Written in the Stars (27 page)

‘All right, Timbo?’ I say congenially as I pull my chair round to his side of the desk. ‘Looks like you’re hard at it . . .’

He sits back in his chair, stretches and grins. ‘Always, babe, always. Got to make hay while the sun shines, can’t keep a good guy down, no rest for the wicked, et cetera et cetera. Have you come to tell me how much you’re going to miss me and that you’ve secretly been in love with me all this time?’

‘Of course I am. I mean, what woman could possibly resist you?’ I grin back.

He exhales loudly. ‘I know, it’s a burden. I just feel sorry for you being married to that, frankly, embarrassing specimen of a man that you call a husband. I mean, tall, handsome, rich, clever, bloody nice guy . . . honestly, what
do
you see in him?’ He winks and I drop a light kiss on his cheek. At which point he blushes profusely. I have always known Tim isn’t quite the ladykiller he pretends to be.

‘Here.’ I hand him the bamboo plant I’ve been holding.

Tim takes it and studies it for a moment. ‘Thank you, Bea, it’s er, very green. Should I munch on it like a panda?’

I laugh. ‘I know you’re not really a flower guy, Tim, but bamboo plants represent joy and wealth. They’re also meant to bring luck. I thought it would be a good charm for you to have on your desk.’ Tim acts like he’s Mr Chilled but I know he’s petrified of losing his job, of losing everything again. That’s why he works so hard, that’s the need for all the bravado . . .

Tim gazes at it then looks back at me. His eyes appear to be watering a little.

‘Don’t you dare cry on me, Timbo,’ I threaten, punching him lightly on the shoulder, and he sniffs manfully and shakes out his shoulders.

‘You’re a good friend, Bea. You really do deserve every happiness in the world.’

I smile, trying to believe that’s true.

Chapter 40

It’s late when I get back to the flat, and I’m tipsy on both happiness and alcohol. Nick and the gang gave me such a lovely send-off; we went to the pub and drank Prosecco and played drinking games and they all made me promise to stay in touch.

Nick even took me to a quiet corner and spent ages telling me how much he was going to miss me, that I’d always inspired him to think bigger, to look for more in life, and told me earnestly that he would always be there for me if ever I needed anything at all . . .

I’d given him a grateful hug. ‘Thanks so much, I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me. You’re the best boss ever and I’d work for you again in a heartbeat.’

He’d mumbled something about not meaning a job.

I call out to Adam, my voice echoing around the stark grey walls of the flat. But there’s no answer – he’s obviously working late. Again. He’s already been to New York twice in the past month and I can count on one hand the evenings we’ve spent together. I’m trying to be understanding – I know his job is highly pressured and I know he’s not exactly happy about how much it is taking him away from me, but I am upset that he hasn’t thought that I might want to celebrate my last day at Eagle’s with him. I was hoping he’d turn up at the pub as I’d specifically told him this morning that’s where we’d be. Glenda was very excited about him coming. She’s always loved Adam. Said he’s ‘a keeper’. I throw my bag down on the granite island unit that is – as ever – completely spotless. Sometimes I have this urge to whirl through the flat like the Tasmanian devil, messing everything up to make it feel more homely.

I open the fridge and peer inside woozily, gripping the door and the side feeling like I might fall into the icy depths otherwise. I haven’t been shopping this week and Adam has been out at client dinners most nights so all there is is a couple of M&S meal-for-one selections. I pull out a Gastro Fish Pie, stab the lid with a fork – almost spearing my hand at the same time – and bung the pie in the microwave before grabbing my new
Gardener’s Monthly
from where the cleaner has left it on the coffee table. I’m thinking about redesigning the roof garden slightly. I flop down on the couch and switch on the TV and start channel-hopping.

Moments later the door opens and I scramble up to a sitting position as Adam comes in.

‘Hi,’ I call as he throws down his bag and heads straight for the fridge. ‘Good day?’ I ask. He grabs a bottle of beer, pulls open a drawer, grabs a bottle opener and slams the drawer shut again. Then he opens the bottle and takes a long swig before walking over to the lounge area and starting to look through the pile of post I took my magazine from.

‘A kiss for your wife wouldn’t go amiss,’ I say pointedly.

Adam comes and plants a kiss on my forehead. ‘I’m sorry. It’s been a hell of a day.’

