Pictures of Lily

  ‘I didn’t.’ I try to cover my tracks. ‘But he looked after me when I started work and I wondered what became of him after he got married.’

  Josh shrugs as the Opera House comes into view. He’s soon distracted while I stand there, full of guilt and kicking myself for taking steps towards a path that could potentially devastate my relationship, my boyfriend – and of course, me.

  As predicted, Nicola asks me for Josh’s email address when I get back to work on Tuesday. Josh left yesterday morning and he admitted he was quite looking forward to getting back to his ‘bird’.

  ‘Sorry. No can do.’

  ‘Come on!’ Nicola cries.

  ‘Don’t shoot the messenger.’ I shuffle some papers on my desk, trying not to meet her eyes.

  ‘What do you mean, “messenger”?’ she asks. ‘Did he tell you not to give it to me?’

  ‘Technically speaking, he said “phone number”, but it amounts to the same thing.’

  ‘It does not.’

  ‘It does.’

  ‘Not.’

  ‘Does!’

  ‘What are you two going on about?’ Mel breaks us up as she arrives for work.

  ‘Nothing,’ Nicola mutters, a little flustered as she refocuses on her emails.

  I could try to placate her, but I don’t think there’s anything I can say so I get on with checking my own emails instead.

  Jonathan Laurence, the Editor-in-Chief of Marbles magazine, walks in.

  ‘Good morning,’ he says to Nicola and me. Mel has gone to make tea so he’ll have no flirty chat today. ‘Good weekend?’

  ‘Great, thanks,’ I answer pleasantly.

  Nicola manages a small shrug, but that’s it.

  ‘Can I ask you girls a favour?’ Mr Laurence says.

  Mr Laurence? His name is Jonathan. Now I’m sounding like Mel!

  ‘Sure,’ I respond.

  Nicola says nothing, so Jonathan directs his attention at me.

  ‘Our editorial assistant is ill and our picture assistant is on holiday this week, and we’ve got a bunch of photographers coming in with their portfolios. Could you have them wait down here and call up to me when they arrive?’

  ‘Of course,’ I tell him. ‘Do they have allocated time slots?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Shall I make a note of them, and then I won’t bother you if you’re still with the one before?’

  He looks relieved. ‘That would be great.’ He rummages around in his briefcase and pulls out a diary, flicking through to the correct week. ‘Here they are.’ He passes it across the reception desk to me and I glance down at the notations under today’s date. I quickly scribble down the names and times on my pad and hand back his diary, but not before my curious eyes have unwittingly scanned the next couple of day’s worth of entries.

  Wednesday: Lisa flowers

  Thursday: Anniversary/Pier Frank launch

  Pier Frank . . . I know that name. That’s right, he’s a photographer. I remember seeing an article about him in . . . I think it might have been Marbles magazine, actually. Not that I read Marbles – it’s a glossy men’s title – but we try to keep up with what’s happening in all our publications.

  ‘Thanks so much for that – sorry, I don’t know your name.’ He looks apologetic.

  ‘Lily.’ I smile. ‘And it’s not a problem.’

  ‘Are you English?’ he asks as Mel returns with our tea. I see her momentarily falter and tea sloshes over the side of one of the cups. She winces as the heat scalds her hand, but skilfully manages to stay quiet.

  ‘Yes, I grew up there.’ I answer his question.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Laurence,’ Mel chirps.

  ‘Good morning, Melissa,’ he says back.

  ‘Good weekend?’

  ‘Lovely, thanks. Yourself?’

  ‘Fab.’

  ‘Great. Well, thanks for that, Lily.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  He smiles at Mel and me and looks towards Nicola, but her head is still buried in her computer.

  ‘Have a good day.’ And then he’s off up the stairs.

  ‘What was all that about?’ Mel asks excitedly, pulling out her stool.

  ‘Are you alright?’ I check the burn, concerned.

  ‘Oh yeah, don’t worry about that.’ She waves her hand dismissively. ‘Tell me,’ she insists, so I fill her in. ‘You held his diary,’ she says dreamily.

  ‘I also noticed that he’s buying his wife flowers for their anniversary on Thursday.’ I nudge her jokily.

  ‘Talk about kicking her in the guts,’ Nicola snaps spitefully.

