by Ali Harris
Let’s keep this professional, Hudson! You need to impress him because you really want this job – I mean the commission from the placement.
I’ve already planned that Mr Fischer will spot me reading my notes when he walks in. But as the minutes pass, I find myself getting increasingly distracted. It is cool in here, the air con is on full blast as it is 30 degrees outside, but I feel stifled. My shirt buttons are too tight, this skirt too restrictive, the walls too close. My mind drifts away, taking me back to another time and place. I’m in Norfolk, a cloud-dappled sky above me, the smell of lavender and honeysuckle and jasmine under my nose. I see leafy pom-pom hedgerows along country lanes, scatterings of cowslips and dandelions bursting from patches of wild grass, fields of rape glistening after it’s rained. I see climbing roses, fuchsia-pink achilleas lining borders, the delicate pincushion flowers of purple scabious at the bottom of Loni’s garden. I have acres of space to think, to create. I’m in my element; there are no petty worries, there’s none of the stressful hurrying that comes with city life. Then I find myself walking through endless fields along the coast with Loni and Cal, clambering over poppies and thistles, feeling the swish and swipe of long grass and heather against my bare legs, enjoying the warmth of the sun on my skin. They’re laughing at me as I stop and study every single flower and bramble we pass, completely lost in my happy place . . .
‘Bea Hudson?’ a man’s voice says. Startled, I jump up, simultaneously knocking over the water his receptionist had placed on the table next to me when I came in.
‘Shit!’ I exclaim, dabbing at the wet patch on the carpet. I look up at him and feel myself blush profusely. ‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you come in.’
‘You looked like you were in another world.’ He smiles and I relax a little. I note his friendly, open face, short dark hair that is closely cropped and flecked with silver. His nut-brown tan indicates a life spent outside. He’s wearing jeans with a checked shirt tucked in that reveals a slight paunch – and that he doesn’t seem entirely comfortable in. He pulls at his collar and I spot a gold wedding band glimmering on his finger as well as a leather necklace with a silver D hanging from it. Then he proffers his hand and I shake it nervously.
‘I’m James Fischer. Very pleased to meet you, Bea.’ We drop hands and he gestures at the terrace outside. ‘Listen, do you mind awfully if we go and grab a coffee outside? I don’t think I can bear to be in here on a day like today.’
‘That sounds like a wonderful idea,’ I smile. ‘I – I wasn’t enjoying being inside much myself either.’
‘I can’t stand the city on days like this,’ he says, strolling towards the door.
‘It’s so suffocating, isn’t it?’ I offer back conversationally as we walk along the river and head up to Café Rouge.
‘That’s exactly it! I’m afraid I’m a rather clichéd outdoor type,’ he adds. ‘Can’t bear being inside too long, I feel as if it’s sucking the life out of me. I’m sure it drives my staff – and my other half – mad. I literally have to leave the office every ten minutes just to get a breath of fresh air.’ He leans forward and winks. ‘Luckily I run the company so no one can complain too loudly. And my partner is a writer so he understands my prima donna-style creative urges.’
I smile in response, finding myself warming to him enormously. He pulls at his collar again.
‘I probably shouldn’t admit this but I was actually just daydreaming about my home county, Norfolk,’ I admit shyly as we queue up for our coffees.
‘I LOVE Norfolk!’ James exclaims. ‘I’ve been looking for a weekend place there for ages, in fact. I often think that there isn’t a more beautiful spot in the world. And those sunsets!’
‘I love them too,’ I say. ‘Along with the flowers in my mum’s garden.’
‘You sound like quite the gardening enthusiast,’ James chuckles.
‘Oh you know, in another life, perhaps,’ I reply, opening my eyes as I suddenly remember where I am and what I’m meant to be doing.
‘So, I understand you’re looking for a personal assistant,’ I say as we take a seat at a table outside, spreading my notes out in front of me. ‘I’m presuming you are looking for outstanding organisational skills, proficiency in Excel, excellent time management skills, not to mention good communication skills . . .’ I pause, confident I’m presenting him with exactly what he needs.
