months,’ she adds cheerfully, curling her hair around her fingers in the manner of a six-year-old. In fact, today she is dressed just like a six-year-old apart from the inappropriate T-shirt with the slogan ‘Spank Me Hard’. This is teamed with a red check puffball skirt, blue and green striped legwarmers and silver ballet pumps. Her hair is pulled into two bunches like a Pekinese dog’s. It probably looks very hip, but Emma shudders at the sight of her and the dawning realisation that her opinions are starting to align themselves with those of her mother.
The prospect of a meeting in the company of Poochy Poo and marketing’s answer to Goebbels makes Emma want to quit her job and do something more fulfilling, like treating sewage. She takes heart at the fact that Philippa will be there and although she never gets a word in because of her fool of a boss, she’s a silent, eyebrow-raising ally of sorts. When Emma reaches the meeting room, Joel is sitting at the head of the long table talking in a loud voice on his mobile.
‘Yep, yep, will do, OK, of course I can sort it. Speak soon, boss. Bye!’
Emma plonks herself next to Philippa.
‘On the phone to his mother again?’ she whispers with a wink. Philippa grins.
Saskia bounces in, her arms full of print-outs which she always refers to as her ‘children’. She takes her seat and Joel begins.
‘So the purpose of today is to review the past three months, look forward to the next three, see where we are and where we want to be. OK, people?’
No one speaks so Joel continues. ‘So, Emma. Talk us through the latest on these.’ He fans out copies of a crime series set in Cornwall written by an eighty-year-old female author. Joel doesn’t wait for her to speak. ‘You see, I think we should either bin these or look to re-jacket. Book Data seems to indicate around a twenty per cent sell-through, which is very poor.’
‘I don’t think three months of sales is enough to say one way or the other. I think we should publish at least six before we take any kind of decision,’ says Emma irritated.
‘Mmm,’ says Joel not listening. ‘Saskia has kindly mocked up some roughs. A bit less Miss Read and a bit more ‘read me’,’ he snorts vastly amused by his own joke. Philippa winces.
Saskia’s covers are horrific depictions of severed limbs, mutilated heads and general carnage.
‘Joel,’ says Emma, trying to remain calm, ‘the author is a lovely lady called Queenie and the books are really more Miss Marple than Slasher Central. I think we should continue as we are for the time being.’
Joel is riled. ‘Well, I think Digby would disagree.’
‘Well, Digby isn’t Queenie’s editor and while I am tasked with producing books that are fit for publication, I will have the ultimate say on covers, OK?’
‘Like I say, I think Digby might have something to say.’
‘And so might Miranda,’ retorts Emma aware that they are starting to sound like five-year-olds.
Philippa and Saskia shift uncomfortably in their seats. The rest of the meeting passes without further confrontation, but beneath it all Emma is seething.
‘I mean, who does he think he is?’ she complains to Ella on returning to her desk.
A beautiful array of pink and white lilies is waiting for her. She picks up the card. They’re from her godmother, Rosie: ‘Clever girl. Well done.’ Her phone rings. She picks it up smiling. ‘Hello-oo?’
‘Emma? It’s Mummy. You sound pleased with yourself.’
‘I am, thanks, Mum. Auntie Rosie just sent me the most gorgeous flowers.’
‘Oh.’ Her mother sounds perplexed. ‘Did I miss something?’
‘Oh sorry, I forgot to tell you. We got that book I was telling you about.’
‘Oh. Good. Well done. It’s a shame you didn’t think to tell us before your godmother. We’re only your parents.’
‘Sorry, Mum, and I didn’t tell Rosie. She must have heard. You know what she’s like.’
‘Yes I do. Anyway, Emma, Rachel and I are going to take you dress-shopping. How about this Saturday?’
‘Sorry, I can’t do this Saturday. Martin’s whisking me away for the weekend.’
‘Oh. Right. Is there anything else you haven’t told us? You’re not emigrating like your sister are you?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Oh well at least Rachel tells us things first. Your brother-in-law is planning to move them all to Scotland.’
‘What?’
‘Exactly. So when you’ve finished living your life in isolation from your family, maybe we could set a date to look for wedding dresses?’
‘Don’t be like that, Mum. Look, I’ll take a day off. Maybe Dad can look after the kids and we can have a girly day with Rach?’
Diana doesn’t want to give in, but Emma can tell she’s softening. ‘All right, let’s say Monday week.’
‘Perfect. Wow, that’s big news about Rachel. I’m seeing her tomorrow and I thought there was something up.’
‘Yes well, maybe you can try talking some sense into her. Goodness only knows I’ve tried.’
Rachel takes a sip from her Styrofoam™ cup of coffee and does a quick head count. Lily and Alfie are engaged in a stand-off with an older boy on the play-bus, while Will is scaling the rope climbing frame, SAS-style. She sees Christa and Roger and waves. Roger jumps out of his pushchair with great excitement and runs over to join Lily and Alfie.
‘Halloo,’ cries Christa kissing Rachel on both cheeks. ‘Could Sue not make it?’
‘Joe’s still poorly. How are you?’
‘Good, danke.’
‘Coffee?’ asks Rachel finishing her first and ready for another.
‘Nein danke, your English coffee tastes like scheisse.’
Rachel laughs. ‘It’s actually Nescafé which I believe is a Swiss company?’ she says with a grin.
‘Ja perhaps, but they are not as bad as your Pot Noodles, hey?
‘Touché! So, how are things with you?’ asks Rachel as they find a bench.
‘Fine. I think you and Sue were perhaps a little shocked by the things I told you on Monday, yes?’
‘It does sound like you’ve got a lot on your plate.’
Christa laughs. ‘I love you English and your metaphors. My life is really not so bad. Rudi is a good man really. He looks after us. We are going to have a wonderful family holiday next month.’
‘Oh lovely. Where are you going?’ asks Rachel thinking of
