A Parcel for Anna Browne

by Miranda Dickinson

  Ashraf frowned. ‘Which one was Steve again?’

  ‘The footballer.’

  ‘I thought that was Darren?’

  ‘Oh. My. Gosh. Ash, I swear you never listen to me. Steve was the one with the dodgy kneecaps? Supposed to sign for Dagenham and Redbridge, but left after a season on loan to another club? I told you about him.’

  ‘So what happened to Darren?’

  ‘That’s a story for sharing only when I have a large gin in my hand, Ash . . .’ Something caught Sheniece’s eye and she quickly straightened her jacket. ‘Quick, look efficient – the Dragon’s coming!’

  Anna looked over to the far end of the atrium, where Juliet Evans was marching from the lift. It occurred to her that the Messenger’s editor always appeared to be sailing a few feet from the ground, as if propelled by the force of a wave. Juliet carried the air of someone who expected the world to turn on her bidding, and walls to crumble in her path. Ordinarily Anna would have been in awe of her. This morning, however, she was simply glad of the interruption to her unwanted questioning that the powerful editor’s arrival brought.

  ‘Anna,’ Juliet stated rather than asked, the briefest of smiles gone as soon as it had appeared. ‘I have a job for you. Follow me.’

  Without pausing for her reply, Juliet turned on her Louboutin heels and headed back across the atrium floor. Anna scrambled from behind reception and followed, quickly tucking the stray strands of her hair back into her ponytail as she ran.

  The lift was impossibly quiet as it rose to the top floor. Juliet said nothing and Anna felt as if the sound of her thudding heart was reverberating around the glass walls. She was nervous of what lay in store for her, but it was good to be away from reception. She didn’t want to pick over the details of the email she’d sent – or the radio silence that followed – any further with her colleagues. She already felt bad enough about it. After the hours spent agonising over the right mix of words, it had all been a waste of time.

  And why had Anna expected any different? If the parcel-sender had wanted her to know their identity, they would have already provided their name. That they hadn’t, and that her email had been ignored, should come as no surprise.

  And yet, she had hoped for more. None of it made any sense.

  The lift doors slid open to reveal the deep-piled cream carpet of the top floor. Anna could feel her heels sinking satisfactorily into it as she followed Juliet to her executive office – the one with the breathtaking view that everyone in the building wished they had. As she reached the doorway, her heart dropped when she saw the cardboard boxes and half-packed book crates.

  ‘Are you . . . ?’ Realising she was speaking out of turn, Anna stopped. ‘I’m sorry. What would you like me to do?’

  Juliet raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh, don’t worry, they won’t get rid of me that easily. I’ve just –’ she cleared her throat, ‘– elected to take Bev Holder’s office down the hall, for a while. Damien Kendal from the DayBreak Corp Board will be occupying this one for the time being. Don’t look concerned. I know what they’re trying to do. He’s been sent to “keep an eye” on me. It’s happened before: I’m not intimidated. Besides, a change of scene is always good for the mind. This view can get a little old, you know.’

  Anna couldn’t believe that – and the sight of the all-powerful editor packing her belongings into cardboard boxes was alarming. What if Ted had been right all along? What if Kyle Chambers from the Post was simply relaying the truth about the Messenger’s fate? Why would anyone dare to keep tabs on Juliet Evans – and was it a precursor to worse news? She was so synonymous with the newspaper now that her leaving would be tantamount to the ravens deserting the Tower of London. And what did this mean for Anna’s own job security?

  Juliet was observing her from the other side of the great glass desk. ‘I need you to help me put the papers, books and equipment I’ve collected here into these boxes and carry them down to the other office, please. Think you can handle that?’

  Pushing her concerns to the back of her mind, Anna managed to smile. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Then we’d better get started. Must be done by eleven.’

  They worked for an hour, not speaking, the task at hand commanding their attention. A couple of times Anna wondered if she should make polite small talk, but what did you say to a woman who had made her fortune from the most important news stories across the world? Juliet was about as inclined to chat as Ted was to keep a secret. Anna had remarked on it to Ben that morning in Freya & Georgie’s, when the subject of their boss had arisen.

