The Better Woman (31 page)

While the rest of the team prepared to transition IBM, Jodi and Ian were focused on wooing more big-name customers. They travelled all over the city, their mode of transport varying from the tube, to the infamous black cabs, to Ian's Saab convertible, which they used when their destination was out of town. The car would glide along the motorway as if on wings. Conversation was impossible as Ian liked to drive to loud music. He played U2 the most often, their original sound and edgy lyrics booming from the speakers. Jodi would lean back into the soft leather seat and allow the music to infuse her soul. She liked the band every bit as much as Ian. Not that she told him.

Fifteen or so minutes before they arrived at wherever they were going, Ian would turn down the music and run through the presentation one last time. He would reiterate the names of all those expected to be present and what he knew of their roles and personalities. Once there, he'd straighten his tie, run a hand through his wiry hair and adopt a businesslike expression. You would never guess he liked to listen to loud rock-and-roll in his car.

The presentations usually took about an hour. Sometimes, if the timing was right, Ian and Jodi would go for lunch afterwards and discuss how things had gone. Conversation was mostly based on business; Ian didn't talk about his private life and neither did
Jodi. The sum of her knowledge about Ian was that he lived in Notting Hill and had a sister named Gemma.

Their second big win was a medium-sized manufacturing company out at Windsor. The chairman of the board, an old fogy who looked like he would be better placed drawing his pension than deciding where to invest the firm's funds, had good news to impart.

‘My colleagues and I have decided to transfer the management of our pension fund to Invesco.'

The fund was in excess of sixty million pounds and Ian was grinning like a Cheshire cat as he slid in behind the wheel of the Saab. He pressed PLAY on the stereo before pulling out onto the road. ‘Angel of Harlem' boomed in the confines of the car as they drove along the tree-lined roads. Ian's fingers drummed the steering wheel. Jodi felt an unexpected surge of happiness.

Jodi sold the maisonette's furniture on
Loot
and Janice helped her move two suitcases of clothes and a few boxes of kitchenware to her new one-bedroom apartment.

The move took only one journey in Janice's little red car; however, the traffic was so bad that the maisonette seemed like a blurry memory by the time they finally reached their destination.

Janice helped Jodi unpack and organise the kitchen cupboards. The kitchen had new white fittings made from low-quality material. Linoleum covered the floor, also new, and just as cheap looking as the fittings.

‘Anything else I can help with?' asked Janice when everything was stored away in the cupboards.

‘No.' Jodi gave a forced smile. ‘The clothes can wait.'

Janice lingered for a while longer, wiping down surfaces and
picking up grey balls of fluff from the new carpet in the living room. Finally, she kissed Jodi's cheek, made arrangements to come again during the week, and took her leave. Jodi's brave face fell away as the door clicked shut. The place had none of the character of the maisonette. And none of the precious memories. There was an emptiness about it that couldn't be filled with any amount of furniture. She sank down on the thin grey carpet and put her head in her hands.

What on earth have I done?

Then she had a thought: maybe the maisonette hadn't been rented out yet. Maybe she could go back. She'd lose a month's rent on this place, but that didn't matter.

She stumbled to her feet. The apartment's phone wasn't yet connected so she'd have to find a pay phone. No problem. She searched her pockets for change, made sure she had a key, and pulled the door shut behind her.

She found a phone box a short walk away. She could hardly contain her impatience as she waited in the queue. She shuffled from foot to foot and mumbled replies to the inane comments of the woman ahead. Three people and ten minutes later it was her turn.

‘Sorry, the maisonette was snapped up straight away.' The receptionist at the estate agent's office dashed her hopes. ‘The tenants are moving in tomorrow. Two levels, big windows, nice carpet – places like that always go quickly.'

Jodi hung up without commenting that the carpet was dreary green and better covered with a rug. She felt tears prick her eyes as a man, looking every bit as impatient as she'd been earlier, brushed past on his way into the box.

The maisonette was going to be someone else's home. That was that. No going back now.

*

‘Jodi, a word please?'

