‘Oh, smashing! Just a sec.’ She heard her mum shout out, ‘Dennis!Dennis!It’s Remy on the phone. Midge is going to do the tap today or tomorrow or the weekend ...’ There was a silent pause. ‘Hang on, I’ll ask her.’ Remy felt her jaw tense. ‘Your dad says does he have the washers or should he pick some up? He’s happy to go to B&Q. He’s got a discount card. He quite likes going and having a gander at the concrete.’
Remy did her best to stay calm. ‘Erm, not sure. Get Dad to call Midge and ask him.’
‘Righto.’ Again her mother pulled away from the phone and shouted out: ‘She says call Midge and ask him about the washers!’
‘Mum!’ she yelled, aware that she was in a car park and that people were coming and going. ‘I need to go in.’
‘Of course, Remy, I don’t want to keep you. Reason for the call is that you know it’s your dad’s birthday on Sunday.’
‘I do.’
‘Well, he’s asked if we can all go for lunch on Saturday at The Plough. You know he doesn’t like a fuss.’
Doesn’t like a fuss apart from a grand outing to the pub en masse for lunch and then a fancy cake and singing with a few pressies thrown in for good measure ...
‘Lovely. Yes, of course, I’ll book it. It’s great timing, because Sophie’s home. I was going to get him a voucher for the garden centre and some chocolate, of course.’
His fondness for Maltesers was legendary.
‘Wonderful, and I’ll let you know for how many once I’ve spoken to your sister.’
Remy rolled her eyes. Of course everything would hinge on what Ashleigh said and did. She loved her sister, but it bothered her, how she stayed away and yet was presented with the crown every time she graced them with her presence. She and Midge worked their butts off to keep her parents happy, always on call, always indemand. It was conflicting, she wouldn’t have it any other way, but she wanted some recognition just once in a while.
‘Doubt she’ll come down for a lunch at The Plough, birthday or not.’
‘Don’t be like that, it doesn’t suit you. I’ve told you before you’ve got no reason to be jealous of her.’
‘Mum!’ The accusation stung as much today as it ever had and spoke volumes about how her parents measured success. ‘I am not jealous of her, not even a little bit!’
‘If you say so, love.’ This was her mother’s irritating way of dismissing her truth. Remy felt the flame of frustration lick her skin. It was a worn topic that she had neither the time nor inclination to revisit. Remy wasn’t jealous of anyone, it wasn’t in her nature; besides, she had everything she had ever wanted and more, a lovely, lovely life, happy to be with her husband and kids in their little bubble. ‘I’ll let you know what she says.’
‘Smashing!’ she offered with false enthusiasm, wondering how to break it to Midge that not only did he have the joy of spending time with Jamie at Sophie’s end-of-term fashion show this Friday, but now he’d also be required to be civil to her sister and her husband, who he’d recently nicknamed ‘Posh and Specs’. Not that her brother-in-law wore glasses, but rather on account of the fact that he wore such garish shirts, mustard-coloured cords and braces, making him look like a ‘right old spectacle’. It was mean, she knew, but still made her laugh.
‘Have a lovely day, little dove!’ Her mum, it seemed, was happy for her enthusiasm, false or not.
Rushing in, Remy bent awkwardly low and presented the pass around her neck to the turnstile entry, which beeped its approval, then waved to the security guard on reception, who always smiled, and raced across the foyer and up the stairs, scooting across the industrial royal-blue carpet and landing on her chair, earphoneson, mouthpiece in position and computer logged on, all in the nick of time.
‘By the skin of your teeth, Remy Hughes.’
She dug deep and found a smile. Graham, her supervisor, had worked with her for the last five years, and had vaulted the hallowed line from colleague to boss with more self-satisfaction than if he’d climbed Everest, smashed a record, won gold at the Olympics or cured world famine. Clearly, he was a man delighted by the perks of his junior managerial role; his very own allocated parking space, access to the early-bird insurance offers for family and friends, an annual invite to the manager’s Christmas dinner buffet that was held in a roped-off corner of the vast dining hall, and crucially, the right to stroll, hands behind his back, as he was wont to do, around the desks, paying particular attention to ... everything!
His manner bothered her, bothered them all, not that there was much she could do about it. Midge had suggested she talk to HR, and she’d laughed at the thought.
‘And say what?You know Graham, who seems not to have a home to go to? The one who arrives early and leaves late, who makes sure I am at work on time and adhere to my breaks and that my call times are efficient? The one who’s always there with the right answer to any query, based on his extensive and detailed knowledge of our policies? Yes, him, well, is there anything we can do about his revolting cardigans and his tone that borders on nasal?’
‘You raise a good point,’ her husband had conceded. ‘Do you want me to punch him?’
She had sprayed her laughter over him. ‘You can’t do that in the workplace anymore. It’s a little frowned upon. There are rules.’
‘What?’ he’d scoffed. ‘Next you’ll be telling me I can’t send the kids up the chimney and that women can have the same pay as men! Where will it end?’
‘Yep.’ She gave Graham a weak double thumbs-up and placed her banana on the table, next to her water bottle.
‘Remember, no unsealed drink units on desks.’ He pointed towards her water.
‘It is sealed, Graham. As you can see, it’s a bottle with the lid firmly attached.’
‘No harm in reminding you.’ He fastened his hands behind his back, and she wondered if Midge’s offer was still on the table.
