Honeybee, page 7
‘It’s OK, it’s interesting. You don’t hear that very often. The guy at home with the kids, the woman at work. I love that. I think I’d want it to be that way round too.’
‘Well, it worked for us – it worked for me. I think my husband wishes he had more going on, but I suppose that’s how generations of women have always felt, isn’t it? I still feel guilty. So, let me deal with my guilt by helping out another artist, shall I?’
‘Wow, thanks,’ I say, genuinely baffled by how nice she is being. I was expecting to be laughed at.
‘I have a position that’s just come in. It’s a receptionist job at a little marketing company. They need someone right away, the office is in Trinity Square. What do you think?’
‘That sounds great. Thank you. My flatmate works in marketing. She can give me the low-down because if I’m totally honest I don’t really understand what it is.’
‘You’re funny. But maybe lose the honesty when you turn up on Monday morning, OK? You’ll be representing me and my agency when you’re there, so at least pretend to be interested?’
‘OK,’ I say, remembering that jobs are serious.
‘They’re looking for a receptionist indefinitely until they find someone full-time for the role. If you’re good, that won’t happen anytime soon. You’ll be meeting and greeting, setting up the meeting rooms and a few other bits and bobs, but you’ll also get some time to sit at a computer on reception when it’s quiet and write a few words, if you promise to do it discreetly, and not give me a bad name?’
‘Of course. Wow, thanks so much!’
‘And they have a London office, so you never know, prove yourself and you might even get a transfer one day.’
‘Great.’
‘Here’s the address,’ she says, handing me a form. ‘It’s called Magic Marketing. You’ll be reporting to Flo Parrot. She’s the …’
I make a very strange noise that could mean anything from shock to trapped wind.
‘Is there a problem?’ Mel asks, frowning, and I see a firmer side to her. ‘You know Renée, I’m sorry it’s not a more exciting role, but I’ve really tried to help you out here.’
‘No. No, it’s a brilliant role and I’d love to do it. I just wasn’t expecting it to happen so quickly. I’m stunned, that’s all. Thank you, really that’s great.’
‘OK good. Well good luck, keep me posted on how it goes.’
‘I will,’ I say, getting up to leave.
She stands up suddenly and calls me back in. ‘Renée, when I saw your name on my calendar, I wondered if it could be you. And as soon as I saw you, I knew. I was friends with your mum at school. Really good friends. You’re hilarious, just like she was. She’d be really proud of you, I’m sure.’
It’s like stubbing your toe or hitting your funny bone. A reaction that you have no power over. My eyes overflow with tears.
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,’ Mel says. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything.’
‘No, no, not at all. It’s just so nice. Almost feels like she just helped me out.’
‘Maybe she did. Good luck with the job. Please be punctual and look smart, you’re representing my agency, OK?’
‘Of course,’ I say, drying my eyes on my sleeve. ‘I’m honestly so grateful and I won’t fuck it up.’
Mel smiles and sits back down. That’s twice in just a week that I’ve met someone who knew Mum. Her entire life was here, all thirty-six years of it. If I move away, one thing I’ll never get more of are all the memories of her.
‘All good?’ Nancy asks as I come out of Mel’s office.
‘All great. Hey, did you ever get to Peru? I know that was your dream.’
‘I did, yeah. I went straight out of school. I spent a year there, I hiked the Inca Trail and worked as a teaching assistant for a language school. It was amazing.’
‘Wow, are you going to go back?’
‘No, that box is ticked. I’m back here now. I want to buy a house, find a husband, start a family. You can’t just wander around forever, can you?’
‘I guess not.’ It’s never occurred to me that an ambition could be achieved so young; you can relax and just get on with living a normal life having fulfilled the thing you always wanted to do. How liberating for her. She’s done. Marriage and babies from now on.
‘Nice to see you, Nancy.’ I go to leave.
‘Oh, Renée, did you hear that Sally died? Cancer, apparently.’
‘Yeah, I did. I went to the funeral.’