  Mel and I glance at her in shock, then Mel gives me a look that says, ‘What the hell’s got into her?’

  I shrug and avert my gaze, not wanting to say anything. I hate confrontation and Nicola’s nastiness instantly makes me feel quite nauseous.

  ‘Sorry,’ Nicola mutters, so I dare to look up again. She glances from Mel to me and back again. ‘Josh didn’t want me to have his number. Or email address,’ she adds. ‘I’m a bit mortified.’

  ‘Well, he does have a girlfriend.’ Mel states the obvious.

  ‘I know.’ Nicola looks away, embarrassed. ‘It’s just that I put so much time and energy into getting an Orgasm . . .’ Her face breaks into a grin and we all crack up. ‘Bastard,’ Nicola says under her breath when our laughs subside. Then she grins again and relief washes over me. ‘So, when are all these sexy photographers coming in?’

  Mel has to organise a conference this morning so she has no choice but to leave me to liaise with Jonathan. It all goes swimmingly until the fourth photographer needs to use the toilet and then walks into the lift without his portfolio. I rush after him, but the doors close in my face.

  ‘I’ll bring it up!’ I shout, not sure if he can hear me. I push the button to call another lift and step inside when the doors swish open. The black portfolio is heavy in my hands. I glance down at it and am on the verge of unzipping it to have a quick look when the lift stops at the third floor and someone gets in. We travel up to the fifth and I walk out, but there’s no one waiting on the landing. I dither for a moment and watch the red light display above the lift the photographer took. It’s now on the ninth floor. I glance at the door to Marbles magazine and go through, remembering that the editorial assistant is ill so there’s no one to immediately ask. Jonathan’s office is on the other side of the room and I feel self-conscious as I walk past all the trendy magazine people. Through the glass I can see Jonathan sitting at a desk along with the Picture Director, Guy Jenson. I knock on the door and push it open.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say as they stare at me questioningly. ‘David Snide, your eleven-thirty, forgot this.’ I place the portfolio on the table and let it go with a slight thump.

  ‘Ah, thanks, Lily,’ Jonathan says as we glance out of the glass divide to see a flustered Mr Snide enter the Marbles quarters. He looks around, panicked.

  ‘I’ll go get him,’ I say, grinning.

  Jonathan smiles back, a twinkle in his eye.

  The next day when Jonathan appears for work he walks straight up to the reception desk, eyeing me with a look of determination.

  ‘Good morning,’ he says brightly.

  ‘Good morning,’ I chirp back, giving him an inquisitive look and wondering what this is about.

  ‘Lily, our editorial assistant Bronte has appendicitis and she’s going to be off all week and quite possibly next week too.’

  I can feel Nicola’s curious eyes on us. Mel, thankfully, is off making tea.

  ‘You seem very capable,’ Jonathan continues. ‘Much more capable than the last two temps we’ve had in to cover for people. Would you be up for working at Marbles until Bronte’s better?’

  ‘Aah,’ I start. ‘I’d have to check with my boss.’

  My boss boss, i.e. the person who employed me, is the Head of Human Resources, Darren Temper. He tends to leave us to it with Nicola at the helm.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ Jonatha
n continues. ‘I know Darren well and asked him last night. He has no problem with it if you don’t.’

  The chance to work at a magazine – an actual magazine, with a whole team of people: photographers, picture editors . . .

  He’s standing there, waiting for an answer.

  ‘In that case, I’d love to!’ I beam. Shit, is Mel going to kill me?

  As soon as he’s gone, I turn to Nicola and hiss, ‘Do you think Mel will mind?’

  ‘Will I mind what?’ Mel interrupts, returning with three mugs of tea on a small tray.

  ‘Good idea.’ I gesture at the tray, then feeling like a meek little lamb, manage to look her in the face. ‘Jonathan asked me to cover for their sick editorial assistant.’

  ‘You lucky bitch!’ she cries.

  ‘Do you mind?’

  ‘Of course not. Get in there. Debbie’s coming back in a few months, you’ve got to make all the contacts you can.’

  ‘Is Debbie definitely returning?’ My heart sinks a little and Mel looks sympathetic as she nods.

  ‘It’s pretty much a cert. She can’t afford not to. So you go for it – don’t you think, Nicola?’

