Getting Over Mr. Right (29 page)

“Mrs. Charlton doesn’t have to know that Ashleigh didn’t go on the course,” said Lucas.

“Don’t you start,” my mother warned him. “Two liars in my house! Whatever must I have done in a past life …?”

The wailing started again when Dad came home, and again when Auntie Joyce arrived for tea the following day.

It was Auntie Joyce who actually came to my rescue.

“Well,” she said to my mother, without pausing in clicking her needles, “you did say yourself that she went mental after that Michael left her. I think that’s enough of an excuse. I was on a bottle of sherry a day right after Frank Farmer dumped me for Emily. We all have our different ways of trying to mend a broken heart. I’m sure Ashleigh feels stupid enough without being reminded. She’ll make it up to you.”

Her aunt’s wisdom seemed to calm my mother down. After Auntie Joyce left, Mum told me that she didn’t want to talk about the incident anymore. After the fire that forced my move back home, Mum had assured me that I didn’t need to worry about repaying the loan. The only thing she had to say now was that the money would have to be repaid. And fast. I had to find a job.

About a week after Ben’s death, I came back from the Jobcentre to find Mum and Lucas whispering in the kitchen. I wasn’t in a fantastic mood. The woman in charge of signing on that day had been snooty and rude (for a change), suggesting that it was time I lowered my sights regarding my job search. When I told her that I wasn’t ready to work in a fast-food restaurant, she told me that if that was my attitude, she would have to make a note on my file that I wasn’t making much effort to find new employment. I wondered if she would make the same speech to the big guy in the queue behind me, who had a list of girls’ names tattooed on his forearms (some of them crossed out). I got the feeling that the Jobcentre worker hated her job and the only enjoyment she got was picking on people who had better haircuts than she did.

Anyway, when I walked into the kitchen, Mum and Lucas sprang apart and smiled at me in a slightly forced way that suggested that I had been the topic of their conversation.

“Did you have a nice time at the Jobcentre?” Mum asked clumsily.

“Nice time? You’ve got to be joking. I got a lecture about not making much effort when I turned my nose up at a night shift at Greggs the baker. She said that it would be the ideal job for me, given my obvious interest in cakes.”

“Obvious interest in cakes? You could sue her for suggesting you’re fat,” said Lucas.

I could tell that was supposed to be a joke, but I didn’t reward him with anything approaching a smile.

“Tea?” suggested Mum.

I nodded.

Mum said that she would make it. That was something else that made me suspicious. Since the revelation about the dog-grooming course that wasn’t, I had been making nine cups of tea out of ten in that house.

We all three of us sat down at the kitchen table. Mum had broken out a packet of chocolate HobNobs. Lucas grabbed three. He had never quite gotten past being the youngest and that feeling of having to defend his food from all comers at all times, though I hadn’t stolen a biscuit off him in a decade.

“So,” said Mum.

“So,” said Lucas.

“So?” said I. “What is going on with you two today? You’re looking shifty.”

Mum and Lucas shared a glance. Mum nodded at Lucas. Lucas looked frantically at Mum.

“You’ve got to tell her,” Mum told him.

“Tell me what?”

Mum smiled. Which meant that it must be good news. My first thought was that perhaps Lucas had bought a new puppy. Or, even better, was about to announce that he was moving out into a flat-share with his friends so that I could have his bigger room with its own en suite.

No such luck.

“I got an email,” he said. “From some television people.”

Mum beamed. I stopped sipping my tea for a moment to better concentrate on what was coming next.

“They want to make an advert.”

“Really?” I said. “With you?”

“Yes, with me,” said Lucas. “And with your voodoo doll.”

“No.” I slammed my mug down on the table. “No, Lucas.
You promised. He promised”—I turned to Mum—“that he would take that stupid clip down.”

“I did,” said Lucas. “But you know how many people saw it before that happened. I couldn’t get to every version of the clip that was out there.”

“Oh, God,” I said. “This is a disaster.”

