Written in the Stars (13 page)

Love always,

Adam x

‘Wow,’ Milly whistles, wiping her eyes as she finishes reading his message. ‘Are you OK?’

I flop back on the bed and stare at the red time ball that is sitting on top of the octagon tower like a planet around which all of time revolves. It is one of the world’s earliest time signals used by ships on the Thames and Londoners since 1833 and is still operating today. Each day at 12.55 the time ball rises halfway up its mast, at 12.58 it rises to the top. At 13.00 exactly the time ball drops, providing the signal to anyone who can see it.

I nod. Strangely I am. Adam is OK. His note has me even more certain that I made the right choice – for both of us. It doesn’t mean it’s not painful, but at least we’re now free to move on.

‘Doesn’t it make you want to call him straight back and tell him you’ve made a terrible mistake?’ she says desperately. ‘You’ve assessed your assets, you want to go back on your merger, pop him back in your portfolio, hang on to his holdings . . .’ When Milly’s emotions are riding high she always talks trader.

I smile and grasp her hand. ‘I’m not like you, Milly. You’ve always known where your life is going. I know Adam was the best thing that ever happened to me but I’ve made the right choice. I don’t deserve him.’

‘Oh Bea, that’s just not true!’ Milly wails. ‘I wish I could help you see how wonderful you are! One thing is for sure though,’ she says, ‘you won’t see it locked away in this room. Or on sodding Facebook . . .’ she adds, flipping the laptop shut again. I notice she has slipped something on top of it.

‘What’s this?’ I ask, furrowing my brow.

‘I managed to get my hands on a ticket for the Chelsea Flower Show. It’s this week, remember?’ I nod slowly. I’d watched some of it on the TV last night, but I found it hard to focus on. ‘Go Bea, get some space and fresh air,’ Milly says encouragingly, patting my hand. ‘Gardens always make you happy.’

I nod again. She’s right, they do. I’m just not convinced that even they can work miracles right now. ‘I need to find myself a place to live, not waste time moping around a load of gardens . . .’

‘You know you can stay here as long as you like.’

‘Oh Milly, I can’t keep running back to you every time something in my life goes wrong.’

‘Yes you can, it’s what best friends are for,’ Milly says emphatically, slipping her arm around me.

I lean my head against her shoulder and look out of the window. I don’t know what I’d do without her.

Chapter 18

Bea Hudson: What do you call a temp that’s just got back from honeymoon? A perm! I’m MARRIED – woohoo! (Have I mentioned that before?!)

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I send my status update as I’m walking along the river from the DLR to Eagle Recruitment. The bright May sunshine is making the journey surprisingly joyful instead of the walk-the-plank trudge I imagined. Canary Wharf is looking beautiful – maybe not the kind of beauty that stirs my soul, like in Norfolk, but it has its own particular kind of majesty.

And right now there’s nowhere I’d rather be than here. My future – my new life as Mrs Bea Hudson – is stretched gloriously out before me.

I’m really looking forward to seeing all my friends at Eagle’s. I may not have ever worked there full-time, only popping in briefly here and there to pick up my pay slips and be briefed on my next temp positions, or covering for people’s holidays and sick leave, like I am this week, but they’ve always made me feel like a real member of their team. I feel it’s fitting that something monumental should happen here, too. I mean I’ve finally made my romantic life permanent, I’m married, I’m a
wife
now; this is no time to be weaving unrealistic dreams that something better might come along. That’s why I’ve decided to take the recruitment job Nick’s been offering me for so long. Which means I’ll be helping
other
temps get placements. Helping them make decisions about
their
careers. Strange how suddenly it doesn’t sound so ridiculous after all.

Just then my phone beeps and I look down, expecting it to be an alert on my Facebook app, but smile when I see it’s a text from Adam.

Good luck today! I love you. Ad xx

I love that he’s made such a sweet, thoughtful gesture when I know he doesn’t really want me to commit to Eagle’s. In fact, he tried to convince me again last night to have one last stab at garden design. He says it’s because he can see that, no matter how positive I am about it, and how much I love the people, it doesn’t make me happy.

‘This job isn’t you, it’s the easy option,’ he’d said yesterday afternoon, when I was laying out my ‘Accepting a Job’ outfit that I,
not
Milly, had chosen. I’d perched on tiptoe in my bare feet, holding a blouse and tailored City shorts in front of the mirror. It was an outfit that said, ‘Chic, serious and certain.’ He was right. It wasn’t me at all.

