Numbly, I step on to the treadmill.
‘Okay,’ he says, moving over to the front of the machine, ‘so we will only do a short run.’
My body convulses in relief. A short run. I can manage that. Surely, I can manage a short run.
He presses a button and, to my alarm, the floor below my feet skids backwards and I feel myself jolt into a horrible jog. I am not prepared for this. I’m wearing hooped earrings! I can’t be expected to run wearing hooped earrings!
What if I have a heart attack? Will he be able to resuscitate me? I don’t want him grappling around my breasts! Not when I’m unconscious anyway.
I try to smile weakly at the shop assistant, then I notice his eyes are glued to the figures dancing about on the screen. My stomach lurches.
What do they all mean? Is that my heart rate?
My body stiffens in fear.
Is that my weight?
No, of course it’s not. Regardless of the amount of chicken nuggets I ate on Saturday, there is no way that I weigh forty stone.
I continue to bounce on the treadmill uncomfortably as my chest jiggles vigorously.
This is hideous. I feel as if I’m about to be sick. My chest burns as I glare up at the assistant, willing him to let me stop running.
Please let me stop. Please, oh please, let me bloody stop. This has been going on for ages! Why can’t it stop? He said a short run! This isn’t a short run! This is an actual run.
He leans forward, and thankfully clicks a button, and the treadmill slows to a halt. I clasp the sides of the treadmill in desperation as my chest burns in relief. I swallow in a poor attempt to control my erratic breathing. If this is what proper running feels like, then I’m out. Why on earth does Amy enjoy it so much? I feel dreadful.
I need a glass of water and a sit-down pronto. My legs feel like unset jelly and my top lip is damp and quivering.
This is terrible. Twenty minutes ago I felt great and now I feel repulsive.
‘Okay,’ he says, his eyes still glued to the treadmill, ‘well, the shoes seem to support your weight well.’
I jolt in alarm.
My weight? Why is he bringing up my weight?
I stagger off the treadmill and pull the trainers off my pounding feet.
‘They seem to be the right fit for your running technique too,’ he adds.
I smile weakly.
Running technique? Do I have running technique? I must do.
Heck, maybe I’m better than I thought.
‘But you should work on your cardio,’ he says. ‘For long distance your cardio needs to be in better shape.’
I blink back at him.
‘Right,’ I say tightly.
Well, that isn’t the can-do attitude I expected from a supportive shop assistant! Who is he to say I can’t do it? I’ll show him when I win the London marathon and appear on the news for completing it in record time. I’ll even mention him in my victory speech:
And to the man who thought I wasn’t fit enough to run the race . . . well, I bet you feel pretty ridiculous now.
I sashay over to the till, restored to my usual height in my heeled boots, and tap in my pin number to pay for the trainers. He hands me my bag and smiles.
‘Good luck with everything,’ he says. ‘I hope the running goes well.’
I pull the bag off the counter and flash him a smile.
‘Thank you,’ I say, ‘me too.’
*
I concentrate fiercely on my computer screen and attempt to drown out Sally, who has been pacing round my desk for the past four hours as if she’s The Flash.
Jonathan arrived home from his business trip yesterday, and Bianca is giving him and the rest of her family a tour of the office. Then, myself, Sally and Bianca will have a meeting with the family to discuss ‘wedding progression’.
Cue the biggest eye roll ever known to any living creature.
I mean, what? Have you ever heard of anything so ridiculous? When I lightly mentioned how perhaps we should be preparing for the big pitch, Bianca tried to assassinate me with her eyes and Sally almost gave birth in the kitchen – and she isn’t even pregnant. I’m just hoping Bianca doesn’t ask me for a bear update.
‘Purple and gold,’ Sally is muttering as she flaps past my desk, ‘with a light scent of lavender to match the colour scheme.’
‘Sally,’ I burst out, desperate to stop her obsessive pacing and muttering, ‘why don’t you sit down for a minute?’
Sally staggers to a halt and snaps her head round to face me. ‘What?’ she says stoutly. ‘Sit?’
