Rescuing Rose (34 page)

I glanced at the clock, it was ten to ten. My mail was sitting in a huge pile in my in-tray: for a fraction of a second I was tempted to walk out of the office, there and then. If I was being sacked in ten days then what the hell—why not go now? The high drama of it momentarily appealed to me but then reason prevailed. It would be totally unfair on Serena, who already had quite enough on her plate. It would also be quite wrong of me to flounce out when I still had work to do. Just because I had problems didn't mean I could neglect those of everyone else. When you're an agony aunt you have a
huge
responsibility to your readers, and I wasn't about to shirk mine. I ripped open the first envelope which was an internal one. Inside it was a letter, marked
Personal
addressed to me in a hand I thought I recognised.

Dear Rose
, I read.
I'm writing this to you because I owe it to you and because I'm sorry. I know you don't deserve this, but things have been so hard for me lately: and when I saw Ricky's e-mail to you yesterday morning, I'm afraid it was just the last straw. I'd already had a tip-off about Electra's letter, and when I saw that e-mail I decided to act. But I sincerely hope that you suffer no bad consequences yourself and that you'll be able to forgive me one day.

Well, I thought. Well, well,
well
. I looked out of the window—I felt a fool. It hadn't even crossed my mind that it could be cheery, chirpy, stoical Serena. Her bite was clearly worse than her bark. And now I idly wondered what comforting cliches she would have uttered as she prepared to go to the
Daily News
. 'Make hay while the sun shines, ' possibly, or 'A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. 'Strike while the iron is hot' perhaps, or 'He who hesitates is lost. '

Attached was her formal letter of resignation, which I put in the internal mail to HR. I stared out of the window at the river for a few minutes: I was in shock, so I felt curiously calm. How naive of her to hope that I wouldn't suffer any 'consequences'. She'd effectively destroyed my career. She'd been Mount Vesuvius to my Pompeü and now my professional credibility lay in ruins. I was about to lose my column, and I'd lose my phone-in, and who would employ me as an agony aunt ever again? I thought of the huge drop in my earnings which would surely follow and my heart sank—I'd have to sell Hope Street and buy a flat. It struck me in that instant that I wouldn't be living with Theo any more; and at this I felt a terrible pang. But then, as I say, you get used to people, don't you: and I guess I've got used to him. I thought of the aroma of baking bread when I'd opened the front door last night; and now I looked up at the sky. For some reason, a ghostly half moon was visible in the expanse of bright blue. Theo would be able to tell me why.

Now I looked at Serena's desk—it was unusually tidy—she'd plainly been poised for flight. I opened her drawers, which were virtually empty, and now remembered seeing her clearing them out. I also recalled seeing her nervously phoning someone yesterday morning, and leaving the building at lunch. That must have been after she'd seen Ricky's second e-mail and had finally decided to go to the
News
. And I remembered how sad she'd looked when she'd wished me goodbye the evening before: she knew we wouldn't be meeting again. 'Take care of yourself, Rose, ' she'd said, and she'd smiled this odd, slightly guilty smile. Now I understood why. I pulled out her pen-tray and saw that in it were two sets of keys. A set for her desk obviously: then I tried the other one in my lock—it worked. So, unbeknown to me she'd had a spare key to my drawer. They must have been Edith Smugg's. Serena must have opened it when I'd gone down to the canteen. I'd thought she'd gone home but she'd clearly hung around, waiting for me to leave my desk.

I reread the
Daily News
. There was no denial from the Electra camp, and Kiki Cockayne, the backing singer, had said simply, 'no comment' fuelling speculation that it was all true. Which it was. Electra had come to me, genuinely seeking my advice and she'd been completely stitched up. I'd have to write and apologise.

'Rose—the
Semaphore
are after you for a quote!' shouted Linda as I walked back towards Ricky's office. 'And the
Daily Planet
and the
Sunday Star
. And Radio Five want an interview with you as well. '

'I'm not talking to any of them, ' I replied. 'They'll make me look even worse. ' I knocked sharply on Ricky's door.

'Serena leaked it, ' I said as he looked up. 'I've had a letter from her. '

'The bitch! I'll fire her!'

'She's already resigned. You should have given her the pay rise, ' I added. 'That's why she did it: her husband had just lost his job. She'd worked here for fifteen years and she needed to feel appreciated, and she didn't. In fact when she saw your e-mail describing her as a "loser" she knew she wasn't valued at all. You made her feel completely worthless, Ricky, and so these are the consequences. '

'Give me that letter, ' he commanded, holding out a fat hand. 'Give it to me!' he snapped.

'Why?'

'Because I'll sue her arse off, that's why. We'll get her under the confidentiality clause in her contract—we'll make her give back that eighty grand. We'll pursue her in a civil case, and we'll win,
and
we'll make her pay all the costs. Rose, what are you doing? Give me that letter—it's evidence!'

But I'd already turned on the shredder in the corner of his office, and now I ran Serena's letter through.

'Why the fuck did you do that?' Ricky's mouth was agape as the slivers of paper were extruded.