‘You went to Sally de Putron’s funeral? You did? Did you two become friends in the end?’
‘No, never. I just, I dunno, I felt sorry for her. She had a kid, you know? I lost my mum at that age, I felt weirdly connected to it.’
‘Fair enough. I’m sorry about your mum, by the way. I’m not sure we ever said things like that to each other at school. It must have been really hard for you.’
‘It was, thank you.’
I leave, feeling more empowered than when I arrived. I hurry down the stairs and back into the fresh air. I can’t wait for Flo to get home so I can tell her we’ll be roomies and colleagues. She’ll be so happy. Maybe.
I think of Nancy, aged twenty-two, having lived the dream she always wanted to live. Just the great expanse of life sitting in front of her. And for me, the big stuff is yet to come. My real adventures are just around the corner.
5
Flo
‘Why are you being weird?’ I say to Renée as I walk into the kitchen after work. She’s standing by the sink and looks tense.
‘Something happened.’
‘Oh God, what? You broke something? What was it? My happy cup?’
‘Your what?’
‘My happy cup. I read an article once about how you should nominate things to make you happy, so you associate them with feeling good. I have a happy cup, a happy spoon, a happy wine glass.’
‘You have a happy spoon?’
I’ve never told anyone about my happy spoon before. I might make that the last time I try to explain it. ‘So, what then, what happened?’
‘I got a job.’
‘That’s so great! Wow, that was quick. When do you start?’
‘Monday.’
‘OK, well this is good, right? Why do you look like this isn’t good?’
‘Well, don’t be mad, but it’s … it’s at your office. I just got the job as your receptionist. Ta-dah!’
She is doing jazz hands. You always know when Renée is nervous because she does jazz hands. I feel some scratching in my belly. I put my hand to it and rub gently. I breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. My work is my place. My zone. I want to keep it that way. This clearly shows on my face.
‘Flo, I knew you’d react like this, but maybe it’s not that bad? And I don’t have to stay for long. We can see how it goes, and I can tell Mel at Pink Apple that I need to find something else, but at least I’ll be working in the meantime?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Flo, it might even be fun?’
It won’t be fun. It will be stressful. The receptionist at Magic Marketing works under me. I’ll essentially be Renée’s boss. Does she really think she’ll like me telling her to clean meeting rooms and check the toilets?
‘You realise I’ll have to tell you what to do, right?’
‘Flo, you are applying stress and pressure to this situation before it has even arisen. Can we just presume it won’t be awful, see how it goes, and if it doesn’t work out, I’ll just leave? I don’t want to work in a bloody marketing office anyway, I don’t even know what marketing is.’
I exhale a huge, defeated breath. I choose not to take offence at her suggestion that working in a marketing office is rubbish. ‘OK, but Renée, my job is important to me, OK? I don’t want to get put into a situation where I’m having to stick up for you, or where you’re not doing the job, and it’s showing me up, OK?’
‘Jesus, have some faith.’
‘Fine, but you working in an office makes about as much sense as Madonna working in a bookshop.’
‘I’m not an idiot, Flo. I think I’ll manage answering some phones and putting on a smiley face to greet visitors. It might not be what I want to do forever, but it doesn’t mean I can’t do it.’
She looks genuinely hurt, and now I just feel awful.
‘OK, I’m sorry. Congratulations, it’s great you got a job. And we can play it by ear, I suppose, if living together and working together feels like too much.’
‘Sure, let’s play it by ear. Whatever you need. I thought you’d be happy.’
‘I am happy, of course I am. How about I cook spag bol and we watch Dirty Dancing on the sofa tonight?’
‘That sounds great,’ she says, as I pour two glasses of red wine. She sits down at the kitchen table, and I get all the ingredients together.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to be negative.’
‘I’m sad,’ she says. ‘Maybe I can use your happy spoon to cheer me up?’
I tell her to sod off.
