Chapter 2
‘Miss Scholar, you look like you’re miles away.’
If only, thought Emma. She was bored and tired in equal amounts and this team meeting wasn’t helping much. She’d had a late night, gigging with her band in a local pub, and really was not in the mood for her manager’s glib remarks. Cursing herself for not ringing in sick, she quickly stifled a yawn and sat up straight.
‘Sorry, Mr Butterworth,’ she said, and forced her eyes to stay open.
‘As I was saying,’ he continued, giving her a reprimanding look, ‘we are looking to reduce numbers, therefore voluntary redundancy will be an option—’
Emma’s ears suddenly pricked up.Voluntary redundancy?Since when had this been an option? Sitting forward, eagerly listening now, Mr Butterworth had her full attention.
‘Latimer Bank realise this may come as a shock to you all, but loyal employees will be rewarded, you can be assured of that…’
Don’t know about shock, more like a golden ticket out of here, thought Emma.
‘So, you will all receive an email with the details, giving you time to mull over your choices,’ Mr Butterworth finished with what he hoped looked like a genuine, regretful smile.
Emma’s hand immediately reached for the mouse on her desk to click on her email inbox. She hoped beyond hope she would qualify for voluntary redundancy. She was a loyal employee, wasn’t she? Having worked there since leaving college, surely she’d be considered. Her sick record was good, well, goodish, she corrected herself, conscious of pulling the odd sickie, like when she’d been too knackered to get up in the morning after a gig, like last night. But other than the occasional day off, Emma believed herself to be an honest, hardworking member of the team and had often deputised to the grade above hers when requested.
Loyal she may be, but Emma’s heart had never been in the job. At first, she’d been keen to just get any job after leaving college. She’d welcomed the admin position at Latimer Bank. Her dad had been super proud of her when announcing she’d got the post. Although it had swiftly been backed up with, ‘It’s only for a year though, Dad, until the band makes it big, then I’ll be off,’ she had warned.
Without wanting to dash his daughter’s hopes, Perry Scholar had simply nodded, pretending to understand.
Now, seven years later, Emma had finally succumbed to the realisation that the band was never going to ‘make it big’. They were good, but maybe just not good enough, she’d sadly accepted. Still, the gigs were a nice little earner and locally theywerebig. Equinox – their band – often sold out tickets at various venues, including Lancaster’s music festival. A few times she’d been recognised and stopped whilst out and about. It had totally made her day once when a shy teenager had asked her to sign his festival programme.
So, whilst Emma was enjoying her time with the band, she also had to keep the day job in the bank as security. The extra gig money was nicely saving up and the wages from the bank helped at home with just her and Dad. Not that Perry actually took any rent off Emma. Unbeknown to his daughter, he was putting the money she gave him aside into a separate savings account for her.
However, redundancy money would be an absolute godsend to Emma, who was constantly moaning about working for the bank and threatening to quit. Only that morning, when her head was pounding from the previous late night – and also the tequila shots the band had downed after a great gig – had she complained.
‘My head’s killing. I really can’t be bothered going into work today,’ she’d whined.
‘Perhaps cut down on the drinking then, Emma?’ suggested her dad.
‘It’s customary for the band to celebrate with tequila shots!’ Emma countered, then, when seeing his raised eyebrow, added, ‘It’s how we roll, Dad.’
Perry’s mouth twitched. Despite trying to act the strict parent, he half envied her devil-may-care attitude. Emma was young, free, single and full of joie de vivre. She had everything to live for and he felt blessed to have such a doting daughter.
Technically, he was her stepdad. Perry had married her mother, Valerie, when Emma was eight years old. Then, when Emma was just thirteen, Valerie had tragically died of breast cancer, leaving the pair of them in their quaint, stone cottage in Lancaster. Perry couldn’t have loved his stepdaughter any more had he been her natural father. The two were quite alike in many ways, both free spirits. Perry owned a narrowboat, aptly namedThe Merry Perryand, up until marrying Valerie, he had lived a rather transient life, chugging along the waterways, cherishing the beauty of nature and the freedom. He still kept the narrowboat, although only used for day trips or minibreaks with his newly found lady companion, Bunty, an old flame from the past.
He and Emma both had a quirky sense of dress too. Emma loved vintage, retro style clothing and often bought from charity shops and pre-loved websites. Whereas Perry always looked dapper in neckerchiefs, paisley shirts and colourful waistcoats. His thick, grey hair was cut into long layers. Emma joked that he had a David Essex vibe about him, while he teased her for her freckles and copious chestnut curls.
Emma had a natural beauty, a real girl-next-door look, but because she compared herself to the sleek, long blonde-haired, sassy Sophie in the band, who got most of the attention, she didn’t appreciate her own worth. Often Perry would remind his daughter just how pretty she was, only to be waved away in dismissal. He also pressed how talented she was too. On the occasions he’d seen the band, it was blatantly obvious who was the most gifted. And it wasn’t Sassy Sophie. She may look the part with her golden, flowing locks and svelte figure in skin-tight leather pants, but her voice wasn’t a patch on Emma’s. Fact.
Finishing up her shift at the bank, Emma hurried home that evening, bursting through the door, urgently needing to tell her dad of the news.
‘Guess what?’ she gasped.
For Perry, this could be anything. The band could have landed a super gig, she could have met a new boyfriend, she could have been promoted, she could—
‘I’m leaving the bank!’ Emma declared with glee.
Perry blinked.
‘Well, say something, Dad,’ said Emma, hands on hips.
He frowned. ‘But… why?’
‘I’m taking voluntary redundancy. Well, hopefully. I’ve applied, so fingers crossed it’ll be accepted. Then,’ her eyes danced with joy, ‘I’ll be off!’
‘Off? Off where?’ Perry began to worry now.
‘I don’t know, wherever the mood takes me,’ she trilled, hands raised in the air.
Even though this was the happiest he’d seen Emma for a while, Perry forced her to calm down and tell him all the facts. He dearly hoped that his daughter’s impetuous nature hadn’t got the better of her. It was all well and good ditching a job she’d grown bored of, but what was the alternative? What on earth was going on inside that scatty brain of hers?
