The Sunflower Cottage Breakfast Club (2 page)

‘She's what? But you said if I could get Mulberry House in the bag, the promotion was mine! What happened?' I was all too aware how shrill my voice had gone, but I didn't care. I was too busy trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill out at any moment.

Paul shrugged and I was seriously tempted to punch him in the face. ‘She came in about five minutes before you did, and told me she'd landed the Ashbury Hotel. It's a massive coup for us and I've decided to give her the promotion.'

No, no,
no
! This couldn't be happening. I wracked my brains, searching for a way to keep my dream of being Emily Reed, Executive of Business Development, alive and kicking. There had to be a way, there just
had
to be…

‘Come on, Paul,' I pleaded, ‘you
know
how hard I've worked for this! I've closed way more deals than Tara; just look at my figures! I just got Mr bloody Woodward, our most difficult owner yet, to become part of our chain. That's got to mean something, hasn't it?'

I looked into my boss's deep-brown eyes and could tell he was wavering. He pursed his lips and rested his chin on steepled fingers.

‘I like you, Emily, you know I do. You'd be a great business development executive; there's no doubt about it. And you're right: Tara's numbers aren't nearly as impressive as yours…'

He trailed off, leaving me in suspense for a very long minute. I could feel beads of sweat forming on my brow as I waited for his verdict. My heartbeat thundered in my ears and I dug my nails into my palms. My whole life was hanging on the next few seconds and I could barely handle the suspense.

‘Leave it with me,' he said eventually. ‘I'll have a think about it and call you both into the office later.'

I let out the breath I'd been holding in and struggled not to let a stream of expletives follow it. Instead, I plastered a fake smile on my face, thanked Paul for his time and left. Although it may not have turned out exactly as I wanted, it wasn't over yet. The dream was still alive.

*

My plans for lunch with Frankie were ruined by a text from my mother. She wanted to meet for what she called ‘an inspirational pep talk' and wouldn't take no for answer. Apparently she also had something important to tell me. There was nothing inspirational or peppy about these meetings. In reality, it was an hour of her telling me all the ways I was going wrong in life while we ate expensive food.

Today's venue of choice was Café Rose, a lovely little place just off Sauchiehall Street. I loved living in Glasgow; it was so pretty and vibrant and the people were bloody amazing. I'd been lucky enough to call it home for the past twenty-five years and I didn't plan on budging any time soon.

I walked in and my mother was instantly recognisable. She was as glamorous as always, clad in a fitted navy Mac and black skinny jeans. Round her neck was a gorgeous printed scarf with little owls on it and her hair was effortlessly styled into a shiny bob. As soon as she saw me, she got up and greeted me with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Whatever she had to tell me wouldn't be good, I suspected.

‘Lovely to see you, hen!' She enveloped me in a hug and squeezed me so tightly I could hardly breathe.

‘You too,' I replied when she let me go. ‘Have you ordered yet?'

She shook her head and we sat down, each picking up a menu to study. I saw her peeking over hers to look at me, but her eyes darted away when I looked back.

‘Have you done something with your hair?' she asked.

I narrowed my eyes. ‘Nope, why?'

She looked at me for a second, tilted her head and squinted. ‘Hmm, maybe you should then.'

Blimey, she's started early.
Usually, we'd at least ordered our drinks before she started finding fault with me.

‘Anyway, let's talk about that promotion you're up for,' she continued. ‘This is the big one, Emily; land this one and you'll be one of the directors by the time you're thirty. Have they said anything to you about it?'

I shook my head, deciding to hold off mentioning the fact that Tara was also in the frame. Reaching my goals and meeting people's expectations was what I ‘did'. Any hint that I might not be successful just wouldn't wash with my mum. I always had my eyes on a prize of some kind: a job, a flat, a car. Achieving had been drilled into me for as long as I could remember; second place wasn't an option.

‘Not yet. Paul said I'd hear back today, though.'

