‘And what’s your plan B?’ I ask Helen, in a tiny voice that I hardly recognise as my own.
‘You’re not going to like it.’
‘Tell me.’
‘Plan B is you cut all ties with him. Starting from now. Stop hanging round together. You’ve helped him all you can, so now call it a day. Because leaving aside the fact that he may not even choose to be a part of Lily’s life, what you’re doing is so grossly unfair. You’ve made friends with someone who at the end of the day, you’re effectively leading up the garden path. You’re deceiving him. Every bit of time you spend with him, you’re more or less lying to him. So just think for a second; how would you like it if someone treated you like that? I know you say it’s lovely to have a buddy, but trust me, this is not how friends treat each other. So I don’t envy you either of your two options love, but that’s the way it is. Come clean with him, or else stop being deceptive. And the only way to do that is to step away from the vehicle.’
Then she looks keenly at me.
‘So what’s it to be?’
Still silence from me.
‘Come on! Not like you to dither.’
I can’t articulate this out loud, but, well, cutting ties with Jake just doesn’t appeal. Not at all. I’d … I’d miss him. He’s the only pal I have that I’m not related to and I can’t even get my head around what life would be like without him.
‘Eloise?’
I lace my fingers through my hair with sheer frustration.
‘Okay then, but you won’t like it. I honestly don’t know what to do, is the answer. All I really want is for everything to stay just as it is. Until I decide what to do and more importantly, when the time is right to do it. Helen, for once in my life I’m happy just the way things are. Can’t I for the moment at least, just continue in the bubble I’ve been living in? Please?’
If I thought that no one in work could tell that a subtle change has come over me lately, it seems I’m very much mistaken. Early the next morning, I’m at my desk, scanning down through the ad pages for next weekend’s Culture section. Yet another God-awful task that falls to the senior editor; it seems the T. Rexes on the floor above me in their infinite wisdom have decreed that on top of everything else my job entails, I now have to comb through each and every single one of the ads we place in all editions, to make sure that they’re ‘fully in keeping with the tone, image, and content of the national paper of record.’ Like they thought people would ring up the
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classifieds wanting to sell vibrators or second hand dildos. As if I hadn’t quite enough apart from this shite-ology to be getting on with, but that’s a whole other story.
(Shite-ology. New hyphenated word I’ve picked up from Jake. Not to self; stop using it in work.)
Anyway, it’s barely eleven a.m. when there’s a gentle tapping at my office door and in comes Rachel; lovely, cool, calm Rachel who in all the years we’ve been working together I’ve never seen act with anything other than Prussian efficiency and unfailing politeness to one and all around her. Rachel that would nearly put a debutante just out of a Swiss finishing school to shame.
And now she’s in front of me, sobbing, actually sobbing, hot tears spouting out of her poor, bloodshot red eyes and trembling like a shock victim.
I’m instantly on my feet and over to the girl like a bullet, gently putting my arms around her and almost cradling her, the way I cradle Lily whenever she’s heavy with sleep, into the chair opposite my desk.
‘What? What is it, tell me what’s wrong?’ I ask her, rubbing my arms up and down her shoulders, the way you see coastguards doing with swimmers who’ve narrowly survived drowning.
‘It’s H-H-Harry,’ is all I can get out of her, between gulps of tears. Harry, I remember is her boyfriend, and dad to her little girl, who’s only about six months older than Lily.
‘Tell me, pet. Tell me everything you can.’
God love the girl, but it takes roughly ten minutes to get the whole story out of her, she’s that distraught she’s having difficulty putting two sentences together. Meanwhile, I whirl efficiently all around her; getting Kleenex, fishing a bottle of Rescue Remedy from the bowels of my handbag and sticking my head out the door to grab a passing intern, telling her to run across the road to Slattery’s Bar and not to come back without a good, decent shot of brandy.
Back to poor Rachel, who seems to be breathing that bit easier now.
‘I know I sh-shouldn’t even be taking up your time like this, Eloise,’ she stammers, ‘… And I’m so sorry to do this to you, but it’s just that, that …’
‘Shhh, it’s OK. You can tell me. That what, love?’
‘I’ve … I’ve come to hand in my notice. I’m so sorry to let you down, but I can’t go on like this any more. I just can’t.’
