‘No, not at all!’
I exhaled with relief. ‘I feel really foolish.’
‘Please don’t. You’re right, everybody does it. It just got flagged up because there was a pattern. You know how the company likes its exception reports. Seriously, don’t think any more about it. Have you got any more questions about your review before we set your goals for the next six months?’
I shook my head, feeling stupid for trying to argue my way out of the Adequate box. She took my final review from her folder and slid it over the table.
Needs Improvement. My face burned. ‘But I thought you said it was no big deal?’ I whispered.
‘Oh, it’s not, believe me. We just had to put you there since the reports were flagged up. HR policy. But in reality it’s not an issue as long as you don’t turn up on any more reports. Your performance has been fine. Now, shall we talk about your goals?’
She talked through the rest of the review, but I wasn’t paying much attention. I Needed Improvement.
Alex’s email was waiting for me when I returned to my desk.
You okay?
Did you know about the cut in hours?
Yes, I’m sorry. I couldn’t say anything until everyone was told. It’s a companywide decision. Hopefully it won’t mean a big cut in income as long as you keep up with your commissions. Seriously though, are you okay?
I guess so, thanks. I’m trying to see it as a positive – I get an extra day off!
That’s my girl. It’ll be fine, you’ll see.
As I typed smiley faces in response, something occurred to me. Were those sympathetic symphony tickets he gave me, to cushion the blow?
Whether they were pity tickets or not, Ellie and I enjoyed the symphony tremendously. By the time the last note faded away I wasn’t thinking about my change in circumstances at all.
But of course, being told you’ve been singled out for partial redundancy does prey on the mind, so after the concert I obsessed about it all weekend. Dress it up any way you like, it hurt to know I’d been singled out. Cressida had said it wasn’t because I Needed Improvement, but if not that, then why?
Alex was at my desk when I got into work on Monday. He whisked me away to the coffee shop, his face creased with concern as we sipped our steaming drinks.
‘Will you fight it?’ he asked.
I shook my head. I’d spent the weekend figuring out what I wanted, and how I might get it. When I told Alex, he smiled.
‘You’re a very sharp woman,’ he said, touching my hand as my tummy cartwheeled.
Back at the office I put on my game face and told Cressida that if they insisted on taking work away from me, then I wanted my days off to be Thursday and Friday. Given that I was the one being underemployed, I reasoned, she should accommodate my wishes. Plus, it would be easier to find part-time work when I didn’t have to split my days. At the mention of another job, Cressida flinched and easily acquiesced. I was glad she felt guilty. She bloody well should, having given me the Judas kiss.
Not that I had any plans to get a part-time job. Ellie worked through my budget with her Worst Case Scenario hat on and I’d still have just enough money with the pay cut. Besides, I had a better idea about what to do on those days. So I called our first official Curvy Girls Club meeting.
A smattering of the regulars sat at stools along the bar in our local, while most of the booths were colonised by the trendsters who’d moved into the area in the past few years. As a quasi-local (four years in the neighbourhood), of course I pretended to commiserate with the pub landlord’s rants about the Uniqlo-clad newbies ruining the character of the place. But given that the estate at the end of my road was raided weekly and the strip club on the corner had to install blue lights outside to keep the addicts from shooting up on the property, I welcomed the fact that our new neighbours raised my property value and didn’t usually carry concealed weapons. And if the owner saw fit to use some of his windfall to replace the burgundy paisley carpet that still stank years after the last fag was puffed in there, all the better.
‘I have news,’ I said as Ellie and I returned to the booth with everyone’s drinks. ‘I’m down to three days a week at Nutritious. They’ve cut my hours again.’
‘Oh no, that’s terrible!’ Jane’s hands paused over her knitting. ‘Both of you?’
Ellie shook her head.
‘Bastards.’ That was Pixie.
‘Well, it’s not completely bad news,’ I said, hoping that was true. ‘Looking on the bright side, it’ll free me up to do other things … like maybe work more on the Curvy Girls Club?’
‘Well of course, sweetheart, you can, but can you afford not to work that day? I mean not getting paid for doing it. I know doing the organising is a lot of work.’
‘Well, that’s the thing. Maybe I could get paid for doing it.’ I took a deep breath. ‘I’ve been thinking and it is a lot of work to put the events together. So maybe it’s reasonable to charge a small booking fee – just a few quid to cover overheads. Rob designed the website and is running it for free. If we had a bit of money coming in then we could afford to pay for the time everyone puts into the club.’
I watched my friends’ faces as they mulled this over. A little smile played around Ellie’s lips. She already knew of my proposal, of course. I’d told her as soon as I’d thought of it.
‘Then it would be a business?’ Jane asked, sounding uncertain.
‘Do we want it to be a business?’ asked Pixie.
I shook my head. ‘I don’t, not really. But it does seem to be getting more popular, and I’m excited about where it could go. It’s been so fun, but I also feel like it’s important. I suppose we could just plan events as and when we’ve got time … It’s just that we’ve started something now. I really want to keep it going.’
‘Me too,’ Pixie said. ‘These past few months have been great. Every time we go out I feel like I find a little piece of myself again. I can’t remember when I was so chuffed with my life. Sometimes I even forget about that bloody man at home. That’s worth more than a couple of quid to me.’
We laughed at her statement, but I recognised the sad honesty in it. ‘Is he still trying to get into your knickers?’
She nodded. ‘I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately. He’s bloody keen for someone who constantly tells me how fat and ugly I am. Last night he called me a … and I quote, a “shit-filled pig”. He was angry that we ate tea without him. As if I’d starve myself or the children just because he’s two hours late back from the pub. But he’s a walking contradiction. One minute he’s saying things like that, pointing out the fat rolls on my tummy or jiggling the backs of my arms, and
