‘Yes!’ Ed punched the air. ‘Does that mean you’re on board?’
His eyes sparkled and he turned his notepad round to Jo. There were four rough sketches: two shoes and two boots. Totally off the wall, completely impractical. But gorgeous.
‘Why Gold’s?’ said Jo suddenly, realizing that he could have been having this conversation with any one of her competitors.
Ed pushed his chair back and thumped his foot on to the desk in front of him.
‘Recognize the brand?’
Jo nodded. Ed was wearing brogues from Loake’s, one of the oldest footwear companies in England.
‘They’re from your neck of the woods, aren’t they?’ he said.
‘Their showroom is thirty minutes from ours, yes.’
‘Britain has got a world-class reputation for making shoes. I want to showcase the best the UK has to offer. Our fathers worked together and I’d like for us to carry on that tradition.’
Jo regarded Ed for a moment, taking in his boyish charm, his unruly brown hair and lean body. And he was in the footwear trade. If she had to describe her ideal man, it was quite possible that she was staring at him right now. Even her dad might approve of this one. There was absolutely nothing she would rather do than get to know Ed Shaw better.
‘I’d be delighted to.’ She smiled her sultry smile, not making too much effort to disguise her attraction for him.
‘Here.’ Ed picked up her folder as she re-packed her sample bag. The edge of it caught a photo frame and knocked it to the floor. Jo picked it up, glancing briefly at a family snapshot taken on a beach: Ed presumably with his wife and two children.
So he was married. Of course he was. They all were.
But that hasn’t stood in your way before, a little voice nagged.
He showed her to the door.
‘I’ll put my designers straight on it and get back to you,’ said Jo.
Liar. He was already looking at the entire design team. She shook his hand, lingering as long as she dared.
‘Can’t wait.’ Ed smiled. ‘And my mum sends her regards to your dad.’
Nottingham’s shopping centre was quiet as she walked back to the car. A group of teenage girls walked by, giggling. Two of them wore a variation on the sheepskin-boot theme. One girl’s had collapsed so that she was no longer walking on the sole, but on the side of the boot. Jo shuddered at the poor quality. Fifteen pounds from a supermarket, no doubt.
Prices for footwear were now so polarized that the mid-market had been left diminished and floundering. Ed was right. Gold’s needed a point of difference if it was going to survive. If only she had someone to confide her fears in. She had Patrick, but even talking to him was difficult when he might be in line for redundancy by the end of the year. Being the boss was so lonely at times.
Jo thought of Sarah and Carrie. They were all going to meet up again tonight. Perhaps she should put save Gold’s shoes on her wish list. She made her way back to the car park. Time to call in on Abi first, see how she and Tom were faring since the funeral. That would put her own problems into perspective.
Sarah was racing to leave the office. She swept her mobile phone off her desk straight into her bag, kicked the filing cabinet shut and jiggled her computer mouse. A message on screen informed her not to switch off her computer. She tutted and checked her watch. Why choose tonight to install one million software updates?
She would just have to leave it to do its thing. Traffic was a nightmare on Fridays and she was already later than planned. She lifted her coat from the back of the door, pulled one sleeve on and froze. There was the unmistakable sound of her boss’s heels doing their rapid scrape, scrape, scrape march along the carpeted corridor outside her office.
Sarah groaned under her breath, she had thought Eleanor was still in the boardroom. She paused, leaving her coat dangling from one shoulder. How was she going to escape with the boss still prowling the corridors?
‘Sarah?’ Eleanor poked her head round the door and she jumped a mile.
‘Eleanor!’ she gasped, clutching her chest. ‘You startled me. I was … I was … what can I do for you?’
Elegant as ever, with chunky beads, tailored trouser suit and elfin crop, Eleanor was the epitome of the professional woman. Why, oh why did she have to come in now? Technically, Sarah finished fifteen minutes ago and it was Friday. But all the ambitious types at Finch and Partners played a corporate point-scoring game of ‘who could stay the latest’. Sarah always lost.
She quickly stuck her arms behind her back and jiggled her shoulder blades as discreetly as she could until her coat slid off. She kicked it behind the door. With any luck Eleanor wouldn’t even have spotted it.
