Rakhee has never made me feel like she is superior to me (despite Cosmo’s clear personal feelings on the hierarchy of our jobs), and it’s extremely helpful to have a features editor who respects my position. A lot of magazines have scrapped celebrity editors, whereas the features editor is long established at all publications and undoubtedly a safe title to hold. I just hope I’ll be able to work in tandem rather than in competition with whoever replaces Rakhee.
“I will be conducting the interviews along with Cosmo,” she assures me. “I promise to hire the perfect person for the job.”
“The office won’t be the same without you,” Mimi sighs, and I nod in forlorn agreement.
“I’ll miss working with you. I hope I’ll get on well with theSleekteam. I’m pretty nervous about the move, to be honest.”
“It’s an exciting new adventure,” I emphasize. “And one we should celebrate with a round of drinks! I’ll get another bottle of Prosecco. No! Strike that. Champagne.”
Mimi claps her hands excitedly.
“But won’t you be late for the book launch?” Rakhee asks, checking her watch.
“That’s okay,” I tell her with a smile, slipping away in the direction of the bar. “I do have a reputation to uphold.”
On my way from the tube to Waterstones, I get a phone call. It’s my dad again. I didn’t message him after the missed call yesterday, so I decide to answer, grateful that I have an excuse to rushoff. I’m also tipsy from Rakhee’s celebratory champagne and I’d rather not handle a phone call with my dad sober.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Harper, finally,” he says, already sounding annoyed, even though I missedonecall from him. “I’ve been trying to get through to you.”
“Sorry,” I say, doing my best not to be irked by his tone before our conversation has even really started. “How are you and Mum?”
“Well, thank you,” he says snippily.
“Good. Look, I can’t be long, Dad, I’m about to head into an event.”
“I don’t intend to keep you long, Harper,” he grumbles. “Since we haven’t seen you since Easter, we thought we should get a dinner in the diary. Your sister’s idea.”
“Okay,” I say, dreading it already. “When were you thinking?”
“I’ll send across some suitable dates,” he states, in the same way that he’d book a meeting with one of his clients. I am fully used to this formal manner. He’s always like this with me, as though I’m essentially a burden to him, someone he has a duty toward, rather than someone he’d like to spend time with.
“Great. Anyway, I have this event so I’d better—”
“Some celebrity bash, is it?”
The disdain oozes from every word.
“It’s a book launch, actually,” I reply, annoyed at myself for feeling like I have to justify anything.
He sighs. “I suppose that is a little better than your usual occupations.”
“You know what, Dad, I don’t have time for you to talk shit about my career tonight, okay? You can save that for our dinner.”
“Don’t swear, Harper,” he scolds.
“I have to go.”
“All right, we’re perfectly used to you running off,” he snaps. “I’ll send you those dates.”
“Great. Bye, then.”
“Goodbye.”
I hang up, throw my phone in my bag, and try to shake the conversation off as I walk into the warm, welcoming bookshop.
Clearly, my relationship with my parents is… strained.
