The Last Goodbye (43 page)

You could almost tell the day of the week it was by the roars thatfiltered out into the corridor. Fridays were full of raucous laughter; Mondays were a more sombre, almost silent affair.

Emma pushed open the door and glanced around at the usual posse of girls sitting at the table scattered with takeaway sandwich-wrappers and foil crisp-bags. The roars from two seconds earlier disappeared almost like someone had twisted a volume-switch on the whole room. Nothing new there, she thought to herself. She was used to having this effect on people recently. The stench from some rice-and-ham dish that Dan from IT was reheating in the microwave almost made her gag.

“Hiya, Emma. Busy?” Helen the receptionist chimed, in an overly cheery voice.

“Y’know yourself, kept going.”

Helen nodded. “Tell me about it.”

What would you know about being busy unless it’s trying to stick your gel nail back on and answer the phone at the same time?

“That won’t keep you going!” Helen nodded to the teabag that Emma wastaking out of the jar above the microwave.

“I’m not hungry just now, I’ll grab something later.”

Emma knew her tone sounded defensive, but she felt self-conscious in front of the group about her lack of lunch – but she just couldn’t stomach anything right now. She turned away from Helen and her cronies and as soon as the kettle had boiled she busied herself by pouring boiling water onto her teabag.

Helen turned back around to her gang and proceeded to moan about how her bridesmaid had put on weight since the last dress fitting and that now she would have to get the dress altered for her. Her audience tutted in sympathy and agreed that her friend had some cheek to gain a few pounds. One of them even added that if she were a real friend she would at least offer to do the cabbage-soup diet to fit back into the dress. Emma wasn’t included in the conversation, nor did she want to be.

Emma worked on the creative team for A1 Adverts but A1 Adverts was not your typical glamorous advertising agency residing in beautiful glazed offices with a sea view and bountiful budgets. Rather A1 specialised in bright and zingy ‘can’t get it out of your head’ type adverts for their clients. A1’s specialty was the discount market; they didn’t do the high-end adverts that won awards. How she would love to work on campaigns such as those! A1’s customers were discount furniture stores, tile shops, budget airlines and basically anyone in the business of discount retailing in Ireland. All their adverts were the same: flashing bubble-text on a neon-coloured background and always backed with shouty voices. In fairness to A1 Adverts, it was a model that worked; they were cheaper than their competitors and they were tailored to that end of the market. But it was a long, long way from the glossy editorials with their subtle imaging that she had spent so much time analysing in college. Emma was a ‘campaign developer’ – in other words, she had to come up with new ideas for their clients’ adverts.

She went back, sat at her desk and sighed wearily as she scrolled down to the next red-flagged email from her overflowing inbox. No matter how hard she tried, she never seemed to be able to get on top of the work that was piling up around her. At the moment she was working on a pitch for a company called Sofa World whichhad asked Dublin’s top advertising agencies to come up with a tagline for their Christmas campaign. Oh, she was a long way from Chanel adverts starring Keira Knightley! It was very late for launching a Christmas campaign. A1 suspected Sofa World had rejected other advertisers' efforts before turning to them at the last minute.

Moments later, Emma’s boss Maureen Hanley popped her head around the screen of her cubicle. Her frizzy hair was tied back with a scrunchy in a manner that made Emma wonder if the woman even possessed a hairbrush.

“Hi, Emma – can you come in for a chat in five?”

Emma felt herself redden as if Maureen could read her mind about what she had just been thinking. “Sure.”

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing major,” Maureen added, obviously noticing Emma’s red face.

Emma hated her high colouring; it always betrayed her innermost feelings. At the drop of a hat her cheeks would go red for almost any reason: embarrassment, frustration, alcohol, spicy food, and God forbid she should try to tell a lie. Emma just had to acceptit was part and parcel of the rawdeal of having fair skin.

