She put her headphones in and swiped to answer the call.
“Hey,” she greeted.
“Hello.” Dad sounded chipper. “We have you on loudspeaker.”
This was a relatively new development. After years of Chloe spending an hour on the phone to one parent, to then be handed over and spend another hour speaking to the other, they had worked out a better system.
“Hello!” Mum said, her voice loud and clear as if she were calling space.
“Hey, Mum.” She grabbed a sandwich and a bottle of water and walked over to the bored employee. “Everything okay with you two?”
“Yes,” Dad said. “We didn’t get a chance to arrange our next meet-up. You left so fast…”
It had been intentional. At the end of every family get-together was the half-hour discussion about when they would see each other again. As if all parties had travelled from distant lands. In reality, they all lived within a twenty-minute car journey of each other, but her parents had an obsession with getting something in the calendar.
“I had an early start the next morning,” Chloe defended herself. She looked apologetically at the server, she hated being on her phone when paying for something. The server didn’t even make eye contact. Instead she scanned the sandwich as if it had personally offended her family.
“What are you doing this weekend?” Dad asked.
Sleeping, Chloe thought. “I’m not sure…”
“You could come over for lunch,” Mum added.
The eagerness to quiz her about work and potential matches was palpable. They had seen first-hand how devastated she had been after the breakup. For some reason they both believed that getting into another relationship would be the cure.
“Can I call you nearer the time? I think I might have something on, but I don’t have my diary with me.”
“Either day is fine,” Dad said.
Trapped. They weren’t going to let her go. She was definitely seeing them at the weekend.
“Okay. Yeah, sounds good.” She paid for her sandwich and drink.
“So, how is everything?” Mum asked.
Chloe closed her eyes for a moment, wishing for strength she didn’t feel. She’d just started a new job, she was exhausted. Surely, they could give her a little respite before grilling her? Then she remembered, they’d both retired and had nothing to do but snoop into other people’s lives. Neither of them had hobbies, preferring to live vicariously through her and Kevin. And Kevin never had anything out of the ordinary going on. He worked the same job, had the same girlfriend, had no intention of marriage or kids. Any interesting gossip was sure to come from Chloe and not him.
Besides, she was the one who’d failed so spectacularly that she had to run home to Mum and Dad. At the moment they were focused on her with laser precision.
“Yeah, good.” She picked up her items and walked over to a table. “I’m just in a café, so I’m eating a sandwich.”
“For dinner?” Mum wasn’t impressed. In her world, dinner was hot food, with cutlery, at a table.
“Yeah, I had to stay late and then I have this thing after work so… you know, I have to go.” She knew it was pointless. They wouldn’t let her go.
“What thing?” Dad asked, not getting the hint.
“A… podcast.” Chloe winced the moment she said the word. She knew what was coming.
“What’s a podcast?” Dad asked.
“It’s like Internet radio,” she explained.
“You’re on the radio? How do we listen to that?” he asked.
Chloe really didn’t have time to explain to her parents, who had just mastered the art of loudspeaker, the apps they could install and searches they would need to perform in order to listen to a lesbian podcast which would frankly go over their heads.
“I’ll… show you at the weekend,” she said. Fate sealed. She’d have to go now.
“What will you be talking about?” Mum asked.
“The magazine, talking about what they do and what I do.”
“P-O-D-C-A-S-T,” Dad said slowly, obviously typing it into his iPad. “Okay, Wikipedia… iTunes… what do I need to click?”
He was oblivious to the fact that Chloe just wanted to eat her sandwich in peace and get to the recording. He was now a man on a mission.
“Can I show you at the weekend?” she asked. She opened her sandwich and prepared to take a bite.
“Set up an account,” Dad read aloud.
Chloe winced. She had no idea what account he was trying to set up.
“It’s a bit late for a radio show,” Mum said. “And right during dinner time.” She hadn’t gotten over the sandwich for dinner tragedy.
“Well, I don’t have any other time to do it,” Chloe hinted. “I’m really busy with work, and then… you know, I’m tired after work. As I just started.”
“Can’t you do it at work? It is for work, after all,” Mum said. “It’s silly that they want you to do it now.”
“Well, it’s not really for work, as such. It’s more about me. And I didn’t really want work to know about it. Not until I’d done it.”
“Why not?” Mum asked.
Chloe lowered her carb-heavy meal. She clearly wasn’t going to get off the phone any time soon.
“Because I wanted to be the one to do it, it’s a friend who runs the podcast and I set up the interview myself. I was worried that if I mentioned it, they’d send someone else.”
“Do you get paid overtime?” Mum quizzed.
“They want a password, what’s my password?” Dad asked.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Darcy had found the perfect spot. The large room had five doors leading to other rooms in the National Gallery. She stood in the exact location where she could easily see all doorways, and more importantly, could be seen from them.
Now it was a matter of waiting. Something she wasn’t good at. The more time that passed, the more nervous she became.
The programme of events for the evening was tucked under her crossed arms. Holding it in her hand made her shaking too obvious. She was trying to look lost in thought, staring at the same oil painting as if it was speaking to her on some deep level.
