on her effective sabotage. I also determined to swap one of her parcels for her own little surprise before she got our congratulations. I was pretty amazed neither of us had had this brainwave before, to be honest. But if she wants to play mean, we can play mean.
At work today, I asked Carol about the email Jacki had got.
Carol: Jesus. Well, I assume that means Tony is checking his emails. I only told him last week, but he’s clearly back to meddling, wherever he is. Was Jacki OK?
Me: Yes, thanks Carol, she was, but I think if she’d been slightly more nervous this could have tipped her over the edge. Why would he do that?
Carol: It’s a refrain I’ve been singing for the fifteen years I’ve been here, Kiki, and I’m no closer to finding a satisfactory answer. It was an ignorant, trouble-making thing to do and I’ve not got the slightest clue how he thought it could benefit anyone. But let me know if you get any hassle from your other authors.
Lovely Carol. How rotten to be second-in-command to someone with such a deadly combination of laziness and cluelessness. Tony can be relied upon to get involved in something just long enough to muck it up, then he’ll get bored and require someone else to do the actual work. Going on leave seems such a distant future event, like having the baby: something I know I’ll have to deal with eventually, but nothing I need to think about anytime soon. But this talk of cover has made me realise that within six months, the office won’t have me in it anymore, and I won’t be in meetings, and I won’t have books to work on, and someone else will be doing all of my jobs.
I feel incredibly strange about all of that.
The Christmas cards have started arriving in the office, from authors and agents. The very first one was from Clifton Black, Polka Dot’s military fiction specialist – and by specialist, I mean ‘someone who’s spent his career trying to convince us he has previously served in the army, while writing books like Bullets and Bravery and Serving Under Fire with an entirely straight face’ – who I may have accidentally sexted slightly before our wedding. It could happen to anyone. Since then, he doesn’t come into the office anymore, a fact which, if we’d known earlier, any one of us would have been willing to send all manner of inappropriate texts to him. But he sent a lovely card, albeit one which omitted my name entirely. God bless us, every one.
TO DO:
Come up with a few items to scatter into Susie’s calendar: a boiled egg? An empty M&Ms bag?
Find out if romantic text messages can scare off all the difficult authors
Make my peace with someone else doing my job for a little while
December 9th
Polka Dot’s Christmas party tonight. I had such a nice time, but definitely felt some sadness at being stone-cold sober throughout. Having said that, it was completely hilarious to see Alice, Dan (my favourite of Polka Dot’s designers), Carol, Norman and the rest of the team drunk beyond all comprehension and actually be able to remember it for once.
As is tradition, Pamela joined us for the first course, laughing gamely at our rising spirits, then bidding her goodbyes as the plates were cleared. As she came over to leave her company credit card with Carol, she checked that I was keeping well, and not working too hard. I’m so glad I’ve got to know her – not only is she a good person to have on one’s team, she’s also hugely inspirational, a capable woman running this company solo for years before Tony got involved.
After she left, the nice dinner rapidly descended into plate-sharing, drink-spilling, name-calling bunfight (in the best possible way) which I think will result in a) Dan waking up with a very nasty bruise on his left thigh, b) Norman being grateful he has no social media presence, and c) no employee of Polka Dot books ever being permitted back into that restaurant again.
Funny to be so sober. Funny how things change.
December 10th
If that’s how she wants to play it, that’s how we’ll play it. After finding a half-used box of floss in today’s calendar, I resolved to sneak over to Susie’s at 7 tonight, knowing – with Pete away on some travel agent job somewhere around the world – it would be the most frantic time for her. Between helping her bath the Twins and Frida, finding their pyjamas, telling them stories, brushing their teeth and getting them down, I managed to swap tomorrow’s parcel out of her calendar, replacing it with a similarly wrapped burst balloon. I would be the worst poker player – I could barely contain my glee when I went back downstairs to find Susie putting all the toys away and tidying up the kitchen.
Susie: Thanks so much, Keeks. When Pete’s away this part of the evening is always so unbelievably exhausting.
Me: [feeling slightly bad] But practice makes perfect?
Susie: More like familiarity breeds contempt. Oh, not for them, you shocked face, just for this bloody life. I’m so tired. Yes, they all sleep well and eat well and I love them dearly, but I’m going mad, Keeks. When I wave Pete off on another trip these days, my blood boils. It boils.
Me: Do you tell him?
Susie: Tell him what? That I wonder if we married too quickly? That I wonder what I’d be doing now if I hadn’t got knocked up that night?
Me: [feeling a bit sick] Do you regret it?
Susie: [looking at me] Oh, no, of course I don’t regret it. And your life isn’t my life, and my decisions aren’t your decisions, and you aren’t married to Pete. I’m glad he loves his job, but I wished he loved a job slightly closer to home, so he could put his children to bed more than twice a month, and tidy the house, and remember their school projects and the new socks they need.
Me: [putting an arm around her] Are you happy, Suse?
Susie: [silence] Not really at all, these days. I’m so tired and bored and angry that my emotional resting state is permanently somewhere in the red. Sometimes I just think – maybe I could just go, one day. Just go on holiday and come back after a few months, and see how Pete had got on. He knows what to do. If he had to, he’d be absolutely fine.
I’d not heard Susie talk like that before, although I’ve suspected for ages that’s how she felt. I almost had a guilty twinge for sabotaging her advent calendar.
December 11th
To try and begin to thank Thom for how supportive and thoughtful he’s been over the last few months, I took us to the new production of an Alan Bennett play at the National. It was fantastic – funny and clever, moving and sparky, and we talked solidly in the interval about how we both wished we came to the theatre more often.
At the end of the play, I felt Thom nudge me.
Thom: Were you … were you asleep?
Me: No. [wiping drool from side of mouth] Do you have any water, please? My mouth is a bit dry.
Thom: Well, I really enjoyed it. Thank you for the kind thought. And for not snoring.
It’s literally the least I could have done for him, and I managed to stay awake for dinner afterwards. Also, for the after-dinner treat at home. Which was very much worth it.
December 13th
Pre-Christmas Christmas drinks with Greta. She’s so utterly fantastic – an unexpected surprise when I signed up to be a bridesmaid at a hideous wedding last year, and a woman I would almost certainly have married instead of Thom if she’d been a man.
Greta: Hello there! I haven’t seen you since the early Halloween party. Nice costume, by the way. And Thom looked … good.
Me: Thank you, and tell me about it. I’m debating making him wear that every night in.
Greta: