When She Was Bad (6 page)

‘Wow, thank you. I don’t know . . . Wow, so you’ll be creating another deputy position?’

Amira couldn’t remember the last time she’d used the word ‘wow’, and now she’d just said it twice in one sentence.

Rachel held Amira’s gaze. Once, Amira’s parents’ house had subsided and steel rods had had to be drilled into the rock below to underpin it. That’s just how Rachel’s eyes felt now. Like steel rods boring into her own.

‘No. There’s just the one deputy position.’

‘But Paula is . . . Oh.’

The realization rendered her wordless. Still Rachel’s eyes didn’t leave hers, cut glass pinioning her to the chair.

‘So now you can appreciate the need for discretion. I want people I can rely on, Amira. I’m not saying it’s a foregone conclusion you’ll get the job, but from what I can see, you’d make an excellent deputy. I hope you’ll at least think about it.’

Hurrying back through the office, Amira made sure to avoid eye contact with any of her workmates. Safely installed behind her own desk, she was surprised by a wave of resentment that came seemingly from nowhere. How dare Rachel Masters put her in this position? They’d all worked alongside each other for years without problem and now in she came, trying to stir up trouble between them. But soon her anger turned on herself. Why hadn’t she said something? Why hadn’t she stuck up for Paula, told Rachel where to stick her promotion? Where was her moral compass?

Her phone vibrated with a text from Tom.

How’s the guilt?

For a wild moment, she felt he must have sensed her monumental spinelessness from wherever he was, until she remembered about the auto-correct mistake in her earlier message.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Paula get up from her desk. Amira immediately switched her attention to her computer screen, pretending to be engrossed in the response of a tech client to the latest batch of
CVS
she’d sent him. Her desk was on the main route out to reception and the toilets so she wasn’t concerned when Paula headed straight for her. However, her heart sank when her colleague stopped by her chair.

‘How’d it go in there?’ Paula asked with a smile so tight it was like a fold in paper. Amira saw how it strained at the sides of her face.

‘Oh, you know,’ she replied. ‘Bit scary.’

Paula’s face relaxed.

‘You too? Yes, she is a bit intimidating. Maybe she’ll let her guard down when we all go out to lunch.’

As she moved off, Amira battled an urge to go after her, to explain herself. It wasn’t her fault. She hadn’t encouraged Rachel or said anything to indicate she’d apply for the job. And obviously she wouldn’t even countenance it. Not for a minute. Yet still, as Paula exited through the double doors to the lobby, Amira felt as if she’d betrayed her. Guilt sat in her stomach hard as a stone.

11
Charlie

‘I don’t do food in a box.’

‘Sh! You’re just going to have to swallow your principles and slum it for once.’

‘I don’t get it. What’s so wrong with a plate?’

Charlie hated the restaurant chain with its Scandanavian-style blond wood tables and bright ethnic prints and the supposedly healthy menu where everything was sprinkled with pomegranate seeds and alfalfa and called Superfood this or Superfood that and then wrapped up in a doughy carbohydrate-sodden wrap.

He and Sarah were the last staff members queuing to order their food. The others were sitting around a large table by the window which was already strewn with cardboard boxes and plastic smoothie cups. Rachel Masters sat at one end picking at something green and leafy with a stubby wooden fork. To her left, Chloe was leaning forward and saying something with that red rash flaring up like the Olympic flame on her chest as it always did when she was nervous. Charlie felt sorry for the girl. She could be a bit silly sometimes and inclined to be self-absorbed, but it was hard to hold your own in an office of much older people. On Rachel’s other side, Ewan was grasping a bulging wrap in both hands while gazing over its top at their new boss with an expectant smile poised on his lips, just waiting to pounce on a flippant remark or an encouraging look. Oh dear. Poor Ewan.

‘Someone needs to pop Ewan back in his crate with a blanket over the top,’ he whispered to Sarah as they made their way over to the table. ‘Calm him down.’

‘I thought he and Chloe had a thing?’

‘Euw. Child-snatcher.’

