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One of the things Sophia told me back in the day was that you should never go to bed on an argument. I’m not sure if I agree with this. M wasn’t talking to me last night so I don’t think it would have been wise to poke the bear (so to speak) when we’re both emotional and irrational. Instead, as I have done so far in my marriage, I will right this wrong (and before that, establish what is actually wrong) with a clear head, having slept on it. We need to hash this out because, if nothing else, we can’t be not friends whilst taking the tube to work together. That would be really awkward.
“You know last night, when I came home and you had the TV speakers on the coffee table...”
“Yeah,” M’s not making eye contact while he puts on his blue and grey stripey socks.
“Well, the reason I was annoyed is that it’s like you planned it all without me.”
“Planned what? It’s only a pair of speakers.”
“It’s five speakers but, yeah, it was like you thought ‘oh, it’s fine, I’ll just make the coffee table unusable and she’ll just live with it.’”
M stops his very slow sock wearing activity and looks at me. “That wasn’t ever my intention.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t. It’s just... so much of my life has changed and sometimes it feels like I’m slotting into yours. I’ve moved here. We went to your colleague’s flat and -”
I don’t dare utter anything about his sister.
“Anyway, I was just frustrated,” I say. “I felt like you were making this big change to our flat without telling me.”
M’s slightly solemn face turns into a smirk. I don’t blame him. Now I’ve said it out loud, it does seem rather ridiculous. It was a speaker on a damn coffee table.
“Sorry, I should have consulted you first,” he says.
“Yeah, it just felt like you were doing things with your mate and I was expected to go along with it. I’m sure most girls would go mad.”
“You’re right. Though, to be honest with ya, you’re not like most girls. Maybe sometimes I take that for granted. The thing that got me, so you know, was the way you talked in front of Jam. I know most girls would probably go mad and most couples argue, and last night was hardly an argument in comparison, but that’s not how we are. That’s not how I want us to be.”
He’s right. We are not a sweary, shouting couple. We sort through things, not fight it out. Truth be told, if he swore at me in front of Julia, I’d be horrified.
“How about this,” M goes into problem-solving mode, “next time I do any Feng-shui around the flat, I’ll tell you first, before roping my friends in. And any time you feel like you’re just rolling with my world, tell me. We’re a team, remember? I don’t want you to feel like you have to go along with everything I do. You’ve got to be happy, otherwise what’s the point?”
Just when I think he’s done, M adds: “Is it only the speakers that upset you? Or is there anything else?”
To tell or not to tell? Naila’s words are still bubbling along the periphery of my mind. “No, that’s all it was.”
***
“Oh, poor M!” Bryony almost coos.
“Don’t poor M him! He wanted to use the coffee table for a speaker stand!”
“He sounds like my kind of bloke,” says John, punching the buttons on the coffee machine into submission. Finally, it relents and let’s out a stream of black, piping hot liquid. “If I could, I’d surround-sound my entire flat, so can’t really blame him for trying.”
None of my work colleagues have met M, yet despite what I tell them, no matter how bad I make out my husband to be, they always take his side. It’s like they already know he’s a good egg. How is that? Do some people exude such niceness that even talk of them gives off a good vibe? It’s not even like I’m PR’ing him. I’m often bitching.
“I bet surround sound wouldn’t go down too well with your girlfriend,” I say, as I pour full fat milk into my mug of tea.
“It wouldn’t. Kelly would have my balls. She’s a bread knife, like you,” says John.
“Bread knife?” I’ve never heard that turn of phrase.
Rick, who’s been listening to my story unfold as he waited for his drink to filter down the old school coffee maker, laughs in anticipation at John’s upcoming joke. I think he’s heard it before. Judging by his input, often giggling along but rarely adding much in words, I’d say Rick is single. A bit like the old me.
“Yeah, bread knife. You know, like instead of wife. Though Kelly’s not getting me on bended knee just yet.”
“Well, when you do, make sure you get a decent ring,” I say. “M almost didn’t.”
Bryony laughs. “He’s such a boy, isn’t he?”
Again, she finds his marital mis-steps adorable.
“Anyway, are you all set for your one-to-one with the new boss?” Bryony asks, sipping on her frothy coffee. “I bet you can’t wait to show him all the coverage you’ve got for the north.”
Crap.
I completely forgot that Martin will be coming to London. Annoyingly, he’s come down a couple of times when I’ve been up north so I think the team here have seen him more than me.
I have no idea what today’s agenda is as he didn’t bother sending one, but I was planning to put kissing his arse on top of my list. I’m due a pay rise as I’ve been here for ages and my salary hasn’t budged. In my previous job, Maggie had locked me down with golden handcuffs twice in less time.
John grabs his mug from the counter, leaving a round spillage which he acknowledges with a shrug.
“That’s what the cleaner’s for,” he says, as he catches me looking. “While you’re at it, could you have a word with Martin about his dress sense? Every day isn’t a Saturday Night Fever themed party.”
I laugh, though I only vaguely get the reference. Is it something about John Travolta in a flared suit?
