We both look at him, entirely unconvinced.
Once upstairs, one accountant after another takes turns to talk about profitability, momentum and synergies. We are then introduced to a guy whose job title is ‘Chief Transformation Officer’, though sadly this has nothing to do with makeovers. Instead, he tells us that some market research into Fable & Punk is underway and the results will provide the backbone for future changes.
I am the last of our contingent to be released from the building, by which time I’ve been immobile and on my backside in an over-warm room for hours. The balls of my feet are throbbing, my joints feel stiff from lack of movement and, though a quick sniff confirms that my armpits aren’t too obnoxious, they are definitely on the turn.
I’d intended to work on the train home, but as I head down the carriage, it’s immediately clear that this will be a challenge. I’m not saying I expected the Orient Express, but nothing ever prepares me for the scrum of the 19.07 from King’s Cross.
On the first off-peak journey on any given weekday evening, I know from bitter experience that a seat will be hard to come by.Everyoneis on this. Women in business attire. Men in jeans. Hen parties, day-trippers and, in onememorable case earlier this year, someone en route to aStar Warsconvention dressed as Chewbacca.
I find a coveted table seat and momentarily feel like I’m winning at life. But I’m joined by a man who devours his Upper Crust baguette like a caveman and two young women singing along to a tinny medley of Rihanna songs, played from an iPhone. About thirty minutes into the journey, I hear a lady across the aisle mention she’s from Switzerland, a place I once read has the best trains in the world. I feel like leaning across and apologising on behalf of my entire country.
Eventually, I give up on the laptop and take out the gin in a tin I bought in Marks & Spencer before I boarded. I’ve been holding out for as long as possible, but now fully understand why the main protagonist onThe Girl on the Trainwas an alcoholic.
When I finally get home, the first thing I do on entering the house is to unstrap my bra. I have no idea when underwires got so uncomfortable. Is this a midlife thing? I used to happily spend the day with my breasts trussed up in a Wonderbra, but now look forward to the moment I get to lie on the sofa and unhook it like I used to anticipate Christmas.
I still feel sluggish the following day, when I’m confined to my home office for a series of Zooms, before tackling my overflowing inbox and all the action points that I brought back from Barisian HQ.
I’m trying to decipher one I wrote down – something about unlocking a next-level synergy – when Gavin texts me to confirm our date, an ‘arms day’ at Pure Fitness. He’s very sweet. And it will do me good to get out. But that still doesn’t stop me glancing out of my bedroom window onto the tennis club. I haven’t set foot in it since the fun tournamentelevendays ago. I don’t know how I am suddenly unable to bear leaving it this long without picking up a racquet. It’s not a lot of time, really.So why do I feel like a junkie, desperate for my next fix? I feel almost resentful, like I don’t know what to do with myself. And, worse, there’s no chance of me setting foot in the club until the weekend, thanks to two men’s league fixtures tonight.
At 5.30pm, too bleary-eyed to look at another email, I quickly check Find My iPhone to reassure myself that Frankie is still in Italy, and I’m about to go to the fridge to see if I’ve got enough for a stir fry, when my doorbell rings. I open it to find Lisa on my step, in a state of high anxiety.
‘We’re desperate,’ she says, urgently.
‘What?’
‘The Women’s B team. We were on our way to play our second away match when Mandy had to pull out. She’s been called to her mum’s nursing home.’
‘Oh dear. Nothing serious, I hope?’
‘Apparently it happens a lot and Mandy’s sure it’ll be fine, but she can’tnot go. So we’re a player short.’
I take this information in silently.
‘I know what you said, so I’m not going to beg. Look, it’s up to you. I do mean that,’ she says, though I can’t help noticing she’s sweating now. ‘But you probably already know what I’m going to ask here . . .’
I start to chew my lip.
‘Also, you should know that we all completely understand if you feel you can’t do this. This is not your problem! By the same token . . . everyone would love it if you were there. This team feels like it’s missing something without you. You’re one of the gang.’
‘Lisa, honestly, I—’
‘Okay, scrap what I just said,’ she interrupts.
‘Which bit?’
‘The bit about not begging.Please, Jules. Your team needs you.’
Chapter 24
I feel as if I am not in full control of my own limbs as Lisa returns to the rest of the team and I head upstairs to my wardrobe to take out some sportswear. I am like a marionette at the mercy of strings, as I head downstairs for my tennis bag then fill up a water bottle, grab my keys and head down the front path in a daze.
What the hell am I doing?
‘Oh God, you came!’
From the way Rose gasps you’d think I’d just rescued a puppy from a burning building. ‘You are a lifesaver! Isn’t she?’
‘You are,’ Lisa agrees, unlocking her car. ‘Seriously, Jules, we owe you one.’