‘Ye-es, I do require all that, this is a PA position after all. But anyone I employ has to have passion, enthusiasm and basically be an enormous garden geek, I think it creates good energy in the office. It’s instinct I’m looking for.’ He continues talking about his company for a while and he’s so warm and dynamic, so enthusiastic about his new project that, once again, I find myself wishing I could rewind my life and go for this position.
He explains that a Soho-based media company has asked him to pitch for a project to design the 2,000 foot, 360 degree roof terrace at their new building near Canada Square in Canary Wharf, which they aim to be finished by March of next year.
‘The best pitch will win the business. And the account could extend to their New York office, too. This could see JF Design go global! I don’t yet have the funds to employ someone permanently, but, if we win the pitch . . . that could change.’
I smile politely as James tells me more – apart from who the company is.
‘If I told you that, I’d have to kill you. Or at the very least, employ you.’ He winks. ‘I don’t want to jinx it before we’ve even pitched for the project.’
It’s like seeing a glimpse of my perfect life in a parallel world only visible through a kaleidoscope.
‘So how long have you worked at Eagle Recruitment?’ James asks.
‘Oh, officially? Three months,’ I reply. I never know how to answer this question.
‘And unofficially?’ he presses.
I blush. ‘Seven years. I was a temp before I became a recruitment consultant.’
‘The uncommitted type, eh?’ he laughs. ‘I was exactly the same at your age. Flitting from office job to office job, trying to make myself fit into the kind of career that everyone else thought I should have . . .’
I’m panicking slightly that he has got the wrong – or should that be right – impression. ‘I love my job, Mr Fischer,’ I lie. ‘I’m very passionate about it. In fact, I think I’m absolutely the best possible person – and indeed Eagle’s is the best company – to find the perfect candidate for you.’ I stop. Do I sound desperate, as if I’m begging? Oh God. I’ve majorly messed up here. I’ve been too relaxed, too pally. Nick is going to kill me if I lose this placement. The summer months are notoriously tough in the recruitment industry. Everything goes quiet until September and head office has given us unusually high targets this year.
I take another stab at clawing back credibility. ‘In fact, as well as bringing you a selection of our best candidates I’ve also sent an email to the head of the Garden Design course at Greenwich University, asking for a list of their recent graduates. I’m expecting several recommendations. It’s a very well-respected course, I know, because . . . well, I just know.’ I grasp the handle of my espresso cup when I realise I’ve talked myself into a corner. What was I trying to say? I know because I wanted to study there? Shut up, Hudson! You’re placing the job, not applying for it!
‘It is,’ James smiles. ‘I went there myself. I’m still a guest lecturer in fact.’
‘Oh, of – of course. That makes sense. I remember reading that on the biog attached to your Chelsea Flower Show garden.’
‘Did you go?’ James raises his eyebrows as he takes a sip of coffee.
‘Not this year, ‘I say sadly. ‘I’d only just got back from honeymoon and couldn’t take time off. But I saw it online.’ I can’t help but blurt out, ‘I loved the way you created a contemporary garden that took inspiration from the past and the future. It was so clever and beautiful.’
‘I wasn’t wrong when I said you’re an enthusiast!’ James says with a laugh.
I
waver for a moment, completely torn between spilling forth every single detail of my passion for gardening and staying true to the decision I’ve made.
Chapter 27
‘You OK, pet?’ Glenda says, appearing at my desk at the end of the day. I glance at the email of CVs I’ve put together for James. I promised I’d send a preliminary shortlist to him today, but I’ve spent all afternoon putting it off, instead composing an email in my head with a subject heading that says ‘Re: PA Position – pick ME! ME! ME!’. I close my eyes and hit send. It feels like stabbing myself in the chest. I pick up my bag and start packing up my things.
‘I’m OK, G.’ I plant a big smile on my face as she stares in concern at me. ‘You’re looking lovely today,’ I say, and she is, in a long, floral, pink-and-green dress with a matching pink cardigan and beads. I remember how when she first started she wore nothing but muted colours and old-fashioned tweeds. She said she’d always been too busy bringing up her boys and looking after her husband to think about herself.