‘Excellent! You'll get it, darling. I've got every faith in you. You're one of life's high-flyers. You really should stop wearing those awful jackets with the shoulder pads, though. They make you look so…
sharp
and shoulder pads died a death in the eighties. What about a nice flowery dress or a pair of jeans instead?'

I sighed and gritted my teeth. ‘Or I could just turn up to work wearing my Cookie Monster onesie and unicorn slippers?'

‘I'm just saying there's no need to look so corporate, that's all.' She picked up my hand to inspect my nails. ‘Oh, Emily, when was the last time you got a manicure? These are terrible!'

My blood began to boil and I could feel my already thin patience beginning to fray even more. Although I knew my mum meant well, the constant stream of advice could be a little hard to stomach. I did my best to take it in the spirit it was intended and tried to attract the attention of a passing waiter. The only thing that would make this situation better was eating then leaving as quickly as possible. However, he passed me by without a second glance.

‘Excuse me!' My mum put her hand up and another staff member came right over to take our orders. That was the thing with my mum: she had an air about her that commanded respect.

‘I'll have the loaded potato skins to start and… What about you, Em? What do you fancy?'

I glanced down at the menu one last time. ‘Just a garden salad for me. I'm not that hungry.'

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mum scowl and she told the waitress to bring a bowl of chips and some mozzarella sticks too. The girl took off before I could amend my order and a few minutes later our food arrived at the table.

‘I'll never eat all of this,' I said, looking down at it, ‘but I'm going to demolish these mozzarella sticks. Anyway, what did you bring me here to tell me? You said it was important.'

Mum's knife and fork paused as she was about to cut into one of her loaded potato skins. All the colour drained from her face and she pursed her lips. I saw a flicker of what looked like fear cross her face, but it was gone before I could ask any questions.

‘Don't worry about it.' She waved a dismissive hand and popped a forkful of potato, bacon and cheese into her mouth. ‘It can wait until you come round tonight. So, come on, tell me what's new. Have you got yourself a man yet?'

I shook my head. ‘Nope. I don't have time for all that romantic stuff; too busy trying to conquer the world, remember?'

I peeked up and saw my mum visibly wince. She leaned over and took my hand in hers. ‘Emily, you really should try and meet someone nice. Although maybe get some highlights in your hair first.'

Chapter 2

Over the course of lunch, Mum pointed out no fewer than twenty things I had to sort out in my life. They included my flat, my car and my pores (they were apparently ‘huge'). Luckily for me, my dad came to join us just after the main course had been served. Mum was never quite so critical when he was around.

‘Emily, you're like that Bruno Mars song,' he'd said when Mum subtly suggested I should stop wearing the colour grey. ‘You're amazing just the way you are.'

I couldn't help but smile. Dad had my back in every situation, even if his lines were a bit cheesy. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to stay for dessert and Mum's suggestions for improving my life came thick and fast. Another attempt to find out what she wanted to tell me failed; she dodged the question and said she was late for an appointment. It would have to wait until I went round for dinner later that night. Somehow, I got the feeling a big bombshell was on its way, and that I wouldn't like it one bit.

*

By the time I got back to the office, I was more than ready to throw myself back into work. It was the one thing I could always count on in life: closing deals, enticing new customers to join our group and developing my portfolio of clients had become a way of life to me. When I was working, all my mum's criticism and the stresses of the world seemed a million miles away.

The first thing I saw as I walked in was Tara Murray's smug, cat-like grin. My stomach instantly turned and I wondered if Paul had gone back on his earlier promise to hold off on a decision about the promotion.

‘Hi, Emily!' Her voice was dripping with syrup and I felt like throwing up in my mouth. ‘Have you heard the news? I closed on the Ashbury Hotel today.'

Her smile was so sweet and simpering that she made a Care Bear look bitter. I knew I had to hide how annoyed I was, so plastered a fake smile to my face and hoped it would stay.

‘I heard,' I replied through clenched teeth. ‘Congratulations. I signed Mulberry House just before lunch.'

Although I couldn't swear to it, I was sure I saw Tara's smile shrink a little. She knew how much Paul wanted to land Mulberry House; the Ashbury Hotel was small fry in comparison. I could see it in her eyes as she realised the promotion might not be as ‘in the bag' as she thought.