‘Perhaps you could tell us all the joke. We could do with a laugh.’ Rachel’s glossy lips were parted in a smile, but her eyes were cold. Charlie’s own lips suddenly felt sun-shrivelled dry. He’d worked in recruitment for years. He was an experienced, conscientious member of the team. Gill had privately told him he was the backbone of the department, so why did he feel as if he was back in the primary-school playground suddenly, loitering by the girls’ area, just praying to be left alone?

‘Oh, we were just laughing about the food,’ Sarah said. Charlie was shocked to see that her hand, clutching its little box of salad, was actually trembling.

‘Yes,’ he broke in quickly, wanting to rescue her. ‘I mean, has anyone in the entire history of Death Row ever asked for a last meal of alfalfa sprouts or quinoa?’

He and Sarah both did those false laughs people do on TV – that come from the throat and not the belly.

‘I thought it would be nice for us all to have a clearing-the-air session, away from the formality of the office,’ said Rachel, addressing the whole table.

If Chloe’s head nodded much more fervently it would surely detach itself from her body.

‘I’m very aware that things have been difficult, the last few days. Transitions are always tricky. But I want to urge you to come to me with any questions or problems or complaints. Far better to have them out in the open where they can be addressed instead of whispering in corners, which only creates a bad atmosphere.’

Was she looking at him? There’d been a moment when he’d felt rather than seen her eyes on him, like fingernails digging in his flesh. Charlie shifted uneasily and plunged his wooden fork into his food. The organic, free-range, probably ashtanga-yoga-practising chicken tasted like something that had been spat out and then reconstituted, its texture unpleasantly claggy.

‘I thought it would be good today to go round the table and for each of you to say one thing you think could improve the performance of this department.’

What was this, circle time?

He and Sarah shared a brief look. One of her eyebrows was infinitesimally raised. When was the last time she had plucked them, anyway? Charlie missed the days of Sarah BC (before children) when the two of them used to go out after work and sit in gay pubs eyeing up men and singing medleys of West End musicals. She was already with Oliver then, but they’d quite happily kept separate friends. Not that Charlie had anything against Oliver, just that Sarah was more fun when she wasn’t with him. Now when he thought back to those days, she with her fiery red curls and ready gap-toothed smile and weakness for sweet, liqueur-based cocktails that they’d stock up on in two-for-one happy hours, it was like a different life, like a holiday that, once home, you struggled to believe had ever happened. In the last four years, Sarah had acquired two children, at least ten extra kilos and a permanent frown-line down the bridge of her nose. They rarely went out anywhere any more, and when they did she’d spend most of her time fielding phone calls from Oliver asking the whereabouts of favourite toys or why Sam was refusing to eat whatever mush she’d left for dinner, or why Joe wouldn’t stop crying. More often than not they’d both go home more stressed rather than less.

‘Sarah. I can see you’re dying to share something with the rest of us. Let’s have your thoughts.’

From the corner of his eye, Charlie watched Sarah’s hands. She was literally wringing them together in her lap. He couldn’t remember ever actually seeing someone do that before. Squeezing, then turning, squeezing, then turning.

‘Me? Ha! Typical – it would have to be me!’

Sarah tended to do this when she was nervous – speak a stream of nonsense just to say something.

‘OK. So what single thing could improve the department . . .’

She did that a lot as well. Repeated the question to buy time.
Come on
, he urged her silently.
Have faith in yourself.

‘Well, I think the temporary follow-up system could be made a little more efficient than it is now. That’s the system for doing the after-debrief with clients for one-off functions and events, getting feedback, making sure things went smoothly. We’ve been doing it for about eighteen months but it’s still a touch hit and miss.’

Rachel was still smiling at her, a smile as hard and bright as an overhead striplight.

‘Thank you, Sarah. That’s a great start. So you’ve been running this system for eighteen months. Who was responsible for it in the first place?’

Sarah gazed blankly at Rachel as if she was suddenly speaking in tongues.

‘Come on. Someone must have come up with the system in the first place. It’s only eighteen months old. Who was it?’

A faint sheen had appeared on Sarah’s upper lip.

‘I don’t . . . I can’t remember.’

‘Someone must remember.’

Rachel cast her eyes around the table, her smile unwavering. Ewan shrugged theatrically, Amira looked up to the ceiling as if trying to dredge her memory. Only Chloe, who was too junior to be involved, was unbothered. The silence stretched over the table, tight as cling film. Finally Paula spoke.

