The Last Word (3 page)

‘It appears you’re not entirely sure you want to work for our paper, Miss Riley? Is there anything I can do to change your mind? We’re a new and exciting paper with an excellent reputation, ever since changing from our print version, which has been around for quite a while! We’d be an asset to any CV. Even by going on-line – ’ he sounded the word out like he rarely used it ‘ – we’re keeping up to date with how the world is working. Your writing would fit in here. I hear your Tweeters are well-received.’

Oh, he was a kind man. Even Harry’s exasperated expression appeared tinged with affection. Tabby took a second to wonder how on earth someone who didn’t know what online meant was the editor of an online newspaper, and she hoped it meant the content was so good that the medium didn’t matter. This could be a real job. But she’d have to work with Harry McSmarty Pants over there, who was grinning at her like a hungry hyena.

It suddenly made sense: He obviously didn’t want to hire her, it had been Crane all along. Harry was trying to get rid of her. She waited for the stubborn need to prove people wrong to kick in.

‘I don’t doubt the brilliance of your paper, Mr Crane. I read it often, and it truly is excellent. I just wasn’t convinced in my meeting with Mr Shulman yesterday that I’m exactly what you’re looking for. If my writing is too fluffy for you, that’s fine, but I don’t – ’

‘Fluffy?’ Crane frowned, looking to Harry for clarification.

‘Light-hearted. Miss Riley’s writing is a little different to what we have at the moment, which is why I think it will work. She’ll bring her followers over to us, writing about what she knows, and as she expands into other territories, we’ll increase our fan base.’

Harry had gone into full sales mode, but it seemed Crane was still unsure. But having someone around who was taking care of blogs, Twitter and the internet in general seemed to be a comfort to him. So it was Harry’s idea?

‘Yes, have her write Miss Twisted on Iraq, on expenses scandals, all manner of big issues, take out all the heavy stuff, reduce it. I think women readers would like that.’ Crane smiled at Tabby, and she just looked at Harry.

‘Both of you, huh?’ She sighed and prepared for battle. ‘Do you think my readers are stupid, Mr Crane?’

‘Now, Tabitha, we don’t think that.’ Harry focused all of his energy on her, and seeing as he wasn’t wearing those stupid glasses, she let herself listen. ‘We think your readers are intelligent young people who just forked out a ridiculous amount for an education that isn’t benefiting them, and after eight hours a day working at a job they hate for shitty pay, they want to read something that tells them the facts with minimal effort and optimum humour.’

Tabby almost blinked in the wake of the charm offensive. Right, so that’s what Harry was there for.

‘I know we didn’t get off to the best start yesterday, and that was largely my fault – ’ he smiled ‘ – but I think, we both think, you’d be excellent at this. It could be a perfect fit.’

Tabby counted to three and forced herself to break eye contact, and instead looked over to Crane, who seemed rather confused as to why he was being involved in this at all. She decided she’d go for it. Like she’d ever really doubted it. If the opportunity was there, irritating gorgeous editor or not, she was going to go for it. She needed to stop depending on her mother for handouts. Maybe she was OK again, maybe she could write proper stuff, for a proper paper again.

‘OK, well, let’s talk salary then.’ She shrugged. Her stomach dropped as she watched Harry and Crane make awkward eye contact with each other.

‘Well, you see Miss Riley, as you said this is an excellent opportunity, a chance to make your CV shine, so – ’

‘So you want me to work for nothing. Right.’ She did consider it for a moment, that same in-built intern inclination that every creative graduate has: I have to work for free until I am valued. But Tabby had been valued once, she’d been going places. ‘Gifted’ that’s what Richard used to call her. She was worth something, even now, she was sure. Even if it was only the love of a handful of Twitter followers. Love meant money, or something.

‘Thank you for your time, honestly.’ She smiled gently and stuck out her hand to Crane, who automatically shook it before frowning at her.

‘Now, Tabitha,’ Harry drawled. ‘Let’s not be hasty, I’m sure we could come to a mutually beneficial arrangement.’

She wondered if he worked hard to make every word that came out of his mouth sound like sexual innuendo, or if it was just an unfortunate habit. Luckily, it was not her problem.

