‘Lexi, I’m ready for you now,’ says Robin.
I look up from my screen and see him smiling his perfect smile – he always looks so good that it’s as if he’s got his own version of an Instagram filter applied.
‘Lexi,’ he says, reminding me that he’s a real-life person.
‘Right,’ I say, blinking to remove the filters from my eyes.
‘Are you OK?’
‘I’m perfectly fine,’ I say, standing up quickly.
I still get a little star-struck when he speaks directly to me. I know he’s not a celebrity, but he’s got this presence that makes you feel like he is.
I go to push back my chair, but it’s caught in my bag, and I have to crawl under my desk to free it. Handbag untangled, I stand up and whack my head on my desk.
‘Ow,’ I say, rubbing the bump on my head.
I think Robin’s taken pity on me, as by the time I get up to standing he’s wheeled his chair round to my desk.
I try to compose myself and smooth down a patch of hair over the place where a massive egglike bump’s probably going to appear.
‘So,’ he says, sitting down. ‘I need to take a quick look into some of the projects that you’ve run over the last two years.’
He glances down his list and I get the sense that he’s picking one at random.
‘Here we go. The creative carnival.’
My heart sinks. Of course he’d pick that one. The one event that no one, bar my colleagues, came to.
‘Now, I see that it didn’t have a very good turnout.’
I’m going slightly pink. I even inflated the numbers to make it look a little better.
‘It could have been better.’
He nods.
‘I can print you a copy of the event evaluation, if you like?’ I say, hoping that he’s going to judge my performance on more than this one event.
‘Great, that would be helpful, and then we can pick through the numbers.’
‘Can’t wait,’ I mutter.
I locate the file on my PC and send it to the printer.
‘Is that your boyfriend?’ asks Robin, pointing at a photo of Will. I’ve had that photo on my desk for so long that sometimes I forget it’s even there. It’s covered in a layer of grimy dust, but you can still just about see Will’s smiling face. It was on a holiday in Greece, and he’s looking all sun-kissed and young.
‘It is. That’s an old photo, though,’ I say, for clarification. I don’t want him thinking that I’m cougaring some twenty-one-year-old.
‘Oh right, how long have you been together?’
‘About seven years,’ I say, pretending to sound vague.
‘Wow. That’s a long time. And he’s just a boyfriend?’
‘We’re going to get engaged,’ I say, hastily covering up my naked ring finger as I see his eyes cast down to it.
‘Right, of course, sorry.’ He gives me what I hope isn’t a look of pity as he stands up. ‘I’ll go get the printouts, shall I?’
I try not to watch his perfectly pert bum walk across the room, and instead search my desk for impressive-looking work that might make me look more competent.
He comes and sits back down and I offer him my stapler for the pages.
‘Thanks,’ he says, settling down to read it.
‘You’re like most people, surprised that we’ve been together this long without any rings,’ I say, even though I should have probably let the topic go.
‘I am a little, if I’m honest, but only because everyone I know seems to be in such a hurry to get down the aisle at the moment,’ he says without looking up.
‘I know that feeling. But Will is going to propose.’
‘I’m sure he is.’
‘And there’s really no hurry. I mean, I don’t understand why everyone’s in such a massive rush.’
‘Me neither,’ he says, ‘although –’
He shakes his head and doesn’t finish his sentence.
‘What,’ I say. ‘You can say it, you can pretty much guarantee my mum already has.’
‘I wasn’t going to say anything.’
‘Yes you were. You can’t start a sentence and then stop,’ I say, slightly exasperated.
He takes a deep breath before muttering.
‘I was going to say that I think he’s mad for not being in a rush.’
‘You do?’
‘Uh-huh, I mean you’re a pretty good catch,’ he says with a slight cough.
‘I am?’ I feel my cheeks go a little pink.
I have to remind myself that Robin’s a natural charmer and it doesn’t mean anything.
‘Yeah, I mean you’ve still got your own teeth and you’ve not got that much grey. And occasionally your jokes aren’t totally rubbish,’ he says playfully.
