Authors: Jo Watson
I spend my day obsessing over the possibilities. Nothing is off-limits as far as Scarlett is concerned. Thank God she doesn’t know about the nickname.
She probably dropped it into the conversation that I have some desperate, pathetic crush on him, and he probably thinks I’m some sort of bunny boiler, and that means there’s no point.
At the end of the day, I’ve lost all faith in Olivia Bright and the shiny, glamorous image of confidence. All I can envision is me wearing Christian Louboutin heels and a jewelled frock, standing in front of a shattered mirror, the broken image of failure gleaming from every jagged edge.
This is just like when I got kicked out of uni. Or when Jack left.
“I’ve had enough,” I say to nobody in particular as soon as I’ve unlocked the door to my flat.
I don’t know if Zara’s in or not, but she appears in the kitchen doorway a moment later. “Had enough of what? Please don’t say pasta.” She glances back into the kitchen, where I can smell tomato sauce cooking.
“No.” I throw my bag onto the floor. “I’m fed up with being a confident woman.”
“You’ve finally given up, then?”
I look up at her. “I’ve never been very good at sticking things out, have I?”
Zara shrugs. “This is different, Meg. It’s not like it matters. It’s just a stupid magazine.”
“I only did the first two things on the list,” I wail as I sink into the sofa. “And I wasn’t very good at either of them.”
“Isn’t that proof enough that you’re better off not bothering? It’s obviously not working out.”
I bite my bottom lip. “Don’t you think I should just try one more thing? I don’t want to be a failure.”
“I can’t tell you what to do. But you know what I think about all this.” Zara disappears into the kitchen again.
If I’m honest with myself, the only reason I’m considering giving up is because the next step is the one I’m most afraid of. But if I avoid the things I’m scared of now, I’ll always be hopeless little Megan.
* * *
I’m at work early the next morning with the crumpled ball of paper lying as flat as I can get it on my desk.
The next step is the one I’m not looking forward to. The one that involves a difficult conversation with Nora that will either restore my faith in the article or shatter my confidence entirely.
Maybe Zara’s right. Maybe I’m wasting my time doing all this stuff. What if all I come off with is a red face and a dose of cynicism? My self-esteem will be even lower than it is now. I’ll be nothing but a huge disappointment all over again.
Nora struts into the office, takes one look at me sitting at my desk, and asks me if I know that the clocks don’t go forwards until spring.
“I was hoping that maybe I could have a word with you?” I say after a deep breath. “You know, while it’s quiet.”
“I don’t see why not. Is there something wrong?”
I spread my fingers. “Not exactly.”
How do I ask for a pay rise without sounding like a total bitch who thinks she’s worth more than everyone else? And how do I let her know that everything will still be normal if she turns me down?
Obviously I don’t mean completely normal because of the humiliation I will have suffered, but I’m not about to quit my job or go on strike.
“The thing is.” I pause and clear my throat. “The thing is I’ve been here for eight months now. I’m out of my trial period, and I feel like things haven’t…progressed.”
“Progressed?” Nora perches on the edge of my desk and folds her arms. “What do you mean by that?”
“Financially. My salary hasn’t progressed.”
Nora stares at me, her lips pressed into a tight line. “Are you asking me for a pay rise?”
Oh, my God. I am, aren’t I? I’m asking my ice maiden boss for more money. Of course she’s not going to say
yes.
Why should she pay me any more to do the same job I’ve done for minimum wage for the past eight months? It’s crazy!
“No.” I wave one hand in the air. “Forget I said anything.”
“Megan, if you aren’t asking for a pay rise, what on earth are you saying?”
“Well…okay. I suppose I was just
enquiring
about a pay rise,” I admit.
“Enquiring?” Nora quirks an eyebrow. “So what will you do if I say no?”
My head snaps up. “Nothing!”
Oh, no. She’s going to fire me, isn’t she? She’s going to say that there are plenty of people looking for work who can replace me. People who will work for minimum wage without a mention of a rise in their salary.
This is all Olivia Bright’s fault. If I hadn’t read that stupid magazine, I wouldn’t be in this situation now. Why didn’t I listen to Zara? Why didn’t I leave the article hidden away in my desk drawer after my colleagues laughed at it?
