How to Get a (Love) Life (14 page)

‘Shall I deal with it?’ I suggested quietly, holding out my hand for the contract.

‘Brilliant, brilliant. Yes do that. He likes you and we have to keep that man happy!’ He slapped me on the back so that I lurched forward. ‘Oh sorry, er, right, must go.’ Grabbing his jacket, he headed for the door. ‘Bye, Nicola.’

I waved the contract at his back. ‘See you tomorrow.’

‘Bye, Caroline,’ I heard him call from our office.

‘Oh, don’t forget lunch, James! You’ll pass out!’ she cried out, as he raced down the stairs and out onto the street.

I hurried to the window and watched him walk briskly down the road, one hand fiddling with the collar of his jacket, the other reaching for his mobile to make a call. He seemed so distracted lately, the bags under his eyes back with a vengeance. I hoped he was alright.

I didn’t have to wait long to hear from Chris. The landline trilled and I answered the phone in James’ office with my usual brisk: ‘The Sullivan Agency, Nicola speaking.’

‘Ah, I hoped it would be you, Nic-o-laaaaaaa,’ sang a male baritone. I held the phone away from my ear as he finished the note.

‘Chris,’ I said, trying desperately to sound efficient and formal.

It seemed to work, as Chris stopped singing and replied, ‘Nicola,’ in a vaguely sensible voice. Progress.

‘I assume you’re calling back about the repeat fees for Channel 5,’ I continued in the same uber-professional tone.

‘Well, then you assume wrong,’ he retorted.

‘So why are you ringing?’ I asked, beginning to worry that I
did
need James here after all.

‘I’m ringing specifically to hear your dulcet tones, Nicola,’ he smarmed.

I groaned inwardly, ‘Right, Chris. Look, if by some chance you do also want to know about your repeat fees, I can confirm that you will be receiving them once the show has been aired. And if you don’t, then of course let us know and we can chase them up for you with the company.’

‘That is
super
kind of you, Nic-o-la,’ he laughed.

I gave him a curt, ‘Not at all,’ in reply.

‘So, Nic-o-la, I actually also need to send in my contract with the agency, as it’s coming up for renewal.’

Yes, this was important, I thought, hand tightening on the receiver. Chris was one of our most successful, and therefore profitable, clients. We had to keep him on our books.

‘But, you see, I don’t feel like signing it unless you guys do something for me …’

‘Chris, I’m sorry but you’ll really need to talk to James, I mean Mr Sullivan, about that because I don’t have the power to alter your contract with us, and any queries regarding percentages and—’

‘—Nicola, Nicola, Nicola,’ he interrupted.

I stopped.

‘You
can
help with this.’

‘Honestly, Chris, this really isn’t my area of experti—’

‘—Nicola,’ he repeated lightly, ‘I won’t sign the contract at all if you continue to make excuses.’

I stopped talking instantly.

‘Now,’ he purred down the line. ‘I will only sign the new contract if, and this is where you come in, you agree to come to dinner and then to my New Year’s party as my,’ he lingered over the last word, ‘date.’

‘What?’ I exclaimed.

‘You heard me. So will you, Ni-co-la?’ he asked.

‘No! That’s, don’t be silly. I can’t, well, it’s just tha—’

‘—Plans already?’ he asked.

‘Well, no, but …’

‘It’s settled then,’ he said decisively. ‘I’ll sign the contracts, you’ll come to my party,’ he confirmed, as if it were all so simple.

‘It’s very kind of you to ask, but—’

‘—The theme is Celebrities, so dress up glam, Nicola. Not that you’ll need to try very hard,’ he crooned. ‘I’ll call you about further details; I have your mobile number.’ He laughed once more, a loud bark that reverberated down the line. ‘It’s a date, then.’

And with that, he hung up. I was left staring at the receiver, a fairly usual pose for the end of a phone conversation with Chris Sheldon-Wade. I replaced the handset, mind working overtime. How on earth could I keep him on side but
not
endure an entire evening as his date? My shoulders slumped as I realised that I didn’t have much choice. I’d have to go. His business was far too important to the agency, and I could make this small sacrifice. I pictured James’ wild hair, the new lines round his eyes, and found my resolve firming up. I was going to help him.

I left James’ office and walked slowly back into the main office, shaking my head at the thought of Chris Sheldon-Wade.

Caroline gave me a sideways look. ‘Are you going out for lunch, Nicola?’ she asked.