She watched as Maureen walked back to her office in her black pencil-leg trousers that didn’t quite meet her court shoes and revealed her white cotton socks. On top she wore a brown tweed blazer buttoned entirely up to the top so that it was puckered across her large bust; she’d had that blazer ever since Emma had started working there seven years ago and Emma imagined she had probably had it at least seven years before that. Maureen was a harmless enough sort of woman – well, as much as a boss can be harmless. She had never married; she’d been too busy sacrificing her life for A1 Adverts. The woman lived and breathed A1, so Emma suspected that the only reason she wanted a meeting was probably because she wanted her to jump up and down about the chance to pitch to Sofa World. But Emma would not be doing any jumping.

Five minutes later Emma grabbed her A4 refill pad so she could scribble down any ideas that would be thrown at her and walked back down the life-sucking, grey-vinyled corridor towardsMaureen’s office. She knocked on her door and let herself in. Maureen looked up from her computer, almost in confusion.

Don’t tell me she doesn’t remember asking me to come in five minutes ago?

“Oh yes, of course, Emma – come in and sit down.” She let out a heavy sigh as sheset about clearing bundles of paper and mugs with coffee stains running down the sides off the messy desk in front of her.

Emma did as she was told and sat opposite her.

Emma cut to the chase. “Did you see the email from Sofa World?”

“What?” Maureen was distracted. “Oh yes, I saw that. You might draftsomething up and send it on and we can sit down then and have a look, yes?”

Emma was taken aback. What did Maureen want her for if not that?

“Well, Emma . . .” Maureen paused.

Well, Maureen. Emma felt she should say something but Maureen’s tone told her it wasn’t her place to speak.

“Well . . . God, Emma I’m not sure how to broach this . . .” She breathed indeeply through her nostrils, so that they flared slightly. “Well, it’s just I’ve noticed you’ve been putting in a lot of hours here lately. Some of the times on your emails have me worried – eleven p.m., midnight – there was even one at two a.m. last week! Now don’t get me wrong, I’m all too happy for people to show their commitment to A1 Adverts but well . . .” She hesitated. “Just with everything going on, I’m a bit worried about you, that’s all.” She was starting to get flustered. “What I’m trying to say is – and I’m not doing a very good job of it – I know you’re a good worker, I’ve never had a problem with your work. I just want you to make sure you’re looking after yourself? That’s all.”

Emma was stunned; she wasn’t used to such public displays of concern from Maureen. She instantly felt the heat creep into her cheeks. I don’t want to talk about this.

“I’m okay, Maureen,” she said coolly so that Maureen would know it wasn’t adiscussion she wished to get into.

“Well, that’s good then,” Maureen added nervously. “It’s just, you’re not long back and well . . . well, I think you should ease yourself in a bit, that’s all.”

Emma shifted in her seat and the discomfort between the two was palpable.

“Okay, so you’ll send me on your proposal for Sofa World then?” Maureen said in an obvious decision to change the subject.

“I’ll have something for you by Monday afternoon,” Emma replied curtly.

“Great, so.”

“Right, if that’s all?”

Maureen gestured to the door, indicating Emma was free to go. Emma stood up to leave. She wanted to get the hell out of there. She wasn’t a person who liked discussing her feelings at the best of times, least of all with her boss.

She went back and sat at her desk and the more she thought about the conversation she’d just had, the more she felt rage building inside her. Why were people so nosy, always trying to push it with her to see if they could be the one to make her crack and fall apart into a mess? It was nobody’s business what time she worked until. If she was skiving off, they’d be on her back – she couldn’t win! She was used to Helen and the rest of them pushing her buttons, trying their best to see if they could be the one to elicit a reaction. But Maureen? She had expected more from her boss. They had always had a perfectly healthy standoffish relationship, so what the hell was Maureen doing trying to change the playing field?

Jesus, what had got into the woman? Surely she was too old for the menopause?

