A second of surprise crossed his face but he pushed it away quickly, like a pro. He clearly wasn’t used to being dismissed.
‘No worries,’ he replied, grabbing his omnipresent iPad before he left. ‘I’ll catch up with you later.’
We both waited until he had left the room and closed the door firmly behind him.
‘Really?’ I sat myself in Joe’s seat and rolled his pencil right off the desk and onto the plush, cream carpet. ‘Anyone can write a listicle?’
‘I know, I know,’ Delia laughed, holding her head in her hands. ‘I’m sorry, he didn’t mean it like that.’
‘Yes, he did,’ I said, dropping my own face onto the glass table and admiring my Saint Laurent booties. My skirt was tight; this was the last time I’d be wearing it for a while. ‘He doesn’t have a lot of time for writers, does he?’
‘He just doesn’t understand but you know I do.’
She kicked off her stilettos and skipped over to a mirrored cabinet underneath her enormous flatscreen TV. It was like Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory made miniature, there wasn’t a single kind of snack I couldn’t see. She held up a packet of Twizzlers for consideration and I held out my hands.
‘Gimme,’ I said, clapping my approval.
‘Joe never worked on the editorial side of things. He studied business, went into marketing and ended up in publishing, not because he loves it but because it pays him the most,’ Delia explained, as she tore into the packet of sweets. ‘That’s not to say he isn’t incredibly good at his job, because he is. I wouldn’t have hired him otherwise.’
I took a Twizzler from the packet and munched away.
‘He’s right, though, your presentation was impressive,’ she said. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought he wrote it himself.’
‘I had some help,’ I replied. ‘To put it mildly. And I’m really good at writing listicles. I miss writing listicles, I was the queen of listicles.’
‘You just like saying listicles,’ she said as I tried my best to swallow the strawberry-flavoured sweet and keep it down. ‘Taking over the company from my grandfather is a huge honour, but between you and me, we’re not in the best shape. I don’t want to close magazines, I want to grow. Do you think it was my ambition to come in and fire people?’
‘No,’ I admitted.
‘You’re my friend, Angela, a really, really good one at that. But the business is my family.’ Delia nibbled the very end of a Twizzler and gazed out of the window. ‘And now I’m in charge, it’s basically my baby. I truly thought I knew how hard this was going to be, but I had no idea. There have been so many times I’ve picked up the phone to call you for impromptu cocktails but when I look at the clock, it’s already midnight. I know this job is what I always wanted, I know making it work is going to mean sacrifice.’
‘Imagine that,’ I said, hiding a smile. ‘I do understand, you don’t need to explain it to me.’
Cici and Delia might have had matching nose jobs when they turned sweet sixteen, but Cici had been far more dedicated when it came to her Botox regimen. Right in that moment, Delia looked much older than her sister now, but she also looked proud.
‘You haven’t sacrificed me,’ I told her, loosening the zip on my pencil skirt just a touch. ‘I’m still your friend, Delia. Regardless.’
‘That’s good to hear,’ she said, looking relieved.
‘Is Gloss going to be OK?’ I asked, even though I didn’t really want to.
‘I don’t know,’ she replied. ‘It’s up to Joe. It has to be.’
I chewed thoughtfully on my Twizzler.
‘I’m glad to hear we’re still friends,’ Delia said, changing the subject with aplomb. ‘I thought maybe you’d replaced me with Cici.’
‘Not replaced …’ I was still wrapping my head around the part where she might close my magazine. ‘But we are getting along a lot better these days. It turns out she’s not all bad after all.’
‘I don’t know how to feel about that,’ Delia said with a forced laugh. ‘I’m glad she isn’t trying to blow up your luggage again but, well, you’re my friend.’
She handed me a second Twizzler and rolled her eyes at herself.
‘It’s a twin thing,’ she explained when I didn’t reply. ‘I’m just jealous. Cici always got first pick at everything growing up. Clothes, bedrooms, boys. This is the first thing I’ve had that’s mine.’
‘Me and a global media empire,’ I said with a whistle. ‘You’ve got basically everything a girl could want.’