‘I’m going out,’ she says shyly. ‘On a date.’
‘G! That’s great!’
‘I’m petrified,’ she laughs. ‘But there’s no point sitting at home waiting for life to happen, you’ve got to get out there and grab it, right? I may be past my prime, pet, but I’m not dead yet!’
I gaze at her admiringly. Glenda’s life has changed out of all recognition since her husband of twenty-five years died and she decided to go back to work. It’s her first job since she had kids and she says it’s given her a whole new lease of life. Nick has always been good at hiring what many people would consider ‘outsiders’. I mean, what normal manager would hire a woman of almost fifty, with no experience, and then see her become one of the company’s best consultants? Tim never thought he’d get another job after being made redundant from his banking job in the City. ‘No one was employing guys like me,’ he said. ‘But Nick was willing to give me a chance, even though I was a complete knob in the interview . . .’ Jeeves – with his plummy voice and lack of academic qualifications – thought that no one would ever give him a job. And then there’s me. With no degree, no decision-making skills and a history of depression, well, I’m practically unemployable. We’re a rum mix, but Nick is obviously getting something right. Eagle’s South Quay earns the most commission with the highest placement rates of all six City-based offices.
‘You don’t seem at all yourself,’ Glenda says, resting her hand on my shoulder. I sigh and nod. ‘Come on, tell Auntie Glenda all about it.’
‘Oh, you know, I’m just feeling down because my best friend is moving to New York – this weekend is her leaving party,’ I reply. It’s the truth, sort of. I am feeling low about that.
‘Oh, that’s a shame, pet, but you can go and visit her, can’t you?’ Glenda says soothingly. Her accent never fails to calm me. When she talks I think of daffodils swaying in the breeze, their heads nodding like bells. ‘And there’s always Facebook!’
‘It’s not the same as living close by, though, is it?’ I say and then I put my hand over my mouth as I realise what I’ve said. Glenda’s sons live abroad – one in Australia and one in Canada – and she is constantly resisting their demands to move over there, saying she’s too stuck in her ways. She also says having to constantly save for the expensive flights gives her the incentive to earn more commission. Nick is always good at giving her long holidays in the summer. ‘Oh I’m sorry, G, that was really insensitive of me . . .’
‘No no, not at all, pet. We’ve all got used to the distance.’ She leans forward and winks. ‘No one wants their mum living on their doorstep!’
I laugh and think of Loni. This is true. She would do my head in if she lived too close. But I sometimes feel horribly far away from her too.
‘You miss them though, don’t you, Glenda?’ I ask. She looks at me searchingly and then perches on the side of my desk. She’s told me she knew she had to do something different after her husband died. Something just for her.
‘Why, yes, of course, pet. All the time! But my boys, they’re grown-up, they have their own lives – and I need mine too. I put it on hold for too long.’
‘Do you regret that, then?’
Glenda looks out of the window and contemplates this for a moment. ‘Do you know what, pet, no I don’t. I wanted to be a full-time mum and I gave everything I had to those kids and my marriage. Ewan and I had many wonderful years together, my boys are happy and healthy and successful now and even though Ewan is gone, my life isn’t over. I’ve realised you can have many lives within one life. There are many chances to start afresh.’ I look at her, trying to let this positive life view sink in.
‘It just feels like whenever I make a choice a whole other life is lost, you know? In moving away from one place, you also move from your past. You take one job, you lose the chance of getting another—’ I stop when I realise I’ve been speaking my thoughts aloud. ‘Me and my navel-gazing! Sorry, G, just ignore me.’
She places a hand on my arm. ‘You know, pet, if it helps at all, I don’t think that the decisions you make necessarily close the door on a different future. I think that all paths lead to the same place in the end . . .’
I want to believe her, I do. But Dad leaving and my summer with Kieran taught me that a single choice can change the course of someone’s life forever. I give Glenda a kiss on the cheek in thanks and then I throw my bag over my shoulder and hurry towards the glass doors, suddenly feeling like I have a lot to think about.
