He may be a decent writer and proofreader, but he is majorly lacking when it comes to content that he has no interest in personally. I’ve always believed that working at a magazine likeNarrativeis a privilege—it’s got an excellent reputation for reliable and well-researched journalism and it covers a huge variety of topics: culture, lifestyle, travel, fashion, food, and, best of all, it includes insightful interviews with public figures. It’s the perfect magazine to curl up with over the weekend. Its editor-in-chief should be someone who values and celebratesallthese things, not just those that interest him as an individual. But Cosmo has connections high up the ladder, so when the top job came up atNarrative,he was deemed the man to increase the readership and bring in more advertising revenue.
The fashion and beauty editors suffer under his leadership, too, but at least he acknowledges that luxury fashion shoots help secure big ad buys. When it comes to my work, however, he loves to offer his sneering opinion.
“Readers don’t care about thisperson,” he spat during his first week, as I proudly showed him the mock-up of the four-page spread I’d written about a Radio One presenter. “Let’s cut this to one page.”
“What? Are you serious?” I asked, flabbergasted.
“I want to make room for the piece on the new Cotswolds country club,” he said simply, as though that cleared everything up. “The sort of thing our readers like to read about. Luxurious and aspirational.”
“I don’t understand. That’s only a one-page piece at a stretch, and this one is already laid out and—”
“I don’t recognize this so-called celebrity,” he interrupted, waving his hand across the pages. “Why should I care how she has come to ‘love herself’? Sounds like vain nonsense.”
“If you read it, you’ll see that she’s been through a lot to get to where she is today, overcoming the kind of challenges that—”
“One page is enough on this sort of thing,” he stated, cutting me off again. “Next time, bring me something that features peoplewho are household names. What about a piece on that F1 driver? You know, someone who’s actually achieved something.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “She’s a top-tier radio DJ.”
He shrugged before ushering me out of his office. I should have known then that getting Cosmo Chambers-Smyth to take me seriously was going to be a lost cause, but I held on to the hope that he was throwing his weight around as a new editor-in-chief and would soon settle into the role. After all, celebrity features are not only some of the most popular sections in both our print and online editions, but they usually provide the cover headline and help juice social engagement. He must recognize that my features are crucial to our numbers because he hasn’t fired me. Yet.
Still, I’m proud of what I contribute toNarrative,and since I don’t have much respect for Cosmo, I’m never afraid to snap back—which he clearlyhates.
He’s not beloved by the rest of the editorial staff, either, and they’re in my corner when I need help getting my point across. Mimi, my best friend and the travel editor, is my lifesaver.
Sophisticated, smart, and demure, Mimi is amazingly observant and thoughtful. She also loves nothing better than to organize things and boss me around, which I’m the first to admit that I need, since my head tends to be all over the place. We first met years ago when we worked atFlair—sadly now defunct—and then eighteen months after I moved toNarrative, the travel editor role came up and Mimi snagged it, so we could continue the best-friend dream of working together.
She’s happily married to Katya, a top surgeon who is equally as gorgeous and elegant as Mimi. On the rare and pleasurable occasion that Katya is not on shift and is at home when I go round to theirs for dinner, I feel like such a jumbled mess compared with the two of them as they glide around their immaculate Clapham house—which somehow always smells amazing—intheir chic, creaseless clothes. I know that Mimi has a mild heart attack whenever she sets foot in my flat, and she keeps threatening to put in an application for me to appear on one of those shows where they declutter your home, but it would be pointless. I’d mess it up as soon as the TV crew left.
Before Liam came on the scene, Katya and Mimi loved to talk about setting me up with one of Katya’s fascinating and “successful” doctor friends, but I think we all secretly knew that her colleagues wouldn’t be thrilled at the prospect of being matched with someone that Katya once (affectionately) described as having a “haphazard personality.”
Mimi’s not the only ally I have on the team—I’m lucky to get on well with the features editor, Rakhee, who sits next to me and is, crucially, revered by Cosmo. This comes in handy when I’m fighting for a celebrity piece and Cosmo is being dismissive, because Rakhee will usually come to my rescue and help him see reason. Like everyone, Cosmo finds it difficult to say no to Rakhee. She’s fiercely intelligent and intimidating, and excellent at arguing her point. When I first started atNarrative, I was terrified of her, but once you get to know her, you see her softer side. Without her in my corner, I don’t think Cosmo would let me write half the stories I pitch.
“All right, so cover options—Rakhee, where are we at with the Don Bright piece?” Cosmo asks, clasping his hands together and leaning forward onto the table.
“The writer filed the feature this morning,” she answers.
“Don is a man to watch,” Cosmo declares, wagging his finger as though this is an invaluable piece of wisdom. “I’ve already got the headline for the cover: ‘The Future’s Bright.’ Brilliant, eh?”
“Yeah, um, I’m not sure this should be our cover piece,” Rakhee remarks.
Cosmo turns to her in surprise. “Why not? He’s one of thecountry’s leading businessmen. Every company he touches turns to gold.”
“But he’s boring,” she says matter-of-factly, tapping her pen against her notepad. “The writer had warned me that he didn’t give her much in way of quotes. He keeps his cards close to his chest, which may make him a shrewd businessman, but a lousy subject. He didn’t give her anything personal to work with at all. Mostly just profit figures. I should have sent Harper to interview him; she might have been able to draw out a personality.”
“Facts and figures are interesting!” Cosmo argues.
“Not these. Look, the writer has done a fine job with what she had, but I wouldn’t be drawing our readers to this piece as the main event of the edition.” Rakhee’s eyes flash across the table at me. “Have you got anything good this week that might make a cover story, Harper?”
“Well, funny you should ask, because—”
“I’ve already decided that Don Bright is our cover story,” Cosmo declares in an end-of-conversation tone. “Right, on to the travel pages. Mimi, overview please.”
Rakhee sighs and shrugs at me.
When Cosmo later declares the meeting has come to an end, everyone’s on their feet in a flash, all of us desperate to get out of the stuffy glass box that is Meeting Room Three and return to our corner of the vast open-plan office that houses the main print newspaper, the weekend magazine, and digital. In general, we don’t mingle. The digital group keeps to themselves, and the reporters on the main paper are a very serious lot.
“How does your desk not stress you out?” Rakhee asks, appearing behind me once I’ve plonked myself down in my office chair.