‘Yes, you know I am,’ I said, perplexed by her question. Earlier that morning, I’d spent a good five minutes describing, in detail, the baguette I’d set my heart on (a few bits of bread weren’t going to hurt me, I’d argued, and Caroline had been quick to agree). A new deli around the corner sold the most mouth-watering sandwiches, and a melted goat’s cheese Panini had been dancing through my mind all morning.

‘Good. See you when you get back,’ she said, nudging me out of my baguette-based daydream and getting up from her desk. Then, without warning, she threw my handbag at me and bustled me out of the office.

‘Caroline, quit it! I’m going, I’m going! I just need my coat,’ I protested.

Before I’d even finished this sentence, however, she had found said item and was holding it out for me to take.

‘Bye then,’ she breezed, and promptly closed the door on me.

I stood, bewildered, at the top of the stairs. What a day! I needed that baguette. I set off down the street with my eye on the goal. Melted cheese and peppers …

After gorging myself, I went to do a little shopping. A bit of retail therapy really helped lift my mood and wiped away the manic morning I’d had. I bought the usual Pledge, Vanish, a new carpet cleaner they’d been advertising on TV that week, dusters, a light yellow jumper, and presents for various family members. Christmas was coming around fast. I got back to the office with around four bags in each hand, pushed open the door with my bottom and shuffled backwards into the room. Our usual strip lighting didn’t seem to be on and the office was cast in an eerie orange glow, unusual for this time of day. I poked at the light switch on the wall with my nose, finally managing to turn it on on the fourth go. The room was flooded with light and, as I turned, I heard a tiny squeal, felt something rush past me, and then everything darkened again.

‘What is going on?’ I asked, completely disorientated. The blinds were down, and a scarf draped over the lamp in the corner gave the room a strange sepia effect. ‘Caroline, what are you up to?’

In the half-light I could see Caroline standing in the centre of the room and a strange figure sitting at my desk. ‘Caroline, what is going on?’ I asked again.

‘Shh, Nicola, come in, come in.’ Caroline beckoned, taking my bags from me. ‘This is Clara,’ she said, gesturing towards my desk. Using the same slightly husky tone, she added, ‘Clara, this is Nicola.’

‘Nicola,’ repeated the figure at my desk, bowing her head a little in my direction. My eyes began to adjust to the gloom and I could make out the figure in the shadows: a woman. She seemed to be wearing the most unusual clothes: a silvery triangle of shawl edged with sequins covered her shoulders and chest, a large piece of cloth acted as a bulky headband, and enormous jewelled earrings glinted at me in the semi-darkness. I assumed she was one of Caroline’s more quirky friends, someone she’d met at a pottery class, perhaps – a hippie woman who listened to whale music, carved Aboriginal jewellery in the evenings and danced naked over fires on festival days. I’d met one such woman at one of Caroline’s infamous guacamole and fajita parties. She’d spent the evening teaching me the words to a rare Buddhist chant and had shown me how to shape a napkin into the image of a rose.

Realising Clara was waiting for my response, I whispered an, ‘Er, hello,’ and then decided to bow back at her.

What was going on?

‘James is out all afternoon, so I invited Clara over to assist us,’ said Caroline in a hushed voice. ‘I wanted to get everything set up before you returned.’

‘Er, assist us with what?’ I whispered back at her.

‘Our project,’ she said, motioning for me to sit in the empty seat by Clara.

Something winked in the half-light.

‘Is that a
crystal ball
?’ I squeaked, completely abandoning my hushed tone.

‘It is,’ drawled Clara, giving me an enigmatic smile.

‘What is “our project” exactly?’ I asked, turning to Caroline.

‘Er, you.’ She gave me a non-too-gentle shove towards the ball and the woman in the shawl.

I sat down sharply in the seat and squinted at Clara.

‘I just figured you haven’t had the best luck so far,’ explained Caroline, shrugging her shoulders. ‘So I thought we should call on the cosmos for a little guidance.’

‘The cosmos,’ I muttered, unable to meet Clara’s eye, which wouldn’t have mattered as I realised her eyes were shut and she seemed focused on emitting a low humming noise, head tilted towards the ceiling, hands on the orb. I shot Caroline a look. But Caroline was now back at her desk mimicking the movements of Clara, her eyes shut, her hands resting on her desk.

‘Nicola,’ Clara said, suddenly reaching out her hand for mine.

I looked at it uncertainly.

