by Ellie White
I drum my fingers on my desk, the anxious energy I am trying to control making an attempt to escape. I scrunch my fingers to stop the tapping, hating myself for letting her get to me the way she did. The look and the thousand mean words she implied with it rattle around in my brain almost uncontrollably.
I remember what my therapist said about compartmentalising, about how I shouldn't do it and that it’s not healthy in the long run because what happens when there is no more space in my brain to lock those thoughts away? I remember what she said and I ignore it, as I usually do. I stuff those words away and lock the box up tight. It's tough to shut that part of my brain down and return to my work but it's what I do. It's what I've done for a long time when faced with something I'm not prepared to think about.
"So, this pile here," I say, pointing to a pile of files on my desk, "These are the accounts that are waiting for my approval for the week. Deadline for this to reach me is 4 pm Friday. I go through this pile so they are ready to either be reworked or go down to you to be distributed first thing Monday morning and – Well, you know what happens after that."
"You do this every Saturday?" Jake says, looking stunned and not addressing the fact I changed the subject.
"Yeah," I say with a shrug.
"So, because I'm an arsehole and demand these first thing Monday morning, you have to work all weekend?"
"I wouldn't have put it quite as eloquently but... Yeah."
"Screw that. I'm sorry. I didn't know you had to work today to get this done. Like I said, I haven't put much thought into what you do really or how long it takes to get it right. We'll change the system; we can come up with something else together. You shouldn't have to do this every week."
He seems genuinely shocked that I'm here to get the work ready for him but how else did he think I got it done ready for Monday?
"I wish it were as simple as not doing it, Jake, but I have certain responsibilities. I have jobs that need to be done and they should be done perfectly, otherwise what’s the point in doing them at all? If that means working on a Saturday, I'll do it. I have nothing better to do besides sitting alone in my empty flat."
"Hey, Maggs," he says as he reaches over to stop my fingers drumming on the desk again. I didn't even realise I was doing it this time. "We'll figure it all out. With the extra time you have on a weekend because of that, we can fill it with whatever you want to do. You know, as part of our deal."
I look down at my hand enveloped in his and he squeezes it reassuringly before pulling back.
"This pile here are the plans that have been reworked," I say, pointing to a smaller pile of just four files. "That won't take long for me to sign off as I've already gone through them once. They'll be perfect now."
"Perfect, huh?"
"Perfect," I agree, straightening the pile.
"What’s this?" he asks picking up the large lever arch file sat at the end of my desk.
"That's for Stephenson’s. It needs to be archived," I reply. Jake looks at me blankly so I continue. "It's the research. A few weeks back, when we got the chance to pitch for the job, we conducted market research on their various products. That's a sample of 500 people. We held 50 focus groups of 10 people and collated the data to present to them. It's what ultimately won us the opportunity to work on their Easter campaign. No one else had done that for them."
"And you do this for every account?"
"Yeah. It's not always to that scale and it’s a team effort, not just me. In my opinion, it's the most important part of the complete process. You could have a fantastic campaign but none of that matters if you don't know your audience. It's all well and good to have a message but we need to know how to communicate it, we need to know how the audience wants to receive the message and when they want to receive it. If you don’t know that, you don't get the optimum reach, you know?"
He smiles like he is seeing me for the first time in years. He underestimated me, just like the rest of the company.
"This is a lot of information," he says, flicking through the pages. "It's impressive, Maggs."
"Yeah, we sift through this and find what the common factors are and condense it for the brief you see."
"Everything here is so organised," he says as he wanders around my office again. "It's no surprise you're the best we have."
"Thanks," I say, slightly flushed at his compliment.
We continue working our way through the pile of folders for the rest of the morning. He asks questions and inputs where he can and, before we know it, we're caught up with plenty of time for me to make the journey to Knightsbridge.
"Jake?" I ask as we step out of our office onto the busy riverside walkway. "Next week, would you mind if I spend a day with you, down in Creative?"
