Andrea’s face appears in front of the door and she taps her finger on her watch furiously. I nod and return to the call.
‘I’ll see if I can get Jacob’s granddad to come over straight away. Leave it with me.’
I push open the glass door as Andrea turns around. ‘One minute! Sorry!’
Her glowering face is the last thing I see as I step outside again to phone my parents. Mum answers and I fill her in, before asking if Dad is available. In case it isn’t obvious, this is far from the first time Grandma and Granddad have had to step in.
‘Well, if their own father hadn’t moved to the Peak District, he might be able to pull his finger out,’ she huffs, never missing an opportunity to slag Brendan off.
‘I know. He’s a dick.’ She doesn’t usually approve of language, butalwaysmakes an exception for my ex. She can turn the air blue with some of the insults she’s thrown his way over the years. ‘So can Dad go?’
‘He can’t, love. He’s got the chiropodist here. She’s having a hell of a time with his heels.’
I hear a noise in the background that resembles the kind of power tool you’d need to fell an oak tree.
‘Is there any way you can go? I’m sorry to ask,’ I grovel. ‘It’ll probably just pop out the moment you see him, but if not, he’ll have to go to the NHS walk-in centre. I’m really sorry.’
‘Oh, stop saying sorry. I would but it’s Aquarobics on a Tuesday.’
A cry escapes from the back of my throat before I can stop it.
She tuts. ‘Oh, all right then. I’ll go Thursday instead, though the instructor isn’t as good as Pauline.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Stop it. I’ll go and get him now.’
‘Mum, you are a star,’ I say emphatically.
‘I know,’ she sighs.
As I step into the presentation room my eyes are drawn automatically to Zach.
He is talking to Bram Gullit, our Dutch-born head of Digital, but briefly looks up at me, prompting a treacherous flash of heat in my belly. I slip into the only free seat directly opposite him at the conference table where there are twelve of us, from departments ranging from Marketing to Drama, Legal to Reality.
Andrea clears her throat.
‘Now we’re all present and correct, we should get started. Before we proceed, Zach, would you introduce yourself to anyone you haven’t yet met?’
He’s had his hair cut. It’s very short at the sides, but he’s got some kind of product on top so it sweeps forward in a thick wave. His jaw is clean-shaven and smooth, enhancing the tiny dimple in his chin. He’s wearing a pale blue shirt that is very simple but nonetheless looks expensive. Everything about him does.
‘Sure. Well, I’m Zach. As you may be able to tell, I’m not local.’
Compared with the clipped British vowels of the rest of us, his accent is like honey. Deep and smooth, with no hard edges.
‘I was born in New York but studied in the UK, before returning to the US to work for ABC in LA. I worked there for most of my career, before joining MotionMax+. I’ve been here a week so far and have been grateful for the warm welcome. I must say, I’m impressed with your operation.’
‘Flattery will get youeverywhere,’ says Andrea, with a seductive giggle.
‘Ha,’ he says, though it’s closer to a cough than a laugh. ‘Well, this is already sounding like some cheesy speed-datingintroduction, so I’ll leave it there. Oh, except . . . I’m aware I’m stepping into a big pair of shoes here. I hear wonderful things about Rose Riley and she’s left me a comprehensive handover. Still, my aim in the few months I’m here is that I can make a contribution that’s . . . meaningful.’
‘I’m sure you will,’ gushes Andrea as I try not to roll my eyes. ‘Well, let’s move on, shall we. Could somebody take notes?’
She glares at the side of the table where I am sitting, between our Chief Talent Officer Karen Mariko and Head of Comedy Angikka Bayu, before looking to the end, towards Emily Reig, the new hotshot in Digital. The only women in the meeting, aside from her.
I can imagine what Rose would have to say about this. It would be something about the patriarchy and how Andrea is not merely an unwitting collaborator, but a raging sexist in her own right. Despite having smashed more than a few glass ceilings herself, Andrea thinks the #MeToo movement is a ‘lot of fuss over nothing’. If there’s a cup of tea to be made, she considers it the job of one of the women in the room, no matter how senior. I’ve even seen her leap up to make a Darjeeling more than once amongst a group of men, all more junior than her, simply because she’s the only female available.
The note-taking is a case in point and I can almost hear Rose in my ear: it’sfineto be asked, as long as the men are too. We’re senior managers, not 1950s secretaries. But Andrea, in all the years I’ve worked with her, never has. Worse than that is that I, just like when I was a six-year-old milk monitor, cannotbearthe sound of silence.