‘Don’t be so daft,’ I tell her softly, perching down on the ground beside her. ‘You’re going absolutely nowhere until you tell me exactly what’s wrong with you, and with Harry too, for that matter. Tell me. Come on, we’ve known each other a long time and you can tell me anything. We can talk about your wanting to leave later. First fill me in on whatever’s wrong with you, because that to me is far more important.’
My office phone and mobile ring simultaneously and keep ringing and I completely ignore both of them. Just keep looking at her, waiting on her, willing her to talk as soon as she’s ready to. She looks at me in dull surprise at my not rushing off to deal with the calls, seemingly astonished at my even giving her the time of day. But something in my eyes must convince her that the tiger-blooded dragon boss of old has softened a bit because, when the shot of brandy arrives and when I’ve made her knock it back in a single gulp, the colour slowly starts to seep back into her cheeks and finally, she starts to tell me in broken sentences exactly what’s wrong.
Harry’s broken up with her, it seems. They’re together nearly five years, have a gorgeous little girl called Molly, and the bastard announces to her just this morning that, quote, ‘I can’t do this any more, I need to be with someone more committed to me.’ This, by the way, communicated –wait for it – via
email
.
And that’s not all, it seems. Even though he was made redundant from his job in an IT firm about six months ago and has basically been financially dependent on poor Rachel ever since, he still had a go at her for putting in such long hours, claiming that not only was Molly growing up barely knowing her own mother but that it put unfair pressure on him being the only caregiver and having to run the whole house by himself.
An accusation that stung me like a bleeding viper, I’ve had it levelled at my own head so many times in the past, by the long string of nannies who’ve all walked out on me. Makes me sick to my stomach that any woman should be punished and accused of bad parenting, just for having no choice but to work hard to keep the show on the road.
‘BASTARD!’ I keep saying over and over again, as my hot little heart pumps into righteous overdrive and a searing fury floods through my veins. ‘Cowardly, bloody, bastard!’
‘I’m so sorry Eloise,’ says Rachel, shakily getting up to leave. ‘I shouldn’t even be bothering you with all this when you’re so busy, but now you can see why I’ve no choice but to hand in my notice. He’s gone, he’s really gone, so I’ll have to work far fewer hours on account of Molly and that’s no good in my job, is it? You need an assistant that’s here all the hours that you are. It’s not fair on you otherwise. So, so, you see, that’s pretty much it for me … Isn’t it? I’ll have to leave. Won’t I?’
Another fresh bout of sobs here, sending me flying off to find yet more Kleenex, and shoving them in front of her.
‘Rachel,’ I say, levelling with her. ‘If I ask you a straight question, will you give me a straight answer?’
She nods weakly.
‘Is that what you want? Do you really want to walk?’
Then I wryly throw in, ‘Am I honestly that much of a troll queen to work for?’
‘No! Not at all! And you know I’ve never listened to what everyone else …’
She stops herself just in time.
‘Right then. Here’s what we’re going to do,’ I tell her, all businesslike. ‘If you want to stay on as my assistant, nothing would make me happier. But as of today we’re drawing up a whole new contract for you. For starters, I’m cutting your hours right back …’
She looks at me in horror, but I cut her off ‘… with absolutely no corresponding cut in your salary whatsoever. For God’s sake Rachel, you’re here as long as I am, you’re like my right hand and not once in all those long years, to my shame, have I ever given you a single pay rise or promotion. I’ll designate one of our interns to deputise for you so you can work a normal forty-hour week. That way, at least you can be home by six every evening to be with Molly.’
She looks up at me, mouth open, the very cartoon picture caption of the word stunned.
‘Eloise – really? I mean, are you being serious?’
‘Never more serious in my life. And another thing. When’s the last time you took a holiday?’
She has to rack her brains to think. And I know well that she works almost as hard as I do; if she manages to get two days together off at Christmas, it’s a miracle.
‘Emmm’ she stammers. ‘Well …’
I shake my head and scrunch my nose up.
‘No, for the life of me, I can’t remember the last bit of time you had off either. Right then. Come on, get your coat, I’m putting you in a taxi right now and you’re taking the rest of the week off to sort out whatever’s going on at home.’