"I would love that," he says with a smile I've not seen on him for a long time. It's not the smile he reserves for charming endless amounts of women or the hearty grin he has when he’s being mischievous with my brother. This smile is soft and his eyes are shining. I would say this smile is his most genuine and it's making me feel (for lack of a better description) weak at the knees.
***
"So, how are you, sweetheart?" Mum asks as I kiss her on the cheek and take my seat at the table - On time, might I add, thanks to Jake.
It's been years since I've eaten in the luxurious Harrods Tea Room. Each place is set to perfection with the finest china and silverware, a view of the beautiful blossom tree from each seat. Sunlight streams through the sky light, filling the room with sun rays that bounce from the Georgian pillars to the gold, Art Deco carpet. It's the epitome of class and luxury.
"I'm good, Mum. You look lovely."
Annie Jones has never looked her age; she's tall and slender with cropped, ginger hair and a fringe that frames her beautiful face. Only the slightest signs of aging show in her shallow wrinkles and laughter lines which she says she owes this to her lifetime supply of ‘Oil of Olay’. Mum was a teacher at our local primary school. Luckily, I was never in her class and I can't imagine what it would have been like to have your Mum as your teacher. She had a reputation for being kind and patient with all her students. The kids loved her, the mums respected her and the dads fancied her.
"I'm surprised you made it. I figured you'd either be home and hungover or at the office and hungover," James comments.
"Me, hungover? At Harrods? No way," I say, feigning indignation with a smile. "Besides, Jake actually helped me get things finished so I would be on time."
"Jake? Jake was at work on a Saturday?"
"Yeah, I was just as surprised as you are," I say as mum orders Afternoon Tea for three and the waiter pours our tea and accompanying champagne.
I suppose it's not often mum has both children to herself and so she wants it to be special.
I stifle a laugh as my brother picks up his delicate teacup in his extra-large hands. With his friends, he’s this funny, annoying, lad’s lad. With Helen, he's the best thing since sliced bread. Here, with mum, he's just her little boy.
The waiter quickly returns with a vast selection of finger sandwiches, fruit and cheese scones and mini cakes. I have no idea where to start but my stomach rumbles loudly, telling me it needs food.
"So, how is Jacob these days? It's been a while since I've seen him," Mum says. "He doesn't tell his mother much and I know she worries about him.”
"He's fine. It was better than I thought, working with him this morning. He wasn't as frustrating as he normally is."
"And he's taking her on a date to the ‘First Dates’ restaurant tonight," James says to Mum with a grin, knowing he's thrown me under the bus.
"It's not a date," I quickly retort as mum's eyes light up at the possibility of me dating. "I think he's trying to prove to me that he will be a good business partner."
"Jacob has always been a lovely man. You could do a lot worse," Mum argues.
"He's a lovely man with a reputation," I counter.
"Well, sometimes reputations aren't all they see
m," James says as he shoves a full finger sandwich in his mouth.
I stick out my tongue while Mum scolds him for his lack of table manners. No matter how old, I am I will always relish in my perfect big brother being told off, it's what little sisters are made for.
"We'll see how long it lasts before he turns back into the giant pain in my ar-"
"Language." Now it's James' turn to stick out his tongue.
"Sorry, Mum."
"Jake is my best mate. He has a lot to give and, when he says he wants something, he won’t quit, believe me. If he’s told you he wants to be a good business partner, you should believe him.”
“Yeah, he was my best friend too, remember? That meant nothing to him.”
“I’m not saying what he did wasn’t wrong but, if you knew half the story, maybe you’d see things his way too.”
"Do you have anything to wear tonight? It's a posh restaurant. Maybe I could get you a new dress?" Mum says, interrupting us before we start to bicker. "We can always go to Harvey Nicks next, if you can't find anything here. Or maybe even Selfridges?"