In a Moment
Chapter 2

Come three o’clock and as the hangovers began to ease, Parker’s entire workforce were already planning where they would head later on that night and at five to fivethey began to pack up to leave.

Adam was just heading for the lift when Ronan from Accounts joined him.

“Are you coming for one?”

“Nah, I should probably be heading home.” Adam was hesitant. Not that it would make any difference, he thought bitterly to himself. She barely spoke to him anyway.

“C’mon for one!”

“I’d better not – maybe next time, yeah?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“No worries.”

They took the lift down.

“See you Monday, so,” said Ronan.

“Have a good one!”

Ronan joined some of the others and Adam stood watching asthey walked over to McCormack’s bar, carefree and untroubled. How he wished he could join them – he would rather be going anywhere else but home.

He took his bike from the shelter and headed for Rathmines. He pedalled slowly and allowed the cool evening air to fill his lungs, feeling his chest rise in fullness before falling again. He felt his thigh muscles work hard as he pedalled up the steep incline before turning left over Harold’s Cross Bridge. His cycle to and from work was the only time of day he had with his thoughts to himself. It was his time when he got to think about everything that had happened and try and make sense of it all. It was still so fresh. He only had to look at himself to see angry reminders criss-crossing his skin. Usually when he cycled he racked his head trying to remember the exact sequence of events but his brain would only allow him to go so far.

When he reached their house, he pushed open the wrought-iron gate and wheeled his bike up the path. He could see the lights were all off downstairs. He fumbled with his keys in the lock for a few moments before he was finally able to get into his house. Today’s post sat waiting for him on the mat inside the door. He stooped to pick it up. The envelopes told him it was nothing more interesting than bills, junk mail and a bank statement. He placed them unopened on the hall table. He shouted out to see if Emma was home but no voice answered his call. He hardly knew why he did that as he knew she wouldn’t answer anyway.He went into the kitchen and took a cool beer out of the fridge. He pulled off the metal top andgulped it back.

Emma’s head hadn’t been up to much for the rest of the day. She’d tried her best to think of some winning tag lines for the Sofa World campaign but she didn’t have much luck.

The office began to empty out after four with everyone heading off to various parts of the country for the weekend and by seven she was alone in the open-plan office. She preferred it that way; she could concentrate better without the constant drone of voices. She tried putting some words onto her notepad but nothing was coming. Eventually, after nine, she admitted defeat and knew that stupid taglines for springy sofas would be swimming around in her head all weekend long.

In keeping with their low-cost strategy, A1’s offices were located on Rosses Street, in a dingy part of Dublin City, which was long overdue rejuvenation. It was a notorious area for muggers, so she made her way hurriedly down towards the quays. She watched as hordes of teenagers, hen and stag parties, already bladdered, made their way towards the city’s current hot-spots, gearing themselves up for a heavy night of drinking.

She didn’t want to go home just yet so she decided to keep walking and headed down towards Dawson Street. The narrow paths were crowded with gangs of smokers standing outside so she turned onto a cobble-locked side-street where crowds were sitting along the outdoor terraces under café-bar awnings, protected from the cold evening air by patio heaters. By immersing herself amongst these people, she didn’t feel so alone.

She wandered aimlessly for awhile until she felt her stomach growl and she suddenly realised she was hungry. After skipping lunch, she had forgotten to eat anything for the rest of the day. She looked at her watch and it was nearly eleven o’clock so she hailed a taxi and headed home to Rathmines. She climbed into the back, stated her destination and sank into the leatherette upholstery. She sat listening to the constant buzzing and conversation over and back on the radio between the base station and the different drivers. The driver made half-hearted chit-chat with her – well, he talked and she made occasional sounds of agreement, which seemed to be enough for him to keep rambling on. By the time they turned onto Rathmines Road, she could feel her stomach begin twisting into its familiar knot and, as the car pulled up outside her home, Emma felt her heart lurch. She took her time to locate her money in her wallet before paying him and slamming the door shut.