‘How do I look?’ says Renée, coming into the kitchen. It’s 7.45 a.m. the following Monday. She looks smart with a pair of my black trousers on, and a red shirt of hers. She usually wears the top four buttons undone on everything, but she’s buttoned up at least two. This is good, it suggests she is taking this seriously and won’t humiliate me with raunchy outfits and raucous behaviour. I don’t mean to be so pessimistic of how this will all go. But I know Renée. She’s hardly a wallflower who avoids trouble.
‘You look great,’ I say, convincingly. She doesn’t really look like Renée. Quite serious. I could laugh, but I won’t.
‘I’ll go shopping when I get paid,’ she says, obviously uncomfortable but not wanting to offend me as she’s in my clothes.
It occurs to me she can’t be entirely herself at work, she has to find a version of Renée that works in the office. That’s what we all do; we all have our work persona that gets the job done and keeps everyone happy. It’s why it will never not be weird to bump into colleagues outside of work. Seeing them in their casual clothes, relaxed, with people who don’t pay them to be there. I panic about bumping into someone from work in town. All I’d know to talk to them about is stationery.
Renée fidgets with the red shirt. She seems really nervous, which I suppose is understandable. ‘It’s OK, Renée,’ I say, reassuringly. ‘I’m here to help, you can ask me anything.’
She takes a few more moments to express her concerns.
‘Are any of the guys in your office fit?’ she says, winking at me. ‘I’ve always loved the idea of a shag in a boardroom.’
This is going to be awful.
Renée
‘This is it,’ says Flo, as we stand outside a modern building with a large glass door in Trinity Square. It’s the kind of Guernsey I’ve never known personally but always knew was here. The island is a tax haven, apparently. That means lots of businesses are based here, and the headquarters of lots of banks and financial things. It’s another world. The business world. I suddenly feel fifteen again. I see my reflection in the glass. I look unimpressive, in an unimpressive outfit. I wish I’d worn my jeans, but for some reason you’re not allowed to wear comfortable clothes when you have to sit down all day in one room.
‘Ready?’ Flo says, like we are about to burst on stage and sing for the queen. She takes a big breath and opens the door with her fob. We go inside.
As the lift doors open, we step into a small hallway that quickly merges into a reception area. It’s nice, smart, without much character. A purple sofa and the front of the reception desk is lit nicely, with ‘Magic Marketing’ across the front. It’s surprisingly exciting seeing it. A proper reception in a proper office. I’m going to sit there and be all receptionisty. It already kicks arse over pulling pints.
‘This is your desk,’ says Flo, as if I haven’t already worked that out. I make my way behind it, taking my jacket off and hanging it on the back of my chair. I feel confident and excited, just as a very skinny and extremely stylish blonde woman walks up to the desk and makes me feel like a dorky child who has no place with the cool kids in the working world. I gulp down my insecurities and put on my best me.
‘Hello, I’m Renée,’ I say to the woman who has identified herself as Chloe. She kind of smiles, I think. Her blonde bob is short and perfect, her jade eye shadow is the exact shade of her cropped, stripy jumper that sits perfectly on top of a floral shirt with a pussy-bow collar. A bold clashing of prints which takes a certain self-confidence to pull off. Her skintight trousers show the kind of thigh gap supermodels have, and she walked in here like she was floating on a cloud, despite her four-inch heels. I hate her and want to be her all in the first three seconds of meeting her.
‘We walked here,’ I say, like a thirteen-year-old girl talking about the first time she wears a bra.
Chloe replies with a strained smile. ‘Do you two know each other then?’ she says to Flo.
‘Yes, by chance Renée and I live together. We …’
‘Don’t worry, we’re not lesbians or anything,’ my mouth spurts before my brain has the chance to stop it. Both Chloe and Flo’s heads bounce in my direction, but neither of them is quite sure what to say. ‘Sorry,’ I add. ‘I’m a little nervous. I lose control of what I say when I am nervous. We are not lesbians. And I won’t say lesbians again.’
Flo drops her head and shakes it. This may have been what she was talking about when she expressed concerns about me working in her office.