‘Thanks,’ I mutter, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed that a man other than Will is talking to me like this. ‘I’m sure Will knows all that. He’ll get round to it.’
If he doesn’t he’s going to be in big trouble with my mother.
‘I guess it doesn’t matter,’ says Robin, ‘whether you’re married or not. As long as you haven’t slipped into one of those relationships where you are pretty much just friends. You know, as long as the passion’s there, so to speak.’
I’m about to blurt out that of course we’re not at that stage, but then I stop and consider when Will and I last had sex. Was it three weeks ago? Four? I’d planned in sexy time in my head for after Vanessa’s wedding, but we all know what happened there.
‘There’s still lots of romance left in us yet. In fact, we’re going away this weekend on a proper romantic trip. We’re off to a country cottage on the Gower Peninsula.’
Where I’m now going to make sure that we have loads of sex in the midst of me getting my revenge – perfectly normal and romantic.
‘You see, that restores my faith in relationships. It’s nice to know that after all that time you’re still really into each other.’
‘Yes, yes, we are. The weekend was all his idea,’ I say, leaving out the fact that Will still thinks we’re off to watch a game of football.
I really hope, despite the revenge, that it turns about to be a more amorous adventure. After Will turned down sex a couple of weeks ago I’ve been feeling a bit fragile on that front, and Cara’s always trying to get me to spice things up in the bedroom. What if Robin’s got a point? I always thought that feeling so comfortable in our relationship is a good thing, but what if it’s the very thing that’s wrong with it?
‘No, we’re all about the passion,’ I say out loud, a bit too forcefully.
I almost don’t know what’s worse, the fact that I’m blatantly lying or that I am openly talking about my sex life (or pretend sex life) at work. I’m sure I can hear Mike inhaling a breath at the desk next to me.
‘Great,’ says Robin. ‘I’m sure that you’ll have a great weekend. Now, I’ll just have a read through this, shall I?’
‘Uh-huh,’ I say, relieved that he’s going back to grilling my event figures, instead of my personal life.
While Robin reads my evaluation of the carnival, I try to pretend I’m busy, but I can’t concentrate. I think of Robin’s little compliment, and I almost wish that I could use it as a quote for a book jacket. Lexi Hunter – ‘A good catch’.
‘You’re not going to go to the Southampton game while you’re in Swansea, are you? Isn’t that near the Gower? Or is my geography all out?’
I shift in my chair, and now it’s not anchored to the floor by my bag, I jerk slightly into Robin’s seat.
‘Just a big coincidence,’ I say, waving my hand dismissively. ‘We’re not going to the game.’
Not if I’ve got anything to do with it. Since Wednesday’s writing group, I’ve prepped my revenge plan. As long as everything runs like clockwork, at game time Will and I will be stuck at our little cottage in the country with a broken-down car and no mobile phone signal.
‘Oh, right. I just had him down for one of those super-fans after he went to the game rather than your friend’s wedding.’
He’s smiling in a friendly way, not knowing that he’s hit a nerve.
‘He is a big fan, but spending time together is just as special to him.’
If I have to manipulate it to get my own way, then it doesn’t matter, does it? I mean, it’s all the same outcome, whether it’s voluntary or not. And this way it will make me feel a teeny tiny bit better about Vanessa’s wedding. When I do tell him I know, and he apologises and I forgive him, at least I’ll know that I’ll have got my own back in some small way.
‘Have you read the evaluation yet? Only, I’ve got quite a lot to do today,’ I say.
I can’t believe that I want him to read about the failed event, but it’s preferable to having to talk about my love life.
‘Of course. Sorry.’
It’s seems to do the trick and he goes silent for a couple of minutes. Too scared to open up my inbox in case it’s full of emails from Cara or Vanessa, instead I try to write a document to send out to local artists about a new private fund that might be of interest to them. It’s a bit hard to concentrate, though, as I’m still thinking about my relationship with Will.