  ‘She’s a pussycat,’ he’d insisted.

  ‘She’s terrifying. I can’t imagine she ever relaxes.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve seen the old Dragon kick back once or twice,’ Ben had smiled.

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Believe what you like. Juliet Evans keeps her cards very close to her chest, but there’s more to her than most people think. They only see the power. I see the woman.’

  The memory of Ben’s headline-style summation of his boss made Anna smile now, as she carried the last of the heavy book crates filled with files to Juliet’s temporary office. There was no doubt he was a tabloid journalist to the core: lines as cheesy as that took years to perfect. He had admitted his shame over what he’d said when Anna almost choked on her coffee laughing, but his response had only made her like him more. She wished she had told him about the record and her email, but he had so carefully avoided the subject that she didn’t want to raise it with him. What would he think if he knew the parcels had started again, or that she had tried to contact the sender for the first time? She hoped he wouldn’t care about it. Believing that Ben McAra was interested in her for her own sake was wonderful: she didn’t want to change that.

  ‘I think that’s everything,’ Anna said, returning to the ominously empty executive suite.

  Juliet was staring out across the city as if attempting to burn the view into her mind. She turned. ‘Excellent.’

  Unsure what to do next, Anna waited in the doorway.

  As if snapping out of a trance, Juliet nodded. ‘Thank you. You’ve been a great help.’

  ‘My pleasure.’

  ‘Needless to say I’m relying on your discretion about what you’ve seen here.’ It wasn’t a question.

  Anna nodded. ‘Of course. I won’t say anything.’ Taking Juliet’s non-reply as her cue to leave, she took a step back, but froze when Juliet raised her hand.

  ‘Are you happy here?’

  The question hit Anna squarely. ‘Excuse me?’

  The editor rounded the desk and perched on the end of it. ‘It’s a simple enough question, Miss Browne.’

  ‘Oh . . . sorry . . . Yes, I’m very happy here.’ Please don’t fire me. I need this job.

  ‘I was impressed by your suggestion in our editorial meeting while you were shadowing Ben.’

  ‘Um, thank you.’ The muscles along Anna’s shoulders tensed.

  ‘Look, I’ve been in this business more years than I care to count and I’ve learned to value talent wherever I find it. There’s a great deal more to you than you think, Anna. You should think about that.’

  Where was this leading? Anna shifted her feet uncomfortably on the too-soft luxury carpet and tried to think of a suitable response.

  ‘I got to where I am today by taking risks. You took a risk in that meeting – and if what I hear from the newsroom is to be believed, it was your quick thinking that saved the Vanessa Milburn exclusive. I value that.’ She rubbed a finger along her chin and sighed, her eyes drifting back to the view of London’s skyline that in ten minutes wouldn’t belong to her. ‘What I’m trying to say is that I saw what you did. It took guts and I like that in a person. Keep taking risks, Ms Browne. Your life will be all the better for it.’

  ‘Oh. I’ll do my best to.’ The last thing Anna expected when Juliet requested her help this morning was life advice. To hear it from a woman who clearly found it difficult to give compliments m
ade the advice even stranger. She knew she should be flattered, but the situation made her feel uneasy.

  There was a pause as the two women faced each other. With a disinterested smile, Juliet waved her hand. ‘You can go now.’

  Anna was down the corridor and almost at the lift before the door to Juliet’s former office shut.

  ‘I don’t think it’s anything to worry about.’ Jonah threw a handful of mixed seeds to the rabble of swans and ducks at the water’s edge.

  ‘Then why mention it at all? It was just odd.’

  Jonah chuckled. ‘Classic boss behaviour, that’s all it is. Make out you’re the great, omnipotent, omnipresent entity who knows everything. Keeps the little people in line and the business rivals at bay. Every director I’ve ever worked for has it. God-complex, every one of them. I wouldn’t worry.’

