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Message from M: Hello you. Just 70 days until we get married :).
Me: I know. I can’t wait :)
Crap! 70 days? There’s still so much to do. Why isn’t anyone else feeling time pressed like me?
Another message from M: You’re probably gonna get sick of these messages but you’re stuck with me now! What’s the plan today? What media crisis are you conquering?
Me: No crisis, I hope. But I’ve got my fortnightly 1:1 with Bernadette. I’m currently in her good books as I just PR’d a new hospital wing opening on a shoestring budget and all the big regionals covered it. Which is even more impressive given that I spent more time browsing Pinterest for wedding favour ideas than I did actually planning the event!
M: That’s amazing! You’re my little star. x
M doesn’t quite realise the enormity of this meeting. It’s not just a regular one-to-one. Well it is, as far as Bernadette’s concerned. For me, however, it’s a sweaty palm moment. I’m going to do it. I’m going to bite the bullet and tell Bernadette my big news and see if there’s even a smidgen of a chance that I could transfer my role to London.
***
“I JUST READ THE PAPER this morning. Fantastic!” Bernadette declares. “It’s not every day we get a double page spread in the biggest newspaper in Manchester.”
“I know. To be fair though, it was a great story, I just pitched it.”
I am so full of insincere crap.
“Plus, the media love anything to do with children. Throw in a WAG and you’ve got the perfect PR opportunity right there. I couldn’t believe it when I saw the mention on the front page,” I add, just in case Bernadette missed those additional few column inches. I work in PR after all. If I don’t blow my own trumpet, who will?
“Oh, I didn’t see that. We were on the front page, too?” she asks.
I actually have the folded up paper in my folder but decide not to take it out. It might scream swotty schoolgirl rather than grown-ass, kick-ass PR woman.
It’s probably better to tell, not show, in this case. “Yes, we were.”
Ever the no-nonsense businesswoman, Bernadette starts thumbing her way down her handwritten agenda.
I better strike while we’re on a good note. “I did have some news, though.”
“O-kay... go on?” Bernadette sounds unsure as to where this is going. So am I.
“Well, I’ve been meaning to say... I’m getting married!”
“Amazing!”
“Yeah... and my fiancé’s from London. Well, he’s from up north originally, but he lives in London.”
“Ah. Lovely.” She really doesn’t know what to expect. Again, neither do I. I’m totally ad-libbing.
“So, I’ll be moving too. And I was wondering... as my role is largely remote, I could do it from anywhere, really. So, I don’t know if there’s any... You know with the office move into central London... If there would be an opportunity that I could... work from there?”
“You mean base yourself in the central London office but continue with your Northern region role?”
When she puts it like that, it sounds silly.
Bernadette exhales a little deeper than she needs to. “Well, the thing is, I don’t want to see you go. You’ve made such an impact on the region even in the short time you’ve been here. You’ve put PR on the map, when our focus has been so heavily on the sales side of things. I’m just thinking... leave it with me, I’ll have a word with Richard at HQ. If I pitch it right, maybe we could show them that you’ll be able to loop into the national campaigns more effectively. I always thought you’re a bit wasted with 80% of your time pitching to the really small local papers. You’ve proven that you can deliver to big regionals as well as some national case studies. Hmm, it’s definitely a conversation I can have. Obviously, I can’t promise anything and I’ll also need to have some careful conversations with the bods here, so they don’t grumble that they’re not going to get support.”
I feel I should add some reassurance from my end. “I’ll come back regularly. One of the great things is with my parents here, I can head up north whenever needed and I don’t need to stay in a hotel.”
That’s the money shot. Or should I say the money-saving shot?
“Yeah. That all makes sense.” Bernadette consults her notes again, though I don’t know what she’s looking at exactly. This conversation has completely thrown off the agenda. You could call it an ambush.
“So, I just need to lay out exactly what you need. When will you be getting married?”
This is a teeny bit awkward. “September.”
“Sep-! Oh, okay. Wow! Not long at all.” She laughs nervously. “So when do you think you’ll be moving there?”
This is the part I hadn’t thought through. “Okay, so I’ll probably go on honeymoon for two weeks, after Ramadan. So I reckon October-ish?”