Her eyelids flick over her protruding eyeballs and I try to ignore the purple vein throbbing at her neck.
‘Yes,’ I lean back in my chair and gesture to her own, ‘sit down for a minute and tell me about your weekend.’
Sally gawks back at me, flabbergasted. Her feet are still marching on the spot as if her legs haven’t caught up with her brain.
‘Just for a minute,’ I add, forcing my face into a smile.
I relax slightly as Sally sinks into a chair surreptitiously. I swivel round in my chair to face her.
‘So,’ I say, feeling like her therapist, ‘how was your weekend?’
‘Good,’ Sally fires back like a well-programmed robot, ‘fine.’
I try not to flinch at her abrupt answers.
‘Good,’ I say soothingly. ‘What did you do?’
Sally pauses. ‘Not much,’ she says, ‘went running.’
‘Oh!’ I say, pleased that we finally have something to talk about. ‘I’ve started running,’ I say. ‘I’m actually training for a 10k.’ I add idly.
Har har. Just lightly slip that in there.
As much as I am hating the idea of running 10k, it is no secret that I love showing off about it at any given opportunity. Finally, I am one of those adults who willingly takes part in an activity that counts as productive. Although, I did catch myself shoehorning it into my conversation with the postman today, which almost feels like a step too far. Especially since I have only been on one run and I had to stop when I stubbed my toe on the dog poo bin.
Urgh, that was a real low point for me. The dog poo bin strikes again.
Sally jerks her head. ‘You’re running a 10k?’ she says.
I take a sip of my tea and nod, trying to control the smug grin peeling onto my face.
Look at me. Chatting to a colleague about fitness and training for a 10k. God, I am adulting well. Maybe I’ll start throwing impromptu dinner parties and serve amuses bouche. Whatever the hell that is.
‘When?’ Sally asks.
I cock my head. ‘In a few months?’ I guess. ‘I’m running it for my sister.’
‘We should train together!’ Sally almost shouts, launching back to her feet.
My sweet sense of smugness is suddenly washed away.
Oh no. No.
‘I have a strong training ritual,’ Sally instructs, marching back around the room. ‘It comes with a training diet. You can start both.’
No. Absolutely not. I need to put a stop to this.
‘Sure,’ I manage, ‘the thing is, I—’
‘Georgia!’
I jump as Natalie charges into the office. She grabs on to the door frame, her hair whipping round her shoulders. I almost fall off my seat in fright.
She never calls me Georgia.
‘God!’ I say before I can stop myself, clutching my chest. ‘Bloody hell, Natalie, what is it?’
Natalie’s eyes dart towards Sally and then back at me. ‘I need to talk to you,’ she shoots.
I eye Sally, who has finally stopped marching. Her head is bouncing between me and Natalie as if she’s watching the Wimbledon semi-final.
‘Now?’ I say blankly.
Has she forgotten Sally is my line manager? I can’t just start up a casual conversation now.
‘I’ll have my lunch break soon,’ I add as Sally starts scooping up files, indicating that I should do the same.
‘In hal
f an hour!’ Sally says briskly, charging past me. ‘We are needed in the meeting room now,’ she adds sharply.
I spring to my feet.
‘I’ll come see you at lunch,’ I mutter to Natalie quickly.
She gapes back at me like an anxious fish. What’s wrong with her?
‘Have you done the coffee?’ Sally barks as we storm down the corridor.
Bloody hell, my feet hurt in these shoes. Christ. Why do I ever wear heels? Maybe I should start wearing those trainers with wheels in the bottom. That would make my life a hell of a lot easier. Not to mention how cool I would look.
‘Yes,’ I say, thankfully being honest. ‘I’ve had it delivered. It will already be there.’
‘Unless it’s been stolen,’ Sally snips, and I scowl at the back of her bob.
We spin round the final corner and into the immaculate meeting room. Sure enough, the coffee has already been laid out. I quickly rearrange the chairs as Sally slams the presentation packs down on the desk. I try to control the bubbles of irritation that pop every time Sally rearranges another pencil, and I line up the final chair.