“Oh, Ashleigh,” said Mum. “You mustn’t think like that. I think it’s wonderful. These TV people have spotted the creative talent of both my children, after all. Lucas’s filmmaking skills and your … your knitting.”

I glared at her. “You’re laughing at me,” I protested. “Everyone is laughing at me.”

“But the money might be good,” said Mum. “You were always telling me how expensive it is to make an advert. They want the rights to your doll. That’s got to be worth some money. And …”

Mum didn’t have to remind me that I owed money all over the place. To the bank. To my old landlord. To her. Most of all to her.

“Mum’s right,” Lucas dared to pipe up. “There is bound to be some money in this.”

“It depends on the product,” I told him.

“The product is Purple Phones,” said Lucas.

“Purple Phones?” I echoed in disbelief. Back in the day when I still had a job at Maximal Media, I had pitched for the Purple Phones account. I was fired before I found out whether or not they’d chosen to work with Maximal. “Exactly who sent you that email?” I asked my little brother.

“A woman called Ellie,” he said. “From your old firm.”

I snorted at the sound of her name. It was just too cruel. I had worked so hard to bag that Purple account and now my workplace nemesis was reaping the benefit. “The bloody cow,” I said. “This proves it. She sent that email to rub the fact that she’s working with Purple Phones in my face.”

I stood up from the table. “I’m going to ring her right now and tell her exactly what I think of this bullshit. First she steals my job and now this. She doesn’t want to make an ad with you, Lucas. She’s just doing this to humiliate me.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” said Mum. “Why would she do that? You gave her a chance at the beginning of her career. I’m sure she’s genuinely interested in Lucas’s work … and your voodoo doll,” she added hastily.

“Mum, you don’t understand this woman at all. Making me look like an idiot was Ellie Finch’s hobby. I bet she’s having a field day with this.”

“I think she’s genuine,” said Lucas.

“Let’s find out, shall we?”

I had already dialed my old office. A male voice I didn’t recognize answered what had been Ellie’s line.

“Is Ellie there?” I asked.

“Oh, yes,” said the stranger. “She’s in her office. I’ll put you through.”

Her office! My office more like. While I was still at Maximal Media, Ellie didn’t have an office. She had a desk in the corridor with the other assistants. I felt my jaw clench with tension as I listened to the hideous “on-hold” music that I had chosen from a very poor selection. Eventually, after much too long a wait, Ellie picked up.

“This is Ellie Finch,” she said.

“And this is Ashleigh Prince,” I said back.

“Oh, hi, Ashleigh! How are you?”

“Don’t ‘Hi, Ashleigh’ me,” I said. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, emailing my brother about that stupid voodoo-doll film?”

“Your brother?”

“Yes. Don’t pretend you didn’t know that. Well, it was a very funny joke,” I snarled. “We all laughed for at least thirty seconds. But I’m just calling to tell you to sod right off. Isn’t it
enough for you that you got my job, my desk, and my clients, without pretending that you want to use Lucas’s film of my voodoo doll for the Purple Phones campaign?”

“It’s your voodoo doll?”

Ellie was continuing to feign ignorance. The absolute cow.

“Oh, Ellie, come on!”

“Seriously, Ashleigh, I had no idea it was anything to do with you at all. I hadn’t even seen the film until yesterday morning, when the client sent me a link and said it was what they wanted for the new TV spot. So funny and poignant. Such a wonderful little character. It’s exactly right for Purple.”

“Ellie”—I was still busy snarling—“you are the biggest bitch I have ever met in my entire life. If you even have a heart, I suggest that you look into it right now and ask yourself exactly why you feel the need to torment me. Is it because your parents never loved you? Or were you simply born a total—” I used a word that I had only previously heard used by taxi drivers and slammed the phone down.

My mother and brother stared at me. They looked a little shocked. Even scared.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but she is.”

