you want to speak to Becky?”
She raises her eyebrows at me and I wince back. I’ve only spoken to Mum and Dad briefly since my return. They know I’m not going to move to New York — but that’s all I’ve said them so far. I just can’t face telling them how badly everything else has turned out too.
“Becky, love, I was just watching Morning Coffee!” exclaims Mum. “What’s that girl doing, giving out financial advice?”
“It’s… it’s OK, Mum, don’t worry!” I say, feeling my nails dig into my palm. “They just… they got her to cover while I was away.”
“Well. They could have chosen someone better! She’s got a miserable face on her, hasn’t she?” Her voice goes muffled. “What’s that, Graham? Dad says, at least she shows how good you are! But surely, now that you’re back, they can let her go?”
“I don’t think it’s as simple as that,” I say after a pause. “Contracts and… things.”
“So, when will you be back on? Because I know Janice will be asking.”
“I don’t know, Mum,” I say desperately. “Listen, I’ve got to go, OK? There’s someone at the door. But I’ll talk to you soon!”
I put down the phone and bury my head in my hands.
“What am I going to do?” I say hopelessly. “What am I going to do, Suze? I can’t tell them I’ve been fired. I just can’t.” To my dismay, tears squeeze out of the sides of my eyes. “They’re so proud of me. And I just keep letting them down.”
“You don’t let them down!” retorts Suze hotly. “It wasn’t your fault that stupid Morning Coffee completely overreacted. And I bet they’re regretting it now. I mean, look at her!”
She turns up the sound, and Clare’s voice drones sternly through the room. “Those who fail to provide for their own retirement are the equivalent of leeches on the rest of us.”
“I say,” says Rory. “Isn’t that a bit harsh?”
“I mean, listen to her!” says Suze. “She’s awful!”
“Maybe she is,” I say after a pause. “But even if they get rid of her too they’ll never ask me back. It would be like saying they made a mistake.”
“They have made a mistake!”
The phone rings again and she looks at me. “Are you in or out?”
“Out. And you don’t know when I’ll be back.”
“OK…” She picks up the phone. “Hello? Sorry, Becky’s out at the moment.”
“Wendy, you’ve made every mistake possible,” Clare Edwards is saying on the screen. “Have you never heard of a deposit account? And as for remortgaging your house to buy a boat…”
“No, I don’t know when she’ll be back,” says Suze. “Would you like me to take a message?” She picks up a pen and starts writing. “OK… fine… yes. Yes, I’ll tell her. Thanks.”
“So,” I say as she puts the phone down. “Who was that?”
And I know it’s stupid — but as I look up at her, I can’t help feeling a hot flicker of hope. Maybe it was a producer from another show. Maybe it was someone wanting to offer me my own column. Maybe it was John Gavin, ringing to apologize and offer me free, unlimited overdraft facilities. Maybe it was the one phone call that will make everything all right.
“It was Mel. Luke’s assistant.”
“Oh.” I stare at her in apprehension. “What did she want?”
“Apparently some parcel has arrived at the office, addressed to you. From the States. From Barnes & Noble.”
I stare at her blankly — then, with a pang, suddenly remember that trip to Barnes & Noble I made with Luke. I bought a whole pile of coffee-table books, and Luke suggested I send them back on the company courier bill instead of lugging them around. It seems like a million years ago now.
“Oh yes, I know what that is.” I hesitate. “Did she… mention Luke?”
“No,” says Suze apologetically. “She just said pop in anytime you want. And she said she was really sorry about what happened… and if you ever want a chat, just call.”
“Right.” I hunch my shoulders up, hug my knees, and turn up the television volume.
For the next few days, I tell myself I won’t bother going. I don’t really want those books anymore. And I can’t quite cope with the thought of having to go in there — having to face all the curious looks from Luke’s staff, and hold my head up and pretend to be OK.
But then, gradually, I start to think I’d like to see Mel. She’s the only one I can talk to who really knows Luke, and it would be nice to have a heart-to-heart with her. Plus, she might have heard something of what’s going on in the States. I know Luke and I are effectively over, I know it’s really nothing to do with me anymore. But I still can’t help caring about whether he’s got his deal or not.
So four days later, at about six o’clock in the evening, I walk slowly toward the doors of Brandon Communications, my heart thumping. Luckily it’s the friendly doorman on duty. He’s seen me visit enough times to just wave me in, so I don’t have to have any big announcements of my arrival.
I walk out of the lift at the fifth floor, and to my surprise, there’s no one on reception. How weird. I wait for a few seconds — then wander past the desk and down the main corridor. Gradually my steps slow down — and a puzzled frown comes to my face. There’s something wrong here. Something different.
It’s too quiet. The whole place is practically dead. When I look across the open-plan space, most of the chairs are empty. There aren’t any phones ringing; there aren’t any people striding about; there aren’t brainstorming sessions going on.
What’s going on? What’s happened to the buzzy Brandon C atmosphere? What’s happened to Luke’s company?
As I pass the coffee machine, two guys I half-recognize are standing, talking by it. One’s got a disgruntled expression and the other is agreeing — but I can’t quite hear what they’re talking about. As I come near, they stop abruptly. They shoot me curious looks, then glance at each other and walk off, before starting to talk again, but in lowered voices.
I can’t quite believe this is Brandon Communications. There’s a completely different feel about the place. This is like some deadbeat company where no one cares about what they’re doing. I walk to Mel’s desk — and, along with everyone else, she’s already left for the night. Mel, who normally stays till at least seven, then takes a glass of wine and gets changed in the loos for whatever great night out she’s got planned.
I root around behind her chair until I find the parcel addressed to me, and scribble a note to her on a Post- it. Then I stand up, hugging the heavy package to me, and tell myself that I’ve got what I came for. Now I should leave. There’s nothing to keep me.
But instead of walking away, I stand motionless. Staring at Luke’s closed office door.
Luke’s office. There are probably faxes from him in there. Messages about how things are going in New York. Maybe even messages about me. As I gaze at the smooth blank wood, I feel almost overwhelmed by an urge to go in and find out what I can.
But then — what exactly would I do? Look through his files? Listen to his voice mail? I mean, what if someone caught me?
I’m standing there, torn — knowing I’m not really going to go and rifle through his stuff, yet unable just to walk away — when suddenly I stiffen in shock. The handle of his office door is starting to move.
Oh shit. Shit. There’s someone in there! They’re coming out!
In a moment of pure panic, I find myself ducking down out of sight, behind Mel’s chair. As I curl up into a tiny ball I feel a thrill of terror, like a child playing hide-and-seek. I hear some voices murmuring — and then the door swings open and someone comes out. From my vantage point, all I can see is that it’s a female, and she’s wearing those new Chanel shoes which cost an absolute bomb. She’s followed by two pairs of male legs, and the three begin to walk down the corridor. I can’t resist peeping out from behind the chair — and of course. It’s Alicia Bitch Longlegs, with Ben Bridges and a man who looks familiar but whom I can’t quite place.
Well, I suppose that’s fair enough. She’s in charge while Luke is away. But does she have to take over Luke’s office? I mean, why can’t she just use a meeting room?
“Sorry we had to meet here,” I can just hear her saying. “Obviously, next time, it’ll be at 17 King