‘Maybe it’s the me I want to be now,’ I replied, surprised that he wasn’t being as supportive as I’d hoped. ‘I’ve thought it all through, Ad, and I’m sick of being stuck, not ever moving forward. I just want to get on with life now, and the quickest way for me to do that is at a company that knows me. And while I agree it may be the easy option, it isn’t a
bad
option. I love the people at Eagle’s, I’m comfortable there; I know the office and the job inside out. So instant promotion and a pay rise, as well as all the benefits if I should ever, you know . . . need time off.’ I raised my eyebrow in what I thought was an endearingly enigmatic way. We’d talked about our desire to have a family on honeymoon. ‘I could be a manager in a matter of months, Ad! I feel like I’m starting a whole new life now – and I just want to make you and your parents proud . . .’

‘You already make me proud, Bea!’ Adam replied.

I’d pulled my long hair into a chic up-do and turned my face to study it at every angle. ‘But I’m a Hudson now, which means I have to be more ambitious, more driven, more determined to get to the top in my chosen career.’

‘And you’re telling me recruitment really is it?’ Adam had said doubtfully.

I nodded and beamed brightly. Then I let go of my hair, slipped a pair of flip-flops on my feet and went up to the roof terrace where I spent the next two hours re-potting my sweet peas.

As I reach the riverside building where Eagle Recruitment’s office is, it occurs to me that I’m no longer scared of the decisions that have paralysed me for so long. Adam, this job – they are my
choices
now. For the first time in eight years, I feel in control. I’m steering my life instead of endlessly drifting along waiting for things to change.

I take a deep breath to slow my heart rate, glance down and see my engagement ring and wedding ring sitting reassuringly on my finger. I roll my thumb over the curve of them and with a big smile on my face I step inside.

‘She’s HERE! BEA’S BACK, everyone!’ Glenda sing-songs excitedly as I walk into the open-plan office and stand there laughing as they all gather around me. ‘How’s married life, petal?’ She beams at me proudly and then opens her arms as if I’m her daughter.

‘Wonderful, thanks, G.’ I look over her shoulder at my window boxes as she envelops me in an enthusiastic hug and I feel a flush of pleasure. I love how safe I feel here.

James Purves – one of the senior consultants – steps forward and bows. I extricate myself from Glenda’s embrace and take his proffered hand.

‘Many congratulations, Miss Bishop!’ he says, pumping my arm like I’ve just won a polo match.

‘Thanks, Jeeves,’ I grin, ‘but it’s Mrs Hudson now!’

‘Oh-honch,’ he snorts. ‘Methinks the lady doth hath a twinkle in her eye!’ James Purves – or Jeeves as we call him – is only in his late thirties but could be from another decade entirely.

Tim is standing by his desk, lifting hand weights and gazing at each bicep as he does so, but he lowers them to the floor in order to jubilantly emulate my wedding day fall. He picks himself up off the floor and cracks up laughing. Tim is the office ‘joker’. A twenty-eight-year-old ex-City kid with an ego bigger than his biceps, he joined the company just over a year ago as Senior Recruitment Consultant. From what I know of him his life seems to work in the following order: gym, diet, women, work. But behind all his bravado he’s just trying to make his mark in the world. He had to start his career again after he was made redundant in the credit crunch and due to bad financial decisions lost everything he’d worked for and had to move back home with his parents. Eagle’s was his thirteenth interview and by then he had lost hope of ever finding work again. Luckily Nick, my old friend and boss, recognised his experience and desperation, plus the fact that his personality made him perfect for the world of recruitment. And Nick was right. We may tease Tim but I have a lot of respect for how he has been brave enough to start from scratch. And he says he’s happier than he ever was in the City. I glance at him gazing at himself in the reflection of his computer. He’s still incorrigibly vain though.

‘Ah, thanks, Tim,’ I say. ‘Which reminds me, is it true you can’t do an actual press-up, only the girly ones where you kneel on the floor?’ I wink at Glenda and we watch as Tim immediately does a burpee squat and begins banging out push-ups, on clenched fists, while singing ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ by Queen. That should keep him busy for a while.

