My mum always loved to tell me a watched pot never boils. Utter nonsense, I would reply, of course it does. But I’d been watching the kettle in our little work kitchen for what felt like a lifetime and the bloody thing refused to boil. It was so long since I’d made myself a cup of tea at work, I assumed it had gone on strike. Enjoying a nice cup of Tetley’s finest had become a home-exclusive activity. The office called for coffee – lattes, cappuccinos, Americanos, espressos if I was in a bad way, flat whites if I was feeling fancy. I wasn’t sure when I’d switched from a lovely cup of tea to a bucket of rocket fuel, but I did know I missed it. Jenny had insisted I switch to decaffeinated beverages because caffeine was bad for the baby. So now I was both perpetually knackered and suffering caffeine withdrawals, a wonderful combination that definitely helped me get through the day with a smile on my face.
‘Mine’s with milk and two sugars.’
I turned around to see Joe gurning at me on the other side of the fridge.
‘What?’
‘Not really,’ he said, straightening his tie. ‘I don’t do sugar or dairy.’
‘Of course you don’t,’ I replied, heaping a teaspoon full of the good stuff into my decaf brew. They can take away my caffeine, but they’ll never take my sugar, just like Braveheart said. Or something.
It was only a day since I’d given my presentation, I wasn’t expecting any answers just yet. I was hoping for them but I’d long since learned that anticipation was the mother of all kicks to the tits. A watched pot never boiled and a constantly refreshed inbox never delivered. Maybe my mum was onto something after all.
‘I’m very close to finalizing the new strategy,’ Joe said, eyeing my sugar consumption with disdain. At least, I hoped it was just my sugar consumption. It could have been the massive pompoms on the front of my jumper, but since I’d had no coffee in three weeks and gave approximately zero fucks, I would never really know. ‘I’m presenting to Delia and the board next week and we’ll be able to share with the group before the holidays.’
‘You’re going to announce a restructure before Christmas?’ I asked, stirring my milky tea. ‘So, there aren’t going to be any redundancies?’
‘Obviously this is all hypothetical and confidential, but why would that mean there aren’t going to be any redundancies?’ He looked at me, confused.
I felt as though I was going to puke and unusually, it had nothing to do with the baby.
‘You’re going to put people out of a job, right before Christmas?’
‘Better to get it done than drag it out into the New Year,’ he replied with his shark’s smile. ‘Wouldn’t you agree?’
‘Joe, can I ask,’ I picked up my tea and took a small sip, ‘who did you vote for in the last election?’
‘I’ll talk to you next week,’ he said, rapping on the refrigerator before he left. ‘I think you’re going to be excited.’
‘I can hardly contain myself,’ I assured him, heading in the opposite direction and back to my empty office.
Only it wasn’t empty.
Two very burly men and one officious-looking woman were removing the little settee that sat inside the door and bringing in a hot pink desk and matching chair.
‘I think you might have the wrong office,’ I said, holding my tea over my head to avoid spillage as I sidled around them to block their way. ‘This is my office, I’m not expecting any new furniture.’
‘Angela Clark?’ the woman asked, consulting a clipboard as she spoke. ‘Office 1223?’
I nodded.
‘Then this is the correct office.’
Loading themselves up like a little human forklift, the two men picked up my settee and backed themselves out of the office. I followed as clipboard lady called the lift.
‘The order was signed by Joe Herman,’ she explained, flashing a scribble on a piece of paper at me. ‘I’m sure he can explain.’
‘I’m sure he can,’ I replied. ‘And I’m sure he won’t.’
Half the office was out on lunch but those that remained were all ears. Constantly having to bite my tongue had aged me ten years in the last three weeks. I was going to start billing my sheet masks back to the company and boy, did I love a sheet mask.
‘What’s happening?’ Jason asked, clutching at his throat as I hovered by his desk. ‘Are you leaving? Did you get fired? Are you supposed to be taking the furniture with you?’
‘I didn’t get fired, I’m not leaving,’ I said, watching as it disappeared into the lift, ‘but I’m not sure what’s going on.’
‘What’s with Barbie’s Dream Desk?’ Megan popped up from her desk, three different shades of eyeshadow on each eye. ‘Are you redecorating?’
