simply. ‘And I’d have you.’
I pressed my lips into a tight, silent line.
‘I mean, I’d hire you,’ he clarified. ‘I’m serious, I was thinking about it when I woke up. I interviewed someone for creative director last week but it’s not too late. You could still take photos on the side and you wouldn’t have to do all this assisting shit. You’re better than this, Tess.’
I methodically worked my fingers through my hair and pretended he hadn’t just made me the most spectacular offer.
‘That sounds really amazing,’ I said, overwhelmed by the sudden vision of myself striding into a meeting with nice clean hair and a lovely pair of shoes on my feet instead of balancing on a chair, covered in sweat, wearing a pair of dirty trainers. ‘But like I said, I’m a photographer now.’
‘I’m serious, Tess,’ he repeated, squatting down on his uncomfortable armchair, elbows on his knees. ‘I’m not saying you don’t love photography and I’m not saying you’re not good at it but I’m offering you something else. You’ve had six months out and maybe you needed a break. There’s no shame in saying the photography thing didn’t work out as a career and keeping it as a hobby. You could be a director. If you wanted, you could be a partner, we’d be a team. The business is really starting to take off.’
It was something I’d wanted for so long. I’d worn my corporate blinkers for years with partnership the only goal in sight and here it was, being dangled in front of my face. And it was tempting. Going back to the beginning, a month before I turned twenty-eight, starting back at the bottom? Less appealing.
‘Think about it,’ Charlie said. ‘I told the bloke I interviewed I’d let him know after Christmas so he can sort everything out with his old job in the new year. That gives you time.’
‘I will,’ I promised. ‘I’ll think about it.’
‘Yeah, well,’ he said, clearly a little bit offended. ‘Don’t think you’ve got to stick this out because you don’t want to admit you made a mistake. Tea?’
I nodded and waited until he had disappeared into the kitchen before I gave him the finger. Did he really think I’d made a mistake? Did everyone?
I knew that going back to advertising would be easy and working with Charlie would be fun, but what I didn’t know was whether or not it would make me happy. Nick always said I was too worried about the things I thought I should do, rather than the things I wanted to do. This definitely felt like a ‘should’. But since when was I taking Nick Miller’s advice?
Pulling the blankets up around my chin, I grabbed my phone to check my messages. There was a late night text from Paige, asking if I wanted to get a drink. A message from Kekipi attached to a photo of him and Domenico singing karaoke in some dimly lit dive bar and seventeen texts from Amy, half written exclusively in Emojis, the other half more or less unintelligible swearing but the general gist of them was that I should get my arse on a plane to New York ASAP.
‘Maybe I should be Amy’s assistant,’ I called through a yawn. ‘She’ll be queen of the world in six months at this rate.’
‘Maybe this Al dude is her Mr Miyagi,’ Charlie shouted back. ‘She’s going to be the fashion equivalent of The Karate Kid.’
‘Karaoke kid, more like,’ I muttered, flicking through her Facebook posts. Kekipi and Domenico were not alone in that bar. ‘I don’t really see Al as the wax on, wax off type.’
‘I don’t know.’ Charlie stuck his head out of the kitchen. ‘He made a big impression on you.’
‘He did,’ I admitted. ‘He’s a really great man, you’d like him.’
Growing up, it hadn’t really occurred to me to miss my dad. My mum remarried a couple of years after they got divorced and he was never more than an occasional visitor after that. Brian, my stepdad, was a total champ, but the fact of the matter was always there: he wasn’t my real dad. Whether I knew it or not, I’d missed out on something. Al, or Bertie Bennett as most of the world knew him, was the kind of granddad everyone wished for. A kind, generous, gentle man armed with all the wisdom of old age combined with the same curiosity and preference for neon T-shirts as your average six-year-old. Al was the kind of person you needed in your corner, only you didn’t know it until you met him.
‘Hasn’t he got a job for you somewhere in his empire?’ Charlie asked. ‘Personal photographer to the Bennett estate?’
‘It’s not like I haven’t thought about it,’ I admitted. ‘But I don’t want to take the piss. He helped me out loads by getting me in to work on his book. I can’t expect him to hand me a job every time I’m on my arse.’
‘Don’t be afraid to ask people for help,’ he said after a moment’s consideration. ‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of.’
‘I do need help,’ I told him as the kettle whistled for attention in the kitchen. ‘I need help getting to work in an hour and I need help explaining to Amy why I’m not going to New York for Christmas.’
‘First one’s easy, I’ll get you an Uber,’ Charlie said, setting a cup of coffee down in front of me. ‘And don’t understand the second one. Why aren’t you going to New York for Christmas?’
It was a fair question.
‘I do want to go,’ I said, scooting up the settee so he could sit down beside me. ‘But I can’t go. I’ve got work and I don’t really have the money and, you know, I should spend Christmas with my family. Or something.’
Charlie did not look convinced.
‘Christmas Day at your mum’s house makes Eastenders look like a sitcom,’ he reminded me, needlessly. ‘And as for work, most people take time off at Christmas, although I know that’s going to come as a shock to you.’
‘It’s less shocking than the thought of going to New York to visit the Vice President of Special Projects at Bennett Enterprises,’ I said while searching for my overalls. Ah, there they were, rolled in a ball in the bath. Of course, where else would they be?
‘Do you know what I do whenever I’m not sure what to do?’ Charlie asked.
‘Lie down on the floor and eat Maltesers?’ I suggested. ‘No, wait, that’s me.’
‘I sit down and I ask myself, what would Tess do?’ he said with a knowing smile and a smug nod. ‘Works like a charm.’
Amy was right: he really was a cockwomble.
‘And there was me thinking you were going to say something helpful,’ I said with a filthy look on my face. ‘Thanks, Charlie.’
‘Good to have you back, Brookes,’ he replied, slapping a heavy hand hard on my arse as he strode back into the kitchen. ‘Now get your arse to work, your Uber’ll be outside in two minutes.’
‘Jess, I’ve got a mouth like a badger that just went down on a camel and liked it,’ Ess declared later that morning. ‘Go and get us a coffee, I am parched.’
Across the studio, I gave him a startled look from the make-up artist’s chair. ‘Right now?’ I asked.
‘No, next Tuesday,’ he replied. His flat cap and muttonchops clashed with his flashy silver tracksuit, making him look like a disgruntled sheep farmer who had come to work in fancy dress as a twat. ‘I wouldn’t ask for it now if I didn’t want it now, would I?’
‘It’s just, I’m not really in any shape to pop to Starbucks right now.’ I bit my lip and got a mouthful of something rancid.
Ess dropped his camera, 7 diving across the room to grab it before it could hit the hardwood floor. ‘What’s the problem? The model is going to be here any minute.’
I looked at Rachel the make-up artist with wild eyes. Well, I assumed I did; it was very hard to tell under all the