Nora leans back and studies my face for a moment. She’s wearing an odd sort of smirk that almost resembles a smile. Perhaps that
is
how she smiles. “Okay,” she says.
I stare at her. “Okay what?”
She unfolds her arms. “You can have your pay rise.”
“Really?” My eyes scan the empty office for any hints that this is a joke. I’m half expecting Helen and Scarlett to crawl out from under their desks ready to laugh at me, even more than they have already, for being so gullible.
“It’s what you’re told at the interview, isn’t it?” Nora explains. “It’s standard procedure these days to start at basic pay and be told that it will be reviewed at the end of your trial period.” She scratches her chin. “I can’t say anybody else has ever come forwards and asked for it, though.”
“Really?” I repeat.
“Not even your friend Scarlett.” She slips off my desk and heads for her own.
Not even Scarlett has got this much confidence! Olivia Bright was right all along. I am a strong, confident woman!
Now all I have to do is carry out the next seven points.
Chapter Eight
I’m on my way to work the next time I see Bublé-Face.
Considering Scarlett’s obviously said something to him, I was hoping that I’d somehow manage to avoid him forever and never see him again.
But, as soon as I’ve gotten off the bus, there he is.
He’s standing outside the newsagents in the bus station, peering at the newspapers neatly lined up on the display.
I study him for a moment, then lose sight of him after a hefty woman, who looks like she’s going to a fancy dress party as Cruella De Vil, plods past me.
What’s he doing here? I can’t figure it out. I’ve never seen him here before. I know he doesn’t catch the bus because I’ve seen him getting into a blue BMW in the company car park once or twice (okay, three times, and I only noticed because he nearly ran me over one day).
The exit in front of me is blocked by people hurrying in and out, a blur of woolly mittens and warm winter coats. I surge through the early morning crowd, trying to walk on my tiptoes to see above the bobble hats and fashion berets.
But he’s gone.
I kick one scuffed shoe against the pavement in defeat.
Oh, God. I’m a stalker, aren’t I?
Not the lurk-outside-your-window kind of stalker, but one desperate enough to risk getting trampled to death.
Perhaps that’s a bit dramatic. But I was definitely running the risk of having someone’s coffee spilt all over my fur coat.
And for what? Why do I even care?
I trudge along the icy pavements to work.
Ahead of me, I catch sight of a tall man in a familiar thick jacket walking alongside a skinny blonde wearing a skirt much too short for the current freezing weather conditions.
I catch up to them while they’re waiting to cross the road.
“Hello, Megan,” Bublé-Face says.
“H-hi,” I stammer.
I’m still desperately trying to recall his actual first name when he nods towards his companion. “Have you met Charlotte from reception?”
The blonde gives me a tight-lipped smile, and I realise that I do recognise her from work. “I don’t think we’ve met.” She gives me a brief once-over.
“I work in HR,” I explain.
The traffic slows to a halt, and we cross the road together.
“So you work for Nora, do you?” asks Charlotte. “God, that woman is such a bitch!”
“She’s not that bad,” I counter.
Charlotte smirks and grabs Liam’s arm, blocking me from their conversation. “She must be new,” she whispers, though I catch every word.
I stare at my feet as we walk, concentrating hard on my marked patent shoes and pretending not to hear what she’s saying. But then I think about my recently earned pay rise. The one that not even a girl like Scarlett would dare to ask for.
“Have you ever worked for Nora?” I lean forwards, over Charlotte’s shoulder.
She stops walking and flashes me a quizzical look. Then she tosses back her head and laughs. “Of course not. Why would I want to work in the HR office? I’m front of house!”
“Sure.” I echo her smug smile. “But then you wouldn’t have any idea what she’s like to work for, would you?”
That’s a confident thing to say, isn’t it? It just shows that I can stand up for myself.
Except I wasn’t. I was sticking up for my boss.
But I’m sure it’s nearly the same thing.
It certainly shuts Charlotte up, anyway, and when we reach the Window Shine building, she totters off to her reception desk without looking back at me or Liam (whose name I have now remembered).
Liam and I take the stairs in silence. After what I’ve just done, I shouldn’t be expected to think up witty conversation starters, as well.