In truth, she hadn’t given it more than two seconds of her time. While her eyes were focused forward, all her senses were on edge. She listened to the people around her, hoping to detect Celia’s silky tones.
So far, nothing. It had been over an hour, and her legs were beginning to ache. She hadn’t listened to the talk. Ironically, she was terrified of seeing Celia in the room. In her mind, she had a plan and she wanted to stick with it. Everyone who went into the talk then walked around the gallery to look at the pieces on display. It was her hope that Celia would enter the room and see Darcy first.
Of course, Darcy would see her as well. But she’d pretend that she hadn’t. She’d be casually examining a piece of art, distracted from the world around her. Looking like she just happened to be there and wasn’t, effectively, stalking someone.
Celia would be surprised, impressed even. She’d approach Darcy in an out-of-work setting and Darcy would finally be able to speak to her. To recite her rehearsed lines and make Celia understand how much they had in common. It was step one in a series of steps, but it was the most important one.
The only problem was that Celia was nowhere in sight.
Sweat had formed along her hairline. She wondered what she looked like to outsiders. Were other people looking at her and wondering what was so fascinating about the piece? Did they think she was having a stroke? Was she having a stroke?
She took a deep breath to try to keep herself calm. No easy task. As the minutes ticked by, her anxiety levels had gone through the roof. Her eyes flicked to one of the doorways, a large crowd of people was gathering in the next room.
Then she saw her. Celia was in the crowd, laughing, a glass of champagne in her hand. Celia was always impeccably dressed. Tonight, she wore a long cream skirt and heels, a high-necked white lace top a
nd a knee-length cream-and-white jacket. Her shoulder-length light brown hair was perfectly straight and tucked behind her ears.
Darcy quickly looked away. She couldn’t be seen staring. She couldn’t be seen seeing her at all. Her whole plan was based on appearing as if she had no idea Celia was at the event.
An attack of nerves caused her body to shake. She shifted her balance a little, trying to pretend it was a cramp and not unbridled fear.
She stared intently at the painting. The sweat under her hair began dripping down her back. She took a steady breath, reminding herself to breathe evenly and calmly.
Doubt crept in.
Maybe this was the wrong idea. Maybe Celia wouldn’t recognise her. Perhaps she’d say the wrong thing and alienate her forever. Was the painting one she didn’t like? How would Darcy even know?
The group entered the room.
Her breath caught in her throat, and she wondered if she was about to pass out. She couldn’t help but quickly glance at the new arrivals. She frowned. Celia wasn’t with them. But these were definitely the people she’d been talking to.
Darcy took a step to the side, looking around the chattering mass. Celia remained in the other room, being helped into her coat by a member of staff.
She’s leaving, Darcy realised. Her heart thundered in her chest. All her planning had gone out of the window. The preparation, the rehearsing in front of the mirror, all a waste of time.
If she were braver, she would cross the room and say hello. Comment at how she was just about to leave herself and how funny it was they were both at the same event. They’d walk to the door together, exchange a few words.
But she wasn’t that brave. Just thinking about it made her sick to her stomach. She wanted to talk to Celia, it just had to be in a way she had prepared for. The stakes were too high to wing it.
She turned around and quickly crossed the room, eager to put some distance between them. She’d been standing in one spot for so long that her legs had gone to sleep, and she stumbled a little.
Since she had arrived, she’d remained in the same position, eager that she didn’t accidentally run into Celia and ruin her planning. Now she knew exactly where she was, and she was able to hurry in the opposite direction.
She kept moving through room after room, grateful for her knowledge of the gallery and all its exits. She brushed past the doorman of the west wing exit and rushed down the stone steps.
She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and sucked in a deep breath. Her heart was racing. She chided herself for not being adult enough to be able to just approach the woman of her dreams.
A couple of tears came loose from her waterlogged eyes. She walked away from the gallery, thankful for the late hour and the darkness that shielded her face.
As always, London was busy. She navigated her way through the crowds, heading towards the river. Walking along the Thames always calmed her. Hopefully the serene waters would help put the evening’s events behind her.
She looked at her phone to check the time. She scrubbed away a few notifications before seeing one that caught her eyes. The Girls About Town podcast had an interview with… Chloe Dixon?
Intrigued, she got her headphones out and tuned into the show.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Kim poured two glasses of red wine. It was the cheap stuff, but her stomach had developed a resistance to it.
Lucy carried the dirty plates into the kitchen.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Kim said.
“I wanted to. You cooked.” Lucy opened the dishwasher and pulled the wire rack out.
“No, no,” Kim insisted. “I’ll do that. Here.” She handed over a glass of wine.
Lucy took the glass and smirked. “Are you one of those people who doesn’t like other people stacking the dishwasher? One of those people who restack things?”
Kim poked her tongue out. She started to stack the dishwasher, admittedly in the way she liked it. So, maybe she had restacked the dishwasher in the past. But she knew that the top right-hand corner just didn’t get things clean. That wasn’t being picky, that was knowing her appliances and their quirks.
“Oh my god, you are,” Lucy chuckled.
“I don’t say anything, and you immediately think I’m guilty?” Kim asked.