Sarah felt her mouth go dry as Eleanor lowered her gaze to the floor and then flexed her eyebrow a fraction.
‘Looks like I just caught you,’ said Eleanor icily. ‘The other partners and I are meeting the Chamber of Commerce team for drinks later. I thought you’d like to join us?’
Wowzers! Sarah narrowly avoided a tell-tale gasp. Play it cool, she thought, as the significance of Eleanor’s proposal began to sink in. This had to be a sign. Eleanor was singling her out for the board’s attention, which could only mean one thing. She pulled herself up tall; partnership was almost within reach.
Reality snapped back at her with a jolt and her heart plummeted. She couldn’t go. Not tonight. As it was, she would only have half an hour with Zac before she was due to meet Jo and Carrie at the pub. And it was too late to cancel. Jo would already have left Northampton and Carrie was so looking forward to it, she had been sending her daily text messages, it wouldn’t be fair. But drinks! With the board!
Eleanor was regarding her curiously as if she couldn’t comprehend why Sarah wasn’t performing a celebratory conga round her desk. Her forehead was remarkably smooth for a woman of her age. Botox, thought Sarah uncharitably.
Her heart raced as she mentally wrote her own death sentence. ‘I’m so sorry. Any other night, I’d love to. You know I would,’ she said, smiling hopefully at Eleanor.
A blatant lie. After-hours entertaining these days was a no-no. Sarah had a nightly bath-time date with a baby boy and his Peppa Pig pirate ship. Dull clients and their tax avoidance ideas were no match for that.
‘Shame.’ Eleanor held her gaze for a second, shrugged and disappeared.
Sarah ran to her office door. ‘But on the plus side, I am meeting with a potential client …’ she called after her.
Eleanor wasn’t listening; she was already poking her head into Ben’s office. ‘What are you doing after work?’
All the way home, Sarah muttered under her breath, persuading herself that she had done the right thing, then disagreeing and finally getting so cross that she turned the radio up loud and refused to listen to one more word about the matter. She was nearly home when she remembered Dave’s text message from earlier with horror.
AM TAKING ZAC TO BARBERS. BOTH NEED TRIM. BIG DAY FOR THE LITTLE LAD! XX
Dave had been right; Zac had grown a mini Mohican: long and straggly on top and a bit bald at the back. He would have had his first haircut by now. The thought made her heart flip; she had wanted to be there for that.
She had a beautiful memento book at home that someone from the office had given her, with Baby’s First Year embossed on the front cover. It was a place to record special occasions: his first tooth, his first crawl, his first word. But since she had gone back to work, it was Daddy not Mummy who got to witness those precious moments. Daddy who sent the text messages starting GUESS WHAT!
She had planned to keep a lock of Zac’s hair from his first visit to the barbers. It was unlikely Dave would remember to ask, no disrespect to him, but those sort of small details were her forte not his. She had been about to text him to do so when her office phone rang. After that, she had been so busy she had forgotten all about it. Forgotten about her own son. She truly was a terrible mother.
A nervous Dave and a smartly trimmed baby met her at
the door of Rose Cottage. A lump formed in her throat as she held out her arms to take a wriggling Zac. She examined his new haircut.
‘He looks exactly like you.’ She smiled at her husband, who was sporting an identical buzz cut.
‘Is it OK?’ said Dave, searching her face. ‘It’s the first time I’ve ever had to instruct a barber on behalf of someone else. I kept thinking that if I got it wrong, you’d go mad.’
Sarah swallowed. Was she really that much of an ogre? Apparently so. She was sure she hadn’t used to be. Now she daren’t ask whether he’d kept a lock of Zac’s baby hair. It didn’t matter, anyway. She could just as easily trim a bit off at bath time. No one would know it wasn’t officially from his first haircut. Apart from her.
‘Oh and look!’ said Dave, plunging his fingers into his jeans pocket. ‘The barber gave me this.’
He pulled out a small plastic bag and handed it to her. ‘Apparently it’s a tradition to keep a lock of baby hair from their first cut. I thought you’d like to stick it in that scrapbook of yours.’