‘Ha ha,’ Delia replied. ‘Very funny.’
‘I do try,’ I replied. ‘I really do try.’
I wasn’t the first person to arrive at lunch. Right after my presentation, I’d legged it to a doctor’s appointment where Dr Laura had confirmed to Alex that there was definitely a baby and not just an excessive amount of pizza in my belly. Leaving him in the waiting room to stare at the updated twelve-week sonogram, I ran down the street to Fig & Olive.
‘You’re late,’ Cici said, already halfway down a glass of red wine. ‘I was about to leave.’
‘It’s four minutes past twelve,’ I replied, checking my watch. ‘And you’re drinking wine.’
She stared at me over the rim of the glass as she drank. I really should have made more effort to convince Delia she had nothing to worry about when it came to me and Cici being besties.
‘How did it go?’ she asked, signalling to the waitress for another glass of red.
‘So great!’ I threw my coat over the back of the chair and gulped down half a glass of water. ‘It totally looks like a baby now, there’s a head and a brain, a bladder, two arms, two legs, all the other bits that should be there.’
‘I meant how did the meeting go,’ she said, pushing her menu away. ‘But thanks for the biology lesson. I guess I wasn’t hungry anyway.’
As soon as she said it, I remembered. It was almost scary how quickly I’d forgotten about the presentation. Wow.
‘The presentation was brilliant,’ I told her as bread magically appeared at the table. There was a reason I’d chosen this restaurant. ‘They loved everything, all your suggestions, all the parts about talking to new readers and engaging with the audience. Joe ate it up.’
‘I bet he did,’ she said, a tiny smile playing on her lips. ‘So, how come we’re out for lunch? We’ve never gone out for lunch before. Are you firing me?’
‘No!’ I exclaimed, my mouth already full of freshly baked bread. ‘Why would I fire you? This is a celebratory lunch. It’s a thank you.’
‘Oh.’ Cici looked as uncomfortable as I felt. ‘Right. OK. Do I have to eat?’
‘It is traditional,’ I replied, pushing the menu towards her. ‘They have nice salads here.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ she said, draping her napkin in her lap now she realized she was staying. ‘But I’m on a daytime fast, right now. All I can eat is cruciferous vegetables and bone broth.’
‘And red wine?’ I asked.
She shrugged and drained the dregs.
‘I wanted to tell you how much I appreciate all your help with the presentation,’ I explained after ordering. ‘And with the Generation Gloss party. Last year we paid an agency an absolute fortune and they didn’t do half as good a job as you did. I almost can’t believe you pulled it all together on your own.’
‘Really?’ she asked, her microbladed eyebrows strained against her Botox in surprise. ‘It was kinda easy, if I’m honest. Like I said, all you have to do is tell people what to do and make sure they do it on time and in budget. If they don’t, they get their ass delivered to them. How hard could that be?’
‘For me, very hard,’ I said, dipping another piece of bread in a tiny pool of olive oil.
Cici made a sour face, whether at my wussiness or at me consuming actual oil, I wasn’t sure.
‘Have you ever thought about moving into a more corporate position?’
She dropped her head backwards until the ends of her hair almost touched the
floor and let out a loud, guttural groan. Across the table, I watched a middle-aged man reflexively press his hand over his crotch.
‘You can’t even have what she’s having because she’s not eating,’ I joked to the horrified-looking old lady at the next table.
‘So, that’s a no on management, is it?’ I asked, shoving more bread into my gob.
‘I don’t want to be my sister,’ Cici said, visibly frustrated as well as audibly. ‘It’s bad enough that I have to work at that place, creeping around in her shadow, while she runs the world. I want to do my own thing – I thought you would understand that.’
‘I would?’ Obviously, I didn’t.
‘Yeah,’ she replied as her second glass of wine appeared. ‘You wanted something so you worked hard and you got it. I know everything is about to go to shit in the restructure, but you’re pregnant now, so who cares, right?’
‘There is so much to deal with in that sentence, I’m not sure where to start,’ I said, holding my hands out to slow myself down. ‘Why is everything going to go to shit?’
