he’s jumping the gun a bit there), and there is a rather formal email hoping I got home safely, wishing me well and offering his services from somebody called Oz, which confuses me. Am I being headhunted? Should I move down under? Is he a stalker? Then after blinking a couple of times I realise it is from O. Z. Cartwright. Ollie.
It is rather nice of him to get in touch, but I’m not quite sure how he can help.
And why isn’t he busy bonking his girlfriend? Maybe she passed out before he had chance, unless sex is the one thing he’s not good at and it only lasted thirty seconds. Which would be tragic but explain the rapid turnover rate.
Bugger, I have to stop thinking about Ollie and sex. But what the frig am I going to do now?
Apart from wondering what the ‘Z’ stands for? I never knew Ollie had a middle name, if he ever comes to another Christmas party, I must remember to ask what it is.
I can’t help myself, I can’t wait until next year! I fire off an email thanking him for his good wishes and asking if his middle name is Zebedee or Ziggy. Either would be quite funny.
I decide it is time to close my laptop and go to sleep. My last thought as I pull my duvet up to my chin, is that I’m bloody glad I didn’t suck up to David this morning and beg for a better job before he dropped the bombshell.
5 a.m., Christmas Day, can’t sleep
Reasons this newspaper merger is a disaster:
1 The new office is miles away from the old office, and therefore my flat
2 My savings are practically non-existent and will run out soon so if they don’t take me on, I am screwed
3 Winter has to be the worst time of the year to find a new job if I fail to keep my job (or apply for voluntary redundancy)
4 I am rubbish at filling in application forms and interviews. (I tend to start to answer a question, veer off course and forget what it was. I also get panic attacks, sweaty palms and hiccups when under pressure.)
Reasons this merger could be a triumph (always be positive):
1 I could get a pay rise
2 I could get a new, better role
3 I no longer have to work with letchy David, though pass-agg-Eva and Brian-the-pessimist might also apply for their jobs back
4 This could be a new start, a start I choose rather than one that has happened by accident. And there will be more openings.
Issues – the triumph bit is littered with ‘could’s; I could quite easily end up with no job at all, or one even worse than the one I had up until yesterday.
I put my mobile down and curl up under the duvet again. The flat is quiet, Frankie will be with Tarquin, in some luxury hotel, celebrating in style.
‘We’ll be doing that next year.’ I tell Stanley, who is curled up against my feet. He wags his tail lazily, to show he’s listening. ‘Well, you’ll have your furever home, in some big house with a massive garden. I’m not quite sure what I’ll have.’
I lie back and close my eyes, but I can’t stop thinking about my job. Or lack of it. So I pick my phone up again.
There is a new email from Ollie: ‘Sorry to disappoint, nothing as amusing as Ziggy – it’s Zane. Rgds Ollie.’
I wonder if he always writes such formal emails?
‘Not a disappointment!’ It is. ‘Is it a family name? Best wishes, Daisy’ – I did write ‘Love Daisy’, but then decided that was a bit too familiar for somebody who says ‘Rgds’.
‘No idea! Night. O’
‘Good night!’
I wait a few moments to see if he sends any more messages, and when he doesn’t I open the email from James Masters.
Maybe my first step in proving to everybody (including myself) that I can be a success, is to challenge my caretaker boss and demand better a better job immediately?
5.30 a.m., 25 December
Still can’t sleep. Keep wondering about what might have happened if there had actually been some mistletoe in my snug in the bookshop when Ollie had squeezed in beside me.
This is not a good way to think.
1 He has a girlfriend (can’t see it lasting though).
2 I still kind of have a boyfriend, I think. Not sure if cancelled Christmas = cancelled relationship, or if he might want to see me again.
3 Our lives have gone in different directions, we are no longer compatible. At all. Whatever my mother thinks. He is smug and insufferable, and I hate him. Though he was very kind earlier.
Bugger! How can he be so annoying and taking up so much of my head space when he has nothing to do with me and my life? I pull the duvet right up to my ears, feeling stroppy.
He was very kind though, and I was tempted to kiss him.
I curl up, and realise I’m smiling.
It was the way he looked into my eyes, as though he understood me. As though he knew. For a moment I was the old Daisy, the teenage Daisy, the one he’d snogged.
He really does have very kissable lips, and a cute dimple, and eyes I could lose myself in …
1 p.m., 25 December
‘You’ll find something.’ Mum says, even though I haven’t mentioned my possible jobless state. ‘You always do, you’re resourceful, and your adverts are wonderful, they’d be silly to let you go. Stir the gravy will you, darling.’
I stir the gravy. ‘Everybody has to relocate though, to the head office. Ours is closing.’
‘How sad, I wonder what it will be?’
‘What, Mum?’
‘The office! I wonder what will happen to your office when it’s closed, they’ll turn it into a trendy bar I imagine. Stir harder darling, there are lumps.’
‘I could sieve it?’
‘See, I said you were resourceful. Now, sprouts, will they make Stanley smell?’
‘Stanley?’ He looks up hopefully at the sounds of his name, he’s been lurking in the kitchen since we arrived and doing his best to trip Mum up.
‘Well I’m serving him a dinner as well dear, he is your plus one after all!’ She’s being rather upbeat about all my shortcomings today. I give her a quick hug and she gives me a bigger one back. ‘Now where did I put that slotted spoon, where is it then?’
‘Here.’ I pick up the spoon which she’s placed ready in front of herself.
‘Oh, not that, silly. I meant where is the new office?’
She does this, jumps between conversations. She’ll leave one unfinished, then half an hour later carry it on as though there’s not been a break.
‘The email said most of the jobs will be in Stavington.’
‘That’s a long way, darling. Who do we know there? I’m sure we know somebody who lives there. It will come to me. Just pop that cranberry sauce in the microwave, will you?’
Stavington is a long way. If I carry on living with Frankie and commute all the way to Stavington, I’ll be spending nearly all of my paltry salary on train fares – or polluting the countryside with my car.