‘How can you not like breakfast? It’s the best meal of the day!’
‘Breakfast is just a load of stodgy food that slows you down of a morning. Give me a green smoothie any day.’
The thought of a plate piled high with greasy fried food popped into my mind and I wanted to gag. It was the food equivalent of my worst nightmare. I’d rather do the eating trial from I’m a Celebrity… Get Me Out of Here than force down a fry-up.
‘You absolute freak. Remind me again why we’re best friends?’ Frankie stuck her tongue out at me.
‘Because I have way too many incriminating photos of you after one cocktail too many,’ I shot back. ‘Anyway, I’ve barely got time to think this week, let alone have breakfast. I’ve got clients to wine and dine, after all. I’m taking one to that Jack Vettriano exhibition at Kelvingrove Art Gallery and going to one of those open-air concerts on Glasgow Green with another.’
‘You’re such a bloody culture vulture, aren’t you? Give me a night in The Garage and a greasy kebab any day of the week. Cities were made for people like you,’ Frankie replied with a smile.
‘What can I say, I’m a city slicker! Anyway, I’d better go and tell Paul that Mulberry House is in the bag. Hopefully now the promotion will be too.’
Frankie gave me a thumbs-up. ‘Good luck!’
As I strode towards my boss’s office, I couldn’t help but feel excited. This was the start of something amazing. The next phase of my life was about to begin and I couldn’t wait.
*
Or not.
As I shared my amazing news, Paul sat back in his chair and winced like he was in a lot of pain. There was a lot of sucking in through his teeth, head tilts and grimaces.
‘The thing is, Emily…’ He paused and stared around the room, trying to decide what the next words out of his mouth would be. ‘Tara’s kind of beaten you to the punch.’
My blood instantly began to boil and I wondered if steam was about to come out of my ears like in a cartoon. This was supposed to be the best moment of my life and my biggest rival had gone and pulled the rug from underneath me. Tara bloody Murray.
‘She’s what? But you said if I could get Mulberry House in the bag, the promotion was mine! What happened?’ I was all too aware how shrill my voice had gone, but I didn’t care. I was too busy trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill out at any moment.
Paul shrugged and I was seriously tempted to punch him in the face. ‘She came in about five minutes before you did, and told me she’d landed the Ashbury Hotel. It’s a massive coup for us and I’ve decided to give her the promotion.’
No, no, no! This couldn’t be happening. I wracked my brains, searching for a way to keep my dream of being Emily Reed, Executive of Business Development, alive and kicking. There had to be a way, there just had to be…
‘Come on, Paul,’ I pleaded, ‘you know how hard I’ve worked for this! I’ve closed way more deals than Tara; just look at my figures! I just got Mr bloody Woodward, our most difficult owner yet, to become part of our chain. That’s got to mean something, hasn’t it?’
I looked into my boss’s deep-brown eyes and could tell he was wavering. He pursed his lips and rested his chin on steepled fingers.
‘I like you, Emily, you know I do. You’d be a great business development executive; there’s no doubt about it. And you’re right: Tara’s numbers aren’t nearly as impressive as yours…’
He trailed off, leaving me in suspense for a very long minute. I could feel beads of sweat forming on my brow as I waited for his verdict. My heartbeat thundered in my ears and I dug my nails into my palms. My whole life was hanging on the next few seconds and I could barely handle the suspense.
‘Leave it with me,’ he said eventually. ‘I’ll have a think about it and call you both into the office later.’
I let out the breath I’d been holding in and struggled not to let a stream of expletives follow it. Instead, I plastered a fake smile on my face, thanked Paul for his time and left. Although it may not have turned out exactly as I wanted, it wasn’t over yet. The dream was still alive.
*
My plans for lunch with Frankie were ruined by a text from my mother. She wanted to meet for what she called ‘an inspirational pep talk’ and wouldn’t take no for answer. Apparently she also had something important to tell me. There was nothing inspirational or peppy about these meetings. In reality, it was an hour of her telling me all the ways I was going wrong in life while we ate expensive food.
Today’s venue of choice was Café Rose, a lovely little place just off Sauchiehall Street. I loved living in Glasgow; it was so pretty and vibrant and the people were bloody amazing. I’d been lucky enough to call it home for the past twenty-five years and I didn’t plan on budging any time soon.
I walked in and my mother was instantly recognisable. She was as glamorous as always, clad in a fitted navy Mac and black skinny jeans. Round her neck was a gorgeous printed scarf with little owls on it and her hair was effortlessly styled into a shiny bob. As soon as she saw me, she got up and greeted me with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Whatever she had to tell me wouldn’t be good, I suspected.
‘Lovely to see you, hen!’ She enveloped me in a hug and squeezed me so tightly I could hardly breathe.
‘You too,’ I replied when she let me go. ‘Have you ordered yet?’
She shook her head and we sat down, each picking up a menu to study. I saw her peeking over hers to look at me, but her eyes darted away when I looked back.
‘Have you done something with your hair?’ she asked.
I narrowed my eyes. ‘Nope, why?’
She looked at me for a second, tilted her head and squinted. ‘Hmm, maybe you should then.’
Blimey, she’s started early. Usually, we’d at least ordered our drinks before she started finding fault with me.
‘Anyway, let’s talk about that promotion you’re up for,’ she continued. ‘This is the big one, Emily; land this one and you’ll be one of the directors by the time you’re thirty. Have they said anything to you about it?’
I shook my head, deciding to hold off mentioning the fact that Tara was also in the frame. Reaching my goals and meeting people’s expectations was what I ‘did’. Any hint that I might not be successful just wouldn’t wash with my mum. I always had my eyes on a prize of some kind: a job, a flat, a car. Achieving had been drilled into me for as long as I could remember; second place wasn’t an option.
‘Not yet. Paul said I’d hear back today, though.’
‘Excellent! You’ll get it, darling. I’ve got every faith in you. You’re one of life’s high-flyers. You really should stop wearing those awful jackets with the shoulder pads, though. They make you look so… sharp and shoulder pads died a death in the eighties. What about a nice flowery dress or a pair of jeans instead?’
I sighed and gritted my teeth. ‘Or I could just turn up to work wearing my Cookie Monster onesie and unicorn slippers?’
‘I’m just saying there’s no need to look so corporate, that’s all.’ She picked up my hand to inspect my nails. ‘Oh, Emily, when was the last time you got a manicure? These are terrible!’
My blood began to boil and I could feel my already thin patience beginning to fray even more. Although I knew my mum meant well, the constant stream of advice could be a little hard to stomach. I did my best to take it in the spirit it was intended and tried to attract the attention of a passing waiter. The only thing that would make this situation better was eating then leaving as quickly as possible. However, he passed me by without a second glance.
‘Excuse