To Catch a Creeper (10 page)

‘Eventually we’ll all have the same.’

‘Same what? Cars? Chromosomes? Stop swinging on your chair, Josh, you’ll break the legs. Wasn’t the Moonies at the door earlier, was it?’

‘No, Mrs Baker. She popped in a letter. It’s on the sideboard.’

‘Oh yes?’ I slip some onions onto his plate and fail to tell him they’ve been cooked next to the lamb. Small pleasures.

‘It’s just, well isn’t it arrogant of us to assume that there’s nothing? Was nothing? Will always be nothing? No intelligence out there whatsoever?’

‘Who’s got no intelligence?’ Sophie asks as she makes gagging noises at the overcooked cabbage.

‘You’aint.’ Josh giggles and receives a thump on the back for his efforts.

Chapter 8

‘Ah, Cathy, there you are.’ Turks walks into my office Monday morning with a slip of a girl, even younger than Alice, round about twenty-three, dark rimmed glasses, brown tweedy trouser suit over white blouse. Conservative but not in a frumpy way, shiny chestnut hair and a serious intent look plastered on her face.

‘This is Honour, Cathy. Cathy, Honour.’

‘Pleased to meet you.’ I stand up and shake her hand, adding for a little ice-breaker. ‘In fact, it’s a real
honour
.’

Her thin lips don’t break into a smile.

After our little talk, Rosa decided it was best to come clean to Turks. Not sure exactly what she said to him, but she rang me later that evening and told me everything was cool and he still wanted me to go ahead with pitching for the RNW account.

‘Even though you’re not with me?’ I almost choked when I heard.

‘Mmm. Yes, I was a bit surprised too, but you know, Turks is like the Lord. Works in mysterious ways and it’ll be really great for you, Cathy, doing something on your own. Of course it’ll be challenging,’ she added cautiously. ‘We’re only going to get one chance at this account and if you screw up… But hey, if anyone’s ready for a challenge, then it’s you.’

‘It is?’

‘And I’ll be around to help all I can, just won’t be a physical presence at RNW when you actually present the pitch. I’ll be there in spirit though.’

‘In spirit, right.’ I tried not to sound too grumpy or think mean thoughts about her, but I couldn’t help feeling she’d dumped me in the deep end. And I knew that was horrible and unfair as she’d been ill and of course her ailing placenta must come first, but aaah… Pitching to a client –
on my ownsome
.

***

‘…and so I thought if Viv moves in with you guys, the two of you could show Honour the ropes.’ Turks pulls his hat back exposing a great expanse of furrowed brow. ‘Our new recruit, here, will get a more rounded picture of how the whole place works and we can best see where she’ll fit in, writing, selling, etc, whatever.’

‘But Vivien’s an Accounts Executive,’ I protest. ‘She has her own big office.’

‘I know, but she’s also got some fab ideas for the direction this campaign might go in and since she’s the one that cajoled RNW into letting us have a bash, I thought I might, shall we say, indulge her fantasies. Let her work on it, either with you,’ he chuckles mischievously, ‘or against you if you’d prefer. Bit of healthy competition and all that. She’s always wanted to try her hand as a Creative. It’s only temporary; we’ll still keep her big office free for her.’ He chuckles again. ‘Might be a bit cosy, but it also might take the pressure off you a bit, Cathy, Cath Cath. Working on one of our biggest campaigns while having a young trainee snapping at your ankles.’ He smiles at Honour and nudges her arm.

‘But–’

‘Cathy’s got some brochures, I’m sure she’d love to show them to you.’

And with that he leaves.

‘Right, well.’ I smile. ‘You’d better choose a desk.’ I look around at the three in the room, mine, by the window, Rosa’s by door and there’s the other one which was a kind of mutual one Rosa and I used for bouncing ideas around on. We’d both sit facing each
other, looking for inspiration. Then we’d laugh and share some fruit and… No, it’s too sad. ‘Take whichever.’

Honour places her bag on the bouncing ideas desk and then goes off to be taken on a tour of the floor.

Minutes later Alice sidles in. ‘So,’ she giggles, ‘come on then. Friday – lunch meeting. How did it go?’

‘What go?’

‘You never came back, did you? And neither did he. Let me see, hmm…’ She puts her finger to her dimple. ‘Did he give you his
private
private number? Did he show you his penthouse pad?’

I’m about to be outraged. After all I’ve a husband and two small children at home, but then again…Turks had said about wanting his reputation left as was. And she’s so eager for something scandalous.

‘Well, he might have tried it on a bit.’

‘I knew it! So did he…you know… The knee against your knee thing?’