  But Anna was worried. So worried that she had arrived at Jonah’s door after work that day, needing to talk about it. The more she’d considered Juliet’s words, the more she’d convinced herself that ‘taking risks’ was a roundabout way of warning her that her remaining time at the Daily Messenger was short. Seeing how upset she was, Jonah had suggested they head to Loveage Gardens and ‘consult the oracles’ – in this case, the collected waterfowl that graced the park’s modestly sized lake. He brought a large bag of wild bird food – ‘as an offering’ – and while Bennett dashed after a tennis ball, they fed the seed mix to the birds and talked.

  ‘I can’t help feeling she was trying to tell me something.’

  ‘She was. That you’re capable of more than you think you are. I could’ve told you that – anyone could.’

  ‘No, something bad.’

  ‘It’s an endorsement, sweetheart, not a harbinger of doom. Only you could take a bit of advice and turn it into a P45.’ He cast a glance at her from beneath the brim of his butterscotch-brown beanie hat. ‘This is about that email, isn’t it?’

  Anna didn’t bother to deny it. ‘I don’t understand why they didn’t reply.’

  ‘Maybe it wasn’t the right time. Maybe it wasn’t their usual email address. You’ll drive yourself mad going over it, when there’s no answers yet.’

  Kicking at a stone, Anna sighed. ‘Will there ever be?’

  ‘I wish I could tell you. But this I know: whoever sent you those things did it because they wanted to make you happy. And they have, haven’t they – I mean, aside from the most recent development? Part of the reason you’re upset now is that it matters to you, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  His smile was reassuring. ‘Then I’m sure you’ll have your answers soon.’

  Twenty-Nine

  Sheniece Wilson wasn’t often jealous of people – unless they had a handbag, shoes or a boyfriend she wanted. But even then it wasn’t the deep-seated, gnawing jealousy that ate away at your insides until you had to do something about it. She had only experienced that on two occasions in her life so far.

  And this was one of them.

  It wasn’t the parcels her colleague was receiving that caused it, although they had certainly brightened her working week lately. Nor was it that the gifts were quality items (apart from the mangy old record: why anyone thought that was a good present was beyond her). The reason for the biting, churning jealousy assaulting Sheniece Wilson’s insides was the recipient herself.

  Anna Browne.

  Sheniece had liked her from the moment they met, Anna’s friendliness and sense of humour immediately appealing. She was a non-threatening presence, unlike many of the women Sheniece had worked with in previous jobs. There wasn’t a hint of competition between them – Anna’s personal style and choice of men differing greatly from her own. Sheniece liked that. Maintaining the upper hand with workmates could be exhausting.

  But Anna Browne had something Sheniece coveted more than anything else: a good reputation. It was the one thing that had eluded her all her life, yet Anna had it without knowing.

  Sheniece didn’t set out to ruffle feathers or create a name for herself. But things just happened that way. Growing up as the eldest of five children in a council house designed for two people had been hard enough; being the unofficial third parent in the family caused irreparable rifts between her and her siblings. Neither a kid nor a grown-up, she’d existed in a strange limbo between the two, being the target of abuse from both sides. When Social Services threatened to separate the family, it had fallen to sixteen-year-old Sheniece to hold it all together, her parents being too busy drinking themselves into oblivion to notice. She should have been recognised for her actions, but instead she was looked down on, patronised and hated from all sides of her family. Craving the attention her parents never gave, she set out to gain favour amongst the shaven-headed, over-sexed young men on her estate, who were only too happy to assist her.

  Despite her extracurricular activities (of being an unofficial carer and an official bedroom legend), Sheniece did well at school, moving on to college and away from the rhetoric of the estate. She moved in higher circles, dating more successful men with equally liberal views on sex. She did well for herself – good job, good flat, regular holidays and occasionally semi-famous boyfriends – but a good reputation never followed.

  Respect for Anna Browne was spreading through the Messenger building. She was kind-hearted and fun to be around, but now there was something else, too. She seemed to have found a new confident attitude that wasn’t pushy or brass or loud (accusations Sheniece often faced). She was queenly – there was no other word for it. Like Grace Kelly mixed with Beyoncé. Sheniece envied that more than anything. Ben McAra had definitely noticed – and while Sheniece wasn’t interested in the reporter, she envied the way he and Anna had looked together, when she and Rea had seen them in Freya & Georgie’s. Ben couldn’t keep his eyes from hers, his expression that of a child let loose in a sweet shop. People at work were noticing Anna, too: even the great Juliet Evans, who walked with her nose so high in the air she barely acknowledged anyone’s existence but her own.