‘Oh Bea!’ Glenda says emphatically, cupping my cheeks with her soft, plump hands, hazel eyes shining with delight. ‘What a wonderful wedding it was – and you made such a glorious bride. That husband of yours is
gorgeous
. He’s just so naturally athletic, isn’t he?’ she adds loudly as she glances over at Tim. ‘I mean,’ Glenda goes on, raising her voice a little more, ‘I bet Adam doesn’t have to work out much to maintain a body like his, am I right?’ Tim is now doing one-armed push-ups by the side of his desk, the other arm pointing at the ceiling, and we burst out laughing as he jumps up.

‘What? What?’ he says defensively, smoothing back a rogue piece of gelled hair. ‘Nor do I! I’m naturally fit but it properly pumps me up between work calls!’

Laughing, I glance around, looking for Nick. And then I spot him, stepping out of his office, his hands thrust deep into his pockets like a schoolboy. He nods at me and grins. His thick brown hair is sticking up on end and his tie is skew-whiff. I wave at him and he gestures for me to come over to his office. I do my best to sashay across the floor in my high heels like a pro.

‘So, you’re back! I knew you couldn’t keep away!’ Nick smiles, gesturing to the seat on the other side of the desk. He switches on his posh coffee machine.

‘One of the perks of being Manager,’ he’d told me when it arrived six months ago.

He pops the brown capsule into the machine and a brown cappuccino cup under the spout. Everything in Eagle Recruitment is brown – except for the window boxes I planted. Nick has always said I bring colour to this place. The dreary interior has been a bone of contention for everyone who works here and when Glenda had asked – again – during a recent staff meeting why we couldn’t redecorate, Nick had replied wearily, ‘Brown is the colour of the bird of prey we’re named after. Instead of moaning about it, try using it to inspire you to soar to ever rising heights!’ I’d sniggered at this and he’d raised his eyebrow warningly at me, eyes twinkling. We get on so well because we joined Eagles on the same day, when he was still a young, hungry ex-film student who who needed to temp until he got his big break. He was desperate to write screenplays. He spent every spare moment jotting down ideas, watching and rewatching his favourite sci-fi films, taking writing classes. We used to go out for drinks after work and he would tell me his plans to move to LA when he was twenty-five. He told me it’s what he was saving up for. But then, after two years, he was offered a permanent position with a good base salary. One that with his savings would enable him to get on the property ladder. He was torn, but always says maturity and common sense prevailed. He didn’t want to live at home with his parents forever. He felt like he was living in the past: unable to move on, get a girlfriend or be taken seriously until he was independent. So he took the job, bought the flat, got promoted. As the years have passed he says the need for money and security has outweighed his desire to follow his dream. And so here he is. And here I am: I’m the only person here who has stuck around long enough to witness him rise (reluctantly) through the ranks to Manager of Eagle Recruitment – and therefore the only person who knows how big his dreams had once been. The Nick I had first met had no ambition to work his way up. We’d bonded over the fact that both of us had chosen the path of least resistance. We were both happy living life in the middle lane. And both of us had kept our promise for a while, but then somewhere along the line we both
crossed
the line. Suddenly we had responsibilities on different sides of the fence. Me to another person, Nick to a team of people. We’d done what we said we wouldn’t do. Settled.

‘Face it, Bish. It’s a misrepresentation of your job role to even call you a temp,’ he says now. ‘I don’t know why you don’t just bite the bullet and make this permanent. You can’t live in limbo forever . . . just think, you could be like me!’ he adds, stretching his arms out with an ironic smile on his face.

‘I know, Nick. That’s why I’m here.’ He looks at me in surprise. I take a sip of scalding coffee and put down the cup quickly, crossing my legs and clasping my hands over my bare knees. ‘I’ve thought a lot about my future whilst I’ve been on honeymoon and I’ve decided I would be honoured to accept your rolling offer of a permanent position.’ I scroll through my brain, trying to memorise the speech I’d prepared. ‘I’ve realised that Eagle’s is the place I always feel free. Free to be myself, free to fly to career highs, free to . . .’

‘Spout total bullshit?’ he interrupts. ‘Or should that be bird shit?’ He grins, crossing his feet on his desk as he leans back in his chair. ‘That’s all very noble of you, Bea, but we’re mates. You don’t need to insult me with motivational speeches that are as bad as mine. It’s enough that you’re telling me that you’ve given up on anything better coming along and so have settled for this. It makes me feel less alone. Less of a total loser. And you know that goes no further than these four walls.’ He removes his feet from his desk and gazes at me. ‘I have to keep up the pretence of being a hot-shot manager somehow!’