“Right, okay, that gives us a bit of time.” Bernadette exhales, this time with relief rather than shock.
However, I’m not done yet. “So, as I’m in the throes of wedding planning, I was hoping maybe I could have a couple of weeks off before the wedding...”
“Right. That’s reasonable.”
“And then... just because there’s so much to do... I was wondering if I could go part-time from next month in the run-up.”
“How part-time?”
“Maybe two...”
Bernadette shoots me a cutting stare. I think I’m pushing my luck.
“...Or three days a week?”
Bernadette sighs. “Okay... right. Let me just make sure I’ve got this straight,” she scribbles ferociously while she’s talking. “So... you want to go part-time effectively a couple of weeks from now, then have about a month’s annual leave.”
Again, when she puts it like that...
“Yes.”
Bernadette exhales heavily. “Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”
I feel like doing a big exhalation of my own.
“I’d love to know, how did you meet him?”
That’s an easy one to answer. “We met through friends last year.” That makes it sound like less of a shotgun wedding. I must keep track of the different stories I’m telling different people to avoid cross-contamination.
“Oh, brilliant. Well, I’m really happy for you.”
I think Bernadette is just relieved that I’m not forced into a quickie marriage. It actually works out quite well that she’s not one for small talk. That way she’s not really aware of the blistering breakneck speed at which my wedding is taking place. Small mercies.
***
M IS BEYOND PLEASED with my potential work development.
“That would be great if you get a transfer. Especially as the office is so close to where I am now. We could rent somewhere near,” he says.
“Well, let’s not get too excited yet. Bernadette might come back with a no. She can’t promise anything.”
Glass half empty and all that. I’m beginning to realise just how optimistic M is. We’re like the opposite ends of a battery.
“Okay, I won’t jinx it but I have to say, I’ve got a good feeling about this. My mum’s been saying that we’re meant for each other since she met you.”
“Your mum?” I never realised she harboured such thoughts. I figured we had a totally formal mother and daughter-in-law-to-be dynamic, in that we think nothing and hope for the best.
“Yeah. She’s always saying it sounds like you’re really hardworking and we’re well matched. How everything else has fallen into place so far... well, it’s a really good sign,” he says. “Anyway, what you up to tonight?”
“What I’ve been doing most nights. Wedding planning. Tonight I’ll be looking at invitations.”
“Ah, okay,” M replies.
That’s all he can say, really. Wedding invites isn’t an area he can help with as his family send out their own set of invites to their guests. It’s like two separate weddings in many ways. I bet he’ll be doing something social and fun tonight. I’d rather not hear about it.
“Have you sorted your wedding invites yet?” I ask.
I can almost hear him shrugging through the phone. “I’m not sure to be honest with ya. I don’t think so, anyway. Mum’s dealing with all of that.”
“Really? How will she order the cards? Can she speak English?” Not that I’m judging but M’s mum looks older and seems more old-school than my mum, who’s grasp of English doesn’t get her very far.
“No, she can’t speak English but my sister or brother will sort the cards. She’ll oversee it. Like a project manager. I dunno, it’ll get done anyway.”
“It must be nice being you, just rocking up to your wedding after having everything taken care of by your family,” I laugh but I’m slightly bitter.
“You should be palming off stuff, too. Get your sisters involved with the things I can’t help with,” says M.
“Hmm, yeah maybe,” I reply rather unconvincingly. Truth be told, I’m not sure how much my sisters will help. Nobody’s recently piped up with offers of support.
“Anyway, there is one job you can tick off your list,” he says.
“Oh? What’s that?”
“Well, I’ve got my watch fixed here. I was in Westfield so I just popped into Goldman’s. I didn’t think they’d fix it without a receipt but they did it there and then. Must have been a quiet day for them. I hope you don’t mind, I know I said we’d do it together, it’s just that I had it with me, as I’d taken it to work to show my colleagues...”
I don’t have the words but my silence must be audible.
“Is that okay?” he asks.
“Oh... yeah... No, don’t worry about it. You’ve got it done, that’s the main thing. To be honest with ya, I completely forgot about it.”
Biggest fucking lie ever.