‘The knee against? Oh yes, sure, that happened.’

‘He did that to me. And what about the wisp of hair behind your ear?’

‘Both ears.’ I give a meaningful smile.

‘Both ears? I’m impressed.’ She looks it too. ‘He must
so
have the hots for you.’

‘Well even if he does I’m very happily married thank you very much, and I told him so.’ I move to the window, lift my chin and gaze out dreamily, as if reliving the moment. ‘Mind you that wasn’t enough to dissuade him. He took my hand, very gently, like it was a glove made of the finest gossamer.’

‘Gossamer?’

‘Er, I mean, velvet, yes velvet,’ I carry on in a soft poetic voice. ‘His face was hot, his whole body ever so slightly trembling. It was as if he couldn’t contain his emotions. “Cathy, my Cathy,” he said, breath coming in small pants, “I’ll wait for you. Don’t leave me in this abyss.”’

‘He really said that?’ She’s almost wetting herself.

I place the back of my hand against my forehead as if the memory pains me. ‘And then he held my fingers tenderly to his lips and…and he started to throb.’

‘What started to throb?’ Alice lets out a little squeal.

Did I say throb? ‘His temple. Yes his temple. It was really throbbing. In out, in out. Then very softly he whispered…’ I pause while I think of what he might have whispered.

‘Is that the time?’ Alice guesses.

‘No, he wasn’t worried about the time, durr.’ Hasn’t she read any romance novels? ‘That was the last thing on his mind… Actually, no, yes, that is what he whispered. He whispered,“I’ve all the time in the world for you, Cathy, my Cath Cath and if you–”’ I turn around. Alice is standing rooted to the spot, only her eyes are spinning like a Catherine wheel on Bonfire Night. Standing in the doorway behind her is Vivien.

‘I hear the new girl’s here,’ Vivien says in a strange stilted voice.

‘Yes,’ I gulp. ‘Gone for a recce of the building.’

‘Right,’ her raven-like eyes roam around the room until they fall on Rosa’s desk, ‘I’ll bagsy this one,’ she says and places a big red file bang in the centre of it. ‘Be back later with my things. Haven’t you work to get back to, Alice?’

‘Yes,’ Alice squeaks. ‘Just delivering mail.’

And with that Vivien leaves, slamming the door behind her.

‘Hell! That’s my job gone then,’ Alice laments.

‘How? Why?’

‘Well Vivien obviously realised it was Turks we were talking about. You do know the latest rumour, don’t you?’

‘Rumour?’

‘Turks’s been shagging Vivien. She was lurking around all Friday afternoon, kept ringing up, asking if you were back. Walking past his office. Back and forth. Back and forth. Practically wore out the carpet.’

‘But nothing happened,’ I say horrified.

‘
Yeah, right
,’ she laughs. ‘Well even if I believed you, I don’t think Vivien would.’

Now it’s my turn to curse.

‘Bum!’ I say, for want of a better word.

Chapter 9

If you’d told me six months ago, that I’d be working in Central London in charge of this enormous advertising campaign, I’d have not only laughed in your face but I’d probably have spat in your eye as well for taking the Mickey out of me. (I could be somewhat defensive in those days.)

While poor Rosa’s been lying prone on her chaise longue this last month, I’ve been working like a dog. Looking back on old campaigns, seeing what was successful, why it was successful, then researching all about cars and how they work. I’ve learned plenty but how to use it all and turn it into a whole marketing strategy is another thing entirely.

The new girl, Honour, is still with us. She was nice at first, polite, enthusiastic and even quite shy for the few days or so while she established herself.

Not like Vivien the Vulture (my new nickname for her). She breezed in Monday afternoon and immediately made herself at home, moving Rosa’s computer into a store cupboard, taking down her pictures, photos, and even pushing aside her lovely dark green leaved plant with the little yellow flowers that Alec bought her for their six month going out anniversary. I had to save them all from being chucked in the bin.

I mean it’s not like Rosa’s dead and it seemed to me that Vivien was enjoying picking over her bones a bit too darn much because although Rosa told Turks she’s definitely not coming back, who knows how she’ll feel when the baby arrives. Anyway, after a couple of weeks of getting to know each other, Honour moved her desk right up against Vivien’s, or it could have been Vivien moving her desk against Honour’s, I’m not certain as they did it while I was out. Now there’s not even space to walk between them. They seem to be getting on really well too which is good, I guess, but at times I do feel a tad left out.

For example, they keep fetching each other iced coffee from the deli down the road but they never ask me if I want any. And they always go off to lunch together and I’m not invited. But on the other hand, because of my high workload lately, I haven’t been taking lunch, so that kind of cancels that out.