Jodi looked up at the sound of Gretel's voice. Their office-sharing days had ceased when Invesco trimmed its work force and freed up space on the main floor a few months earlier. Now Jodi worked at a small workstation and Gretel had to come looking for her if she had something to discuss.

Jodi saved the file she was working on before following Gretel to her office.

‘Sit down,' Gretel commanded with an abrupt nod towards the closest free chair. Gretel didn't usually waste time by asking her visitors to sit.

Jodi sat obediently, crossed her legs at the ankles and tried to suppress the worry that she might be the next redundancy at Invesco.

‘As you know, the company has been reducing its costs . . .' Gretel began.

Jodi's heart sank. This didn't sound at all promising.

‘And, with the new pension funds, increasing its revenue. Less costs and more revenue mean . . .'

Gretel paused, looking to Jodi to finish her sentence.

‘More profit,' said Jodi obligingly while her mind was thinking over how long it would take to find another job and how many weeks' rent she could pay from her savings.

‘Yes,' Gretel nodded, ‘and more profit means greater earnings per share and greater . . .'

‘Share price,' Jodi said on cue.

‘Exactly!' Gretel gave another nod for the second correct answer in a row. ‘Which means Invesco's shares are worth a lot of money.' She stood up and extended her hand. ‘Congratulations – the company has awarded you with one thousand shares.'

Jodi's mouth dropped open. ‘You mean I'm not being made redundant?'

Gretel cackled, highly amused. ‘Of course not! We see a lot of potential in you. The shares are testament to our commitment to your future with us.'

Gretel's hand was still outstretched. Jodi raised her own and they shook on it: one thousand shares and her future with Invesco.

As soon as she got back to her desk, she looked up the share price on the system. It was around the thirty pound mark. Gretel had just given her a thirty thousand pound bonus.

A few months later Jodi was called to Gretel's office again. This time it was a promotion. Ian was leaving, moving to greener pastures. Gretel offered Jodi his job: manager of client and product development.

‘What's the salary?' she asked when Gretel noticeably neglected to mention it.

‘Well, obviously you don't have as much experience as Ian,' Gretel began, ‘and the company is continuing to keep a close eye on costs . . .'

‘What are you trying to tell me?'

Gretel shrugged and looked apologetic. ‘There's no salary increase, Jodi. Not for now, anyway. Maybe at the end of the year . . .'

Jodi thought it over. She was already well paid as it was. However, if she accepted the promotion without an appropriate salary increase, how would that make her look? Like a doormat: someone who could be pushed around, someone who had no bargaining power.

‘Sorry,' she said to Gretel in a firm voice. ‘I can't accept the offer as it stands. I want the same pay as Ian.'

Gretel looked somewhat relieved. ‘I'll relay the message.'

Jodi left Gretel's office with the strong suspicion that the reason she hadn't been offered a salary increase was more to do with her being a woman than anything to do with cost control, and with the feeling that Gretel had to fight the same battles.

As Ian was moving to a competitor, he wasn't required to work out his resignation. Farewell drinks were hurriedly organised in a nearby pub after work.

‘Are you coming?' Rachel asked as she unselfconsciously applied a fresh coat of lipstick in the middle of the office.

‘Yes, I'll follow you down,' Jodi replied vaguely.

She had been out a few times since her resolution to be more social. But she still needed to psych herself up to drink, chat and laugh the evening away. She could put on a good show of having a great time. Inside, though, she was detached from all the merriment. Remote. Maybe a little dead.

An hour later she packed up her desk and put on her heavy woollen coat. It was hard to believe that it was the onset of winter again. Summer had been a flash-in-the-pan affair. Outside it was sleeting and bitterly cold. She was actually relieved to step into the warmth of the pub.

‘You came!' Ian looked surprised when she joined their circle.

‘I said I would,' she replied defensively.

‘Can I buy you a drink?'

‘No, my call. You're the one leaving, after all.'

She pushed her way through the crowds to the bar. A good-looking guy, who was waiting his turn to be served, started to chat.

‘Do you work around here?'

‘Yes.'

‘Which building?'

