She pours some water from the jug on the table. “I’m not looking to freelance full time, but I don’t see why you couldn’t. Sure, it would be riskier than being employed, and you’d have to deal with your own taxes and pension and pesky stuff like that. But I reckon once you’ve built up a name for yourself as a freelancer, companies will be knocking on your door, asking you to design for them rather than vice versa.”
The server arrives to take our order. Hayley grins at me the whole time. She knows exactly what she wants, whereas I haven’t even looked at the menu. Under pressure, I order the first thing that catches my eye.
“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” she asks.
“I’ve never even considered it before.” I didn’t realise it was an option, which is stupid. It seems like the perfect solution if I can ignore the way my stomach is flipping at the risk factor.
“You should. And hey, if it doesn’t work out, London’s fashion hub will still be here. You’ve got supportive parents, right?”
“Yes.”
“Would they mind putting you up for a while longer while you get yourself established as a freelancer?”
“No,” I reply hesitantly.
She laughs. “Not keen on living with your parents?”
“It’s fine, I guess. It’s like being a teenager all over again, though.”
“I bet. You could spend most of your time at your boyfriend’s.”
Our drinks arrive. I use the straw to clink ice against the side of the glass.
“You’re a great designer. I know you can make freelancing work. And hey, you can’t be late from work if your bedroom is your office.” Hayley winks.
I groan. “I wasn’t late that often.”
“You keep telling yourself that. How’s Arthur?”
“Still alive.”
“Every time I see a cactus, I think of you.”
“Do you see cacti often?”
“No, but I still think of you. How long do you have until your next interview?”
I check my watch. “Two hours.”
“Let’s eat, and then I’ll help you compile a list of independent fashion companies you can contact about freelancing for them. I have some in mind that I think you’d be a good fit for.”
“That would be great. Thanks.”
“We were both dumped into a shit situation. The least we can do is help each other, right?”
“Yes. If there’s anything I can do for you—”
“I’ll let you know. Did I tell you I have a video interview for a company in Milan?”
I widen my eyes. “No. When?”
“Next week. Wish me luck.”
“I’ll cross my fingers and toes.”
Hayley grins.
Once our food has arrived, we chat while we eat. Topics of conversation range from what we think the catwalk highlights will be at London Fashion Week to the worst fashion trends to hit the high street this season to films we’ve seen and enjoyed lately. She asks me about Kyle, and it turns out he’s a topic I’m able to talk about at length.