She smiles at me so excitedly that I'm hit with a pang of guilt.
Before the accident, Mum and I were inseparable. We would go out shopping and to lunch all the time. We would go on girls’ weekends away or on a night out at the theatre together. We would sometimes go alone, sometimes with Laura, her mum, Angela, and Jake's mum, Margaret.
My favourite thing to do with Mum was visit a Christmas Market. We travelled to a different place each year, sometimes as close as Winter Wonderland in Hyde Park or further away to places like Edinburgh or Manchester. My favourite trip was our last one when we travelled to Belgium, the December before the accident. We spent hours walking around the cold market town of Bruges with frites and gluhwein getting us in the festive mood, not to mention the delicious waffles and chocolates we overindulged on.
After the accident, I couldn't face doing anything anymore, not just with Mum but with anyone. I couldn't even look Phillip's parents in the eye. All I wanted to do was go to work and hide away in my flat watching crappy TV. I felt that I had a responsibility to keep everyone together. After all, I'm the one that made it out of that accident alive. I owe my life to someone so may as well spend it protecting the people I love.
I wasn't always so guarded or put together. Some days, I couldn't hide how distraught I was or how much I struggled with my physiotherapy. It upset Mum to see me in so much pain and I hated the fact that she worried about me so much. So, I acted like it didn't hurt anymore and it was easier to pretend when she couldn't see me.
After a few years, she eventually she stopped asking me to do things with her. I knew it hurt her every time I refused her invitations so, at first, I was glad when she had stopped asking. Now, I miss those times more than anything.
"Thanks, Mum, I'd really like that," I say as she squeezes my hand.
James smiles at me, too, knowing how happy I've made her with a small act of shopping.
"I'll come with you two, I need to pick up something for Helen's birthday and have no idea where to start with women things."
I make a promise to myself that I'll make more of an effort with Mum, to take her places and make more plans with her. Maybe we could even go away for a weekend. I know she'd love it. I owe her that much after the support she's given me my whole life.
***
This is not a date. This is not a date. This is. Not. A. Date.
Why do I feel so bloody nervous?!
It's Jake. We're friends again.
It's not like I hadn't spent the morning with him and that was fine. It was more than fine. It was easy and comfortable. I blame James for getting in my head this afternoon. He knows more than he lets on about what happened with Jake. I should ask him about it but I’m scared that I’ll not like the answer.
I walk up the steps at St Paul's tube station 15 minutes before I'm meant to so I don't expect to see Jake waiting for me, looking like he's just stepped off the catwalk at New York Fashion Week in his dark grey, wool coat and his perfectly fitted, black dress trousers.
But there he stands.
His inky hair is gorgeously dishevelled and pushed back from his face, his smile so wide it makes his eyes light up. In the office, his attire consists of jeans, black vans that look like they've seen better days and a T-shirt with some sort of graphic on the front. Not that I pay close attention to what he wears nor do I care about what he wears in the office but, to see him here, dressed in dress shoes paired with a slim fit, black shirt, is pleasantly surprising.
"Like what you see?" he says, mocking my obviously dazed expression as my eyes drink him in. He looks gorgeous.
"You look good, Jake. Who knew?" I joke.
"Thanks. I think," he says, leading the way to the restaurant. "So, my mum called me this afternoon. Apparently, your mum called her and told her I was taking you out on a 'posh date'. She told me not to be an ‘arsehole’ to you. Those exact words came from her mouth," he says, laughing and using air quotes. I'm thankful it's dark when I feel my cheeks heat and I groan inwardly with embarrassment.
"I've told her a thousand times that it's not a date. She doesn't listen. You could hang up on your mum, though. I was shopping with mine and trying on ridiculously expensive dresses." It was so much fun.
He laughs in agreement as we approach the familiar glass doors, just like on the TV.