Tabby raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m sure that would be lovely, Mr Shulman, and I was really excited about this job opportunity. But I need a job, not an internship. I’m on the wrong side of twenty-five for those, I’m afraid.’ She shrugged. ‘Best of luck though.’ She smiled again at Crane, somehow so eager for him to know it wasn’t personal. And that she wasn’t really a mad bitch.

For the second time in two days, Tabby walked out of an interview for a job she had really wanted. Although this time, Harry followed her, his hand hovering at her back as she marched along, trying not to drown in disappointment. When they reached the lift, he spoke.

‘You know, we’re never going to get anywhere if you keep throwing hissy fits.’

Tabby met his eyes again, and immediately wished she hadn’t. ‘Look at my face. Smiling, see?’ She bared her teeth. ‘Not angry. I just don’t want to work for nothing. As I said, I can get by writing for women’s magazines and website content.’

‘But that doesn’t excite you.’ Harry seemed to tower over her, leaning into her personal space like he could draw her in if he kept her talking long enough. Which he probably could. The guy was a salesman: persuasive, convincing and completely without morals. And maybe if anything excited her, that did. She squared her shoulders.

‘Whether heated eyelash curlers work better than regular ones? Super exciting! The world is waiting for my response with baited breath!’ she said dramatically, and allowed a little shared grin with the man who was trying to con her out of her living.

‘Look, I’m not greedy, I’m a pragmatist.’ Why she felt she had to explain her choices to Harry Shulman of all people, she had no idea. Maybe it was so she didn’t notice how close he was standing and that whatever aftershave he was wearing smelled really good. Urgh. ‘People read my work and think I’m kooky and sweet and a pushover. But I think you know that I’m not a pushover, don’t you, Harry?’

She unleashed her smile on him, the one that made her feel in control as his eyes briefly wavered from hers, down to her lips, then back again. She walked into the lift, and he straightened.

‘Pushover is definitely not the word I’d use.’ Harry smirked as the lift door closed, and Tabby suddenly felt out of control again.

***

Tabby had certainly not felt like shoe shopping after that ordeal. Besides, all that talk about money had made her worry even more. And she was probably going to have to call her mother back some time. She wouldn’t survive if she withheld the monthly cheques like she did last year when Tabby had missed her birthday. To be fair, her mother was in LA, and Tabby didn’t want to get charged international rates just because her mother refused to use Skype, but whatever. The person with the purse is in control. And her mother’s purse was made by Prada and full of cash.

Instead, Tabby went home, changed into her baggy clothes, cleaned the house, hoovered, scrubbed and polished everything she could get her hands on. Then she went for a run. Then she had a shower. In between peeling potatoes and deciding whether or not she needed to flip her mattress, Rhi came home, and they spent a considerable amount of time not talking about the interview. They talked about the crazy people Rhi worked with at the library and watched the news just so they’d have things to moan about. When it got to nine p.m., even Rhi was agitated.

‘Turn on your bloody laptop, scaredy cat! I can’t deal with the pressure!’

In her inbox was an email from Harry Shulman, offering her a twelve-week contract, a decent salary and expenses. Goddamn charm boy, got everything he wanted.

‘Shouldn’t we be celebrating?’ Rhi asked, already halfway to the bottle of white wine in the fridge.

‘Guess so.’ Tabby sighed. Twelve weeks. In a small office with Harry criticising everything she wrote, then laughing his way out of it. Going from arrogant to interested in under a minute. It was going to be an exhausting twelve weeks.

Chapter Four

‘Start being more happy or I’m going to hit you,’ Chandra warned dryly, as they sat at the bar with oversized, overpriced cocktails. ‘I swear, if you turn out to be one of those people who moans and then doesn’t actually change anything, we’re not going to be friends any more.’

‘Way to go with the tough love, Chands.’ Tabby rolled her eyes, but nudged her friend. OK, she needed to cheer up. This was her celebration, a night out to, ‘Herald the return of the kickass reporter Tabby Riley,’ as Chandra had put it earlier, when she showed up at the flat, forced Tabby into a clean dress and painful shoes, and dragged her to Covent Garden.

‘I really do appreciate this, you know. I needed a night out,’ Tabby said, and instead thought about how what she really needed was her pyjamas, takeaway Chinese food and episodes of Come Dine With Me. Or something, anything, to stop her thinking about her very first ‘Concept Meeting’ with Harry on Monday.

‘Yes, yes you did. Is Her Majesty meeting us here, or is it a bit too posh for the Proletarian Princess?’ Chandra raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow and sipped at her Cosmopolitan.