She searched my face with her piercing blue eyes. I didn’t want to hold this woman’s hand. I was already jumpy. What if she put a spell on me? Her eyes wandered over my face. I tried to avert my gaze, lest she hexed me and I was sucked into her dark magic.

As if she could read my thoughts, she said, ‘Calm, Nicola,’ in a slow, controlled voice.

It frightened the crap out of me.

‘You are searching for something,’ she stated, continuing to stare at me with those startling blue eyes.

‘Er …’ my voice was a whisper. ‘Yes,’ I confirmed.

This wasn’t an enormously impressive start. I assumed Caroline had given her some background. Still, those eyes …

‘The journey will be hard,’ she started, then stopped and took my hands, turning them over so the palms were facing up. ‘You will be faced with choices, difficult choices. Some paths might be blocked and others beckoning to you.’

I nervously looked about me. She actually spoke like I’d imagined fortune tellers to speak. All weird half sentences and obscure metaphors.

‘You must learn how to recognise the path you should travel. But sometimes you can do this only by taking the road you should not.’

‘Um, so what you’re saying is, I should try to um …’ I petered off. I was still going over ‘the path I should travel, some I shouldn’t’ speech in my mind.

She went on. ‘You must be wary of being blind to the right path,’ she warned.

‘Okay,’ I said, but only to fill the gap.

‘The new project is good, but you must ensure you do not deviate. It will be hard but you will learn things about yourself. By doing this, your goal will be realised and you will be fulfilled.’

‘Well, that is good to hear.’

‘Follow the path.’

‘I will,’ I said, confusion edging into my voice once more.

‘Soon, you will meet someone who seems perfectly suited to what you are searching for,’ Clara added.

Caroline looked over and gave me a thumbs up.

‘That’s good,’ I acknowledged. It sounded promising. ‘So er, when will that be?’ I asked, hoping she’d offer up a specific calendar date.

‘Soon,’ she repeated, obviously keeping her (metaphoric) cards close to her chest. ‘Although sometimes we think we know what we want, and we do not,’ she said cryptically.

Caroline’s thumbs up wavered uncertainly and she returned to closing her eyes.

‘I sense that recently times have been hard. We must always use our trials to make ourselves stronger,’ she said: very Oprah.

‘And round the corner there’s trouble with your mother,’ she warned.

‘There’s always trouble with my mother,’ I sighed, beginning to think Clara might have lost her thread.

‘You will be headed for one destination on the plane.’

I was getting lost again. A plane? An aeroplane? The Astral plane? It was very hard to tell.

‘Repeat after me,’ she said and began to chant.

At this point, Caroline opened one of her eyes. My mouth was gaping.

After a couple of minutes of embarrassed attempts to copy her chanting I gave up. ‘I’m sorry, Clara, I’m not really a chanting sort of person,’ I said apologetically.

‘That is part of your problem,’ she scolded (I think she was quite miffed, but I imagine Caroline was paying her, so she soldiered on).

‘Can we go back to what you were saying earlier,’ I suggested. ‘The meeting someone thing you were talking about.’

‘Yes, as I said, you will meet someone …’

‘Right, um … What does he look like?’

‘He will be what you’re hoping for,’ she said in her mysterious
I-own-sixteen-different-types-of-incense
voice.

This wasn’t quite the detailed description I’d been hoping for. I’d been thinking more along the lines of brown hair, 6ft 2, will be wearing cream chinos and a blue jumper when you meet him.

‘But you can’t rely on someone else for your own contentment. You need to find peace within yourself,’ Clara continued.

‘Sorry, Clara,’ I interrupted. ‘So going back to er, what he looks like again … It’s just, how will I know exactly …?’

She gave a resigned sigh. ‘He will be tall, well-built and he will …’

This was more like it.

‘… have thick hair and excellent dress sen—’

Just at that moment there was a coughing sound from the doorway. I jumped up, swaying slightly as I realised James was standing in the doorway with a baffled expression on his face and a beautiful girl on his arm: Thalia, the fashion designer girlfriend. I flung myself across the room and hit the light switch in the hope that this might help. It didn’t. Our bizarre scene was now fully illuminated for James and his stunning girlfriend to see. They looked highly confused. Caroline blinked like a newborn animal emerging from its cave into the sunshine and Clara was, well, seated calmly at my desk looking like she’d been well aware we were to be interrupted. I suppose she’d known, what with being able to see into the future. I wondered if she could see how much trouble I was going to get into? Could she see what other jobs were available in the Clifton area?