Making her way across the office, Amira couldn’t help feeling that everyone was clocking her uncharacteristically high heels and judging her for trying too hard.
Rachel Masters was in efficiency mode, lining up the edges of the stack of papers in front of her that turned out to be copies of Amira’s annual reviews, plus various progress reports and even her original CV, sent in when she applied for the job.
She said some complimentary things about Amira’s work appraisals and the positive comments that had been made by her supervisors. Then she laid down the heavy engraved silver pen she had been turning between her elegant fingers and said, ‘Can I talk to you in complete confidence, Amira?’
Amira blinked. ‘Of course.’ She tried to make her voice sound steady, but some obstacle seemed to have lodged itself in her windpipe.
Rachel shot a glance through the closed glass door to the main office, to where the rest of the staff were working, and then she leaned in across the desk.
‘This department has been underperforming for years. I’ve been brought in to weed out anyone who is just coasting, and reward those making a proper contribution. Now I know this is delicate as you’ve all been working together as a team, but I want to give you the heads-up that there will be a vacancy coming up at deputy level, and I’d like you to apply for it.’
‘Wow, thank you. I don’t know . . . Wow, so you’ll be creating another deputy position?’
Amira couldn’t remember the last time she’d used the word ‘wow’, and now she’d just said it twice in one sentence.
Rachel held Amira’s gaze. Once, Amira’s parents’ house had subsided and steel rods had had to be drilled into the rock below to underpin it. That’s just how Rachel’s eyes felt now. Like steel rods boring into her own.
‘No. There’s just the one deputy position.’
‘But Paula is . . . Oh.’
The realization rendered her wordless. Still Rachel’s eyes didn’t leave hers, cut glass pinioning her to the chair.
‘So now you can appreciate the need for discretion. I want people I can rely on, Amira. I’m not saying it’s a foregone conclusion you’ll get the job, but from what I can see, you’d make an excellent deputy. I hope you’ll at least think about it.’
Hurrying back through the office, Amira made sure to avoid eye contact with any of her workmates. Safely installed behind her own desk, she was surprised by a wave of resentment that came seemingly from nowhere. How dare Rachel Masters put her in this position? They’d all worked alongside each other for years without problem and now in she came, trying to stir up trouble between them. But soon her anger turned on herself. Why hadn’t she said something? Why hadn’t she stuck up for Paula, told Rachel where to stick her promotion? Where was her moral compass?
Her phone vibrated with a text from Tom.
How’s the guilt?
For a wild moment, she felt he must have sensed her monumental spinelessness from wherever he was, until she remembered about the auto-correct mistake in her earlier message.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Paula get up from her desk. Amira immediately switched her attention to her computer screen, pretending to be engrossed in the response of a tech client to the latest batch of CVS she’d sent him. Her desk was on the main route out to reception and the toilets so she wasn’t concerned when Paula headed straight for her. However, her heart sank when her colleague stopped by her chair.
‘How’d it go in there?’ Paula asked with a smile so tight it was like a fold in paper. Amira saw how it strained at the sides of her face.
‘Oh, you know,’ she replied. ‘Bit scary.’
Paula’s face relaxed.
‘You too? Yes, she is a bit intimidating. Maybe she’ll let her guard down when we all go out to lunch.’
As she moved off, Amira battled an urge to go after her, to explain herself. It wasn’t her fault. She hadn’t encouraged Rachel or said anything to indicate she’d apply for the job. And obviously she wouldn’t even countenance it. Not for a minute. Yet still, as Paula exited through the double doors to the lobby, Amira felt as if she’d betrayed her. Guilt sat in her stomach hard as a stone.
11
Charlie
‘I don’t do food in a box.’
‘Sh! You’re just going to have to swallow your principles and slum it for once.’
‘I don’t get it. What’s so wrong with a plate?’
Charlie hated the restaurant chain with its Scandanavian-style blond wood tables and bright ethnic prints and the supposedly healthy menu where everything was sprinkled with pomegranate seeds and alfalfa and called Superfood this or Superfood that and then wrapped up in a doughy carbohydrate-sodden wrap.