Her heart swooped with joy and she flung an arm around his neck.
‘Thank you, thank you, thank you.’ She covered his face with kisses, kicking herself for ever doubting him. Zac grabbed at her hair and she kissed him too.
‘He shoots, he scores!’ said Dave, punching the air. ‘And while I’m in your good books, do you mind if I nip over to Southwell tonight? I promised a bloke I’d quote him for some decorating.’
‘Oh.’ Sarah’s heart sank. She had been looking forward to a night out all week. Not to mention that she’d just blown her chances of promotion because of it.
‘It’ll be a weekend job,’ said Dave, looking pleased with himself. ‘It’s an empty factory unit. Good money, too?’
Sarah weighed up the options and adjusted Zac on her hip. They did need the money. And it was good for Dave to keep his hand in with his old job. Plus, she definitely didn’t want an argument.
She waved a hand. ‘Of course. You go. It was my night out with the girls, that’s all. But it’ll keep.’ She started to walk away to hide her disappointment. ‘I’ll go and phone Carrie.’
Dave groaned. ‘I’m sorry. It totally slipped my mind. Wait!’ He grabbed her round the waist. ‘Why don’t you invite the girls round here instead? Have a few drinks, let your hair down and I’ll get up in the night with Zac if necessary. Plus, it’s Saturday so you can have a lie-in in the morning; I’ll give him some formula when he yells. How’s that?’
Bless him, he was trying. As compromises went, it wasn’t a bad one. And after making a complete idiot of herself in front of Eleanor, the idea of a couple of glasses of wine was particularly appealing. All she had to do was tidy up.
She grinned at her husband who was waiting with bated breath for her response. ‘Deal.’
Carrie set the browned beef to one side and checked her mobile phone for messages. Nothing. Good. That meant they hadn’t cancelled. It felt funny being so attached to the thing waiting for messages; she didn’t use it much normally, seeing as she was at home all day. It was Alex’s old one, very basic, no good for surfing the web or taking pictures, Sarah and Jo would probably laugh at it, but it was all she needed. She placed it back on to the granite worktop and immediately picked it up again. Perhaps they had forgotten? She debated sending them both a quick text to remind them about tonight. On second thoughts, maybe not. Sarah’s responses had been getting shorter and shorter as the week had gone on.
Carrie scraped her shoulder-length hair into an unflattering pony tail, consulted the recipe book and tipped the shallots and garlic into the pan.
She was really nervous about tonight, but excited too, and for once it wasn’t food-related excitement. Ever since she had suggested this crazy idea of the wish list she had been feeling all fluttery inside. This was it. A fresh start. A chance to lay the old demons to rest, make some new friends and let their busy, fulfilled and motivated lives drag her into the real world. What were they going to wish for? What was she going to wish for, more to the point?
Perhaps the other two were simply humouring her. But right now she felt a spark of determination that she hadn’t felt in years and she was bloomin’ well going to make the most of it.
Taking the cork out of a bottle of Burgundy, Carrie added about half the wine to the pan, popped the lid on her Le Creuset casserole and bundled it into the oven.
That was dinner taken care of. Now for the worst job of the day. She groaned and dragged her feet upstairs.
She spent the next two hours immersed in the clothing dilemma from hell, discarding outfit after outfit until she narrowed her choice down to the two things that made her look the least whale-like: black baggy dress or black baggy dress. Her wardrobe was arranged into what she referred to privately as ‘nostalgia’, ‘inspirational’ and ‘reality’.
The nostalgia collection went way back. Goodness knows why she kept them; she had as much chance of ever fitting into those clothes as she had of donning a bikini, winning Miss World and finally achieving world peace. And talking of which … she pulled out the unworn two-piece that Alex had bought her as a surprise on their honeymoon. What had he been thinking? Ten years ago she had been much slimmer than she was now, but even so … she would have cleared the beach quicker than Jaws in that. She shuddered and dropped it back into the drawer.
