to the magazine,’ Marsha interrupted. ‘I love this idea. It has humour, personality and a style angle—’
Tina turned to Marsha and grinned. ‘We could have her out in the rain, drenched from head to foot, or standing in a field with one of her boots stuck in a cow pat …’
Roxanne realised her back teeth were jammed together.
‘… Stuck in the middle of nowhere in all conditions,’ Marsha continued, as if they were talking the northern reaches of Alaska and not merely a three-hour train journey from where they were sitting now, ‘without access to decent clothes or even anywhere to get her hair done …’
Roxanne forced a tight smile. Perhaps writing a blog – and even being a figure of fun in terrible outfits – was a small price to pay for two whole months away from this double act. ‘That sounds great,’ she lied, ‘if you think anyone would actually want to read it …’
‘Of course they would,’ Marsha insisted. ‘D’you think you could rattle off a couple of posts a week and email them to me?’
‘Er, yes, of course,’ Roxanne said weakly. ‘But won’t you need to check with HR if it’s okay for me to take this time off?’
‘No – I’m saying it’s okay. I’ve been brought in to make major changes here and Rufus has given me the green light to do whatever I feel is necessary to push things forward …’
‘Er, that’s great,’ Roxanne murmured. ‘So, when do you think I can go?’
‘You may as well start your leave tomorrow,’ Marsha replied briskly. ‘Tina will be able to get stuck into making all the changes we need to implement without you being here.’
‘Er, right! Well, um, thank you.… ’ She tried to look pleased; after all, she had just been awarded an extended holiday. However, as Roxanne left Marsha’s office she couldn’t ignore a niggle of unease, as she wondered if being utterly dispensable was really such a good thing after all.
Chapter Eleven
After an impromptu gathering in a favoured Soho pub with Serena, Kate and Tristan – ‘Honestly,’ Roxanne insisted, ‘this isn’t code for “I’m being sacked”’ – she was grateful to make her way home. Although bolstered by everyone’s heartfelt hugs and good wishes, she was keen to call Della to check if she would be happy with an extended visit. The evening was pleasantly sunny and warm, and Roxanne felt her Marsha-related tensions begin to float away as she let herself into her flat.
She kicked off her shoes, splayed out on her sofa and called her sister.
‘Hi, Rox. How’s it going?’ Della sounded pleased to hear from her.
‘Good, thanks …’
‘Bet you didn’t get a taxi home the other night, did you?’
‘What, from Sean’s party? That was three days ago! And yes – I did actually.’ I can’t imagine why you might suspect I walked two miles in a drunken state with wet coriander in my handbag. ‘Um, can I ask you something?’
‘Sure?’
‘Is Sophie coming home for the summer?’
‘Doesn’t look like it. I’ve been trying to persuade her to pick up a few shifts at the pub, or even help me out in the shop – but, of course, it’s far too dull around here and I’ll be lucky if she drops by for the odd weekend. She’s seeing this boy, did I tell you?’
‘Yes, you mentioned him. Jamie, isn’t it, from her course?’
‘That’s right. Term’s finished already so they’ve gone Inter-railing. His parents have a place in Budapest – apparently it’s amazingly cheap and brilliant fun out there. There are these places called Ruin Bars in derelict buildings …’
‘Sounds terrifying,’ Roxanne joked.
‘It is. I’m a wreck, as you can imagine – a ruin, actually. But that’s okay, that’s my job as a mother …’ She chuckled. ‘So, you wanted to ask me something?’
‘Er, yes.’
‘It wasn’t just about Sophie’s plans for the summer, was it? C’mon, Rox – is something up? You are okay, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, I am, but I wondered …’ Roxanne broke off, willing her sister to say yes. ‘Erm, can I come up and see you, Dell? Would that be okay?’
‘For the bookshop party? Sure – I was hoping you would.’
‘… Or a bit sooner, maybe?’ she ventured. ‘If it’s too much, I could always book a room at the Red Lion …’
‘No, no, don’t be crazy. There’s always room for you here. When are you thinking of?’
Roxanne glanced at Holly and Keira’s drawings, which were still strewn all over her coffee table. She liked the way the flat felt after they had been here; it was as if they had muddled up the stale air particles and made them dance.
‘Stuff’s been happening at work,’ she said, aware now of a strong desire to leave London as quickly as possible. ‘I told you we have a new editor, didn’t I? Well, we had a chat today and I’m now officially on extended leave.’
‘You mean she’s sacked you?’ Della gasped.
‘Not exactly, but she thinks it’d be a good idea for me to have a couple of months off – and, well, I agree, actually. So I’m on a sort of sabbatical. How would you feel about me staying with you for a couple of months?’
She blinked, realising she was holding her breath. Della had gone terribly quiet. She hadn’t expected the sound of champagne corks popping, or even, ‘That’s fantastic!’ But she had anticipated some kind of reaction …
‘A couple of months?’ Della managed finally.
‘Yes. I mean, with all the building work going on in your shop I thought you might appreciate an extra pair of hands. I know you might not think so, but I can be handy with a paintbrush, you know.’
‘Well, er, we have a couple of men in, and Frank’s been helping out, and we’re sort of on schedule.’ Della’s reticence was palpable.
‘Maybe I could help out in the shop, then?’ Roxanne suggested, wondering how it had come to this: that she was virtually begging for shop work. ‘I could man the till, stock shelves, sort through any new stock you’ve bought—’
‘Oh, no, I need to do that really.’
‘Well, I can do whatever you want …’ Please let me come. I need to be with you.