Before either of them could respond, my iPhone started ringing. It was the Maximal Media office number. I picked up the call and prepared to unleash another torrent of invective into Ellie’s ear, but it was Barry who was on the other end of the line this time.

“Ashleigh—”

“Look,” I said, “I’d like to say I’m sorry, but I won’t. She’s had that coming for a very, very long time.”

“That’s as may be,” said Barry. “It’s between the two of you as far as I’m concerned. I’m just calling up to confirm that we really are interested in using the clip for Purple. And they’ll pay,” he added. “We’ll look after you. I’ll make certain of that.”

“I’m not interested,” I responded.

“Ashleigh,” said Barry, “I need you to think about it. I’m sure you could use the cash. And I’m sure you know what a coup it is for us to have won the Purple account.”

“Which I pitched for.”

“Which you pitched for,” Barry conceded. “Look,” he continued, “I know that you probably feel you have very little reason to show Maximal any loyalty given the way that things ended over your presentation to Effortless Bathing …” I winced at the memory of that tiny penis projected onto a very big screen. “… but I hope you’ll believe that over the years you were with us everyone at Maximal considered you to be a very important part of the team. A great colleague and a friend.”

“Don’t make me laugh,” I said. “Or cry.”

“Ashleigh …” Barry’s voice became quiet and confidential. “… I’ve got to tell you that this account means the difference between life and death to Maximal. We’ve had a bad year. If things don’t pick up soon, then I’m going to have to start laying people off before Christmas. And you know what it’s like out there right now.”

“Don’t I ever.”

“You wouldn’t wish that on anyone, I’m sure. Not even Ellie.” He had picked the wrong potential job seeker to tug on my heartstrings. “Or Clare.” He dropped his voice lower still. “You know that if she lost her job, she’d have to sell her horses. Those horses are her life. Especially since her husband ran off with that dental nurse.”

“He did?” I had always thought Clare’s husband seemed to have rather a lot of dental work.

“I don’t know what Clare would do if she didn’t have Ginger and Buttercup.”

I felt a pang of sympathy for Clare. She had always been nice enough to me, and there was no doubt I could appreciate what
she might be going through. A broken heart was not eased by unemployment.

Barry went one further. “And in the current climate there’s no guarantee she’d find another buyer, in any case. Horses all over the southern counties are ending up as dog food thanks to the credit crunch.”

“Oh, Barry,” I said. “Please …”

“I’m just telling you the way it is … So I hope you won’t dismiss out of hand this opportunity to help your former colleagues. You would be doing them a great service. I know that Ellie would be thrilled if you’d agree to the use of your creation. And I’d consider it a personal favor.”

When I relayed the conversation to Mum and Lucas, Lucas said that he would consider it a personal favor, too.

“This could be my lucky break. You know how much I want to get into animation and how hard it is even to get a work-experience placement. Having a real ad on my showreel would set me apart.”

Mum agreed. “You know that Lucas would do whatever he could to help you if the situation were reversed. And though I hate to say it, I could have used that thousand pounds I lent you for that dog-grooming course to help Lucas pay for his course materials.”

“All right, all right.”

But it was my humiliation that was up for sale here.

I told them that I would think about it overnight.

Lucas beamed as though I’d already given my permission.

I had been bolshie in the kitchen, but in the privacy of my bedroom my resolve began to crumble. Without a doubt, Lucas’s film of my voodoo doll had been one of the most embarrassing things to happen to me in my life, but perhaps here was a way to find a silver lining to the cloud. Every day since the Mini-Michael
film first went viral, I had been waiting for a letter from Michael’s lawyers, asking me to cease and desist from sticking pins in their client. But no such letter had come. If Michael hadn’t bothered so far, then perhaps it would be okay. I could make Maximal Media promise that the doll would be given another name, like
Mini-Martin
. If Michael didn’t care what I was doing, then maybe making some money out of the voodoo doll was the best that could happen. All the pain and humiliation I had been through would have produced something if not good, then bloody useful.