‘So!’ Alexa’s mother pressed the kitchen door shut behind them ‘Oh, Alexa, you’re stooping.’
Alexa straightened up, pushing a wisp of fringe out of her eyes. It was a criticism she had heard so many times, over the years. She tried so hard to be proud of her looks – all five foot ten of them – but too often, it just felt more comfortable to be at eye level with others. Not that that was an argument worth having with her mother.
‘I just wanted to say,’ her mother began, in a whisper that equated to anyone else’s normal speaking volume, ‘I think Matthew is wonderful. So does your father. He gave me the nod, just now.’
‘Good. I’m glad you think so.’ Alexa smiled hesitantly. The nod. It was as though Matt had come under scrutiny by virtue of his association with her. ‘I think he is, too.’
She waited with trepidation as her mother continued to wring her hands.
‘And . . . well, I just want to say . . . try to make time for him, won’t you? I know what you’re like, always rushing around, working all hours . . .’
Alexa frowned. She couldn’t quite believe these words were coming out of her mother’s mouth. Make time? Time? Coming from the person who believed that productivity was the ultimate goal, that life was all about using time efficiently?
Alexa found herself nodding, too stunned to object. ‘He seems like a perfect match,’ her mother went on. ‘Obviously very ambitious.’
Alexa nodded again. The hypocrisy was astounding. What did they want from her? Was ambition seen as a good thing or not? Throughout all of her life so far, Alexa had been working on the assumption that ambition was good – that it was an essential ingredient of a fulfilling life. Matt’s ambition was being lauded and yet, here was her mother, effectively telling Alexa to take her foot off the gas and to ‘make time’. Making time meant borrowing it from other activities, of course. There was only a finite number of hours in the day and Alexa’s waking ones were already filled – her mother had made sure of that. So what exactly was her mother trying to say?
‘You’re coming to the end of your contract at the magazine now, aren’t you? Perhaps you can take it a bit easier for a few months?’
Through the blur of confusion, Alexa spotted an opportunity.
‘Actually, my contract has—’
‘Have we got any more peppers?’ Her father appeared in the doorway. ‘Just need a half or so for the last kebab.’
‘Try the bottom of the fridge.’ Alexa’s mum moved over to the sink and started scrubbing a burnt pan – a good use of six seconds, thought Alexa, watching in annoyance.
‘Alexa, don’t leave your guest out there on his own. Go on – you go and entertain Matthew. We’ll sort out the food.’
Alexa toyed with the idea of telling them now, both at once, but it didn’t feel right. Her mother would overreact, she would get angry again and her dad wouldn’t know how to respond, and all the while Matt would be outside on his own.
‘Oh, Alexa?’ Her mother called out as she made her escape. ‘I meant to ask. You remember Lara Fielding, don’t you? The little girl you used to babysit, from the village?’
‘You mean the spoilt brat who would only eat food that was pink?’
‘Well, yes. I’m sure she’s grown out of that now. I was talking to Janice the other day and she mentioned that Lara has just finished a Media Studies degree and is looking for work! So, naturally, I said that you might be able to put in a good word with the ladies at Hers.’
Alexa sighed. She wouldn’t inflict Lara Fielding on anyone – especially not her friends on the third floor.
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
Matt raised an eyebrow as she re-emerged.
She shook her head. ‘Got interrupted.’
He looked unimpressed.
‘I will tell them,’ she said, ‘just—’
‘Tell who what?’ her mother asked breezily, reappearing with a bowl of chopped peppers.
‘Oh.’ Alexa panicked. ‘Just . . .’ She couldn’t say it. Not yet.
‘Alexa has some news,’ Matt said, unhelpfully.
‘I . . .’ Alexa said the line in her head, but she kept getting stuck on the word Banter. ‘I have a new job,’ she managed.
‘Do you?’ cooed her mother.
‘Do you?’ her dad echoed.
‘Yes.’ She pressed on. ‘It’s a managing director role, a bit like my last one, but for a men’s title.’
‘Oh! Congratulations!’
‘Which title, darling?’
‘Um . . . it’s . . . well,’ Alexa looked at the patio. Matt was looking at her, eyebrows raised. ‘It’s . . .’ She tried again to push the word out, but she just couldn’t do it. ‘A niche magazine,’ she said, eventually. ‘You won’t have heard of it.’
‘Well!’ cried her mother, clearly perplexed that the news wasn’t more significant, given the build-up. ‘That’s . . . fabulous!’
She didn’t look as disappointed as she might have done, thought Alexa – presumably because she saw the role as offering more potential for her daughter to make time for Matt. Within seconds, she was popping the cork on a bottle of champagne.
‘Well done, Alexa!’ she cried, filling the glasses.
‘Hear hear!’ said her dad. ‘Well done.’
‘Yes,’ Matt added woodenly. ‘Well done.’
Alexa held up her glass as the toast was made, feeling shaky and slightly sick.
Chapter 6
‘Pig Out?’
‘Hogwarts?’
‘Pig Headed?’ Derek sniggered and scratched his goatee, clearly finding the whole thing hilarious. ‘No, hang on, how about Pigs Might Fly? Ha!’
Alexa sighed. They were nearly two hours into the weekly editorial meeting and they’d barely scratched the surface of features. For the last ten minutes, conversation had revolved around possible funny headlines for Paddy’s first editorial assignment – a trip to a Suffolk pig farm. Alexa suspected that the location had been carefully chosen by the other members of the team to ensure maximum ridicule for the junior writer.
‘How about Pig Tales!’ roared Derek, looking around the table for a response.
Marcus, the ginger-haired news editor, guffawed appropriately and Sienna let out a girly squeal, rearranging her blouse to display a little more cleavage.
Alexa cleared her throat. ‘Shall we move on? I’m sure the features team will come up with something suitably funny.’ She looked at the balding, energetic features editor who nodded back at her. ‘Neil? What else?’
Before Neil could speak, Derek leaned forward, his head cocked aggressively to one side.
‘How about,’ he said, in a slow, condescending tone, ‘we carry on going round the table, like we’ve been doing, shall we? That’s tends to be how we do it, see.’ He smiled patronisingly at her.
Alexa managed to nod, despite the burning rage inside her. There were so many things she wanted to say. They weren’t going round the table; they were going through the magazine, section by section, as was customary in such meetings. She had looked