I assume Vanessa is dismissing me, and start to back away from her desk, careful not to step on any of the pens still littering the floor, but it’s actually Sonia she’s addressing. Sonia seems as shocked as I feel, her mouth slowly forming a large ‘O’ as she blinks at Vanessa.
‘Go on.’ Vanessa wafts her hand, almost shooing Sonia away from her perched position on the desk. ‘You need to prepare for the team meeting anyway.’ Vanessa flicks her wrist to check the time on her chunky watch. ‘Shoot. We’re already running late. Give me five minutes?’
Sonia closes her gaping mouth and manages a grimace-like smile. It switches off immediately as she meets my eye. ‘Fine. I’ll make sure we’re ready to get started as soon as you’ve finished here.’
‘Thank you, Sonia.’ This time, Vanessa’s pleasantries are met with a corresponding smile. ‘What would I do without my right-hand woman?’
Usually, I’d be silently seething at those vomit-inducing words, but right now I’m floating on a cloud of pure happiness. Because while Sonia is Vanessa’s right-hand woman, I am the perfect solution to her problem. I will solve whatever hiccup has sent Vanessa into a rage. I will be the hero that saves the day, and Vanessa will finally value my contribution to the company.
Promotion, here we come.
Vanessa pulls her shoulders back so she’s sitting straighter, the frown lines that were moments ago intersecting her forehead all but gone as she turns a mega-watt smile in my direction. She indicates the chair on the opposite side of her desk with an upturned hand as she reaches to align her mobile with the other.
‘Please sit, Becky. We have lots to discuss.’
I do as I’m told, but only after I’ve scooped the scattered collection of pens from the floor and arranged them in their pot, setting it in its rightful place on the desk. I really can’t help myself, but I think Vanessa appreciates the act, even if she doesn’t voice it and merely watches me with an eyebrow cocked in bemusement.
‘So, how can I help?’ I’ve finally plonked myself in the seat and Vanessa is grinning at me again from across the desk. I’m not sure I like it. I’ve worked for Vanessa Whitely for three years and I’ve never seen her beam like this. So toothily. Like a crocodile about to snap up its dinner whole. I’m unnerved, but I’m trying not to show it. I want Vanessa to see me as an equal, or as close to an equal as possible while still being the boss. I want her to see me as she sees Sonia and the others, not as the trembling imbecile I feel inside right now.
‘Is it about the Heron Farm Festival? Because I’ve been working on some ideas …’ I’m sliding my file across the desk towards Vanessa but pause as she starts to shake her head. Her hair is still askew, but we’ve gone way beyond the point where I can point it out by now.
‘This isn’t strictly work-related.’ Vanessa thrusts her chin in the air and narrows her eyes ever so slightly. ‘But it is extremely important to me.’
‘What is it?’ I lean forward, my forearms resting on the desk in front of me. I can’t say I’m not disappointed that I haven’t been catapulted straight into the autumn festival’s plans, but I am intrigued.
‘I bought a little place last year, practically in the middle of nowhere. There isn’t a Waitrose for miles, which sounds hideous, I know, but also a bit romantic, don’t you think?’ Vanessa poses the question, but she doesn’t give me the chance to respond as she ploughs straight on. ‘I couldn’t live there full-time, obviously – can you imagine the commute?’ Her eyes widen momentarily, and she gives a little shake of her head. My eyes linger on her abused hairdo as a stray wisp wobbles on top of her head, and I have to drag my gaze away before I draw attention to it. ‘It’s more of a weekend getaway, a place I can escape to when I need to unwind. You know how it is.’
Vanessa and I clearly live in different worlds, but I bob my head up and down in understanding, as though I, too, am in a position where I can waltz off to a second home to chill out for the weekend.
‘The house is a bit like my sister-in-law; absolutely stunning on the outside but a big ugly mess on the inside.’ Vanessa presses her lips together and her shoulders shake with a suppressed giggle. She clears her throat and she’s back to being professional Vanessa, the bitchiness locked back inside. ‘Anyway, like I was saying, the house is in need of some major TLC. I’ve been working on it for months. My project manager has been brilliant though.’ She heaves a massive sigh and leans on the desk, jelly-like. ‘Unfortunately, she was involved in that pile up on the M60 last night?’ Vanessa’s voice goes up at the end, turning her statement into a question. Her eyebrows rise too as she awaits a response.
‘Oh my God, is she okay?’ Of course I’d heard about the accident – it was all over Granada Reports last night and splashed across the front of The Metro this morning. A haulage truck had ploughed into a car at rush hour, killing the driver and seriously injuring her two young children, and causing a major pile-up on the motorway. Three people had been airlifted to hospital, while several more had been transferred by ambulance.
‘She’s fine.’ Vanessa gives a wave of her hand and the knot that’s been tightening in my stomach starts to unwind. ‘Cuts and bruises, mostly, and a broken femur.’
Vanessa says the last bit so matter-of-factly that I almost miss it. ‘A broken femur?’ My eyes are wide, my mouth wider. I’m shocked and horrified in equal measure. But it’s a sigh of irritation that hisses from Vanessa.
‘Yes, which means hospital and surgery and casts and all that.’ Vanessa sighs again and folds her arms across her chest. ‘Which is incredibly frustrating when we’re so close to finishing the house renovations.’
The chasm that is now my mouth widens even further. Frustrating? What about the traumatic ordeal? The pain she must be in? None of that seems to be registering at all with my boss and I feel my blood start to boil as she witters on about schedules and timescales and catastrophic delays.
‘I’m throwing a housewarming party, you see, to showcase my beautiful new home.’ Vanessa reaches for her handbag, rifling inside before pulling out a cream card embossed with sparkling bronze writing. She slides it towards me, jabbing a finger on the date printed on the front. ‘That’s in one month’s time, when Nicole promised me the house would be ready.’
How inconvenient. I’m sure Nicole is as furious with her broken promise as Vanessa is.
I want to say this out loud, my tone so thick with sarcasm the words would almost get wedged in my mouth. But I don’t. I silently seethe while Vanessa spits venom about her ruined party plans.
‘And the invitations have already gone out to everybody I know!’ Vanessa snatches the invite back and shoves it into her handbag. My invitation must have been lost in the post, I suppose.
‘The thing is, I don’t have time to find another project manager to get the job finished by my tight deadline.’ Vanessa pushes herself out of her seat and strides towards the window. ‘Especially if I have to go on a waiting list.’ Vanessa shakes her head and the wayward strand of hair has a wobble. I fear she’s going to catch its reflection in the windowpane and demand to know why I haven’t warned her that she looks like she’s been on the receiving end of an electric shock.
‘You said I could help?’ I only give her the reminder so she’ll turn away from the window, but I soon wish I’d kept quiet when the crocodile smile makes a return.
‘Yes, I did, didn’t I?’ Vanessa strides away from the window and perches on the edge of her desk, looking down at me.
‘Do you want me to get in touch with everyone from your guest list and rearrange the party for a later date?’
The answer to the question is clearly a big fat no as Vanessa’s mouth gapes open in outrage.