Bianca wanted to host a business lunch for all of her family today. Which basically means she wants to show off how successful the company is. I just hope I get one of the free fancy biscuits later.
‘She’s coming!’ Sally practically screams.
I lurch forward and dart towards the front of the room, taking my cue from Sally. I stand next to her awkwardly.
Great. We look like a set of passive prison guards.
I hear the clack of Bianca’s shoes and I smooth down my fringe as my heart rate returns to normal.
What shall I have for lunch today? I decided that I would treat myself today and buy lunch, a very rare occurrence. Do I go full out and order something wild, like a Five Guys? Or should I be sensible and order a salad?
Actually, no. Ridiculous idea. Salad is not a treat, it’s mild punishment.
‘Right, through here,’ Bianca sings as she reaches the meeting room. Her smile stretches as she spots Sally and myself. ‘Hello, darlings!’ she says. ‘Everyone, this is Sally and Georgie who work on the design team. They have been simply wonderful, helping with the wedding – and Georgie makes fantastic coffee.’
I fix my smile as the back-handed compliment strikes me in the face.
Slowly, Bianca’s family troop in, all ‘ooing’ and ‘aahing’ in the process.
‘Do sit down,’ Bianca says. ‘Sally, Georgie . . . this is my mother, Pauline . . . and my father, William.’
I smile and nod politely as each family member enters.
‘Obviously you know Jonathan,’ she continues, ‘and this is my brother, Jack.’
My face twitches as the last introduction sinks in and my eyes land on the final member of Bianca’s family entering the room.
What?
No.
Oh no. Oh my God. Oh no.
I watch in horror as Bianca’s brother walks into the room. Bianca’s brother, Jack. Bianca’s brother, Jack, who I yelled at yesterday. Jack.
He meets my eyes and I see a flicker of surprised recognition sweep over his face.
Oh my God. I’ve kissed my boss’s brother. I shouted at him. I called him a freak. I said I never wanted to see him again.
And he’s right here.
My entire body burns as he walks past me and slips into one of the chairs. I wobble next to Sally, barely able to stand.
What do I do? What can I do? What the hell is he doing here? He can’t be Bianca’s brother. He can’t! Surely this is all some sort of practical joke. Surely to God I haven’t yelled at my boss’s brother.
Nooooooooo.
Can I jump out of the window? My eyes dart around the room as my heart beats furiously in my chest.
Argh! There are no windows! We are in a windowless room!
What did I say about Bianca? I can’t remember! Did I say anything? He told me he was in London to help with preparations for his sister’s wedding but I had no idea it was . . .
I didn’t even know Bianca had a brother!
I need to leave. I need to leave right now.
‘Thank you both so much,’ Bianca coos. ‘Is the wedding presentation ready?’
‘Yes,’ Sally says swiftly, ‘all ready.’
Bianca smiles. ‘Great,’ she says. ‘Well, then, take it away.’
Sally strides forward and picks up the remote.
Oh my God, I’m going to have to do my presentation in front of him. This is awful. This should be illegal. This is the worst day of my life.
I catch Sally’s eye and jump as she glares at me. ‘Lights, Georgia,’ she hisses.
I quickly jab the lights off and try to ignore Jack’s penetrating stare, burning into me.
I will have to quit. I will have to hand in my notice immediately and become unemployed. I will have to run away and create a new life for myself in the hills. I can’t handle this.
I glance up at Sally and try my best to look incredibly interested as she talks through Bianca’s first dance options.
Okay, I just have to get through this next bit. Then I can go for lunch and lock myself in the toilet at Pret. Nobody will look for me there. Everyone knows I can’t afford it.
‘And now,’ Sally says, ‘Georgia is going to talk you through the buttonhole options.’
I stare back at her imploringly, silently begging her not to make me speak. Sally blinks back at me, a strained look in her eyes. Weakly, I take the remote off Sally and turn to face the room.
Buttonholes?
If I get through this presentation without accidentally calling them ‘bottom holes’ then I deserve a knighthood.