I’m still feeling pretty pleased with myself when Liam reaches the top of the stairs first and turns to look at me, still a couple of steps behind. “You shouldn’t have said that. Charlotte’s my friend.”
I stare at him, blinking rapidly. “She had no idea what she was talking about! I was setting her straight.”
“And since when are you Nora’s number one fan?” he retorts.
I climb the last two stairs quickly, until we’re standing face-to-face. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“Really? I know that you and Scarlett are constantly complaining about her. I know that you hate white wine, but you’ll drink virtually anything else, and your favourite hobby is handbag shopping.”
My body is rigid; my face flushed.
I want to run away, back down the stairs, back out of this building, back home to the comfort of my duvet, where I can hide from all of this like it isn’t happening.
Where I can pretend he isn’t reciting stupid things about me like that gives him some superior hold over me—or that he has any idea who I am.
I swallow hard. “How do you know all this?” I already know the answer, but I close my eyes and wait for him to say it.
“I think it’s pretty obvious what game you and Scarlett are playing. But you can count me out of your matchmaking plan.” He turns away from me and disappears down the corridor.
I don’t know how long I stand there at the top of the stairs thinking about how much I really need this job with colleagues who embarrass me and a hot guy who has no interest in me. Why would Scarlett do this to me? What did she think she’d achieve by telling him about my addiction to handbags and booze?
Now Liam thinks I’ve engineered the whole thing myself. Like I told her to say those things, as if they were quirky personality traits designed to make him fall in love with me.
But they’re not. Those are the things that I wish I could hide under the duvet every day.
“Megan? Are you okay?” Shelly from accounts puts her hand on my shoulder as she passes me at the top of the stairs.
I paint a smile on my face. “I’m fine.”
And I could keep wearing that false smile, walk into the office and pretend everything’s fine just to avoid confronting Scarlett. Maybe that’s what the old Megan would have done.
But I’m not her anymore.
As soon as the door opens and I see her at her computer, I know what I’m going to say.
The trouble is I can’t do it now, with Nora and Helen here.
So I wait until lunchtime when I suggest Scarlett come with me to Starbucks.
Our short walk there is silent, owing to the fact that I deliberately walk at a pace Scarlett can’t match in her new Kurt Geiger platform heels.
When we get there, I realise that I can’t delay any longer. I’m going to have to say something. But I think I’ll take a few sips of my caramel latte first to calm me down.
“He’s cute.” Scarlett nods at the barista who served us.
I shrug in response and take another drink of my coffee.
Okay. I can do this. Breathe in. Breathe out.
“What’s up with
you?
” she asks, adding liberal amounts of sugar to her espresso.
“Scarlett,” I begin confidently, but my voice starts to waver. “I know that you told Liam some things about me. Personal things that you had no right to share.”
“Personal things?” She takes a sip of coffee, pulls a face and adds another packet of sugar. “What are you talking about? I only told him the things he needs to know for when you two go out! You know, things like which flowers you like and not to buy you white wine. Oh, and I told him which subjects not to bring up, like all the boring things he likes.”
“He thinks the whole thing was my idea.”
“So? Did he ask you out yet?”
“No.” I across at her. “Look, Scar, this whole matchmaking thing is stupid. Liam’s not interested, and neither am I. I don’t need a boyfriend, okay?”
“Okay. If you’re sure.” She lifts her coffee cup to her lips.
And I am sure. Confident women don’t need men holding them back.
At least I don’t think they do.
* * *
I’ve made plans to go out for a meal with Zara after work. When she suggested it, I wasn’t sure if she was hinting that she’s sick of doing all the cooking, but I suppose I’m going to be learning how to cook soon, aren’t I?
I picture myself wearing a polka-dot apron, my hair styled in glamorous waves like a fifties housewife, mixing bowl in one hand, vacuum cleaner in the other.
Well. That might be going a step too far. Olivia Bright never said I had to learn any
other
domestic skills.
We meet at Zizzi in The Light shopping centre. Zara’s standing outside the entrance, her hair in a messy knot on top of her head. She looks stunning in tight black skinny jeans and a red satin jacket to match her peep-toe wedges.