put in, all the late nights and weekends and for what? To be usurped by some useless idiot who knew how to suck up? Knowing she’d been silent too long, she forced herself to speak. ‘Well, I guess I should offer you my congratulations.’
‘Cheers, Beth. Don’t worry, I won’t make you call me Mr Travelli when you’re reporting to me.’ The nasty edge to his laugh made her stomach flutter, but thankfully he hung up before she had to respond further.
She replaced the receiver, picked it up again and dialled the first three digits of the extension for Nadia, Mr Turner’s PA, before stopping. Why was she even bothering? She could make some excuse about the wrong file being sent, spend the rest of the afternoon trying to turn the rubbish in front of her into something halfway decent and get exactly zero bloody credit for it. Anger bubbled in her gut. After everything she’d done, this was how Darren repaid her loyalty? She stood so quickly her chair rolled back, causing the wheels to bang against the filing cabinet behind her desk.
‘Everything all right, Beth?’
Turning to meet Ravi’s concerned gaze, she shook her head. ‘Not really, Rav. I need some fresh air.’ Beth hurried over to retrieve her coat from the rack before he could press her for more details.
‘Come on, come on…’ Tapping her foot, she waited impatiently for the lift to arrive. Needing to keep moving, she was on the verge of abandoning her wait in favour of the fire escape beside it when the indicator bell dinged. The doors slid open, enveloping her in a waft of beer fumes and ribald laughter.
A man stepped backwards through the doors, intent on his conversation with the rest of the lift occupants and Beth was forced to side-step to avoid being banged into. She recognised the slicked-back hair, the dark suit with gangster-wide white stripes and her stomach lurched. ‘Yeah, yeah, mate, I’m sure she said that.’ His sarcastic drawl was greeted by another howl of laughter.
Beth reached for the handle for the stairwell door, and had it halfway open when he spotted her. ‘Hey, Beth. You finally decided to grace us with your presence then?’
Shoving a hand in her pocket, her fingers brushed against the crisp rectangle of the envelope containing Eleanor’s letter. ‘I need some fresh air.’ She threw the comment back over her shoulder and took a step into the stairwell.
Darren barged his way through the door, his voice echoing loudly off the concrete walls. ‘You must be joking, you can’t have been at your desk more than five minutes. Bruce wants a copy of the response document ready for him to review tonight.’
Grabbing the handrail with her free hand, Beth backed down another couple of risers wanting to put some distance between herself and the whole bloody mess. ‘But Marco’s already sent him a copy of the draft…’
Her team leader’s face drained to an unpleasant shade she could only equate to the colour of lard. ‘He did what?’
Beth shrugged. ‘Maybe I got the wrong end of the stick, but I’m sure that’s what he just told me.’
‘Christ!’ Darren spun on his heel, holding the door wide as he did so. ‘Come on, come on. We need to get this sorted out.’
A strange sense of calm settled over her as Beth stood her ground. ‘Did you promise Marco the supervisor’s position?’
Her boss glanced back over his shoulder. ‘I haven’t got time for that now, we need to get this cock-up sorted out before Bruce sees that draft.’ His lack of denial told her everything she needed to know. Stroking the edge of the envelope in her pocket, Beth took a deep breath as the full significance of her conversation with Mr Symonds sank into her exhausted brain. She had choices; options.
Freedom.
Releasing the handrail, she trotted back up the stairs to a visible smile of relief from Darren. ‘Good girl. Go and grab your laptop and meet me in my office. I’ll try and head Bruce off at the pass.’
Beth watched him jog towards the tiny walled-off space in the corner before returning to her desk. She undocked the laptop, flicked off the monitor and tugged open her top drawer. A jumble of Cup-a-Soups, pens and sticky notes stared back at her and she slid it closed again then bent to collect her handbag. She’d come straight from the station, so her suitcase stood next to the window. Bag over her shoulder, laptop under her arm and the handle of her case in the opposite hand, she smiled across the partition at Ravi. ‘I’ll call you later.’
‘Ooo-kay. You sure you’re all right, mate?’
‘Never better, I promise.’
Conscious of the stares following her, Beth marched towards Darren’s office. Leaving her case outside, she approached his desk to dump her laptop on a pile of folders. She unhooked the id card from around her neck and let the lanyard slither through her fingers.
‘I’ve managed to intercept Marco’s email, though I owe Janice a large G&T.’ He glanced up from his screen. ‘Well, pull up a chair then.’
‘No.’
It took a few seconds for her refusal to register, and Beth could actually see the moment it dawned upon him. ‘What did you say?’
‘I said no. Nope. Pass. Uh-uh. Forget it. Not happening.’ She couldn’t stop the flush of heat surging over her skin, but she held her head high.
Darren rocked back in his chair, a flinty hardness settling in his eyes. ‘Is this some kind of joke?’
‘Working my arse off for an idiot like you for the past two years in the futile hope I’d one day earn a fraction of the respect you dish out to your drinking buddies and sycophants? Oh yes, it’s a huge joke. A bloody laugh riot, and all at my expense. Well, no more. I quit.’
There was burning bridges, and there was dumping a gallon of petrol and aiming a flamethrower at it. Throwing up on his desk would only spoil the dramatic effect of her announcement so she gulped hard against the wave of panicked nausea.
His shiny face turned so red, she wondered for a moment if his head might pop under the pressure building beneath the skin. ‘You can’t fucking quit. If you take one step towards that door, I’ll sack you.’
The panic melted away and, smiling, she took a deliberate pace backwards. ‘Perfect. At least now I won’t have to serve my notice. See ya.’
She made it across the office, the echoes of Darren’s ineffectual bellowing ringing in her ears, down in the lift, across the lobby and halfway down the street before the first tear dripped hot upon her cheek.
1st January
My dearest Beth,
I’m sitting in the window seat as I write this, listening to the waves on the shingle below. Thankfully, the Lavender Bay fireworks display was much less impressive than that malarkey on the telly, so it’s silent as the grave now. Funny how we use phrases like that without a second’s thought to their true meaning, isn’t it?
I know what you’re thinking, and yes, I’m properly wrapped-up, Miss Fusspot. I’ve got that beautiful, soft throw you sent me for Christmas tucked around me and I’m snug as a bug. You shouldn’t have bothered, you know, but I’m glad
