Comms. I hate that word. Comms, vision, strategy, strategic vision, all words that got Mike licking his lips.
He says 'there will be comms' when he wants to shut us down, which means he's no clue what is going on himself.
Our barrel of questions is interrupted by a knock at the door.
"Excuse me, Mike," Jackie smiles with fake sweetness. "I have an important message for
Charlie."
She looks sensational, but that's because she uses the reception as a salon.
Mike nods at her to continue.
"It's from your sister. She says it's an emergency, and you must contact her immediately".
Oh god. My stomach heaves.
This is bad.
Someone's dead.
Dad's dead.
There's been news from Ireland that he's had a heart attack... or he finally overdosed on drink? No, Mum's dead. Someone crashed into her when she was driving too slow.
Both of them are dead.
"That's fine." Mike waves his hand to dismiss me.
I stand up shakily...be strong, Charlie. You must be strong for Callie.
Although why does Callie know before me? Surely it should be the older sibling that delivers bad news? Why isn't Tristan calling? Is there something wrong with Tristan?
I follow Jackie out to reception, getting out my phone. Sure enough, there are 10 missed calls from Callie. Shit!
"Did she say who it was about? Is it Dad?"I ask in a high pitch. She shrugs. "Not in my job description to ask." Bitch.
I grab the phone.
"Callie?" I stammer. "What is it?"
"Charlie!" She shouts over the noise of traffic. It sounds like she's on a really busy road. I was right; Mum's been in a car accident.
"Yes?" I shriek. "What is it? What's going on?"
"Thank God." She exhales heavily. 'I am in such a dilemma. I am just outside Selfridges with a hundred bags, and I can't move! You are going to have to come here and help me carry them to the train."
"What?" I hissed in a lowered tone so Jackie wouldn't hear. "You got me out of a meeting with the management team because you have too many shopping bags to carry home? That's the emergency?"
"Yes!" She exclaims. "I'm stranded, and Mom says I must be home in an hour! I didn't realise until I went to the boot section and once I had bought the three pairs of boots I realised that I couldn't lift everything! I had to call for a security guard, and he helped get me to the door with the bags but with an appalling attitude considering how much I had purchased, complaining that it wasn't in the job description-"
"Callie," I cut in, furious. "Do you realise I am working? Do you realise that you cannot call one of your shopping sagas an emergency and demand I leave a meeting for it?"
"It's 10.30 on a Monday morning. Why the hell are you not in school?"
"Keep your knickers on; it's not like you've got an important job like Tristan." She yawns. "So, how long will you be then?"
"You'd better pray that I don't come down there, Callie. Because if I do, you are going to find a stiletto lodged deep into your arsehole. Now Fuck off!" I slam down the phone.
Unbelievable.
Jackie coughs behind me. I whip round to face her.
"That sounds like quite a dilemma," she purrs. "Your poor sister."
I shot her a venomous look. "It's not in your job description to listen to private calls." "And it's not in yours to take them." She fires back.
"Go back to your hashtagging, Jackie."
"I doubt you even know what that means." She rolled her eyes.
"I am very aware of the usage." I snatch paper from my desk and scribble furiously. "Have you forgotten I'm the head of IT Support?"
I put the paper down on her keyboard. "Hashtag this, Jackie."
#GOFUCKYOURSELF
2
Charlie
"Hello?" I call out from the hallway, flinging off my sneakers. It's 7.30pm on Monday evening, and I'm already waiting for the weekend.
Cat, Julie, Suze, and I have all shared a flat in Kentish Town for five years.
It would have been perfect if the mice hadn't moved in around the same time as us, but hey, you know what they say about London – you are never more than a metre away from a rat.
Cat teaches drama in a school in Highgate. It's so posh that doctors can't afford to send their kids there. Cat said that all the kids have their own drivers to leave them to school and that Tony Blairs' kids applied but couldn't get in.
Julie is a junior lawyer for a publishing firm in Liverpool Street and is flourishing due to her sociopathic personality. We made her take a test once, and let's just say, from the results, we will never cross her.
No one really understands Suze's job, something to do with logistics.
It's Julie's flat, a fact she will never let us forget. It's even woven into her chat-up lines. What do you do? I'm a lawyer and a landlord.
We've never been able to work out how she owns a four-bedroom North London flat on her wages, even if it is outdated and riddled with mice. You need old money for bricks like this.
When we first met Julie, she dazzled us with her welcoming charm. Sit down, girls, welcome to your new home. Cat, don't worry about washing up, dear, I will do that. Of course, it doesn't matter that you split your tea on the carpet Charlie, let me just clear that up for you.
The honeymoon period lasted about 5 days. Then it was plates smashing, daily screaming sessions, and a hole kicked in Cat's bed when she took more than six minutes to have a shower.
We continue to live there because we're too scared to hand our notice in to Julie. The same reason she's never been dumped by a bloke.
Suze is sprawled on the sofa watching a cooking show.
"Hey," I say, throwing myself into the armchair. "I thought you were supposed to be at Yoga tonight?
"I was, but I didn't want to overexert myself," she explains between mouthfuls of scone and clotted cream. "I booked into spinning tomorrow, so I didn't want to ruin that by doing Yoga tonight."
She waves the scone in the air. "And this is a keto scone, so no harm done!"
"But you didn't go to Pilates last night because of Yoga tonight." I frown, confused.
She waves away the question. "Like faffing about in leggings trying to find my inner beauty is going to do me any good. Didn't you hear? I'm going spinning tomorrow! That's 600 calories gone in an hour! I need the energy for it."
"Sure." I give her a blank look.
"Hey, Charlie." Cat breezes out of the bedroom with a post-coital glow on her face, with Stevie trailing after her.