‘Do I really look like someone who would have a neon pink desk in her office?’ I asked. They looked at each other and then nodded. ‘Yeah, I totally would. Where do you think it’s from? I wonder if Alex would let me have one at home.’
‘Everything’s all right, isn’t it?’ Megan asked, lowering her voice. ‘Ever since they cleared out marketing I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop. One of the guys on Ghost told me he saw Caroline from The Look crying in the toilets yesterday.’
‘One of my guys on Ghost told me they’re firing their editor,’ Jason confided. I tried not to look startled; if they fired Mason’s editor, what would that mean for him?
‘There’s so much gossip going around at the moment, and I bet hardly any of it is true,’ I said, trying to throw them off the scent. ‘Do you really believe Caroline Galvani was crying in the toilets?’
Jason nodded. Megan looked doubtful.
‘There’s no way,’ I insisted, even though I was quite sure she had been. The look on her face as she left Delia’s office had kept me awake half the night. ‘She’s such a professional, it just wouldn’t happen. Even I wouldn’t cry in the toilets at work.’
‘You cry all the time,’ Megan replied. ‘You cried in the morning meeting on Monday.’
‘That was Sophie’s fault for playing that video of the dog that hadn’t seen his owner in five years,’ I argued.
‘And you were crying at your desk this morning,’ Jason added. ‘I didn’t like to say, but basically we all saw.’
‘I was watching the dog video again,’ I replied. ‘The point is, I would never cry in the toilets about work stuff and neither would Caroline Galvani.’
‘Oh,’ Megan snapped her fingers and pointed at Jason, ‘what about that time Idris Elba came in and you missed him because you were buying cronuts? You cried in the toilets then.’
‘As I was saying, I very much doubt anyone saw Caroline Galvani crying in the toilets yesterday and if she was, I’m sure she had a very good reason,’ I replied. ‘Maybe she was trying to get tickets to the Katy Perry concert and they’d all sold out.’
‘Angela, I love you but you’re a terrible liar,’ Jason said. ‘How long until we know whether or not we’re all gonna get fired?’
I had two choices. I could tell them the truth or I could lie.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I lied.
‘Worst. Liar. Ever,’ Megan replied.
‘Fine, I should know what’s going on by the end of next week,’ I semi-admitted. ‘I don’t want you to panic. The best thing you can do right now is carry on as usual, don’t give anyone any reason to doubt how great we are.’
‘We are pretty great,’ Jason acknowledged. ‘And we know you’ve got our back.’
‘Always,’ I promised, relieved to see smiles on their faces. Smiles that promptly vanished as Cici appeared at my side.
‘What are we talking about?’ she asked, with a strained attempt at a smile.
‘Angela was just telling us how we shouldn’t worry about losing our jobs because she’s got our backs,’ Jason said, shooting me an OK sign. ‘Right, chief?’
‘Right,’ I said, shooting one right back.
‘Oh, sure,’ Cici laughed, her hand fluttering over her chest. ‘That’s cute. Can I speak to you for a moment?’
‘In my office,’ I replied, drawing her away from my crestfallen staff and closing the door behind us.
‘What’s with this piece of crap?’ Cici asked, prodding the desk with the toe of her Gucci loafer. ‘Are you already ordering furniture for the nursery?’
‘Why would I be ordering a hot pink desk for a nursery?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know,’ she replied, pulling a face. ‘Looks like the kind of tat you’d be into.’
‘Well, you’re right, it is,’ I said, leaning my bum on the edge of my desk. ‘But I don’t know why it’s in here and I’d appreciate it if you could find out.’
‘I guess I could,’ she shrugged. ‘But I probably won’t. I’m gonna be leaving today.’
‘Leaving early?’ I asked.
‘No, leaving,’ she replied, dropping her head to one side. ‘I quit.’
There had been days when I had sat at my desk and dreamed of this moment. For the first few years of our acquaintance, Cici Spencer had made my life miserable. Even after she gave up trying to get me fired, destroy my relationship, and generally sabotage my life, the best we’d ever managed was an uneasy truce where I didn’t fire her and she didn’t spit in my coffee. To the best of my knowledge. But now things really had changed.
