| |
“Will you be okay?” M asks before he heads out the door, just like he did back when I had my first day in London alone as a newlywed.
“I’ll be fine,” I say, even though, bizarrely, I’m just as unsure as the last time. “Right after I’ve been to the loo.”
I comfort ate two cupcakes last night. I would have finished the box but it was getting to the point where even M was judging. I also drowned my sorrows in two cans of lemonade. So the urge to pee is overwhelming.
While I’m in the area, I figure I ought to brush my teeth, too. After all, morning breath is all the more apparent when in contrast with your husband, who’s minty fresh and suited and booted. I ought to start the day properly. I heard somewhere that how you begin the day will determine how it ends, or something along those lines. Also, while I’m in the vicinity, I should be extra thorough with my brushing, on account of the extra sugar consumed the night before.
Amidst the buzzing of my brush, I can hear some muffled sounds from outside. Then the front door slams shut. The fire safe door never fails to be dramatic. M must have been running late. I didn’t notice the time, as there’s nowhere I need to be.
I’ll never get used to the eerie silence that becomes almost deafening when I’m on my own. The fridge hums louder, the walls creak. Next door seems to be sawing something.
Must busy myself. The day will end well if it starts well. It’s pretty chilly. We don’t put the heating on in the morning, as we both run out of the door in a hurry, inevitably late for work. I’m never normally home on a weekday to notice the cold but I’m feeling it now. Best put the heating on and climb into bed for a minute while the flat warms up. I’ll check my emails while I’m under the covers.
***
What’s that noise? What is that?
Oh, it’s my phone. Who’s ringing at this time of the night? Wait... it’s bright outside. What the hell is going on? While my brain figures out what’s happening, I notice it’s a withheld number calling. That can only mean one thing, it’s a recruiter. Best answer that. But I can’t, I’ve still got my morning voice. Where’s M? Why is it saying 11am on my phone?
Ah... okay, now I get it. I was meant to send some emails. My laptop is on the floor. It must have slipped off the bed, unopened and unused.
Must not sound like I’ve just woken up. I better do a few practice hellos. “Hello!” Too scratchy. “Hello...” Too deep. If I don’t answer this it’ll go to voicemail, so must muster up the best greeting my sleepy voice can manage.
“Hello...” My attempt at sounding breezy ended up being a rather fake posh accent. It’ll have to do.
“Hiya, it’s Bernadette here. How you doing?”
Who? Oh, Bernadette, as in old boss Bernadette? That’s random!
“I’m good thanks, how are you?” Oh dear. My hoarse morning voice has been replaced by a tone of pity.
“All good here. I’ve just been swept away with work.”
Work? She didn’t mention anything when she left. I thought, dare I say assumed, she’d taken time off for treatment. I’m glad to know that wasn’t the case.
“As I’m sure you’ve heard, I’ve started working for one of your competitors,” she says.
I haven’t heard at all. Is this some news that I missed out on because I’m not sat in the northern office?
“Cool. How’s it going?” I ask.
“Well, healthcare never really sleeps, does it? That’s the reason for my call. I’m sorry for not replying to your email sooner. I was snowed over Christmas. You know how it is, endless family gatherings, we have to spend the day with people we’d rather not. Anyway, I was meaning to get in touch, because we’re all hands on deck here, and as you know, I am very pro-PR, so it’s been on my agenda since joining. The bods at the top agreed to increase my marketing budget, which I’m ring-fencing to secure some quality media coverage to boost the business’ reputation. We’ve had some pretty heavy stories recently so could do with deflecting with some good news.”
I’m mentally trying to work out who this competitor is. Bernadette, as always, is terribly presumptuous about me knowing stuff. I’m also trying to figure out why she’s telling me all this. Does she know I’m unemployed? Who’d tell her?
“I know it’s slightly unorthodox but as you’ve been at your current role for a couple of years, I wondered whether you’d be tempted to jump on board for a short contract?”
I’m lost for words. Would it be too desperate to scream yes from the top of my lungs?
Bernadette notices my hesitation. “I appreciate it’s tough to leave a permanent position but I can get you a healthy day rate. Initially it would only be a short contract, about six weeks, though that’s not to say there won’t be more. Anyway, you were my first choice for this role. Maybe give it some thought?”
Play it cool. Play it cool.
“Actually, that would be great. I have been thinking of my next move so the timing is perfect. When would you need me to start?”
“Well, I know you’ve got a notice period to work through but the sooner the better. And from what I remember when I was there, HR can be pretty flexible.”
I’m thinking on my feet, which isn’t easy as I’ve just woken up. I can’t sound too available, yet at the same time I must be available to secure the gig.
“Yeah, I can speak to them. They’ll likely put me on gardening leave or something.”
“I’m sure they will,” says Bernadette. “If you want to give me an idea of what day rate you’d like, that would be helpful.”
Note to self, look into what would constitute a decent day rate.
“No problem,” I say.
“Smashing. You do that and I’ll get the boss to look at it. I’m sure it will get signed off, I’ve told him how great you are and how much I’m looking forward to working with you again.”
That was unexpected. As I hang up, I wonder... did Bernadette hear about my redundancy through the grapevine? Her last point, about working with me again, suggested she knew I’d take the contract. Was she sparing my blushes by not mentioning it? Maybe we were both holding onto that secret. That’s the thing with Bernadette, she doesn’t want thanks, she doesn’t want to be a hero.
Her words linger on my mind, how great you are, how great you are. I am great. I know my shit and I work damn hard. I can make this work, forge my own path, make my own career. Maybe I can take control of my work, the way I took control of my husband hunt. I can give this freelancing gig a go. Be my own boss.
I message M: Guess what? I’ve got some work!
I’m not expecting a reply but I have to tell someone.
This path won’t be easy. There are lots of risks attached to it. There won’t be a constant income. It won’t be predictable. Yet, somehow, I feel I can make this happen.
My phone pings. It’s M: Brilliant! I knew you would, my little star x
That cements things in my mind. Stability can wait. Babies can wait. I’ve always done things my way and it’s served me well so far. Because at the end of the day, I’ve got M, I’m living my best life and, right now, I have everything I need.
***
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