  I want to be like that, Sheniece thought, watching Anna laughing with a gaggle of journalists at reception, who all seemed fascinated by her. Maybe, if I stick close to Anna Browne, some of what she’s got will rub off on me.

  ‘Parcel for Anna Browne?’

  The courier was new, his uniform a different colour from the one Narinder and the CityServe couriers wore.

  Anna felt the weight of Sheniece’s stare on her as she signed for the parcel. ‘Thank you. Um, which courier company are you from?’

  The courier observed her with disdain. ‘Xpress Direct. We don’t deliver much to this street.’ Without a goodbye, he walked away.

  ‘Great customer service there.’ Sheniece sniffed, peering at the delivery. ‘Whoa, Anna, your chap must have been in a hurry.’

  This parcel appeared to have been wrapped during a hurricane, its roughly cut edges uneven and badly taped. The contents rattled, and Anna half-wondered if the gift might have broken in transit. Certainly the courier’s disinterest for his job suggested he didn’t much care what state the packages arrived in. In contrast to the previous parcels, the sender information box had been filled with a single word, handwritten in slanting, primitive capital letters:

  LONDON

  ‘I suppose that’s something . . .’ Anna’s stomach was heavy, as though filled with a spade’s worth of shingle. She had hoped for another parcel to take away the disappointment of the previous delivery; but, if anything, the new arrival made her feel worse.

  Sheniece tugged at her sleeve. ‘Open it.’

  ‘I think I’ll wait.’

  ‘Oh, go on, Anna! I’d just like to see you open one parcel, that’s all. And this one’s so badly stuck together it’s practically unwrapping itself.’

  She should have waited until she got home. She should have refused, as she had every time before. But this time Anna’s curiosity wasn’t going to let her wait until the end of the day. ‘Fine. But just this one, okay?’

  Her colle
ague squeaked and clapped her hands together like an over-excited American cheerleader. ‘Do it, do it!’

  ‘What’s she doing?’ As if from thin air, the Messenger’s chief of security materialised, accompanied by Rea from the newsroom and two young people Anna only recognised as part of the latest intake of interns.

  She had not anticipated a crowd, but it was too late to change her mind now. With all eyes on her, she began to unwrap the parcel . . .

  ‘I reckon it’s jewellery,’ one of the interns said, instantly shushed by another.

  ‘She’s had that already,’ Sheniece replied, nodding as one in possession of superior knowledge. ‘A brooch and a necklace. He’d be dumb to repeat that.’

  Rea clamped a hand to her heart. ‘Could be a ring, though. Imagine that! A proposal in a parcel, for the woman he’s wooed through couriers!’

  Ted and the male intern laughed, but Sheniece silenced them by raising her hand. ‘No, Rea has a point. Maybe the bad wrapping on this one was because he was in a hurry and nervous about the proposal!’

  ‘Bit pointless him proposing, when Anna doesn’t know him from Adam.’ Ted shook his head. ‘I still think it’s a severed limb . . .’

  His gruesome suggestion was met by a chorus of ‘eeuuww’s, some onlookers visibly shuddering while others mimed being sick.

  ‘A severed limb that rattles?’ Sheniece raised a pitying eyebrow.

  ‘Could be,’ Ted insisted. ‘Could be sticking-out bones . . .’

  Anna had heard enough. Gathering the half-unwrapped parcel and paper up, she faced them. ‘If that’s the kind of conversation you want to have, I’m going to open this somewhere else.’

  ‘No, Anna, don’t!’ Rea pleaded. ‘Ignore Ted. He’s a psycho . . .’

  ‘I’m the psycho? You should throw that accusation to the chap sending Anna dodgy parcels, girl!’

  ‘Please, Anna?’ Sheniece’s hand on Anna’s arm made her stop. ‘Just one parcel and then I’ll never ask again. Promise.’