“Yep. Your silence condemned you.” Lucy leaned on the counter, obviously watching Kim bend down and fill the dishwasher.
“Enjoying the view?” Kim put an extra sway into her movements.
“A lot. Seriously, though, thank you for inviting me over. And cooking, it’s really helped to take my mind off things.”
“How is the job hunt going?” Kim hated that Lucy would be leaving the office. Some people might have wanted a little space from their partner, but Kim didn’t think she would survive not seeing her girlfriend every day. She’d always loved her job, but now she was thinking of leaving as well. Escape the potential job cuts. And the memories. And Helen’s wrath.
“It’s slow. There isn’t a lot in the market at the moment,” Lucy admitted. “I’ve sorted my CV out and sent it to a million people. I sorted out my LinkedIn profile, too.”
“I saw your new profile pic. Looking good, Miss Bryce.” Kim stood up and closed the dishwasher door with her foot. “So, nothing much happening at the moment?”
“No. I expected some phone calls today, you know, recruitment consultants asking me to repeat what my CV already says… but nothing.”
Kim could tell that Lucy was starting to worry. She’d already admitted that she had no savings, no safety net.
“Maybe things will pick up at Honey?” Kim said. “Your new campaign is doing well, you mentioned?”
Lucy’s face brightened a little. “Yeah. I’ve got a few new advertisers on the hook at a higher price. I suppose it depends on how quickly Helen will move on Christine’s advice. And how quickly Honey figures go up… or down.”
“Let’s hope for up,” Kim said. She always believed that a positive attitude yielded results.
“I don’t see what’s going to change without more budget,” Lucy admitted. “We need to advertise… a lot. But there’s no money for that. Rose is good at social media, but I can’t see her starting a massive trend for Honey in the next few days.”
Kim glanced up at the kitchen clock. “There’s always the Girls About Town podcast.”
Lucy looked confused.
“Oh! I forgot to tell you.” Kim smacked her forehead with the palm of her hand. “Chloe is on the podcast tonight. She’s going to talk about Honey and try to get more people to buy copies.”
Lucy’s eyes shone with enthusiasm. “That’s a great idea, how did she swing that?”
“Her old university friend runs the podcast.”
“They have a massive fanbase, if we can tap that then… when’s it on? Tonight?”
Kim smiled, it was so nice to see Lucy light up. “Yeah, shall we listen in the living room? It should be live by now.”
“Sure.”
They quickly got settled on the sofa. Wine glasses on the coffee table, window open to let a light breeze through the small apartment. Kim pushed some buttons on her iPhone, eventually finding the show and cranking up the volume.
They listened to a few minutes of chatter and introduction from the host, Donna, before Lucy let out a sigh.
“Can we fast forward to Chloe?”
Kim ran her finger along the screen, pausing every few moments to listen in. Suddenly she heard a familiar voice and lifted her finger.
“… and that’s why I always loved Honey when I was a teenager,” Chloe said.
Lucy squeezed Kim’s arm. Kim leaned into their embrace and listened.
“But, you were saying that Honey doesn’t have the readership it used to have?” Donna asked.
“No, it’s a real shame. But I’m hoping that speaking with you and getting the word out there will make people more aware that Honey is available and how great it is.”
“Would you
say Honey is in trouble?”
There was a moment of silence. Lucy’s fingers dug into Kim’s arm nervously.
“Well…” Chloe eventually spoke up. “All magazines are experiencing a drop in sales. With so much content available online for free—”
“People aren’t willing to pay for magazines,” Donna interrupted. “That’s presumably had a big effect on Honey Magazine, an already niche product. I can’t imagine it was making much money to start with… and now with a lower circulation… things must be tight?”
“Um, well, not tight exactly. I mean, no one is wasting money. The magazine is a really well-made product—”
“Just one that isn’t selling well?”
“Well… um…” Chloe said.
“Shit,” Lucy mumbled. She paused the show. “She’s making it sound like we’re in trouble.”
“That’s good, isn’t it? Rally people to buy?” Kim asked.
“No, it’s bad. Advertisers don’t like magazines that don’t sell. Or magazines in financial trouble, ones that might go bust. This isn’t an interview about Chloe’s work at Honey, this is about Donna getting the inside track on what’s happening at Honey, getting a scoop that we’re in trouble.”
“But if people think we’re in trouble, they’ll buy more copies, surely?” Kim asked.
“Only if there are copies to buy. If advertisers leave and money dries up, we won’t be able to put out an edition for people to buy.” Lucy shook her head. “And this host has it in for us.”
“The host is goading her,” Kim agreed.
“Has Chloe had media training? Why is she doing this show on behalf of the company? Does Helen know?” Lucy asked. She got to her feet, snatched up her wine glass, and walked over to the window to get some air.
Kim was starting to see that keeping Chloe’s secret was a big mistake. She should have told Helen, or at least told Chloe to tell Helen.
“No one knows, she wanted it to be a surprise,” Kim admitted.
“‘Surprise, I’ve told everyone you’re about to go under and all your advertisers will run for the hills,’” Lucy mocked. She turned from the window and gestured towards the phone. “Turn it back on, maybe it gets better.”
Climbing the Ladder Page 10
