He’s not a fan of being left alone, but then again Grace might be happy for me to write from home. I’m only pitching some columns. I’m not expecting to be offered a corner office and a parking space. There’s no reason to believe I won’t be able to continue in my role as Daniel’s servant and almost constant companion.
I take a deep breath to settle myself, and I try to think what my beloved daddy would say to me if he was still living. I’m sure he’d very gently, while also managing to be firm in that way only a father can be, tell me to stop self-sabotaging and to hold my head high and go for it. ‘You’re as good as anyone else,’ he’d say. ‘If not better. So stop telling yourself that you’re not, or that you don’t deserve it. You’re a fierce one for sabotaging your own happiness, Rebecca. My dearest wish is that you find a way to break that habit, because I know you are capable of anything you set your mind to. If you don’t believe in you just yet, then know that I believe in you enough for the both of us.’
With a shaky exhalation, I wonder if that belief of his still exists in whatever form of the afterlife he has found himself in.
Or maybe it’s my turn to believe in me enough for both of us.
‘Daniel,’ I say, standing up and brushing the dog hairs off my dress. ‘It’s time I get myself ready. And there’s no need for you to look so sad. Adam is home. He’ll mind you. And I promise I’ll bring you back a sausage from the deli counter.’
His ears pick up at the mention of the word sausage. He’s so easily bought. A total sausage slut.
Forty-five minutes later I have transformed myself into a reasonable representation of a woman who knows what she is doing. I’ve put on some opaque tights which have the added benefit of sucking my stomach pouch in a little. It’s not flat. It never has been flat. Not even before I had the twins. Needless to say, after I’d had the twins I had to make my peace with the fact it will never, ever be flat. But at least it’s less wobbly. With the addition of the now uncovered Mary Janes, and a cropped leopard-print cardigan I bought in the sale in Asda, I look presentable. I’ve opted for a natural yet groomed make-up look, with the help of some concealer, blush and a hint of mascara. The straighteners have been dragged through my hair and, while I’m certainly not giving any stylist anything to have a sleepless night over, I have managed to calm the frizz. As long as it doesn’t rain on my way toNorthern People, it should remain so.
Now I just have to grab my folder with my pitch ideas – which I have also emailed to Grace so she can read in advance – and get across town without bottling out.
‘I’m doing this for you, Daddy,’ I whisper to his picture, wishing I could just get a sign from him that he’s proud of me for stepping out of my comfort zone.
That my phone chooses this exact moment to ping to life makes me swear, loudly, earning yet another disappointed ‘boof’ from Daniel. I know, of course, the text is really bloody unlikely to be the aforementioned sign from beyond the grave that my father is proud of me. I’m not completely delusional.
But as it turns out, it’s still something very lovely. A message from Conal.
Good luck today. You’re class. You’ll walk it. Chat soon. I still miss you. C xxx
I might be a forty-six-year-old woman but the ‘I still miss you’ and the three kisses at the end of his text make my heart flutter just a little. Three kisses is intentional. It’s not a force of habit single ‘x’. It requires a level of forethought. It shows he is still interested. And he misses me. There is still time to salvage this.
I’ll message him after and let him know how it has gone. See if we can’t work out a mutually agreeable time to get together. As long as it goes well, that is. I might need to lie down and have a cry in a darkened room if it doesn’t.
Before I fall into another doubt spiral, I swear I hear my father’s voice in my ear once again. ‘What’s for you won’t pass you, Rebecca. If it’s meant to happen, it will happen.’
11
AMAZING GRACE
Grace is surprisingly approachable and enthusiastic. I’m sitting in her office, looking around me as I wait for her to finish on a phone call. She’s speaking to a photographer about a shoot she has organised, and it all sounds impossibly glamorous and exciting – and a million miles away from ‘Ten Ways to Increase Productivity and Wow Your Boss’.
Her office is relatively small, but it’s tidy save for a pile ofNorthern Peoplemagazines in the corner that I’m pretty sure poses a significant fire hazard. It’s not my place to point such things out, so I stay quiet and instead look at the selection of framed magazine covers on the walls. There’s the first edition, published in the eighties, featuring a woman with permed hair, shoulder pads and bright blue mascara.
There’s also a cover featuring a smouldering shot of Jamie Dornan. He’s giving his best sexy serial killer expression, which makes me think this edition must have coincided with the success of the Northern Irish-based drama seriesThe Fall.
I remember thinking, at the time, that I wouldn’t mind the likes of him climbing in my window one evening. I wasn’t so keen on the notion of being murdered, mind… but still, Jamie Dornan was very good at setting my heart (and other parts) all a flutter.
The other covers on display mark different landmarks in the magazine’s decades-long history. I spy their one hundredth edition, and one celebrating their ten-year anniversary. It’s an impressive sight and I can hardly believe that I am in with a chance to actually become a part of this magazine’s story.
My stomach fizzes with what I hope is excitement, but which could also be an incoming bout of gastroenteritis. Please God, it’s the former.
Grace looks very comfortable behind her desk – as if she was made for the role. I’d been low-keyed worried she’d turn out to be a Miranda Priestly clone and immediately see right through my pathetic attempts to be relevant and fashionable.
But she hadn’t been like that at all. She’d come to greet me in reception, smiling broadly, instead of sending one of her minions. She’s dressed in a neat pair of black trousers, with a stylish white shirt, open just low enough to be classy and to show off the simple gold necklace around her neck. Her entire look could probably be described as effortless, but I’m sure it wasn’t. I am not blind to the extra flourishes.
She is a well-polished and more confident version of the girl she used to be at school. If she had been in the same year group as Niamh, Laura and me, we would probably have been friends. We were cut from the same slightly nerdy cloth – neither part of the popular set nor cool enough to hang out with the emo crowd who, for some reason I’ve never understood, were known as the Fraggles. They were certainly nothing like the brightly coloured puppets of one of my favourite childhood shows.
Grace was always, always passionate about what she wanted to get out of life. She was determined, even then, that she would become a journalist and she would climb that career ladder. Unlike me, she never found herself a comfortable spot on the bottom rung and took up permanent residence there.
There’s a lot to admire in the version of Grace I see in front of me now.
Her nails are manicured and painted a subtle taupe, while mine are bare and could probably do with a good massage with hand cream and cuticle oil. Her highlighted hair is pulled back in a neat chignon, but a few stray hairs have managed to escape, which puts me at ease. I think I might have cried if I’d been faced with perfection personified. Women who don’t look just a little harassed make me suspicious – even more so if their make-up and cosmetic touch-ups mean they could be any age between twenty-five and fifty-five.
Grace Adams looks her age – in a good way. Her eyes crinkle when she smiles, and her lips are not unnaturally plumped and filled. I can see the hint of grey roots in her hair. She looks as if she is very comfortable in her late-forties style which I find deeply reassuring. It’s always a bonus when I don’t want to slide under a table with embarrassment at how out of place I feel. There’s a kinship here. I can feel it.