‘I’m a lesbian,’ says Chloe, proudly. The three of us stand staring at each other in one of the most surreal silences I’ve ever experienced.
‘I did not know that,’ Flo says, sounding like Stephen Hawking.
‘Why would you?’ Chloe says, her nose still aimed at the roof. ‘I’m not wearing an “I am a lesbian” T-shirt. It’s quite hard for people in Guernsey to comprehend when they find out. It would be easier for you all if I strapped down my chest, shaved off half my hair and wore heavy boots.’
I find myself looking at her chest, and wondering what the point would be in strapping down her very small boobs.
‘I comprehend it,’ I say, politely. She seems pleased about that.
‘I actually remember you, Renée, from Tudor Falls. I was a prefect when you were in Junior Remove. I once caught you eating the phone book. You were standing on a desk with a swarm of girls cheering you on.’
‘Oh wow, that was you? You reported me to the headmistress, I got my first detention.’
‘Of course I did. You were destroying school property. Tearing out pages, stuffing them into your mouth and chewing them. It was extraordinary.’
‘Yes, well, no one was more sorry than me. I didn’t poo for a week after that. Who knew surnames beginning with P were so un-fibrous.’ I think that’s quite funny; Chloe looks as if she might be sick.
‘I remember that day too,’ Flo says.
‘Oh, you were at Tudor Falls as well?’ Chloe asks. Flo looks like she’s trying not to be upset about how unmemorable she must be.
‘Yup, but I kept a low profile.’
‘Strange, I never forget a face,’ she says, rubbing it in.
‘Well, I have a very forgettable face. Shall we move on?’
‘OK, well this is where you will be based,’ Chloe says, turning back to me. ‘The switchboard is very simple, Flo will explain it all to you. You can take an hour for lunch, but please no eating at your desk; you are representing us all while you sit here. Are you OK to walk Renée through everything, Flo? I have a meeting at nine fifteen.’
‘Of course,’ says Flo, efficiently.
‘Great. Well, welcome to the team, Renée. And Flo, if we can get coffees and pastries for the nine fifteen, that would be great,’ she says with a small, unfriendly smile. ‘Good to see again, Renée. Please don’t eat the directory. It’s laminated. Can’t be good for you.’
‘No need, I packed a sandwich,’ I say, as she struts away. I brace myself for a bollocking. ‘There is no way she eats pastries,’ I say, hoping to distract Flo.
‘Are you serious?’ Flo says, turning to me. ‘We are not lesbians? LESBIANS? Why would you say that? That was the first thing you said after hello?’ She goes behind the reception desk and starts moving things around, turning things on and opening and shutting drawers.
‘I’m sorry, I got nervous,’ I say. A little annoyed that there is no sympathy for me. I got tongue-tied and said something stupid, it’s not that bad. ‘Got the conversation going though, didn’t it? Did you know she was gay?’
‘No, I didn’t. It’s not the kind of thing you talk about in an office.’
‘Well, she seemed keen to tell us.’
‘Only because you …’ She is talking quietly but clearly wishes she was shouting, ‘Just please watch it, Renée. Please?’
I nod. ‘OK, I’m sorry. She’s just so uptight-looking, it threw me off-guard. Is she nice? She doesn’t seem nice. I remember her now, proper snooty.’
‘She’s nice. I mean, she’s fine. Come here.’
I join Flo behind the desk and sit on the chair.
‘Oooomph, its comfy,’ I say as I pull a lever that adjusts the height up and down. I suddenly slam down so that my face is below the desk and an unpredicted bolt of giggles bellows out of my mouth.
‘Renée, seriously. Stop it. Just be serious, please.’ She is speaking in a loud aggressive whisper. I release the lever again and I rise slowly back up to the correct height. Flo picks up the phone receiver.
‘So, you answer the phone, ask who it is and who they want to speak to, and then you put them through. You always ask who it is, OK? When the person here answers, you say who is on the call and they will either take it or ask you to take a message. Here is a list of extensions.’
