A Dream Come True (4 page)

“Except for you,” said Ellie. “Why are you working here if most people are so horrible?”

“Well…” Sophie shuddered. “I wouldn't want to be employed in Angel's office.” She pulled a face. “Or in any of the other departments to be honest. It's great down here though. It's almost like not having a boss, because everyone leaves me pretty much alone. And it's convenient, because Flynn and I can come into work together in his car. And down here I miss most of the infighting. Besides, I'm only doing it until I can make it as a potter.”

“You make pots?”

Sophie nodded. “It was my thing at art college, but it's hard to make a living creating studio pottery. Most people end up making domestic stuff, like mugs and bowls that are designed for everyday use, but I want to be taken seriously as an artist. I want to make stuff that is collected for its own sake, because people think it's beautiful.” She pointed to a tall, elegant pot, resting on a shelf behind her. “This is one of mine. I keep it here in case anyone comes in who might be useful to my career. It hasn't happened yet, but you never know!”

“Wow!” Ellie gazed at the beautiful pot with its deep green glaze. The colour made her think of a shadowy pool of cool water. “It's lovely.”

“Thank you,” said Sophie, looking pleased. “So we both have big ambitions. You want to write world-famous articles, and I want to create world-famous pots. Not too big an ask, is it?”

Sophie smiled, and Ellie smiled back. They
were
big ambitions, but Ellie had begun the first faltering steps towards becoming a journalist. Thanks to Uncle Patrick she was here, at the
Heart
offices. Now, she was determined to prove that she had the makings of the sort of brilliant writer a magazine like
Heart
would be willing to
kill
for.

Ellie's first day had been difficult, but buoyed up by Sophie's friendship she arrived the next morning determined to get as much as she could out of her work experience – and to enjoy it too. For a start she had brought a pair of her own shoes, with more manageable heels. She changed out of her boots thinking that, already, today was better than the previous one. She might not feel exactly welcome, but she was getting familiar with the office, and now she at least knew who everyone was.

She was greeted with a bit of good news. Flynn had found her a laptop. “Can I set it up at the far end of the reception desk?” Flynn asked Carlotta.

Carlotta nodded. “I'll just make some room.”

She picked up a huge, flowering plant in its white china bowl and put it on a low table. Then she opened one of the drawers in the desk and scooped out a collection of pens, stray paperclips and a spare pair of tights. “There you are,” she said to Ellie. “You can have that drawer for your things. Keep the top of the desk tidy, or Angel will go ballistic.” She looked disparagingly at the laptop. “Pity it's so ancient,” she said to Flynn. “Couldn't you find something that looks a bit smarter? After all, this is our front desk.”

Flynn grinned. “It's only a couple of years old. And I'm sure any visitors will be far too busy looking at your welcoming smile to notice Ellie's computer.” He turned to Ellie. “Now, Ellie. You need to set a password to get into the system. Key it in there, but don't let me, or anyone else, know what it is. Okay?”

“That's great. Thanks!”

Ellie settled herself into her own space once Flynn had gone, feeling almost like a real journalist. She tucked her bag neatly out of sight and put her pen in the drawer. The pen sounded a bit sad, rattling away on its own as she closed the drawer, so she took it out again and put it next to her laptop. She looked at Carlotta, to share a smile, but the receptionist was working at something on her screen and didn't notice.

Ellie's seat had height adjustment, so she spent a couple of minutes making sure it was in the right position. She was looking forward to being asked to try writing something, but everyone seemed too busy to give her any job at all.

She decided to fill in time by writing about what it was like to be in the
Heart
office for her school report, but before she could make a start, Piano came over to the reception desk.

“Angel's coffee,” she said, and strode impressively away in her high heels without waiting for an answer.

Carlotta looked at her watch. “Okay. So here's what you do,” she explained to Ellie. “Angel likes her first coffee in about half an hour, so you'll need to go in a minute because there can be a queue.”

Ellie looked at the vending machine in the lobby. “A queue?”

Carlotta followed her gaze and laughed. “Oh no! We go to Coffee! Coffee! in the High Street.” She shuddered. “We
never
have vending machine coffee. In fact…” She smiled brightly at Ellie. “While you're out you could bring me one too.”

Thanks to Angel's demands for almost non-stop caffeine – and Carlotta's determination that Ellie should relieve her of the job of fetching it – she soon knew where the nearest coffee shop was, and even if this was to be her entire work experience, at least she was pleased to be busy!

By midday, she had fetched coffee for everyone, and got the order correct; she had unpacked a huge box of handbags with Sophie and carried them up to the office for Angel to consider; and she'd reported to Carlotta that the water cooler was empty.

“Tell Piano,” said Carlotta, who was busy keying something into her computer.

Piano made Ellie wait by her desk like a naughty schoolgirl until she'd finished what she was doing. Then she listened impatiently. “The water company's pathetic,” she said, glaring at Ellie as if it was her fault. “They never deliver in time. We'll have to find a different supplier.” She went over to Francesca's desk and Ellie looked up to see Sophie, carrying an armful of post.

Ellie would have liked to chat, but it was obvious that Sophie was in a hurry. She handed the post to Carlotta and gave Ellie a quick grin. “Catch you later,” she muttered as she left the office and collected her loaded post trolley, which she'd left in the lobby.

Ellie tried to ignore the way Piano irritated her by acting so superior, and turned her attention to her bit of desk space, which had just become hidden under the pile of post. Carlotta had dumped the lot in front of Ellie's laptop.

“What do you want me to do with all this?” Ellie asked.

