is having a party if you’d like to come…’
‘Oh, thanks, but I’m heading up to Edinburgh to see my mum,’ she says, pulling herself up into a sitting position. ‘I’d better get up too. The good people at Unilever won’t survive without me.’
I wonder what she does. I should probably know. ‘OK, well, have fun,’ I say. I lean over and give her an awkward hug. Her face smushes into my collarbone. Sigh. Bad hugs suck. ‘Hope you feel better soon.’
‘Thanks,’ she says, getting up off the couch. ‘Maybe I should try my own Dating Sabbatical.’
I turn to smile at her as I head out the door. ‘Maybe you should!’
On the way to work I reflect on last night’s loss of my Dating Sabbatical virginity. Mr America had been confident, cute and funny. Just the kind of guy I always like. He’d also revealed himself to be an utter brat with a bit of a bad temper. Without question a cockmonkey, a bastardo classico.
If I’d agreed to go out to dinner with him, I would have been charmed by the good looks, impressed by the confidence, seduced by the banter—and dumped in a few months when he got tired of me. I know it, because that’s what has happened every time before. Well done me. I can handle the Dating Sabbatical. In fact, I can thrive on it.
I feel terribly happy all of a sudden. Strong and happy. I skippy-bunny-hop a couple of steps, and high-five myself. No, I really do. (A self-high-five involves jumping in the air and clapping your hands together, with the back of one hand facing you and the other coming up to clap it from below. It looks funny, but it feels great. I highly recommend you try it.) A guy walking by flinches instinctively as though I was going to hit him and I get the giggles. Day Two of the Dating Sabbatical is going to be good.
I get to work with my tailored-to-my-personal-tastes coffee, and, seeing that Andy isn’t in yet, sing ‘Goooooood morning!’ as I reach my seat. Laura looks up and narrows her eyes.
‘You look soooooo different today! What is it? Oh, oh, oh, I meant to tell you—though how could I have told you before when I didn’t see you! And last night I left work and I thought I saw you! Only it wasn’t you. And it looked just like you and I was thinking, what is she doing in Hackney? Because obviously you live in Putney!’
‘Pimlico?’ I say. ‘So…what do you need to tell me?’
‘Oh! Yes! Coop wants you. In his office, well, it’s not an office, but you know, at his desk. Because he’s here.’
‘Thank you, Laura,’ thunders Coop from the other side of the Chinese silk screen that separates his desk from us. It’s silly, really, as he can hear everything.
I walk around it and sit down with a cheery morning face that I’m pretty sure will annoy him. Coop was very good looking back in the 80s, I think. He had a moderately successful New Wave pop group. Then, the 90s saw him partying hard with Oasis and Blur (well, perhaps not with them per se, but certainly near them), which aged him and made him look a bit craggy and bloaty. He got into advertising at about that time too. These days he’s in love with a German woman called Marlena, a former model and fledgling jewellery designer, who eats, lives and breathes organic and forces him to do the same, so he’s the picture of mildly irritable health.
Coop’s habitual manner is distracted and grumpy, but the minute he actually concentrates on anything he’s rather fun to be around. I think it’s because creating ads is one of the only things he really enjoys. And he seems to think I’m good at my job, which is always nice, and I think as a result I’m more confident around him than I am with anyone else at work. (As one of my primary school teachers wrote in an end of term report once: ‘She responds well to praise and approval.’ Heh.) And over the years he’s been lovely every time I come in crying about a break-up, though he always pretends he can’t remember anything about it afterwards.
‘You. Wordgirl. Explain what the hell has been going on here with these scamps.’
When he says scamps, by the way, he doesn’t mean lovable little rascals; he means creative ideas. I sit down next to him and talk him through the scamps. As I do, I hear Andy get in. Odd how even his voice makes me shudder inside.
‘Anything else to report?’ he asks, looking through the scamps one last time.
I shake my head. ‘Nope.’
That’s a lie, but he’s not looking at me and can’t tell. Thankfully. He’d worm the Andy story out of me in about one minute.
‘Good. Good to know you’re here when I’m away. Safe hands,’ he adds, writing something in the notepad he carries everywhere. ‘Do you have any holidays booked over the next few months? Weekends away?’
‘Nope,’ I shrug. ‘I’m not dating,’ I add helpfully.
He looks up, frowns, and ignores me. ‘May need you to help entertain the Germans a few times. They’ll be coming back and forth from Berlin.’
‘Me? With potential clients?’
‘Yes, and you’ll present all the award-winning work you’re about to create.’
He goes on to explain everything. The Germans, it turns out, head up a huge personal care company called Blumenstrauße—tampons and toothpaste and razors, oh my!—and they’re launching four of their most popular products in the UK next year. We’re going to work with them for a few months working out launch plans, and if they like us, we’ll get the business. Sort of a pitch-by-fire. I realise quickly that this pitch is a very big deal. It could be the making of this agency, and Coop’s career.
‘That’s brilliant, Coop,’ I say. ‘I can’t wait.’
‘Thought you’d like it,’ he says. ‘Actually, wordgirl, I want you to head up this one.’ Me? I’m speechless. He glances at his watch. ‘I’m late for a thing. Call a company meeting, tell everyone about the pitch, and that there’s going to be a lot of work for the next few months. Lots of late nights, and no neglecting existing clients.’
I have to bear bad tidings? And create another scene after Wednesday’s drama with Andy? ‘Um…’ I say, trying to think of a way to get out of it. The dog ate my public speaking voice? ‘Why not email everyone? Better coming from you?’
‘No,’ he says, standing up. ‘People never read those emails properly. Nothing beats being told in person. Scott already knows.’ That’s the senior account director, a smooth-talking Ken-doll type. ‘He’s with Shiny Straight today at a strategy roundtable. Anyway, I want you to answer any questions about the Germans and whatnot. I’ll be back later.’
I go back and hide at my desk for a minute, thinking. I have to call a company-wide meeting to tell everyone to kiss goodbye to their social life? I can feel panic rising in my chest. Why, why would Cooper make me do this? I can’t do it. I really can’t.
I look at the clock. It’s still early. I’ll just wait till everyone has their breakfast and coffee. Then they’ll be in a better mood. I email Amanda The Office Manager about the brainstorm and Google Blumenstrauße. Lala. Procrastination. Panic-led procrastination. I feel a bit ill. Maybe I am coming down with something.
At 11 am I can’t put it off anymore. Cooper could be back any second. With a nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach, I send an email to all staff to meet in the creative room immediately.
As