  ‘Absolutely. I totally agree,’ Nicola responds.

  ‘Okay.’ I smile at them shyly and start to pack up my things.

  Jonathan settles me at my temporary desk by the magazine entrance. Thankfully, most of his staff have yet to arrive, so it’s not too mortifying standing there while he explains the bare basics. He tells me he’ll fill me in on other stuff as and when I need to know, but for now I’m to answer calls and emails and help out with anything anyone asks of me.

  The rest of the staff who make up Marbles magazine begin to filter in. Some ignore me, others nod and say hi. Only one girl with a cheerful-looking face asks if I’m filling in for Bronte, shortly afterwards commenting, ‘Hey, aren’t you one of the girls from reception?’

  ‘Yes,’ I tell her, fully aware of how invisible we receptionists can appear to people, even though they see us every day.

  ‘I’m Xanthe,’ she says. ‘I work on the health desk.’

  ‘Oh, cool. Do you get loads of free stuff?’

  ‘Hell, yeah. It’s why I took the job. Marbles may be a men’s mag, but PRs still send me girlie beauty products to butter me up. Listen, let me know if you need any help with anything. I started off as work experience and covered for Bronte myself once or twice in the early days, so I pretty much know what the job entails.’

  ‘Thanks very much.’ I smile up at her. It’s nice to find a friendly face at last.

  As the day wears on, I find my feet and start to relax. At one o’clock I knock on Jonathan’s door.

  ‘I’m popping out to grab some lunch,’ I say. ‘Do you want me to get you anything?’

  ‘No, thanks.’ He brushes me off. ‘I’ve got to nip out myself to get the missus some flowers. It’s our anniversary tomorrow,’ he reveals.

  ‘How many years?’ I dare to ask.

  ‘Eight.’

  ‘Congratulations. Are you sure you don’t need anything? I mean, I could even get the flowers if you want me to.’

  ‘She’d kill me if I didn’t get them myself.’ He grins. ‘Anyway, I know what she likes.’ He gets to his feet. ‘I’ll come out with you now.’

  I feel a mild sense of panic at the idea of walking down the stairs with him and entering reception together. He grabs his suit jacket and shrugs it on while I wait at the door and follow him out.

  ‘I always take the stairs. Can you handle them in those heels?’ He nods at my feet.

  ‘Sure, the walk will do me good.’

  ‘How are you finding everything?’

  ‘Good, thanks. Have you spoken to Bronte?’

  ‘No, she’s recovering from the operation.’

  ‘Poor her. How did you get on with all those photographers yesterday?’ I ask, trying to keep up with his pace. I just about manage.

  ‘Really well. One or two stood out.’

  ‘I thought you’d already have a set bunch of people you use.’

  ‘We do, but it’s good to keep things fresh. Introduce some new talent.’

  ‘Are there many people working on the picture desk?’

  ‘Three. But as I said, Kip, our picture assistant, is on holiday until next week. Are you interested in photography?’

  ‘Er, well – yes, I am, kind of.’ His question takes me by surprise.

  ‘So reception is a stepping stone?’

  I’ve never really thought about it, to be honest, but I don’t want to admit to that. ‘I guess so.’ And then I feel stupid. ‘Not that I think I have much hope.’

  ‘Why not? Everyone has to start somewhere. Darryl James, the Deputy Ed at Flipside, used to work in the post room.’

  ‘Did he?’

  ‘Yes. Everyone has to work their way up.’

  ‘What about you? Where did you start?’

  ‘My path was dull in comparison. I came straight out of college and started as a junior writer on the newsdesk. But most people do work experience.’

  ‘Like Xanthe.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  We round the corner and I realise we’re on the ground floor.

  ‘I might go and say hi to Nicola and Mel,’ I tell him.

  ‘See you later,’ is what he replies with. And then we break away to go in opposite directions.

  ‘How’s it going?’ Mel squeaks, nodding after Jonathan’s departing back as he exits the building. Nicola, it seems, is already out to lunch.

  ‘Really well,’ I tell her honestly. ‘A bit nervewracking at first, but it’s kind of exciting.’

  ‘I knew you’d be fine,’ she says, smiling. ‘What’s Mr Laurence like?’

