The team disperses back to their desks as we are treated to a rundown of all the rumours flying around the company about people losing their jobs. If the atmosphere wasn’t bad enough, then the URGENT AND CONFIDENTIAL email we all receive a few minutes later seals the deal. HR announce that the company has a new partner, the ICF, which is short for International Corporate Finance, and will be carrying out a transformation. There is a stampede towards me as soon as everyone has read the email. It would seem that because I missed the team lunch and am related to management, they assume I must be in on it. They snarl angrily at me and demand to know what is going on.
‘Look, I’m sure everything will be fine. Let’s not panic. Karen did say something about a shake-up but… it’s probably just a precaution.’
I have suddenly gone to pieces in the face of conflict and pray that what I’m saying is true. No company would replace an entire team with one intern.
‘Is this to do with Ava?’ Pippa says angrily, looking about at the team.
Like a fish on a hook, I wonder how to get round the fact that Ava has thrown us all under the bus. No matter what she’s done or how I feel about it, she’s my sister. I can’t do it.
I am saved from telling them the whole truth as, a short while later, Karen emerges from the lift. ‘I’m sure Nell has already told you, so this shouldn’t be a surprise…’ she says to us and ten minutes later, myself and the entire team, are out of work. We are all on Garden Leave hashtag effective immediately.
Chapter 3
IringDantosee what is going on, both on the work front and the cocktail front but I get no answer. Then I send him a message. He pings one straight back to say he’s too busy to talk but he’ll call me later. I tell him it’s urgent and ask him to pick up, but he doesn’t reply. I try to ring Ava, but her phone keeps going straight to voicemail.
How can this be happening? What on earth am I supposed to do now?
My own sister has plotted and schemed to put me out of work, alienated my work colleagues, for all I know is in cahoots with my boyfriend and has made it impossible for me to continue living at home under the same roof as her.
I am cast immediately into a pit of despair. The looks on the faces of my colleagues as we all packed up our desks at lightning speed; confused, upset, frightened, angry. Even if they are complete wankers, most of them have families to feed, mortgages and bills to pay. They all refused to look me in the eye or even say goodbye. I literally have no one to turn to. My phone pings with a message. It’s from Ava.
‘Nelly-Belly, don’t take it personally, okay? I’ve posted up some inspirational quotes so retweet them, yeah?’ Hashtag silver lining, hashtag look on the bright side.
Don’t take it frigging personally? I mean WTF? Is she mental?
My phone pings again. Another message from Ava to remind me that as one door closes another door…
I immediately block her number from my phone. I need a plan. I need to get away from this house. I cannot bear the thought of Ava trying to act like she has done no wrong. In fact, she will act as though she has done me the mother of all favours and our parents will believe every word of it because she is perfect in their eyes and can do no wrong. I glance at the clock. She’ll be walking through the doors in a few hours. My heart is thumping out of my chest and there’s a ringing in my ears as blood rushes to my head. I massage away the tingle of sweat forming at the base of my neck. I need to act quickly.
Think, think.
Where can I go?
Who do I know?
I’ve spent the last six years being a workaholic so my very few friends are work colleagues and none of them want to speak to me. I put my head in my hands and search my brain for a quick fix that does not involve travelling to the Far East to find myself in some elephant sanctuary, although elephants seem such majestic creatures and could be a nice distraction. I did do my gap year in an animal rescue centre but it was bloody hard work. Perhaps a nice relaxing retreat is in order. I could stay there for twenty to thirty years until this embarrassing catastrophe has blown over.
I quickly flick to Milly-May’s Instagram to see how she handles a good crisis. There’s a picture of her looking radiant in what looks like a steaming hot spring, saying she has just arrived at the Centre for Massage in Iceland, and it’s sorting her right out, hashtag new beginnings, hashtag over it, hashtag spiritual awakening. A thought occurs. There is a way out of this. A way that I can escape, just for a while, until I come up with a plan. I quickly ring my dad. He is enduring a day out at Ikea.
‘Dad?’ I say urgently.
‘Yes, my love? Is everything alright? I’ll put your mother on.’
‘No, don’t!’
I am the daughter of two very poor listeners. My mother is a controlling meddler, and my father favours weak parenting to keep the peace. I promptly burst into noisy sobs (his kryptonite) and blurt out what has happened. I can hear my mother trying to grapple the phone off him in the background.
In an unusual move, my father, sounding rather like he is defending a pro-wrestling title, confirms that I'm not to worry and that everything will turn out for the best. Then I run around the house searching for keys, my passport and some money. There is a flight leaving in two hours and come hell or high water, I am going to be on it. I yank my centuries-old, tatty suitcase out from under the bed, the handle coming easily away. Fortunately, I know where I can get a far newer one. She’ll never miss it, and besides, if it weren’t for her treachery, I wouldn’t be packing my whole life up like this in the first place.
Somehow, and I’m truly not proud of myself – not by a long stretch – within minutes, I’m lugging a bitterly-full case back from my sister’s room. I heave it up onto the bed and survey my new essentials; my sister’s luxury face creams and her GHD Platinum straighteners. As I search for her Chanel sunglasses, I come across her collection of bikinis, flip flops and sarongs from her life-changing jaunt to Koh Phi Phi in search of her ‘inner truth’. She’ll not be needing them any time soon, not with her newly acquired, high-powered job of sacking people for a living. My phone pings to warn me that I have only five minutes before the taxi comes. Just enough time to fling in all of my bits and pieces; the sum total of my life so far and everything I’ll ever need to start a new one, far from here and more importantly, far from Ava.
A minute and a half later and I am done. I survey the open case, satisfied that, in the interests of restoring balance, the passport and the handful of assorted knickers at least, are mine. And I’m confident that by the time I land in Spain, I will no longer be quite so livid… or light-fingered. One thing I know for certain, is that I AM NO LONGER A PEOPLE PLEASER. No matter what you do for them, they will only disappoint you and let you down. I’ve not even had so much as a single ‘happy birthday’ from any member of my family.
A whirlwind two-hour flight later, and everything suddenly feels real. As the cabin crew wave me off the plane and wish me good luck, I give them a brave smile. Apparently, the noise of the engines does not drown out a person’s heaving sobs in the rear toilet cubicle, as much as I had assumed it would. The gentle knock on the toilet door was followed by a warm smile and four miniature bottles of vodka and doll-sized cans of Diet Coke for me to take back to my seat. I am now officially going to be living in Spain until I can come up with a plan. A plan that involves more than just running away, that is. I have booked myself into a spa retreat (the stress buster package) for three days before heading over to my family’s holiday villa. Not only is it my favourite place in the whole world, but crucially, it is Ava and mother-free. We’ve hardly used it over the last few years due to my parents discovering booze cruises.
I can feel my heart hammering in my chest as I follow the crowd of passengers through to the terminal.
Deep breaths. What am I doing?