‘Essentially, there wasn’t a clear enough message in the marketing about what the event was or who it was aimed at,’ says Robin eventually.
I nod.
‘We’re not running it again; we’ve decided to do a similar event, using the same resources produced for it, but as part of the larger arts week that we hold in May half-term. That way, we’re almost guaranteed to attract an audience.’
‘I see,’ says Robin, making notes.
‘You know, we don’t run many other events, and those few that we do are generally well attended.’
‘I’m sure they are. But unfortunately I can’t only report on the good ones. As a value-for-money audit, I’ve got to look at all the aspects of the service we provide. Plus, if you look too good, then the councillors and my boss Beth tend to get a bit suspicious.’
I nod, wishing that my failed event didn’t have to be the sacrificial lamb.
‘Right then, let’s pick through these details, shall we?’
I take a sharp breath and talk him through the awful day last April.
Twenty minutes later, when he’s finished ripping the event to shreds and making me feel like I’m pretty crap at my job, he files away my evaluation and I breathe a sigh of relief. All I can hope is that he looks at more positive aspects of my work next.
‘What about the arts week? Have you got some figures from last year for me? Or an evaluation of it?’
‘I’ve got individual evaluations of each event we ran within it.’
‘I’d like to see one with all the figures, so I can get an overview. How about you give that to me when you’ve put it together? If it’s not too much work, I know you said you were busy.’
He flashes me one of his winning smiles, one of those ones you’d give anything away for.
‘No problem,’ I say, realising that in collating it together, it might look more impressive and make me appear more competent.
‘Great. Would you be able to have it to me by tomorrow, or at some point on Monday?’
‘Sure, why not,’ I say, silently waving goodbye to the rest of the work I was going to do today.
‘Great, thank you. Right then, that should keep me going for a bit.’
‘OK, so there’s nothing else you want to see from my work? Not the work I do with the artists themselves in supporting them? Not how much funding I’ve helped secure? The training sessions that I’ve run?’
I feel like I’ve wasted my one-to-one time with Robin talking about my personal life, when I should have been making a case for how bloody good I am at my job.
He glances over his notes before looking up and smiling.
‘Not for now. At the moment I’m very much focused on the public events this department does, their spend per head, et cetera. I’m sure I’ll get around to looking at the other little bits at some point.’
My heart sinks. I watch him as he makes a couple of notes in his diary and I’m waiting for him to leave to go back to his desk so I can wonder in peace what’s going to become of my job.
‘So how did you get into this? What did you read at university?’ he says, looking back up at me.
‘A lot of boring books,’ I say laughing, before I see that he hasn’t got my joke. ‘I did English Lit.’
‘Ah, I guess that figures. Was that one of the subjects with three or four hours a week?’
I know he’s only making a joke, but I can’t help but take it a little the wrong way. I always got defensive when people mocked my small timetable, as in my lightest final year I only had five hours a week. Yet, I spent hours upon hours reading.
‘Yes, but that’s because we had so many books to read.’
‘Ah, those boring ones,’ he says, laughing.
I try and hide a smile. I walked into that one.
‘So what did you do, then?’
‘I did Law for my undergraduate before doing Political Science for my masters.’
I should have known he’d done something super intense.
‘So you did English Lit – have you always been a writer?’
I look around the office as I always feel a bit funny talking about it at work, like I’m cheating on my job by trying to write myself into a new career in the evening. Luckily for me, the office has thinned out as it’s the start of lunchtime.
‘I’ve always loved writing. But I only started writing in my spare time a few years ago.’
I enunciate the word ‘spare’, just in case my boss Jacqui happens to be walking past.
‘You know, I wouldn’t have picked you for a thriller writer.’
‘Really? What would you expect me to write? Literary fiction?’
‘No, I just thought you’d write rom-coms.’
‘Because I’m a woman?’ I say, mock-rolling my eyes.
‘No, because you’re funny.’
Ah, he’s not being sexist after all.
