When Rachel returned to the R/C office after lunch one Tuesday afternoon, she found Jack waiting for her – one eyebrow cocked and his gaze trained on a £1 bunch of bright-yellow blooms she’d picked up for her desk.
‘For me? You shouldn’t have,’ he said, grinning in the way that never failed to make Rachel feel like an invisible rope was tied to her stomach: one he could tug on gently or reel all the way in at will.
She shot him a death stare. ‘Haha.’
Determined to ignore him, she removed a trio of biros from a glass Kilner jar in the corner of her desk, then ripped off the paper tie around the daffodils’ stems. Aware that Jack’s eyes were still on her, she dropped them into the jar and took it to the kitchen for water.
‘If you wanted a floral arrangement for your desk, surely you could have just put in an order with your other half?’ he said when she got back. Rachel made murder eyes at him again, but a now familiar feeling of satisfaction stirred in her stomach. Refusing to engage with him on this, Rachel had realised, felt like a superpower.
It had occurred to her that she was playing with her own feelings as well as Jack’s ego by persisting with the ruse that she was attached – and yet she couldn’t seem to stop. Every time he tried to goad her into talking about her ‘boyfriend’, the thrill of declining to be drawn on the topic got stronger.
‘Isaac wants to see us this afternoon,’ Jack informed her. ‘There’s more new pitch work. Something bigger this time, I think, quite challenging from the sound of things.’
‘That’s good,’ Rachel said. ‘It’ll be nice to get stuck in to something harder again.’
Jack smirked. ‘Please go on. I love it when you talk dirty about digital content strategy.’
She flushed, annoyed but amused in spite of herself. ‘Do shut up, or I’ll be forced to staple your sensitive parts to your swivel chair.’
‘Ewwww,’ breathed a voice behind her. Rachel winced, turning to see who’d spoken – though she already knew.
‘Walking past you two should come with a “not suitable for work” warning,’ Donna said. She swept past Jack’s desk towards the kitchen, giving Rachel a look that was one part disgusted, one part jealous and two parts self-satisfied.
‘I’ve no idea why, but that woman really hates me,’ Rachel sighed.
‘She hates everyone,’ Jack said with a shrug. ‘But mostly other women, I think – particularly if they have the nerve to be prettyandclever.’
Rachel stared down at her keyboard, not wanting to acknowledge the compliment. She opened up an email that didn’t require an urgent reply and began typing a response at speed, her fingertips hammering the keys as though someone’s survival depended on a swift but comprehensive answer to the question of whether the termslog inandloginwere interchangeable. (It didn’t, and they weren’t.)
That afternoon Rachel sat in the small R/C meeting room, cradling a cup of tea in her hands as Isaac waxed lyrical about the importance of the pitch he was about to assign them.
‘This is a national charity withincrediblereach – a household name even more recognisable than BHGH. And it’s in the medical-slash-mental health space,’ he went on. ‘If we get this and do a good job, it will open up doors for us that I’ve been trying to knock on for years. You guys are undoubtedly the team for the job, but – as with BHGH – I think your client-side contact is a bit of a thorny character.’
Rachel groaned aloud at the thought of dealing with another sneering sexist, then tried to mask the noise by taking a huge gulp of tea. It went down the wrong way immediately, and Jack smacked her between the shoulder blades as she coughed and spluttered beneath Isaac’s unbroken chatter.
‘Oh, come on, Isaac – do tell,’ Jack said. ‘Rachel and I can’t cope with the suspense.’
Rachel made a face that she knew he’d understand meantHave a day off, kiss-arse.In response, Jack smiled at her serenely as Isaac resumed his speech.
‘We are talking about Lighthouse UK,’ he announced impressively.
Jack sat up straighter in his chair and nodded, his green eyes bright and approving.
Rachel felt herself twitch – felt some memory spark in a dark corner of her mind.Lighthouse UK…
She ought to know about this organisation – she’d definitely heard of it – so she dipped her head and crossed her arms as though she was well informed and listening attentively.
Lighthouse UK… It was definitely ringing a bell.
As the ringing became louder, it twisted into a discordant, grating clamour that only she could hear. Keeping time with it, Rachel’s breathing became heavier and faster, echoing in her ears. Her heart was pummelling her ribcage so hard she thought it might crack a bone. She was panicking.Whywas she panicking?
Isaac was still talking, and as Rachel tuned back in to the conversation she suddenly understood.
‘NHS hospitals …’ Isaac was saying. ‘Terminally ill children … Grief counselling … Bereaved brothers and sisters.’
Rachel felt her body flash hot, then cold, then hot again. She felt as if she were watching all this in a mirror – or as if she were trapped at the bottom of a deep pool, seeing events unfold in a blur while her lungs filled up with water.
‘You all right there, Rachel?’ Isaac asked. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