‘I’ve just got back myself from my leaving do. You know, the one you were meant to be at,’ I say to his back as he heads for the other sofa.

He looks round, immediately contrite. ‘Shit, Bea, I’m sorry. I’ve been on a conference call to New York all evening. How was it?’

‘Fine, good, fun,’ I say succinctly. ‘You were missed though.’

Adam groans and collapses onto the sofa. He takes another swig of beer then closes his eyes, the bottle resting on his stomach. I don’t think he really heard me. ‘As well as dealing with all the shit in New York it turns out Dad also expects me to oversee the office move from Soho to Canary Wharf, and brief the designers. Plus we have to find new premises in New York – which is a nightmare. Not to mention that we have a couple of big pitches on and I’m expected to hire some more senior staff in two different countries. I’ve tried to tell Dad that I can’t take it all on alone, but he just reels off examples of when he was starting the agency and all the sixteen-hour days he did, and how our generation don’t have the same work ethic. I don’t know what he wants – blood, I think.’ Adam exhales and rubs his forehead and goes to get up. ‘I’ve got to do some more work now, in fact.’

‘But it’s nearly midnight on a Friday night!’ I exclaim. ‘What can you possibly do at this hour?’

‘Dad’s given me the task of briefing the garden designers who are pitching for the urban roof terrace contract. To be honest I haven’t got a clue where to begin. It’s really not my area of expertise.’

‘Well, why don’t you ask an expert?’ I say, walking over to him and pushing him gently back on the sofa before sitting on his lap. He smiles wearily as I gaze up at him. God, he looks exhausted.

‘Like who?’ Adam replies, adjusting his position. ‘Sorry, Bea, can you just move a bit, my back’s really hurting . . .’

I lift myself up so he can sit up and then slide in next to him. ‘Oh you know, Ad, someone who has been passionate about garden design all her life, who transformed your very own roof terrace, who reads gardening magazines obsessively, who did a degree – well, almost did a degree – in garden design and who, as luck would have it, is about to become an assistant to one of the best garden designers in the country! Need any more clues?’ I give him a Cheshire cat grin and prod him. ‘The woman you love, the wife you married, the person you know best in the world . . .’

Adam shifts awkwardly on the sofa and I move to give him a bit more space. ‘Oh Bea, that’s really very sweet of you, but I can’t discuss this with you.’

‘Oh. OK. That’s OK. I understand.’ I get up. But I don’t understand. Not really. I don’t understand why he can’t talk to me, why we’re so distant and why he doesn’t seem to notice. Maybe it’s all the alcohol I’ve drunk tonight that’s making me overreact but suddenly I feel unanchored, unmoored – like I’m drifting, no,
we’re
drifting apart. We should be closer than ever – we’re still newlyweds, for God’s sake – but each new pull on Adam’s time seems to pull
us
further apart. I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to help him with his work – something I can’t usually do – but even though this is my area of expertise, he still doesn’t want to let me in. I walk back over to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. I feel like he and I are on opposite sides of the same line and we have no idea how to cross it.

‘I need to Skype New York,’ Adam says a moment later, his voice piercing the uncomfortable silence that has descended on our flat.

‘Fine.’

I look over my shoulder as he heads for the bedroom with his laptop. He opens the door and stops to look back at me as if he’s about to say something but obviously he changes his mind because he then disappears inside, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Chapter 41

‘How’s your first day been then, Bea?’ James asks sweetly as he walks up to me.

‘Amazing!’ I reply with a gigantic smile. It is 4.30 p.m, and my brain feels like it’s about to explode with all the information I’ve absorbed. I want to impress James, I want to show him that his instinct was right; he made the right choice. Luckily my temping background means that I’m used to first days and having to learn new information at speed. But today has been different: exciting, invigorating, stimulating, inspiring. I’ve felt carried on a wave of certainty that this just feels right; that my working here is meant to be. I spent the first hour this morning setting up my stuff on my desk under one of the beautiful big skylights that flood light into this open-plan loft space. The view is incredible and it feels
great
to be back in Greenwich even if it is for work. I realised when I stepped out of the DLR just how much I miss Greenwich, and I couldn’t help reminiscing about the days living with Milly in her flat opposite Greenwich Park. Moving there brought me back to life again after a terrible time. Milly looked after me, made me realise that I had a chance to start again. I remember she said I was like Bambi at first, all wobbly legs and afraid of the world, not knowing which way to turn, constantly worrying about falling. But Milly convinced me I was strong enough to start looking for a job so I signed on to Eagle’s as a temp, I met Adam and I didn’t wobble any longer, because he began to carry me.