  I grin. ‘Jonathan is being very welcoming.’

  Mel suddenly looks conspiratorial. ‘I shagged my horny banker again last night.’

  ‘Did you?’ I breathe a sigh of relief. No wonder she’s being so cool about things. ‘And?’

  ‘He was horny.’ She smirks.

  ‘You haven’t even told me his name.’

  ‘Terence.’

  ‘Terence?’

  ‘Yeah. Terence Horn.’

  ‘You have got to be kidding me.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  We both burst into hysterics. I back away from the desk, shaking my head with laughter as some visitors enter the building.

  ‘I’m off out for lunch,’ I manage to say through my giggles.

  She surreptitiously wipes away her tears and smiles politely at the approaching people. ‘Good afternoon. How can I help you?’

  God, she cracks me up.

  That night I can’t wait to get home and tell Richard all about my day, but he seems distracted.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I ask, as soon as I see his face. He’s sitting on the sofa with a beer, but the telly is off.

  ‘Had a bit of a rubbish one today.’ He sighs and rests his head back on the sofa. I sit down next to him.

  ‘What happened?’

  He looks at me and his features relax. ‘Some bits and pieces have gone missing from a building site and Nathan suspects one of our apprentices.’

  ‘That’s awful,’ I say. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘It’s hard to know unless we catch him in the act. But the trust has gone – even if he’s innocent. He’s a hard worker, it’s such a shame.’

  ‘Why does Nathan suspect him?’

  ‘It’s a feeling he’s got.’

  ‘That’s not very concrete.’

  ‘No. But he also thought his backpack looked a bit bulky yesterday when some tools went walkabout.’

  ‘I’m sorry. That sounds like a nightmare.’

  ‘It’s a bit of a shit. How are you?’ he asks.

  ‘I’m pretty good.’

  ‘Cool. Shall we get a pizza in?’

  ‘Sure.’ I pull out my mobile phone, knowing that this task will fall to me because it always does. ‘Ham and pineapple?’

  ‘That’s t
he one.’

  I dial the number and place the order, then turn back to Richard, asking, ‘What do you want to watch?’ He chucks me the remote control. This is not the time or the place. My day can wait.

  Chapter 19

  Last night Richard got a text from Nathan asking us over for dinner tomorrow night. Apparently Lucy is desperate to show me her honeymoon pics. That’s all well and good, except that at lunchtime, Jonathan walks past and plonks an invitation to Pier Frank’s photography exhibition on my desk.

  ‘I can’t go,’ he says. ‘I’m having dinner with the missus.’

  ‘Happy anniversary,’ I chip in.

  ‘Thanks. RSVP on behalf of yourself and a friend, if you like. Just tell them I passed the invite on.’

  ‘Oh wow, that would be so cool!’

  ‘Don’t get too excited. These things are often as dull as ditch-water, but you can have a free glass of wine and check out the exhibition if you’re interested in photography.’

  ‘I am, I definitely am.’

  I’ve already asked Nicola – Mel is out with her horny banker so that was easy – and have emailed to RSVP when I suddenly remember Lucy and Nathan’s plans for dinner tonight.

  ‘Shit!’ I mutter under my breath, and nip out onto the landing to call Richard.

  ‘Honey,’ I start, when he answers his mobile.

  ‘What’s up?’ He can hear from the tone of my voice that something is.

  ‘I can’t go tonight.’

  ‘What? Why not?’

  ‘I’ve been invited to a photography exhibition.’

  ‘And? Do you have to go?’

  ‘I’ve already said I would.’

  ‘Lily . . .’ He sounds disappointed.

  ‘Sorry, but it’s really important to me.’ Silence. ‘Nathan and Lucy won’t mind, I can see them at the weekend.’

  ‘Well, they might find it a bit rude,’ he snaps. ‘You didn’t come to Sam and Molly’s on Sunday either.’

  ‘I see them all the time!’ I exclaim. Now he’s being unfair. I know they’d all understand.

  ‘What is this exhibition, anyway? Who invited you?’

  I haven’t told him about my temporary position yet. I wanted him to be excited for me and I knew I wouldn’t get that reaction with the mood he was in last night. I’m not going to get it now either, I realise with a heavy heart.