‘I think it was me, actually.’ Her voice came out in a squeak like someone unused to speaking.

‘Great. So you’ll be able to say whether you think Sarah is right.’

‘I didn’t mean . . .’ Sarah burst in, unable to stop herself, but then seemed not to have the faintest idea what she hadn’t meant.

‘I agree that the system might benefit from some . . . updating,’ Paula began, ‘but I certainly don’t think it’s responsible for the department underperforming. If anything, I think the problem lies with the staff structure. It’s too apple-shaped, too wide around the middle. Things are getting clogged up in the centre because no one is really sure who is handling what. There ought to be a more streamlined chain of command.’

Too wide around the middle?
So basically she was saying there were too many people on the same mid-managerial level, which in effect, meant Sarah, Amira, Ewan and Charlie himself. For a few seconds, Charlie tried to think of an alternative meaning for what Paula had said, but judging by the expression on Amira and Sarah’s faces, there wasn’t one. Ewan was determinedly tucking into his wrap. Maybe he hadn’t followed Paula’s remark to its final logical conclusion, or maybe he thought he was safe somehow. Had Rachel said something to him? He certainly did seem to be cosying up to her. Anyway, Ewan had his own separate sphere of responsibility – recruiting IT personnel – so maybe he thought he wouldn’t be affected.

Paula, whose face had worn a rosily defiant expression while defending her post-event follow-up system, was now looking ashen, as if she’d just realized the implications of what she’d said. Charlie was starting to feel an unfamiliar burning in the pit of his stomach. Was Paula really suggesting Rachel get rid of one of them? Just what was she playing at? It now seemed ironic that just yesterday he’d stood in front of Rachel Masters and been outraged on Paula’s behalf when Rachel had brazenly asked if he was interested in Paula’s job. Well, of course he’d been outraged. It was so underhand. Nonetheless, he’d agreed not to mention it to anyone and he’d been true to his word, though more out of respect for Paula herself than any loyalty to the new boss.

‘I really wouldn’t feel comfortable discussing any change of role when there’s already someone doing that job,’ he’d told Rachel. ‘Particularly when it’s someone I’ve worked very closely with for a number of years.’

If he’d expected her to be embarrassed, he was disappointed.

‘Very creditable, I’m sure, Charlie. However, I should make it clear I’m anticipating a degree of staff realigning. Certain positions will inevitably become vacant in the reshuffle.’

Afterwards he wished he’d called her bluff, been more combative. Paula had been at the agency for ever. She predated the carpet in reception, and that was saying something. Rachel couldn’t just get rid of her like that. There were strict protocols to be adhered to, verbal and written warnings, disciplinary hearings. And it wasn’t even as if Paula was bad at her job – she just lacked a little spark. She was maybe a bit inclined to coast along doing everything the way it had always been done because what’s not broken didn’t need fixing. But though she might not be the most dynamic deputy in the world, she was reliable and experienced and she and Gill together had always been supportive to him.

Now, after what Paula had just said, or implied, about there being too many middle managers, he wondered if perhaps she could have found out that he’d been sounded out about her job and this was payback. But she wasn’t like that, surely? Paula had never been the vindictive sort.

Charlie looked over at Amira who was in turn exchanging wide-eyed glances with Sarah. The tension at the table was like an uninvited guest who’d arrived without warning and was refusing to leave.

At the far end Rachel Masters speared a whole cherry tomato. Reddish juice trickled from her mouth, and she licked it with the pink tip of her tongue.

12
Anne

Some days I look around at my life, my nice office, my secure job that gives me respect and status, my smart daughter, my lovely house, my interesting eclectic group of friends, and think I wouldn’t be here without my mother. Other days I look at it all and know I’d be somewhere better. My mother got me here. And she keeps me here.

‘Work hard,’ she told me, and then, ‘Work even harder. You’re attractive now, but looks fade. No one will give you anything for free.’

So I inherited from her the drive and determination to make it this far. And I also inherited from her the self-doubt that ensured I went no further, and the conviction that the cure for it lay in the bottom of a glass. The only difference between us is that she gave in to that conviction whereas I battle it, day after day, year after year.