Chapter 28
I’m lying in the hammock sipping wine and gazing at the city’s constellation of lights, breathing in fragrant lavender as the balmy night air wraps me in its warmth. I’ve come up to our roof garden to think about what happened today. It’s a place that always soothes me, helps me to get things in perspective. I wriggle up into a sitting position and look at my watch. Where’s Adam? When he called at just gone 7 p.m. he said he was leaving the office and it’s past 9 p.m. now. I know enough about Adam’s industry to be sure that his delay is just due to some sort of account crisis. There’s been a lot of them since he became Group Managing Director. My fears that this new promotion would mean less time for us together were not an exaggeration. I can’t remember the last time he was home before 10 p.m. Weekends are now a blur of pitch meetings, Skypes to New York, occasional walks to get some fresh air before he has to write another presentation, or check in on yet more creative work. I’ve been trying to keep myself busy too – but my job is very much Monday to Friday, and Milly only has time for her move to New York these days. I realise my non-work life has always revolved entirely around Adam. I don’t have any outside interests. I could go home to Norfolk, but the prospect of being there without him makes me feel anxious, like I could slip back into a bad place. I need Adam, probably more than is entirely healthy.
I feel Adam’s presence before I see him, then he drops a kiss on my bare shoulder. I get the familiar buzz of electricity when he touches me and my brief annoyance melts away. His fingers brush the light material of the expensive new dress I bought with my new improved salary. I changed into it when I got home from work to remind myself of who I am and the life I have chosen.
‘Are you OK?’ Adam asks as we snuggle up on the couch in our lounge where we’ve retreated to after our (cold) dinner – and with a second bottle of wine. Candles are lit, soft music is playing and the grey blinds are open. Outside, the city seems to be pulsating with life; in here everything is . . . not flatlining . . . but it is ordered. Safe. Just how I like it, I tell myself. I nod, feeling satisfied, content, calm.
‘Have you had a good day?’ he says. ‘I feel terrible that I haven’t even asked.’ We’ve spent the last hour or so talking about Adam’s problems at work. He’s told me how stressed he is because of the pressure his dad is putting on him. He said he’s leaving on Sunday to go to New York for at least a week. ‘The same day as Milly and Jay?’ I’d replied, feeling my heart sink, and he’d nodded.
‘It
’s a complete coincidence but I think we might even be on the same flight . . .’ I forced myself not to panic, not to feel abandoned, like I’m being left – again – by the people I love. Adam’s going to be staying in an apartment the agency has rented. He told me there is going to be a lot of toing and froing over the next few months but that he’d do his best to be with me as often as he could.
‘I know it’s not ideal,’ he said apologetically. ‘We should be spending as much time as we can together in our first year of marriage, but it won’t be forever. And just think, with my pay rise we’ll soon be able to afford to buy a house, maybe think about starting a family . . .’
‘So what’s been happening at work,’ he says now. ‘Any interesting contracts come up?’
‘Oh you know,’ I say, lifting my face up to his, ‘same old same old.’
‘Didn’t you have a meeting with, you know . . . what’s his name . . . the garden design guy?’
I nod, trying and failing to summon up a smile. ‘James Fischer. Yep, I sent him a list of candidates and he’s looking over them this weekend. So, you know – yay! Another bit of commission for me next week!’ I raise my glass and take a long slug. Adam is looking at me strangely when I put my glass down. ‘What?’ I ask slightly defensively.
‘Oh, I just thought, you know, you might be tempted to go for it yourself?’ he says.
‘Nope,’ I reply briskly.
‘Not even a bit?’ Adam tilts his head and half smiles. ‘Not one tiny little piece of you thought: I should consider talking to Nick about putting myself forward for it?’
I pick up my glass again and try not to respond too tetchily. ‘No, what I actually thought was: I would have put myself forward for it . . . if I hadn’t already decided to commit to Eagle’s and make a proper career for myself.’ I take another swig and look at Adam challengingly. ‘Which I have, so . . .’
‘But Nick is your friend and would understand that this is something you can’t walk away from!’