'Because that letter was written to me. It's my personal property, Ricky, I can do what I like with it. '

'But don't you want to see her finished?'

'No. After all, what happened is my fault. I let the letter fall into her hands and I also failed to delete your e-mails fast enough—she'd clearly spotted them on my screen. So I'm the one who should carry the can, not her. My contract is up on March the tenth, I believe, which gives you about two weeks to find someone else. '

As I returned to my desk I thought, bitterly, of Andrew. If he hadn't sacked Rob, then Serena would almost certainly not have done what she did. She did it because she was desperate— she'd simply seen pound signs—and now she was eighty grand better off. No more leaking roofs. No more threadbare coats. And no more helping me.
Shit
. The next two weeks were going to be dreadful on my own.

'Would you like a temp?' Linda asked.

'No, I couldn't be sure that they'd be discreet. That might sound a bit rich coming from me, ' I added bitterly, 'but they'd take too long to train and vet. It'll be easier just to get on with it myself. '

'Okay, ' she sighed. 'Well, let me know. '

By lunchtime I knew exactly how difficult it is flogging through thirty problems a day without assistance. Beverley phoned me at two to offer her support but I didn't want to talk. 'But there's something I want to tell you, ' she added.

'I'm sorry, Bev, but I really can't chat. I've got a huge back-log in my in-tray, the phone's going the whole time, plus I'm devastated about losing my job. '

As I replaced the receiver I thought of all the people who knew me, and who would read the lies about me in the
Daily News
. Ed would, and so would Mary-Claire Grey and that baggage Citronella Pratt. She'd be really cock-a-hoop about it; she'd always wanted this job. At five Bev phoned again—she said she'd had a great day—but that there was something she wanted to discuss.

'Can't it wait?' I said as I dug my
Adolescence, Mental Health
and
Jealousy
leaflets out of my filing drawer. 'I'm still frantic. How urgent is it?'

'Well, it's not that urgent. Yet. But it will get urgent, so tell me when we can talk. '

'Okay, I will—but not now. '

As I put the phone down I saw my colleagues leaving for the day, and now the shock began to sink in. I realised how much I was going to miss them, and doing the job I'd loved. I'd miss the noise and chatter of the newsroom, and even the daily argy-bargy with the subs. I looked out of the window at the gathering dusk and thought about Serena's letter again. Suddenly something suddenly struck me as strange: I'd been too traumatised to think of it before. Serena had told me that she'd had a 'tip-off' about Electra's letter. A tip-off? But from who? And
why
?

Dear Ms Costelloe, I was utterly flabbergasted by your recent letter, with its outrageous suggestion that I had telephoned you 'at home'. May I state categorically that I have never done so and in any case do not possess your home number. No wonder you are experiencing such grave problems in your professional life if you are capable of such a blatant misconception as this. May I suggest personal counselling? Yours truly, Colin Twisk. PS. Kindly do not leak this letter to the Daily News.

'Wanker!' I snapped as I threw it in the bin. And he was a liar to boot. I knew it was him. Who else could it be? He'd been obsessed with me for six months. I closed my eyes, breathed deeply, then let it go—at least I'd got him off my back.

I stared dismally at my overflowing in-tray: without Serena it now takes an age. There are the new letters to be logged and the ones I've dealt with to be filed, and I have to keep the stash of leaflets stocked up. The phones are constantly ringing, and the fax is whirring plus there's a huge pile of shredding to be done. All that without addressing a single problem. If it weren't for my friends I'd go mad.

'I just want to check that you're coping, ' Bea said solicitously first thing this morning.

'I'm okay, ' I lied. 'How's the shop?' I asked changing the subject.

'Well, I think we're on track. Beverley's coming in again this morning, thank God. I told her I had an important lunch—it's with Henry actually—so she agreed to an extra day. Have you seen the papers by the way?'

'Of course I've seen them, ' I groaned.

'You'd think they'd have more pressing things to write about, wouldn't you?' she said with a contemptuous snort. For the Electra story had rumbled on. The broadsheets, who regard agony aunts as unqualified busybodies doing more harm than good, said Electra had only herself to blame for her monumental lack of judgement in confiding in someone like me, while the tabloids continued to pick over the bones of the star's crisis-hit marriage. There were several photos of Electra's kids, and of the rather raunchy-looking backing singer, Kiki Cockayne. There was also a photo of Kiki Cockayne's boyfriend looking distinctly grim. On and on went the coverage,
ad nauseam
and
ad infinitum
—I wanted to throw. And if I'd had to work long hours before all this, now, without help, it was dire. I'd get home at ten, and flop in front of my tiny old portable TV—a poor stand-in for the stolen one—semi-catatonic with fatigue.

'What are you watching?' Theo asked last night as he sat down beside me on the sofa.

'I'm not watching anything, ' I said. 'I'm too exhausted. I'm just letting the images flicker across my retina. '

Theo took off his shoes, and put his bare feet on the footstool, alongside mine. I looked at them, they were elegant, strong and sinewy, with nice, non-knobbly, straight toes.