An accusation that stung me like a bleeding viper, I’ve had it levelled at my own head so many times in the past, by the long string of nannies who’ve all walked out on me. Makes me sick to my stomach that any woman should be punished and accused of bad parenting, just for having no choice but to work hard to keep the show on the road.
‘BASTARD!’ I keep saying over and over again, as my hot little heart pumps into righteous overdrive and a searing fury floods through my veins. ‘Cowardly, bloody, bastard!’
‘I’m so sorry Eloise,’ says Rachel, shakily getting up to leave. ‘I shouldn’t even be bothering you with all this when you’re so busy, but now you can see why I’ve no choice but to hand in my notice. He’s gone, he’s really gone, so I’ll have to work far fewer hours on account of Molly and that’s no good in my job, is it? You need an assistant that’s here all the hours that you are. It’s not fair on you otherwise. So, so, you see, that’s pretty much it for me … Isn’t it? I’ll have to leave. Won’t I?’
Another fresh bout of sobs here, sending me flying off to find yet more Kleenex, and shoving them in front of her.
‘Rachel,’ I say, levelling with her. ‘If I ask you a straight question, will you give me a straight answer?’
She nods weakly.
‘Is that what you want? Do you really want to walk?’
Then I wryly throw in, ‘Am I honestly that much of a troll queen to work for?’
‘No! Not at all! And you know I’ve never listened to what everyone else …’
She stops herself just in time.
‘Right then. Here’s what we’re going to do,’ I tell her, all businesslike. ‘If you want to stay on as my assistant, nothing would make me happier. But as of today we’re drawing up a whole new contract for you. For starters, I’m cutting your hours right back …’
She looks at me in horror, but I cut her off ‘… with absolutely no corresponding cut in your salary whatsoever. For God’s sake Rachel, you’re here as long as I am, you’re like my right hand and not once in all those long years, to my shame, have I ever given you a single pay rise or promotion. I’ll designate one of our interns to deputise for you so you can work a normal forty-hour week. That way, at least you can be home by six every evening to be with Molly.’
She looks up at me, mouth open, the very cartoon picture caption of the word stunned.
‘Eloise – really? I mean, are you being serious?’
‘Never more serious in my life. And another thing. When’s the last time you took a holiday?’
She has to rack her brains to think. And I know well that she works almost as hard as I do; if she manages to get two days together off at Christmas, it’s a miracle.
‘Emmm’ she stammers. ‘Well …’
I shake my head and scrunch my nose up.
‘No, for the life of me, I can’t remember the last bit of time you had off either. Right then. Come on, get your coat, I’m putting you in a taxi right now and you’re taking the rest of the week off to sort out whatever’s going on at home.’
She looks up at me like I’ve lost it, like I’m the one who’s having a meltdown and not her. Like alien clones have taken over the body of Eloise Elliot and I’m some kind of avatar stand-in who looks like her and sounds like her, but who has a totally different personality. A far softer one for starters.
‘Eloise,’ she says, tears shining in her eyes, ‘are you really sure?’
‘Not taking no for an answer. Molly needs you now and you need to be with her. Far more important than any shagging job. Just promise me one thing. Don’t come back till you feel ready to. Your job will always be here for you and that’s a promise.’
By Friday of the same week, lovely, gentlemanly Robbie from Foreign, probably the only other living soul round here who puts in roughly the same kind of hours that I do myself, lets it slip that he’s missing his daughter’s Confirmation today on account of having to stay at the office to cover the election primaries live from the US.
Takes roughly an hour for this to filter back to me, but as soon as it does, I’m straight over to his desk, seeing him bent double over his computer, like he always is, working, working, working. So I tell him in no uncertain terms that he’s taking the rest of the day off so he can make it to the Confirmation and that if his deputy editor can’t cover for him, I’ll personally do it myself.
Swear to God, the thick white shock of hair sticking up on his head turns even whiter at my even suggesting this. Not for the first time, Jake’s wise words of advice come back to me: ‘Get to know your colleagues and cut them a bit of slack. You might just be astonished at the results.’
And I am astonished, not just at how good it feels to treat people well for once, but at the change in atmosphere round the office. Sure we’re all still stressed out of our heads and grinding towards the never-ending tsunami of deadlines that are part and parcel of life around here, but now there’s a light-heartedness in the air that was never there before, and what’s more, I’m pretty certain I’m not the only one who’s noticed.
By the following Saturday, I decide, what the hell, I’m cutting everyone else around me loads of slack, why not do at least a bit of the same for myself? Helen calls me to say there’s a summer festival happening in Stephen’s Green this afternoon, including a teddy bears’ picnic for under-fives, and as it’s a gorgeous, rare sunny day, she and Lily are going to bring along her favourite teddy, the appropriately named Mr Fluffles. I wish them both a fab afternoon, put the phone down, and instead of feeling the usual lump of envy mixed with guilt that I’m not there and Helen is, an idea strikes me.
Impatiently glancing down at my watch, I see that it’s just coming up to one o’clock though. Then, a flash of sudden inspiration. I could do it, I think, nothing easier. Stephen’s Green is only a ten-minute walk away from me. What’s to stop me from taking an actual lunch break for a change, instead of just shoving half a banana and an oatmeal bar into my mouth at the desk, like I do every other day? I could just surprise the two of them and turn up with a little picnic for the three of us, couldn’t I? Where’s the harm in that?
Like Jake is always telling me, the mighty pillars of the Post are hardly going to crumble down round my ears if I take a tiny break outside of here for a change, now are they? Feck it anyway, I think, Lily’s not going to be this age forever and I’m sick to my back teeth of missing out on ever doing anything fun with her. I’m taking an hour for lunch and let the Seth Colemans of this world make of it what they will.
So I do, and it’s the single most exhilarating thing I’ve done in weeks. I race into the Marks & Spencer food hall and stuff a cooler bag full of juices, sandwiches, choccie treats and an ice cream for each of us, then hot foot my way up Grafton St. through the meandering crowds of Saturday afternoon shoppers all the way up to the Green, texting Helen en route to find out exactly where they are. No messing, my heart actually swells to bursting point at the way Lily’s little, freckly pink face lights up when she sees the unexpected sight of me making my way through the crowded park to find her. And when she clocks the strawberry Cornetto I hand over too, of course.
It’s bliss like I haven’t known in decades, just lying on a rug on a hot summery day, watching my grown-up baby make friends and swap teddies with another little girl about her own age. Meanwhile Helen and I loll back on a picnic rug she’s brought from home, soaking up the sunshine, listening to a jazz band playing summery songs in the bandstand nearby. We natter on about pretty much anything and everything, but mainly all about her boyfriend Darren and how she hopes and prays her being away is finally starting to put manners on him, all while stuffing our faces with paninis and delicious, gooey strawberry cheesecake. Food, particularly from M&S, Helen always reckons, takes a huge amount of the