“Speaking of which, I hope you guys smarten up for our department photo tomorrow.” Bryony examines John and Rick, always coordinated with hoodies, chinos and high top trainers. I don’t know how they get away with it.
“Don’t worry, we’ll scrub up as well as you ladies.” Rick finally says something.
“Us?” I ask. “I’m not part of the photo call, am I? I’m northern.”
“Rubbish,” says Bryony, looping her arm into mine. “You might not technically work with us but you’re just as much a part of our team. We’ll call you an honorary member.”
Bryony and I head back to our respective desks at opposite ends of the open plan office. Why I am still sat segregated from the actual PR team, I have no idea.
Just as I’m reading up on the latest news headlines online, Martin walks in. I’m not sure what to make of this guy. Bernadette created a distinct line between business and pleasure, so we at least knew where we stood with her. Don’t ask, she won’t tell. Yet beneath this outwardly distant exterior, Bernadette cared. She really cared. She made it her mission to get me a seat in the head office, pulling more than just a few strings. While others would use this for bragging rights to cement their position as boss of the year, Bernadette did it discreetly. Even before she left, she politely declined all offers of a leaving lunch. She became embarrassed when we ambushed her with a farewell card stuffed with shopping vouchers. She didn’t want a fuss.
Martin strides in, all quiffed hair and, bizarrely, a turtleneck sweater under his suit. Someone should tell him it’s not the 1980s. Also, while we’re on the subject, it wouldn’t harm to mention that it’s also a very warm day in London.
“How you finding head office?” he asks as we settle down into the small meeting room I booked for reasons I am yet to find out.
“It’s good. I miss the team up north but I’m in regular contact with them. Bushra and I speak almost every day.”
“I know. I hear you guys all the time.” He sniggers while fiddling with his bronze oval cuff links.
Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. Does he think we spend all day chatting? Also, does he sit within earshot of Bushra? I always thought he was out of the office visiting the hospitals.
“I hope we don’t disturb you too much.”
“You’re alright,” says Martin. “My motto has always been, you work hard, you can play hard. Speaking of which, we’re having some social drinks, as a get-to-know-the-team kind of thing, next Friday. It’s long overdue. If there are any meetings you’re up for, you’re welcome to join.”
I think I’m starting to long for Bernadette’s strictly business way of working. I hate team drinks, as they usually involve everyone getting progressively more pissed around me, while I am hyper-aware of my surroundings. Bushra gets flirty, Emma gets teary and Amy gets sweary.
“Thanks. I’ll try and come. While you’re here, I wonder if I could give you a quick update on some of the coverage we received.” I feel like Bernadette, bringing the agenda back to work, however, this is my comfort zone. Plus, I’ve got a lot to shout about. I scored two national pieces of coverage this month alone, as well as the usual local PR trickling in consistently. On top of that, I’ve covered more than a few arses, not that I’d bad mouth anyone to the new boss.
“If you don’t mind, can you email it to me? I’ve got a meeting with Nigel at 10. This wasn’t supposed to be a press update. I just wanted to check how you’re finding doing your job remotely.”
“It’s fine,” I say, returning my PR coverage tracker into its sad little cardboard folder. I guess I’ll save my boasting for another time. “As I go up north often, I see the team and the hospitals frequently enough to stay in the loop and everyone feels like they’re getting enough media attention. Me being here hasn’t affected the level of coverage. If anything, it’s gone up.”
I can’t help but go into default PR mode.
“That’s good to hear. And I believe you’ve got family up north. Is that right?”
“Yes, I’ve got my parents in Manchester. I stay with them when I’m up for work.”
Martin looks at me in a way I can’t decipher.
“It saves on hotel costs,” I add, more out of nervousness than anything.
“That’s handy. Plus you get to see your family and save on train fare. It’s a win-win all round.” Martin does a half smile.
“Yes, though I only come up if there is a reason, work wise.”
I think back to how I managed to coordinate my ‘work’ around the time big sis came and stayed at mum’s and the time I felt a bit homesick so decided to have a week in the office up north. Martin doesn’t need to know about that.
“Very good. I’m glad to know you’re keeping the PR train going from down here. From what I hear from the girls, the north region would be lost without you.”
“Oh, yes,” I say, despite my better judgement telling me I should take the compliment and leave the conversation there. “They’re always going on about how it’s not the same without me.”
Martin looks at me. Again, he’s undecipherable. If I had to pick an expression, I guess I’d say smarmy?
“Not that the region has suffered with me not being based there. Like I said, I’m just two hours on the train away whenever they need me.”
I should stop talking right now. “And so far I’ve not missed any of the important press events. One time I came at a moment’s notice, getting a rush hour train the same day.”
Oh shut up. Just shut up. Shut your mouth right now. That one-way ticket cost the company £250.
“So I heard. You seem to be balancing it all. Anyway, I’m gonna head. I’ve got my next meeting with the big boss.” And with that, turtleneck Martin slithers away.
Oh, how I miss Bernadette and her straight talking, no bullshit ways.