‘Because everyone will hate you,’ she replied as though I should already know. ‘If Gloss closes and our team is fired, they’ll know you knew about it and they’ll blame you for not saving them. If The Look closes and everyone there gets fired, people will say it’s because you’re friends with Dee Dee and she stepped in to save your job.’
‘But she isn’t!’ I argued. ‘That’s why Joe is in charge of the restructure, so she doesn’t have to be involved.’
‘Sure,’ Cici replied. ‘And would you believe that if it was the other way around and Caroline Galvani was BFFs with the president of the company?’
‘Can I pleased have a very tiny sip of your wine?’ I asked.
She obediently handed over the glass. I stared into the rich red liquid and sighed before handing it back untouched.
‘It’s not fair to say I don’t care about my job because I’m pregnant,’ I said. ‘I care. I’m not going to leave when I have the baby. I love my job.’
Plus, I added in my own head, I really needed the money.
‘You don’t even know what your job is going to be,’ Cici said, pulling the merest scrap from the edge of a piece of bread and guiltily popping it into her mouth. It wasn’t even a crumb but I was so proud. ‘And have you checked in with your old pal Dee Dee about the maternity benefits at Spencer? That could change your mind.’
‘They’re not good?’
‘They’re archaic,’ Cici replied. ‘Literally the legal bare minimum. Twelve weeks’ unpaid leave, no guarantees after that.’
‘I didn’t want anyone to know until I was twelve weeks so I haven’t asked yet,’ I murmured. ‘Which did your grandfather hate more, women or children?’
‘He hated them both equally,’ she replied. ‘It’s fairly well documented.’
It hadn’t even occurred to me to check the maternity benefits at work. How could women in the UK get a whole year off work to bond with their baby while I only got twelve weeks of unpaid leave? How was I supposed to bond with my baby in twelve weeks? It was definitely going to grow up to be an axe murderer who went around chopping up women who looked like me. This explained Norman Bates perfectly.
‘That’s why we have approximately four mothers in the entire company,’ Cici said. ‘None of the women on Gloss have kids, do they?’
‘No.’ I ran through every woman on my magazine, every single childless one of them. ‘No kids. But they’re all so young.’
‘Not that young,’ Cici replied simply. ‘It can’t be done, Angela. You can’t run a magazine and have a baby.’
‘Anna Wintour does it,’ I said, clutching at the fanciest straw I could think of.
‘Please. She’s not human and we all know it.’
‘OK,’ I said. Time to turn the tables. ‘If you hate working at Spencer so much, why do you stay here? I’m sure you could get a job somewhere else.’
‘Really?’ she asked with an arched brow. ‘You think? Who is going to hire me, exactly? My résumé isn’t exactly overflowing with accomplishments. I know everyone loves working at Gloss but your name doesn’t exactly open every door in town.’
It was harsh but fair. My name didn’t even open the door to this restaurant: we’d only been able to get a reservation when Cici made it.
‘I want to do something for myself,’ she said, a fierce look on her face. ‘I want my grandpa to look at me and tell me I’m just as good as she is, just for once. That’s why I wanted to go into editorial. Dee Dee can’t write, she can’t edit. I really thought if I could excel at that, he’d be so proud. She was always the smart twin, the hardworking twin. But I’m smart too, Angela. I’m good at stuff. Just because I didn’t want to leave college and immediately lock myself away in an office building like Rupert Murdoch meets Rapunzel doesn’t mean I’m useless.’
Cici was jealous of Delia and Delia was jealous of Cici. It was all so Sweet Valley High.
‘Of course it doesn’t,’ I said. ‘I get it. I turned up here without any idea what I was doing. I didn’t even know I could write for a magazine until someone gave me a chance. Everyone needs someone to point them in the right direction.
‘So, what’s my direction?’ she asked in a soft, questioning voice, wrapping a long strand of hair around her index finger. ‘Who’s going to help me?’
I leaned across the table and she automatically leaned away.
‘What are you doing?’ she hissed.