‘So what type of thrillers do you write, then? Psychological? Crime?’
‘More adventure. Think Dan Brown, Sam Bourne.’
‘Wow, OK. Have you been published?’
I almost splutter a laugh, as if I had, I’d probably have a framed photo of the book jacket sitting alongside the one of Will – I’d be that proud.
‘No, but you never know, maybe one day. It’s hard, getting a foot in the door.’
It’s a patter I’ve said so often, to reassure myself and keep going. It’s a tricky industry to break into. They don’t often take a risk on an unknown debut author. I try to tell myself that everything’s to blame except my writing. The thought that it might only be mediocre at best, or awful at worst, would be enough to make me give up.
‘It’s funny, though, that you should say that about writing women’s fiction, as my writing tutor said that to me this week.’
‘Well, there you go. It’s a sign, then. Maybe you’re the next Marian Keyes.’
‘I don’t know. I was excited about it at first, but now I’m not sure. I can’t really think of an idea, and I don’t know if I’m better off sticking to what I’ve been writing.’
Robin looks at me and narrows his eyes.
‘Go on, say it.’ I can tell he’s itching to say something.
‘I was just thinking that it seems a shame that you spend so much time helping others with their artistic dreams, but that yours aren’t coming true.’
That’s a really sweet thing to say.
‘I’m sure I’ll get there one day.’
‘I’m sure you will. I always think that if you want something enough, you’ll stop at nothing to get it.’ He looks me firmly in the eye as if to emphasise how valuable a life lesson it is. ‘I’m sure if you keep sending your book out for people to read . . .’
I don’t have the heart to tell him that I haven’t subbed it lately. In fact, I gave up a year or two ago. All that desperate checking of my inbox to see if someone’s replied. My heart stopping as I notice I’ve got an email reply from an agent, just to see that it’s a standard ‘thanks but no thanks’. I shudder.
‘I’d love to read it, if you’d let me? I love thrillers.’
‘Oh, um, I don’t really like people reading it.’
‘Then, I’ve got news for you; I don’t think you’re going to make it as an author since that’s sort of the point.’
I smile.
‘I know that people will read my books eventually, but I want it to be deemed worthy first.’
‘So nobody’s read it yet?’
‘Only Will and my best friend Cara.’
‘And what did they think?’
‘That is was good,’ I say, shrugging.
‘Well, if you want someone a bit more objective to take a look, then email it over to me. You never know, a fresh pair of eyes and all that.’
I’m not sure. I’m very over-protective of my book baby. But he’s right though, as he always seems to be. If I want my book to be published I’m going to have to be prepared to let people read it.
‘OK,’ I say, taking a deep breath. ‘I’ve got a copy on my memory stick. I’ll send it over.’
‘Excellent, I’ve got a pretty free weekend so that will give me something to read.’
‘Just don’t be brutal,’ I say, wondering what I’ve agreed to.
‘I won’t, I promise,’ he says, before he looks up and sees Jacqui’s PA walking back over to his desk.
‘Ah, Matthew,’ says Robin. ‘I need to catch him before he goes into a meeting with Jacqui.’
‘OK,’ I say, slightly relieved that he’s leaving. I feel like I’ve been well and truly audited today.
‘I’ll have that other report over to you by tomorrow morning,’ I call over my shoulder, as I almost run out of the office to get some fresh air.
I push round the revolving doors to find myself outside, taking a deep breath – what a meeting. It was almost as if he’d forgotten that he was auditing my work, and instead, he’s auditing my life. First my relationship, then my writing career.
I know that he didn’t mean to pick holes in either of them, but I can’t help but feel he exposed problems that I’ve been ignoring. He’s right, I should be doing more to get my book published, and my relationship with Will could be seen from the outside as being a bit stale.
Luckily for me, our upcoming trip to Swansea gives us the perfect opportunity to inject a bit of romance into our weekend. Especially if my revenge goes to plan, we’ll have plenty of quality time together and I’ll get even. It’s shaping up to be quite the weekend.