CHAPTER NINE
Ways to handle Jack situation:
Quit job and become a nun
Quit job and become an artistic/painting nun (do they exist? Must research. VITAL)
Quit job and become very successful painting nun (research local nun houses. Will they accept me after university?)
Stay at job and change identity
Stay at job and pretend I have no idea who Jack is
Stay at job and pretend I have sudden amnesia (best idea yet. Pursue)
Call Jack out in middle of work canteen in EastEnders-style fight (would give me the chance to wear Pat Butcher earrings)
Pretend to Jack that I knew all along who he was and that I tricked him (would give me the chance to be smug and superior)
Hide from Jack for ever in work basement
Pretend I’ve forgotten how to speak (take up sign language?)
Emigrate
Have you spoken to him?!!??!?
My eyes flick to the right-hand corner of my monitor as Natalie’s email pops up. I glance at Sally, who is barking orders down the phone to Bianca’s vegan caterer. (She’s having four caterers. I don’t even know what the other three are doing. Bianca is on the Atkins diet.)
No.
I quickly hit send before my face peels off from my skull under the pressure. I pull up the wedding spreadsheet and try to silence my anxiety by staring at columns of numbers.
Twenty minutes of dreadful presentation later (and a surprise Q and A that Bianca decided to chuck in) and Jack, thankfully, did not acknowledge me. He is probably still furious that I called him a freak. And a criminal. And a thief.
I take a slug of water as I try to tame the sparking panic that is popping under my skin.
As soon as the meeting finished, I bolted down the corridor. I’ve been successfully avoiding Jack since. Or, he’s been avoiding me. Either way, I haven’t seen him. Perhaps he has spent the rest of the day reciting extracts from my diary to Bianca.
My eyes flick down to check the time on the digital clock. Four fifteen. I only have to hide for forty-five more minutes and then I can run home and pretend this never happened. I stare mindlessly at my open spreadsheet and obediently type in the receipts, my brain aching. Is this karma for going on a Tinder date? Is this the universe trying to tell me that T
inder is a terrible idea, like I always knew it was? Perhaps it is the universe’s way of telling me I shouldn’t be dating.
I have been single for two years now. Happily single, I might add. But still, very much single. And then the first date I venture out on turns out to be my boss’s closet brother. If that isn’t some awfully big sign, then I don’t know what is.
Maybe I will just become a nun. Maybe that’s what I’ll do after I’ve been fired for calling Jack a freak. Perhaps that is the next chapter in my life. The nuns will accept me and love me for who I am. That is, until they hear me sing and my monotonous tones shatter their precious church windows and I’m sent into exile.
I jump as Bianca’s knuckles rap at the door. Her eyes scan the room, passing over Sally, and then land on me. A spasm of fear clutches at my body.
‘Georgie,’ she says, ‘you can go home, you’ve done enough today.’
I freeze, anxiety closing up my throat.
Is she . . . is she firing me?
‘Really?’ I say weakly.
Bianca nods, pulling her wrist up to check the time. ‘Yeah,’ she says lightly, ‘if you think you’ve completed everything.’
I blink at her. Is this a test? Is she speaking in riddles? Is she trying to trick me into a confession?
Bianca waits in the doorway and I slowly put my belongings in my bag and get to my feet.
‘Thank you,’ I say quietly.
Bianca looks up from her phone and smiles. ‘No worries,’ she says pleasantly. ‘See you tomorrow.’
My body sags in relief.
Okay, see you tomorrow. Tomorrow. That means I’m not fired. Maybe she is just being nice. I nod weakly and turn, then suddenly find myself face-to-face with Jack. My stomach leaps into my mouth and I almost collapse in shock.
I pull my eyes away quickly and scuttle down the corridor, my face burning.
At least this terrible day is over and I will never have to see Jack again and I can pretend this never happened. Thank God for that.
*
I stuff my foot into my sparkly new trainer and try not to laugh at Amy’s aghast expression.
‘I hope you’re happy,’ I say. ‘Is this what you wanted? Was this your plan all along, to get me nearly fired?’
Amy starts to laugh. ‘That is mad.’
The List That Changed My Life Page 7