‘Helping,’ I hissed back. ‘Or at least trying to.’
‘Really?’ She didn’t look convinced. ‘OK.’
‘You have a talent for managing people,’ I told her, pushing on with my attempt to be the bigger person. ‘The things you find easy, telling people what to do, knowing what people want before they do, that’s a skill. I think you could be really successful if you could just work out where you want to be.’
‘You do?’ Cici let the piece of hair spiral away from her, a slight kink appearing where it had been wrapped around her finger.
‘Really successful,’ I said again. ‘I think kicking ass might be in your genes.’
‘Well, obvs,’ she breathed out slowly, staring down at the floor. ‘But if I took that route, if I did it here, I’d always be under Dee Dee, wouldn’t I? She’s the total HBIC.’
‘Probably,’ I admitted. ‘You really couldn’t cope with that?’
She pushed her fingertips into her temples and shook her head.
‘Then sod it,’ I said, flinging my arm up into the air for effect, forgetting I was still holding a piece of bread. I watched as it sailed across the room and landed in an unsuspecting businessman’s salad.
‘Start your own company,’ I suggested, turning quickly away as he inspected the carb missile. ‘You’re young, you’re loaded. Work out what you want to do, be amazing at it and burn Spencer Media to the ground if you want.’
She made a pleased noise in the back of her throat as she considered the proposition.
‘Only, don’t actually burn it to the ground,’ I added quickly. ‘That was just a figure of speech. Arson has no place in this plan and I am not recommending it.’
‘You really think I could run my own company?’ she asked.
‘I really think you could do anything,’ I confirmed. ‘As terrifying as that sounds.’
‘Hmm.’ She grabbed an actual, honest-to-goodness piece of bread and took a bite. ‘Watch out world, here comes Cici Spencer.’
‘Here she comes indeed,’ I said, raising my glass of water to clink it against her wine. ‘And may god help us all.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
That evening, I left work with a smile on my face for the first time in weeks. It was freezing in Manhattan and it was as though the entire island had just remembered Christmas was right around the corner. I pulled the collar of my parka up around my ears even though I wasn’t really that cold. The baby had some kind of inferno magical powers that kept me nice and toasty, even when the t
emperatures dropped below zero. I was quietly hoping it meant my baby was a superhero, but Alex and the doctor had told me not to get my hopes up. They were such spoilsports.
The Times Square subway station wasn’t even worth considering this close to the holidays – I had no interest in spending forty minutes with my nose stuck in someone’s armpit, with another person’s shopping bags poking me in the bum. Instead of taking the stairs deep, deep down under the city, I wandered along 42nd Street, smiling at people in Santa hats and reindeer antlers. On any given evening in December, you were guaranteed to run into someone’s Christmas party. It had always been my favourite time of year; everyone looked happier, kinder, more forgiving, and I couldn’t stop thinking, as I trotted along to Bryant Park, this time next year the baby would be here.
‘Sorry! Happy holidays!’
A young couple in matching Santa outfits and enormous white beards buzzed by, turning me around as they went. I reached out for the wall to steady myself as they rushed by, grabbing hold of each other until they came to a dizzy stop in each other’s arms and kissed, their red noses colliding in the crisp night air.
‘Ahh,’ I sighed, enjoying their romance while simultaneously checking they hadn’t stolen my wallet. This was New York, after all.
The ice rink in Bryant Park was packed. Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday, Saturday, it didn’t matter. New York had swollen to twice its size, taking in visitors from all over the world, looking to find their Christmas miracle. Or at least a fancy handbag that was slightly cheaper than it would be at home. Beyond the ice rink was a market, red-and-white-striped stalls selling knickknacks and tat – by far my favourite form of merchandise – and filling up empty stomachs with hot mulled wine and chestnuts roasted on an open fire. I stood still for a moment, trying to capture the moment. So many happy people in one place at once. It was not something to be taken for granted.
‘Hey, babe.’
‘Hi!’
Alex Reid, freshly shaven and armed with shopping bags of his own, leaned down to kiss my lips. His face was cold but his eyes were bright.