‘I just talked to HR and I’m out,’ she announced, her perfectly oval face entirely decided. ‘My contract says I have to work a fourteen-day notice, but they didn’t seem to care, said I could leave at the end of the day.’
I bet they did. I could only imagine how many champagne corks were popping in HR at that second. Cici had, for the most part, been a terrible assistant, but she’d been an actual terror of an employee. I’d had more emails from HR asking whether or not there was any truth in the reports people had filed against her than I’d had from Facebook asking whether or not I remembered taking a drunk selfie seven years ago.
‘I was thinking about what you said yesterday and you’re right,’ Cici said. ‘I don’t want to be here any more. As long as I’m working at Spencer, I’m always going to be Bob’s granddaughter or Delia’s sister, and that sucks. I want to be taken seriously.’
‘And you decided this overnight?’ I asked, still slightly stunned.
‘Yes?’
‘And you’re sure?’
‘Totally,’ she insisted and I could see that she was. Gone was the trademark smirk and the ever-present you’re-boring-me-to-death-by-breathing expression and in its place, there was a smile. A simple, genuine smile.
‘Wow.’ I couldn’t quite believe it but I was truly sad. Honestly, utterly, end-of-The Notebook-level gutted.
‘I want to love what I do and I want it to be mine,’ she explained. ‘I don’t want to live with something I had handed to me, I want to create something that is all me.’
‘I get it, I really do,’ I told her, so confused by how incredibly upset I was. It was the baby’s fault, it had to be. My unborn child had imprinted on Cici Spencer and there was nothing I could do about it. ‘You want to make something for yourself. What happens when you give a man a fish and all that.’
‘If you give a man a fish, he has a fish.’ She reached out to press her palm against my forehead. ‘Have you eaten this afternoon? Do you have low blood sugar?’
‘Don’t worry about it.’ I felt my eyes prickle and pinched the inside of my arm, determined not to scare Cici with outward emotion. ‘So, is this you officially handing in your notice?’
‘Yep,’ she said, throwing up her arms and looking around the office. ‘You’re getting a temp tomorrow morning.’
‘Obviously, I’m not going to cry,’ I said, immediately bursting into tears. ‘But I’ll be really, really sad to see you go.’
‘Quit it,’ she snapped, snatching two tissues out of the box on my desk and pressing them into my hands. ‘And I think you mean jealous, not sad.’
‘What are you talking about?’ I sniffed, dabbing at my cheeks.
‘Please, Angela.’ She rolled her enormous eyes and cackled. ‘I’m like the least observant human on earth when it comes to feelings and even I can see how stressed you’ve been lately. This isn’t the same place it used to be. Just because Delia is your buddy doesn’t mean she’s creating an Angela-friendly utopia for you to work in. Things are only going to get worse for you and you know it.’
‘You’re just saying that because you’re leaving,’ I replied, unsure as to whether I was trying to convince her or myself. ‘Things are going to be rough for a while but then it’s going to go right back to how it was.’
‘There’s no such thing as how it was,’ Cici argued. ‘You know what? You’re the worst editor ever.’
A gasp caught in the back of my throat and choked its way into the world like a baby seal with whooping cough.
‘Not the worst editor,’ she corrected herself as I fought to regain the power of speech. ‘You’re a good editor, but you suck at being in charge. It’s like, you saw The Devil Wears Prada and said, “I guess I’ll do the opposite of that.” Anna Wintour would weep if she saw the way you break your back to have everyone like you. She would cry genuine human tears – and you know the rumour is she wears those sunglasses all the time because she had her tear ducts removed and it permanently damaged her eyesight and now she can only be exposed to sunlight for two hours a day.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ I sniffed, biting the inside of my cheek.
‘No, it’s totally true,’ Cici said, examining her cuticles. ‘I went to school with her kid and my nanny heard it from her nanny.’
‘Not that part,’ I argued, crossing my arms in a huff. ‘The part about me only caring about people liking me. Although I also refuse to believe the Anna Wintour story until I have it verified by a doctor or see it on E! News.’
‘I didn’t mean to upset you,’ she said for the first time ever. ‘I figured you already knew. I think you’re going to be a great mom, Angela. You sacrifice everything for everyone else, all the time. You stay late so other people can go home early, you work on weekends so the team doesn’t have to, and I know the reason this restructure is freaking you out is because you’re worried about everyone else.’