The inspirational section contained all the clothes she couldn’t wear but wasn’t ready to part with just yet. Like her favourite ever navy silk shift dress. Things that she could get into, but then couldn’t walk, move her arms or sit down in.
The largest section belonged to grim reality. It contained a minimum of 3 per cent Lycra, very little colour and even less shape. She plumped for one of her black dresses, added a sweep of mascara to her lashes and returned to the kitchen to put the finishing touches to dinner.
‘Dinner nearly ready?’ came a voice from the kitchen doorway.
She added a splash of cream to the mashed potato and nodded but Alex was leaning on the doorframe, flicking through the post.
I am invisible to him.
‘Yes, go through.’
Alex picked a bottle of wine from the kitchen and followed her into the dining room. He sat down with an appreciative sigh as she set the casserole dish on the table and went back for the rest.
‘You remember I’m going out tonight, don’t you?’ she said, placing a warmed plate in front of him.
‘I do. And it’s nice to see you getting out more.’ He hesitated and then placed a hand over hers. ‘With people your own age. Although I don’t really understand why grown women would want to write a wish list.’
‘Oh go on, don’t tell me you never make a wish? Like “I wish I was married to Jennifer Aniston”, for instance. Anyway, it’s just a way of, I don’t know, doing something for me, I suppose.’ Carrie felt her cheeks flush as she ladled boeuf Bourguignon on to Alex’s warmed plate. ‘Mash?’
Her husband frowned. ‘Mashed potato?’
‘Of course, I thought you might turn your nose up at mashed banana.’ Carrie held the spoon poised over the dish of potato, whipped with cream and horseradish.
‘Yes please, it’s just that we serve it with celeriac mash in the restaurant, that’s all. Delicate flavour offsetting the richness of the beef.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ she said through gritted teeth. Here endeth the lesson …
They began eating, exchanging small details about their respective days. Carrie’s news didn’t take long and she didn’t bother relating how depressing it was only to be able to fit into a tiny percentage of her clothes.
‘I meant to tell you!’ Alex jumped up and dashed to the hall, coming back with a thick cream card, his face lit up like Tiny Tim outside the butcher’s. ‘We’ve been invited to the opening of Jordan Lamb’s new Nottingham restaurant. That will be some party; it will be his first outside of London!’
Alex was always receiving invitations to openings and launches, but Carrie h
ad never seen him this excited. He leaned across the table and placed a smacking kiss on her cheek. ‘I expect we’ll get to meet him. What an honour!’
She could see his brain whirring, planning how he could make the most of this opportunity; perhaps he’d attempt to get the celebrity chef to visit Cavendish Hall. She smiled back weakly at his enthusiasm. All she could think of was, How on earth can I get out of it?
She had been to these restaurant launches before. Despite the fact that it was the food industry, all the women – the PR girls, the waitresses and even the management – looked like they survived on a diet of air. She would look like a rhinoceros. In a black baggy dress.
‘Treat yourself to a new frock or something; we’ll both need to scrub up for this one,’ he said, patting her hand.
‘No problem. It doesn’t take much for me to look like a scrubber.’
She caught his eye and the look of disappointment he gave her sent shivers down her spine.
‘You’re my wife,’ he said quietly. ‘Not a scrubber.’
Her stomach trembled with fear. One day she’d push him too far and he’d start agreeing with her when she put herself down, or simply leave her for someone else. She couldn’t help it, it was a defence mechanism, she recognized that, but she didn’t seem to be able to do anything about it. Maybe he should leave her; he could do so much better, he deserved so much better.
‘Anyway. About this wish list.’ He sighed, poured them both a glass of red wine and cleared his throat. ‘I’d give you anything, you only have to ask, you know that, don’t you?’
Alex picked up his knife and fork, pausing briefly to meet her eye.
But I need to achieve it for myself …
Carrie stared at him and her heart fluttered. She did love him and she knew he loved her. But she wanted – needed – some independence. When they married he had taken on the role of protector, educator, even father figure, and gradually her world had become smaller and smaller until she had started to feel trapped and isolated by him and their home. After ten years of marriage, she mused with a sinking feeling, it was too late to change now.
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