Through the skylight I can see the impressive English baroque twin façade of the Old Royal Naval College designed by Sir Christopher Wren and the masts of the
Cutty Sark
. And if I look through the window at the back of the office and stand on my tiptoes I can just make out the Royal Observatory on the hill. I feel inspired simply by being here, back in a place I love, surrounded by green space and culture and history. For the first time in my life I was in the right place at the right moment and I am so grateful for this opportunity. Now I just have to prove myself worthy of it – and I really think that I can.

Maybe that’s down to James’s easy, encouraging management style. Maybe it’s the way I’ve been welcomed into the small team with open arms. There are only three staff here – excluding James and me – Jack, Chris and Georgie. All in their early thirties, all super friendly and welcoming, all passionate about gardens and creating beautiful, inspiring outdoor spaces for their clients.

This is my world now.
It is a thought that makes my head spin and my happiness levels soar.

‘Are you feeling a bit overwhelmed?’ James asks. I realise I must look pretty gormless, siting here grinning inanely at him.

‘No, no!’ I exclaim. ‘I’m so happy that I’m here, I – I still can’t quite believe my luck,’ I add quietly. ‘I kind of feel like this shouldn’t be happening to me. Like I’ve stolen someone else’s life.’

It occurs to me that I should thank my lucky stars that I have Adam. Without him giving me that nudge, I wouldn’t be here now. It does make me wonder what I’d do without him, where I would be. A picture flashes into my mind of him standing alone in a church doorway watching as I’m driven away. I shake my head, trying to banish the dark thoughts that sometimes close in. It doesn’t bear thinking about. I know I’m just feeling a bit vulnerable because we’re not spending enough time together. I resolve to change that. After all, Adam is a guy, maybe I need to make the effort more . . . I tune back into James in a bid to tune out my worries.

‘No such thing as luck, Bea,’ he laughs. ‘In your own unique way you have worked hard for this position. Your years of temping have prepped you well – as have your own personal design projects. Your roof terrace, your friend’s garden, your mum’s garden . . . all irreplaceable experiences in my opinion. And the fact that you seem to have read every garden design book going, know more about horticulture than most grads, have been to lots of garden shows and most of all spent your life gardening . . .’ James pauses and gazes kindly at me. ‘Well, let’s just say I much prefer taking on people like you who consider this a way of life, not just a job.’ He goes over to the cooler and gets some water. ‘Take my partner: he calls himself a writer, even though he’s not published, because he writes every single day. It’s the same thing, isn’t it? I mean, you may not have been paid for it before – but it seems to me that you’ve been a garden designer your whole life. It’s just taken you a while to believe it!’

He sits down in his chair and smiles at me and I nod, trying not to weep at his lovely words: that would be a major no-no on day one. Or day two or even week two, I tell myself sternly.

‘Now, I want to talk to you about this big corporate project you’ll be assisting me with. I wanted to give you the day to settle in with the team, find your feet around our progammes and systems – the position is an admin one first and foremost – but the pitch for this project is at the beginning of November and I like to consider every member of this company a creative contributor. And this could be a game-changer for JF Design. If we win it, it will be this company’s biggest and most ambitious project yet. I want you to read over the brief so you can get a real sense of who the client is and what they want and then bring your ideas to our brainstorming meeting. I value everyone’s opinions on this team; there is no hierarchy in creativity, as far as I’m concerned. The ad agency we’re doing the roof terrace design for is going to be moving into this building near Canada Square in the spring.’ He points at a map and then looks out of his window across at the City as if visualising it on the skyline. ‘This means if we win the project we will have approximately six months from the design process to finished product. We won’t be able to start planting until the beginning of March at the earliest as the office won’t be ready till then – and they will be showing the new office space and terrace at a grand opening party at the end of March. All the measurements are on the plans.’ He hands them to me and I cast my eyes over them, my heart thudding to what feels like a standstill when I read the company’s name printed at the top of the page.