I had hoped that being the oldest member of our trio (actually saying that Vivien’s nudging thirty-two so she’s not
that
much younger), I could take on a motherly role, and help with things like boyfriend problems in a wise old owl way, but when I tried to broach the subject neither of them seemed the slightest bit interested. I expect taking the Turks equation into account, it may have been a bit naive, although nothing more’s been said about that and I’m not a hundred percent sure Alice was correct anyway, what with Turks spreading his rumours about like an arsonist let loose in a tinder forest.

What I’m trying to say is that it’s not all been as easy or as straightforward as Rosa led me to believe. I’ve been round to her flat on numerous occasions with various files and then she makes notes on them and tips about what I might do, and how I could possibly approach things, but then the last time I visited, just as I was walking out the door leaving her lying on her couch watching yet another childbirth programme, Alec took me to one side and asked me to stop visiting. Or rather visit by all means, but please not to worry her with work issues.

When he said it I was totally mortified that I might have given her anxiety without realising, and for a little while I was a touch resentful of Alec, shoot the messenger and all that, but then, after spending a couple of sleepless nights churning it over and joining Declan in his midnight pacings, I came to the conclusion that he only had Rosa and the baby’s best interests at heart, and that must always be his priority and mine, so I forgave him.

Problem is, if it was only work I had to concern myself with, perhaps I could handle it, but things at home have gone a bit awry as well.

Last week I was late twice for after-school club, yet another new thing for the kids to get accustomed to but really I can’t expect Henrietta and Declan to juggle it all between them, especially when they have worries enough of their own, and if I carried on with the hours I did before Rosa left, then I wouldn’t have a hope in hell of mastering the RNW presentation. Sophie still hasn’t forgiven me for not buying the ingredients for her cookery lesson and Josh was distraught when he’d found I’d forgotten to put his long-sleeved top into his PE bag which meant he couldn’t do his beloved fencing class. Plus for the first time ever, because we had half-term and I couldn’t take time off, I had to enrol them into a playscheme which they were really unhappy about.

I’m trying not to but I’ve been taking out my frustration and extreme motherly guilt on Declan, sniping at him and giving him exasperated looks if I get in after him and the meal’s not even started. Odd thing though is instead of fighting back like he used to he’s been withdrawing. Disappearing upstairs to the study to read all these new books he’s been buying lately.

I had hoped Hugh’s funeral might have put an end to his…whatever you call it…depression, reinterpretation of life, male menopause, but if anything it’s becoming more acute. It’s like the spark’s gone from his eyes.

And meanwhile the campaign date’s getting closer and Turks keeps asking me how it’s coming along and I keep having to sound confident and breezy – like I’ve got it all under control. So then he smiles at me and says things like, ‘Don’t fret, little Cathy, Cath Cath. I know you won’t let me down.’

Still I can cope. Damn sure I can cope.

I’m
determined
to cope.

***

‘I can’t cope.’

‘You have to tell someone, Cathy,’ Isobel counsels. ‘Your boss shouldn’t expect you to pitch for some gigantic campaign when you’ve absolutely no inkling how an advertising agency works.’

‘And you hate talking in public.’ Janet is well versed in my moans.

‘Although you grind your hips in front of…’ begins Henrietta.

‘Will you just shut up about my grinding hips!’

You see, I’m even snapping at my friends.

‘Ooh, touchy,’ Janet leaps in. ‘Henrietta was only having fun.’

‘Oh I’m sorry.’ I instantly feel dreadful. ‘It’s just I don’t find anything funny at the moment. I’ve got more knots in my back than a…a…knotted rope, my brain’s in a permanent state of confusion, I never see my children, the dog hardly ever gets walked, the cat’s always sick, garden’s a jungle, the house has formed an inch thick layer of dust…’

‘Welcome to the world of the working mother,’ Isobel sighs. ‘I’m at the nursing home twenty-five hours a week, coming home to pick up and sort out the kids, supervising homework, cooking dinner, shopping, dishes, washing, ironing, paying bills, you name it and what’s Larry’s domestic contribution? A big fat zero. He thinks because I work
part time
, it should all be down to me. Once a month he might make a great show of clearing out the garden shed, but even then he requires an endless supply of tea and biscuits to sustain him. Just consider a moment, Cathy, have you had less housework to do since you started work? Has Declan chipped in more chores-wise? No.’ She responds to the vigorous shaking of my head. ‘There’s still the same amount to be done. You just have to try and cram it all in but in less time, if you can.’