"Now, I know this isn't a date and you know this isn't a date but please don't fight me on the bill. I know you've got the whole strong, independent woman thing going on, which I love and respect that about you, but just let me have this, please? We're also getting fillet steaks with all the trimmings because the reviews say it's incredible."
I go to argue but he presses his finger on my lips before the words come out.
"That's very kind, thank you," I mumble, his finger still pressing against my lips. "But, just know, I'm paying for the next one."
"I suppose that's fair," he says, opening the door for me like a gentleman. He takes my coat and passes it to the hostess before abruptly stopping. "Wow!" he adds as his eyes travel slowly down the length of my body.
"What?" I say as I straighten out the black, figure hugging dress that stops mid-thigh. It was a little risqué, being so short, but I loved it the second I put it on.
"Nothing, you just look... Wow." He clears his throat. "I've never seen you dressed up like this."
"Thanks. Mum picked it all out for me today. James had some creative input too - He picked the belt. Who knew he had so much knowledge on women’s clothes?” I say as I run my fingertips along the studded belt that makes my waist look tiny. Mum didn’t agree but I thought it gave the outfit a little more edge, along with my brand-new Christian Louboutin boots and matching clutch. It's by far the most extravagant purchase I've ever made but the way I felt when I tried it on in the shop told me that I had to have the whole outfit.
And the new bottle of Gucci Guilty perfume…
And the red Dior lipstick…
It had been years since I bought anything nice to wear so I went all out.
The hostess shows us to our table and Jake pulls out my chair for me.
"That was very chivalrous, thank you," I say to Jake as the host lays down our menus and places crisp white napkins in our laps. She offers a smile to both me and Jake, informs us that our waiter will be over in just a moment and walks away, leaving us alone once again.
"Just because it's not a date doesn't mean I can't be charming. I told you, the point of this is for you to get to know the real me and for me to get to know you, again. And this is me. Although I am showing off slightly by getting us this reservation, I'll admit." His smile is infectious, the same genuine smile that you can't help but return.
"Okay, so this is amazing. Thank you," I say, looking around and taking it all in. "I can't believe you got us a table here at such short notice"
"Not going to lie, I'm slightly disappointed that Fred and Merlin don't actua
lly work here," he casually states.
"You watch ‘First Dates’?"
"It's not usually my thing but I watched a couple of episodes this afternoon in preparation and now I think I might be addicted," he stage whispers, making me laugh out loud. "I'll probably watch another few episodes before bed, too."
The waiter takes our orders and brings us the fancy wine Jake chose. This is yet another side of him I've not seen before and it's making me question everything I thought I knew about him.
"Moving day on Monday. Are you excited?"
"You know, I'm not dreading it," I honestly say. If he had asked me that on Friday afternoon, I would have had a different answer but it's funny how much can change in 24 hours.
He smiles as though he knows this too. "I'm winning you over, aren't I?"
"Yeah, a little… You just seem to act so differently in the office."
"So do you. You're not as much of a control nut out in the human world."
"I don't think I'm too controlling," I say as he raises his eyebrows at me "Yeah, okay, I am but it's because of you! The way you waltz around, hypnotising my staff with your good looks and devil-may-care attitude, they honestly get nothing done. And, you have to admit, you love to torment me that way."
"You think I'm good looking then?" I just raise my eyebrows at him. "Sorry, flirting is my first line of defence."
Just like this morning, our conversation flows well. We talk mostly about generic things like our favourite TV shows, movies and food. A short while later, the waiter returns with our food and places two of the most perfectly cooked steaks I've ever seen in front of us.
"This is amazing. Do you treat all of your dates to this or do you save it for non-dates, like me?" I ask between bites.
"I haven't been on a date since I took Molly Anderson to see Tokyo Drift in sixth form."
"Oh, come on. You expect me to believe that?"
He shrugs slightly. "You want me to be honest?" I nod to him to continue. "I'm not the dating type. I meet girls in bars, the kind of girls who don't care when I leave when we're done, if you know what I mean."