‘Oh!' Her voice rose by an octave and she clapped her hands together. ‘Good for you, that's
brilliant
! Have you spoken to Paul?'

‘He's aware.' I flashed her a quick smile and sprinted to my desk before she could ask any more questions.

My phone ringing made me jump. It was Paul. He'd made his decision.

*

Minutes later, Tara and I were standing in his office, our respective nerves on tenterhooks as we waited to hear who the proud recipient of the promotion would be. Paul was cradling the phone between his neck and shoulder as he took a last-minute phone call. Nervously, I tapped my foot on the floor and worried at my thumbnail. Every second was eking by slowly, mocking and tantalising me. My whole life was hinging on this one single moment.

Paul muttered a goodbye then put the phone down, turning his attention to us. ‘Sorry about that! Right, so, as you know, you two are the top candidates for the business development executive position. You've both got great numbers and today you both closed really important accounts. This company is really lucky to have you two.'

His eyes lingered on Tara for a little longer than I was comfortable with. I couldn't help feeling like I was third-wheeling something, but I wasn't sure what.

‘Anyway.' Paul cleared his throat before he continued. ‘I've had a think about things and, given the circumstances, I'm giving the promotion to Tara. Congratulations!'

‘What?' My voice barely rose above a whisper. I couldn't believe what I was hearing; all my hard work and dedication had come to nothing. My world slowly began to unravel around me and I knew there was nothing I could do to stop it.

My boss shrugged at me and got up to celebrate with Tara, who was jumping up and down and squealing like an excited toddler who'd just found a new box of crayons. She threw her arms around his neck and I noticed two pops of colour rise in his cheeks. The hug lasted a little too long and I was sure I saw a lingering look pass between them.

‘Thank you
so
much, Paul. I won't let you down!' she said, her voice shrill with excitement.

She scampered out of the office like an excited puppy, eager to share the news with her little coven of friends. When she closed the door, I turned to Paul. My arms were folded across my chest, like that would hold all my anger and disappointment in.

‘Better get back to work,' he said, trying out a smile. ‘Lots of hotels out there we don't have in our chain yet!'

‘Cut the crap, Paul; that promotion should've been mine and you know it! You said it yourself. My numbers were better than hers
and
I signed Mulberry House today. So, unless Tara managed to pull a master stroke and get us the bloody Savoy or something, I don't see why you promoted her over me.'

Paul blew air out through his cheeks and laced his fingers together behind his head. ‘It's just one of those things, Emily; better luck next time, eh?'

Something was off, I could feel it. There had been something in the way Tara had just leapt on him that didn't sit right with me. But what could I do? Throwing baseless accusations around wouldn't help and would probably put me in an even worse position. I gave him my best I'm-onto-you stare and stalked off, wondering how the best day ever had gone so badly wrong.

*

By the time it came to finishing for the day, I was more than ready to leave the office. I'd lost my dream job to none other than Tara bloody Murray and had had to listen to my mum finding fault with me for most of my lunch hour. Now it was time to go home, put my feet up and… Oh no. I screwed my face up as I realised I'd have to sit through yet another thrilling instalment of Things Emily Could and Should Be Doing Better.

‘Great,' I said to the largely empty office. ‘This'll be a barrel of laughs!'

Mum and Dad's plush flat in the West End of Glasgow was like something from an interior design catalogue. It was decorated in subtle, muted shades of cream and brown with hardwood floors and sumptuous furniture. Tasteful photographs and artwork were strategically placed around the rooms, yet the whole place still managed to look cosy and lived-in. It had taken several meltdowns to achieve that look, including one about whether ecru or eggshell would work best in the living room.

Mum greeted me at the door, arms outstretched with a large bottle of champagne in one hand.

‘Hiya, darling!' Her accent was thicker than usual; her vowels were slacker and her tone wasn't as clipped. She'd obviously had her standard ‘few glasses of wine'. ‘Come away in, dinner's nearly ready.'