Carlotta shrugged. “Open it.”

Ellie sat down and started sorting through the envelopes. Actually, the discarded post proved to be rather interesting. One package was from a record company that was trying to promote an up-and-coming new band. Ellie studied the glossy photograph of the four boys and one girl who made up the band – which was called, Calumny. The girl was holding a bass guitar and glowering under her cropped hair. Three of the boys looked equally straight-faced and edgy, but the fourth, a blond-headed, good-looking boy, who clutched an electric violin, hadn't been able to hide the glimmer of an excited smile. Ellie found herself smiling back at him. He couldn't help looking thrilled at having made it this far, and Ellie could imagine just how he felt.

Ellie threw away the packaging, and made a neat pile of the photograph, CD and publicity flyer, as well as the covering letter. She wondered if the band would get any publicity in
Heart.
Maybe she'd ask if she could have the CD if no one else wanted it. If she liked the sound she could give the band a bit of exposure at school.

Once her desk was tidy again, Francesca called her over.

“Bring your notebook and come into Angel's office,” she said. “Angel's going out, and there's something we need to discuss. It'll be quieter in there.”

“But I don't have a notebook.”

Francesca didn't hear, or maybe she wasn't interested. “Hurry up.”

Ellie grabbed her bag and followed. She knew she had a pen in there, and…what about the old black notebook of her dad's that Mum had given her? Ellie had taken it out of her bag a couple of times at home, and turned it over in her hands, not sure what to do with it. The old-fashioned notebook was held closed with an elastic strap, and somehow she hadn't felt like opening it. Mum had told her that it was unused but, in spite of this, Ellie wasn't sure that she wanted to write in it. Closed, it was like some sort of secret. Open, she was afraid it might become just any old uncool notebook with yellowing paper. In the end she'd kept it in her bag, but more as a good-luck charm from her long-dead father than anything else.

Ellie hurried to keep up with Francesca. She couldn't think of anything she'd done wrong, but whenever any of the staff spoke to her she got the feeling she was going to be told off. She sidled up to the door, but, to her relief, Angel came out as she was about to go in.

“Don't make a mess in my office,” she said imperiously. “I know what you young girls are like.”

Ellie bit back a retort. It was obvious Angel didn't know what
she
was like. Ellie went in to find Francesca already perched elegantly on the edge of Angel's vast desk.

“Sit down.”

Ellie chose one of the soft blue chairs Angel kept for her guests rather than the long, white leather sofa, and rummaged in her bag.

“Ready?”

“Yes… I'm…just looking for my notebook.” Ellie pulled the scruffy black book out of her bag and put it on her knee.

“Good.” Francesca sounded amused.

“It was my dad's,” said Ellie, in case Francesca thought it had been her own choice.

“Really?” Francesca stopped sounding amused and looked interested. “Your father was Daniel Ixos, wasn't he?”

Ellie was surprised that Francesca had heard of him. “Yes.”

“I've read some of his work.” Francesca sounded enthusiastic. “He was a great journalist… How wonderful to have one of his notebooks. May I see?”

Ellie passed the notebook to Francesca. She turned it over in her hands, without undoing the band of elastic. She smiled encouragingly at Ellie as she handed it back. “Maybe it'll bring you luck.”

“I hope so,” said Ellie.

There was silence for a moment, and then Francesca cleared her throat. “Angel wondered, now that you're settled in, if you'd like to try your hand at writing an article for us?”

Ellie's eyes widened with excitement. “Yes please!”

Francesca held up a warning hand. “Now don't get too carried away. For us to actually publish it, it would have to be of a very high standard. But because you're the age of our readers it might be fun to see what you can do. And if it has promise, one of us can always polish it up when you've written it.”

Inwardly, Ellie bridled at the suggestion that anyone might have to polish up something she might write, but she tried to keep an even expression on her face. “So…what would you like me to write about?” she said, excitement bubbling up inside her.

“Well.” Francesca folded her arms. “We have an interview coming up with Pop and Lolly Lowther. You're about the same age as they were when they recorded their first hit single, so it might be interesting if you did the interview and then tried your hand at writing the feature.”

Ellie stared at Francesca. For a moment she wasn't sure if she'd heard correctly. “Interview Pop and Lolly Lowther? Wow! That's fantastic!”

Ellie's brain was reeling. She had hoped to be able to do a write-up on something…perfume, or handbags…or, best of all, an in-depth piece about an animal sanctuary maybe, or global warming. But to interview the famous pop singer twins and then write a feature about them… Could she make the leap from school magazine contributor to this without making a fool of herself? Even as she wavered, she knew that no way was she going to turn down this chance.

Francesca was still talking. “You can't write any of this down unless you open your notebook.” She was looking amused again. Ellie fumbled with the elastic and pushed back the cover with trembling fingers. On the first page, written in pencil were the words
You can do this!

Ellie froze, her pen hovering uncertainly above the page. It was as if the ghost of her dad was sitting in the room with her, urging her on. And yet he must have written this before Ellie was born, just before he'd set out on that last fateful journey. Why had he written those particular words? Surely he was a really confident, experienced journalist? She decided to ask her mum what she thought. Meanwhile, she couldn't sit here dreaming. Ellie took a deep breath. Yes, she
could
do this interview, or at least, she was determined to try her best. She tuned in to what Francesca was saying, and started scribbling madly below her father's words.

Research

Old school, fashion shoots, cuttings,

internet, ask Piano for help!!

First recording, favourite fashion labels,

check old issues.