‘Don’t call her that. She’ll meet us in the pub later.’

‘Pubs,’ Chandra scoffed, and looked down the bar to catch the eye of the cutest barman. ‘Two more here, darling!’

‘You will come to the pub?’ Tabby wheedled. ‘If this is meant to be my celebration I need you both there. If only to tell me to stop being a miserable cow.’

‘Fine.’ Chandra rolled her eyes, and used her dazzling white smile on the barman, who appeared unimpressed. When he was gone, Chandra sighed. ‘What is it with cocktail barmen? They think they’re so cute.’

‘It’s their job.’ Tabby shrugged, frowning at the black-shirted twenty-somethings who provided their alcohol. ‘They know they’re pretty and they think we’re pathetic.’

Chandra ate the cherry from her cocktail. ‘They probably have damaged egos, and we make them feel better, improving their sense of self-worth.’

Tabby laughed into her Daiquiri. ‘So what you’re saying is, you’re really doing them a service by imagining them naked?’

Chandra grinned. ‘Oh, absolutely, you know me, always willing to help a person in need.’

Tabby and Chandra had been friends since secondary school, drawn together by mutual crushes on television characters and the fact that they both had overbearing mothers. Chandra, being an Indian girl of twenty-six was evading almost daily calls from her mother about when she was going to settle down with a nice Indian boy. And Tabby was evading calls from her mother, just because she was her mother.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Tabby’s phone began to ring. The Darth Vader theme tune, muffled from inside her bag was still too loud to be ignored.

‘Don’t do it! It can only end badly!’

Tabby rolled her eyes, drank the remainder of her first drink, and a good half of her second one, then answered the phone. ‘Hi Mum! How are you?’ she chirped, while Chandra made a face.

‘Tabitha?’ Claudia Riley sounded surprised.

‘Yes, Mum. You called me. Did you not mean to?’

‘No darling, of course I meant to! You just sound rather frantic. You’re not on anti-depressants are you, because I saw this programme on television – ’

‘No. Why would I be on anti-depressants?’ She rolled her eyes at Chandra, who snorted into her drink.

‘Well, things aren’t exactly going well for you darling, are they? No man, no real career. Living with the lesbian in that dive. And you’re edging closer to thirty, aren’t you? Maybe you should think about getting a secretarial job. I could put it into Google for you.’

Tabby was tempted to punch herself for answering the phone. Actually, punching herself would not be enough. Banging her head against a wall, that was the ticket.

‘Actually Mum, I got offered a new job. A real writing job with a newspaper, decent money too.’ She tried not to make it sound like she had something to prove, but obviously, she did. Her mother paused for a moment, and Tabby took a second to imagine what it would be like if her mother was like other mothers, and just said, ‘Congratulations, love! I’m so proud!’ But that wasn’t Claudia’s style.

‘Well, it’s not a real job, though, is it? You know, your cousin’s working in PR, got her own office – ’

‘Erm, yes it is real. I do a job, I get paid – ’ I spend the money I’m paid on alcohol to blot out your opinion of the job ‘ – sounds real to me!’

She could hear her mother huff, and downed the rest of her drink in preparation for her inevitable response. She signalled to Chandra, ‘Two more.’

‘Look, I know you think I’m being mean, darling, but I’m not, I’m just – ’

‘Being honest, I know.’ Tabby reached over and had some of Chandra’s drink. She was getting more worked up. ‘And while we’re on the subject of honesty, Mum, how’s Liam doing? Still feeling good about dating a boy two years older than your daughter? Bet you’re head of the PTA, right?’

Claudia cleared her throat awkwardly.

Instead of thinking she may have finally won an argument, Tabby realised that something terrible was going to happen.

‘Actually, Liam and I are getting married.’

Tabby’s jaw dropped, and she let a ‘Fuck right off!’ escape before she could control herself.

‘Language, Tabitha! You clearly got your mouth from your father’s side of the family. His mother sounded like she was born on a building site. Anyway, it will be a beautiful wedding, we were thinking of spring, lots of flowers everywhere, a big ceremony, but tasteful.’

Tabby let her mother drone on about her monstrosity of a wedding. She’d never imagined Liam was going to be a permanent part of her mother’s life. She’d assumed it was more of a mid-life crisis relationship.