‘Invesco,' she answered reluctantly. She hated the personal details you were expected to impart to perfect strangers in the name of being social.

‘I'm in Mutual Trust, just a few doors down.' He grinned as though it was an amazing coincidence they worked so close to each other. ‘I'm Nathan.'

‘Jodi.'

The barman, who looked flushed and run off his feet, asked Nathan what he wanted.

‘The lady can go first.'

Jodi flashed him a grateful smile. ‘Pint of bitter and glass of red wine, please,' she said to the barman.

She watched him take a narrow-stemmed wine glass from the rack over the bar.

Nathan began yapping in her ear again. ‘You're not from these parts, are you?'

‘No.'

‘Where are you from?'

‘Sydney,' she all but sighed because she suspected this titbit of information would start him rattling off the names of every single person he knew who'd ventured south of the equator.

‘My mate, Jim . . .'

And he was off. After what seemed like an age, the barman put Jodi's order on the counter. She handed him a fiver.

‘Keep the change.'

She grabbed the drinks and turned to go.

‘Hold on . . .'

Nathan caught hold of her arm.

‘I have to go back to my friends,' she said pointedly.

‘Oh.'

He took his hand away and extracted a business card from his shirt pocket.

‘Here.' She caught a glimpse of blue embossed writing on a white background. ‘My phone number's there. Maybe we could go for lunch sometime, seeing as we work practically next door.'

Jodi looked at him objectively. She supposed his untidy curls were kind of cute and, going by the business card, he wasn't an axe murderer. All he had been trying to do was make conversation; the fact that she'd found it annoying was more to do with her state of mind than anything he'd said.

She raised her hands, showing him she had a drink in each and no means of taking his card. ‘Can you slip it in my handbag?'

‘Sure.'

He carefully unzipped her bag from where it was hanging by her side, popped in his card and zipped it back up again.

‘Don't forget to call, now,' he grinned.

‘Okay,' she said but had no idea whether she would or not.

She pushed her way back through the crowds and slopped some of Ian's pint on her hand in the process.

‘Sorry,' she said as she handed him the less-than-full glass.

‘No problem.' He tilted his head back as he swigged down the tawny-coloured bitter. Jodi saw the lump of his Adam's apple and the smattering of light brown hair where his Ralph Lauren polo shirt opened at the neck.

‘Looks like you made a friend at the bar,' he commented.

She screwed her face in a grimace. ‘I really don't know why I took his card. I'm not in the market for a boyfriend.'

She felt the weight of Ian's gaze and felt compelled to look up to meet it.

‘I'm sorry,' he began, ‘if I seemed insensitive that time . . .'

His voice trailed off without specifying which time he was referring to. Jodi knew, though, that it was the time they'd won the IBM deal, the time she hadn't gone to the champagne celebration, the time of Andrew's anniversary.

‘Gretel explained later,' Ian continued, clearly uncomfortable. ‘She told me about your boyfriend.'

‘It's okay,' Jodi assured him as she inhaled a deep breath. ‘You weren't to know.'

A silence fell between them. It wasn't uneasy, they'd had many spells of quiet in his car. Jodi finished her glass of wine. Someone handed her another. Then another. She began to feel a little light-headed.

‘I really shouldn't drink too much,' she giggled to Ian.

He raised his eyebrows. ‘You've only had three glasses of wine.'

‘I know, but I don't have a very good history with alcohol.'

Then, totally out of the blue, she told him about the time she'd passed out at the university function and woken up in hospital. He laughed and so did she. It was kind of funny, in hindsight. She didn't know why she'd kept it a secret for so long. Force of habit, maybe.

Rachel left to join a friend at some other pub and eventually everybody else went their separate ways too. Jodi and Ian sat on the seats that were freed up by those moving on.

‘Who would have thought I'd be the last to leave?' Jodi laughed.

Then her ears caught the opening bars of ‘With Or Without You' coming from the pub's sound system. Ian's eyes lit up and his lips mouthed the words. Jodi realised, with a jolt, how much she would miss him and those journeys where little had been said above U2's lyrics.