‘I’m worried about myself as well,’ I said. ‘It is possible to care about yourself and other people at the same time, you know.’
‘Not in this job,’ Cici replied. ‘You’ve got to be ruthless to win at this.’
It was an eye-opening experience, getting life advice from Cici Spencer. I did not care for it.
‘Joe is an asshole,’ she declared. ‘He was an asshole when we dated in college and he’s an asshole now. It’s not something I like to brag about, but he cheated on me and then told everyone I was the one who cheated and of course, everyone believed him.’
‘That’s what people do,’ I replied with a pang of guilt. It hadn’t even occurred to me to get Cici’s side of the story before believing Joe’s secondhand. What a massive shitbag I was, damn my internalized misogyny. What would Beyoncé think?
‘But assholes are good at this job, that’s why Dee Dee hired him and I’ll let you in on a secret, she’s kind of an asshole too.’ Cici looked over her shoulder at the buzzing office outside my door. ‘I know you love the magazine, but will you still love it when it’s ten o’clock at night on a Monday, Sophie’s pages still need proofreading, and you haven’t seen your baby in fifteen hours?’
‘Yes,’ I said, sticking out my chin defiantly.
‘And will Alex love that?’ she asked.
‘Might not love it,’ I said quietly. ‘But he’d understand.’
I looked down at my jumper and dried my eyes on a pink pompom. When did she get so insightful? Was it actually Delia doing an amazing Cici impression? Or was I tripping from caffeine withdrawals?
‘To be honest, I’m kind of amazed he hasn’t cheated on you already,’ she said with what she thought was a supportive smile. ‘You’re always here and he’s super hot. You got knocked up at just the right time, that was smart.’
‘OK, so you’re leaving.’ I wiped my nose on the back of my hand and cleared my throat. ‘Should we hug?’
‘I quit, I’m not dying,’ she replied, recoiling at the thought. ‘Don’t be mad at me, you made me think about stuff and now I’m returning the favour.’
Just what I needed, more things to think about.
‘Much appreciated,’ I said graciously. ‘As insane as it sounds, I am going to miss you. Do you have any ideas about what you want to do?’
‘I know exactly what I’m going to do,’ she said. ‘I never would have seen it if you hadn’t given me the push. If there’s something else out there for me, there’s something else out there for you.’
She took an uncomfortable step towards me and closed her arms around my shoulders in a stiff, boxy hug.
‘You’ll figure it out,’ she said, pulling away and patting me on the shoulder. ‘Or you won’t, whatever.’
With that, she walked through the door, slipped on her coat and grabbed her Givenchy handbag from underneath her desk.
‘Office announcement,’ she shouted as she strode across the room to summon the lift. It dutifully appeared on command. ‘I’m leaving. Peace out, bitches.’
‘Is it true?’ Jason panted as he sprinted through my door. ‘Is she gone? You fired her?’
‘I didn’t fire her, but yes, she’s gone,’ I confirmed.
‘She’s gone!’ Jason screamed around the door as the entire office burst into rapturous applause. ‘Sophie, you go get the cupcakes and I’ll grab the champagne.’
Lowering my blinds on the celebrations, I ran my hand over the cuckoo of a bright pink desk that had invaded my space. I hadn’t really changed anything since I moved into the office, just added to my nest. My wedding photo sat on top of one of the filing cabinets, pictures of me and Jenny at Erin’s wedding, dancing in Las Vegas, posing in front of the Thames with Louisa, and then another of me and Alex under the Eiffel Tower at sunset. The one thing I’d always had, the whole time I’d been in New York, was my job at Spencer Media. Even when Jenny disappeared to LA, even when me and Alex were working things out, I’d always had this. I’d just assumed I always would.
The giant teddy bear James had sent over sat in the corner next to my Alexander Skarsgård poster. How old was that now? How long had it been there? The edges curled and the white parts had turned yellow.
‘Et tu, Alexander?’ I whispered, taking a seat behind my desk before tapping the words ‘Anna Wintour tear duct surgery’ into a google search.
Enquiring minds had to know.