‘For sure.’ Rachel nodded. ‘Let’s drink to The Worst Ever Day At Work, TM.’
‘Yourworst ever,’ Anna said. ‘But let’s not forget the day Rajesh Bains in Year 10 set fire to his GCSE poetry anthology five minutes into my perfectly planned lesson on Robert Browning. Littlerat.’
Rachel broke into raucous giggles, remembering Anna’s story of a hastily scrambled bucket of water, an abandoned lecture on ‘My Last Duchess’, several soggy teenagers protesting that the incident had waterlogged forbidden iPhones, and her subsequent, irate phone call to Rajesh’s parents.
‘We’ll drink to that too, then: to Rajesh, and his hatred of randy dukes who execute their wives. Best make them doubles.’
7
Rachel woke just before eight on Saturday morning, immediately grateful that she wasn’t more hung-over. She felt a little grotty, but experience told her this low-level ickiness was nothing a bacon sandwich and a cup of tea couldn’t cure.
Then she remembered why she’d sunk so much gin in the first place. The company takeover. Jack. Her argument with Jack.
Bleurgh.
Rachel curled into a ball and pulled the duvet over her head. Even a Cyril’s full English wouldn’t be comfort food enough to soothe her now.
She heard thefzzzz-fzzzzof her phone vibrating on her bedside table and extended a hand from beneath the bluebell-patterned bedclothes. After a moment’s groping, she had it.
A WhatsApp from Tom.
Tom:Morning! You still up for meeting today to chat about the exhibition? x
Gah, she’d forgotten about this too – but it seemed churlish to back out now, even though she’d only said yes thanks to a combination of Anna’s strong-arming and Tom’s strategic snack selection.
Besides, Tom had been typically sage and supportive last night; he’d done Rachel the service of saying things that were genuinely helpful rather than just what she might have wanted to hear. It was definitely her turn to help him for a change.
Rachel:Yep. When and where? (FYI, am still in bed … ) x
Tom:Of course you are, it’s early. Just didn’t want to give you the chance to overthink this and back outJanssens beer bar in Soho? Noon? Dev from the PR agency is coming too – just wants a quick face to face before he releases the budget for copy x
Rachel, still cocooned in bed, emitted a muffled moan. She always felt like an impostor in Soho – not young, attractive or arty enough to hang out in the same spots as narrow-hipped twenty-somethings wearing cropped tops and ironic trainers.
As for meeting Tom’s colleague … The last thing Rachel felt capable of this morning was making nice with a complete stranger, let alone a PR type who probably specialised in blowing smoke up the backsides of C-list celebs.
But she wasn’t going to let Tom down – not least because he’d already called her out on the temptation to bottle this.
She tapped out a reply.
Rachel:Me? Overthink? Never. See you there x
Rachel arrived at Janssens with five minutes to spare. She had on her skinniest jeans, black hiking boots and an oversized eighties-style teal jumper she’d recently snapped up on Depop. Her freshly washed hair was pulled into an unruly bun, high on top of her head.
She glanced at herself in the reflective surface of a craft beer tap. She’d looked pretty good when she left the house, she thought – but after her short walk here from Leicester Square, the tip of her long, straight nose was bright pink with cold. It gave her a rabbity air.
She felt a hand on her shoulder.
‘Hey,’ Tom said. ‘Thanks for coming. You find it okay?’
She smiled and nodded. ‘Google Maps is my friend.’
‘What can I get you? Go and grab a seat, settle in.’
‘I dunno. I’m rubbish with beer … What do you recommend?’
‘Hmm. Something pale? Or a fruit beer?’
Rachel nodded again. ‘Either sounds good. I’ll leave it to you. Choose me something nice.’