She looks up at me like I’ve lost it, like I’m the one who’s having a meltdown and not her. Like alien clones have taken over the body of Eloise Elliot and I’m some kind of avatar stand-in who looks like her and sounds like her, but who has a totally different personality. A far softer one for starters.
‘Eloise,’ she says, tears shining in her eyes, ‘are you really sure?’
‘Not taking no for an answer. Molly needs you now and you need to be with her. Far more important than any shagging job. Just promise me one thing. Don’t come back till you feel ready to. Your job will always be here for you and that’s a promise.’
By Friday of the same week, lovely, gentlemanly Robbie from Foreign, probably the only other living soul round here who puts in roughly the same kind of hours that I do myself, lets it slip that he’s missing his daughter’s Confirmation today on account of having to stay at the office to cover the election primaries live from the US.
Takes roughly an hour for this to filter back to me, but as soon as it does, I’m straight over to his desk, seeing him bent double over his computer, like he always is, working, working, working. So I tell him in no uncertain terms that he’s taking the rest of the day off so he can make it to the Confirmation and that if his deputy editor can’t cover for him, I’ll personally do it myself.
Swear to God, the thick white shock of hair sticking up on his head turns even whiter at my even suggesting this. Not for the first time, Jake’s wise words of advice come back to me: ‘Get to know your colleagues and cut them a bit of slack. You might just be astonished at the results.’
And I
am
astonished, not just at how good it feels to treat people well for once, but at the change in atmosphere round the office. Sure we’re all still stressed out of our heads and grinding towards the never-ending tsunami of deadlines that are part and parcel of life around here, but now there’s a light-heartedness in the air that was never there before, and what’s more, I’m pretty certain I’m not the only one who’s noticed.
By the following Saturday, I decide, what the hell, I’m cutting everyone else around me loads of slack, why not do at least a bit of the same for myself? Helen calls me to say there’s a summer festival happening in Stephen’s Green this afternoon, including a teddy bears’ picnic for under-fives, and as it’s a gorgeous, rare sunny day, she and Lily are going to bring along her favourite teddy, the appropriately named Mr Fluffles. I wish them both a fab afternoon, put the phone down, and instead of feeling the usual lump of envy mixed with guilt that I’m not there and Helen is, an idea strikes me.
Impatiently glancing down at my watch, I see that it’s just coming up to one o’clock though. Then, a flash of sudden inspiration. I could do it, I think, nothing easier. Stephen’s Green is only a ten-minute walk away from me. What’s to stop me from taking an actual lunch break for a change, instead of just shoving half a banana and an oatmeal bar into my mouth at the desk, like I do every other day? I could just surprise the two of them and turn up with a little picnic for the three of us, couldn’t I? Where’s the harm in that?
Like Jake is always telling me, the mighty pillars of the
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are hardly going to crumble down round my ears if I take a tiny break outside of here for a change, now are they? Feck it anyway, I think, Lily’s not going to be this age forever and I’m sick to my back teeth of missing out on ever doing anything fun with her. I’m taking an hour for lunch and let the Seth Colemans of this world make of it what they will.
So I do, and it’s the single most exhilarating thing I’ve done in weeks. I race into the Marks & Spencer food hall and stuff a cooler bag full of juices, sandwiches, choccie treats and an ice cream for each of us, then hot foot my way up Grafton St. through the meandering crowds of Saturday afternoon shoppers all the way up to the Green, texting Helen en route to find out exactly where they are. No messing, my heart actually swells to bursting point at the way Lily’s little, freckly pink face lights up when she sees the unexpected sight of me making my way through the crowded park to find her. And when she clocks the strawberry Cornetto I hand over too, of course.
It’s bliss like I haven’t known in decades, just lying on a rug on a hot summery day, watching my grown-up baby make friends and swap teddies with another little girl about her own age. Meanwhile Helen and I loll back on a picnic rug she’s brought from home, soaking up the sunshine, listening to a jazz band playing summery songs in the bandstand nearby. We natter on about pretty much anything and everything, but mainly all about her boyfriend Darren and how she hopes and prays her being away is finally starting to put manners on him, all while stuffing our faces with paninis and delicious, gooey strawberry cheesecake. Food, particularly from M&S, Helen always reckons, takes a huge amount of the sting out of being in an LDR. (her abbreviation for long distance relationship.)