Over the next week, Emma embraced the pile of work on her desk like never before, heading to the office for six in the morning and staying as late as possible without being threatened by the grumpy cleaner’s broom. For once, Henry didn’t come by to insist she take a lunch hour or inhale a lungful of polluted air – he had his head down, too, and whenever she spotted him in the corridor, he appeared as exhausted as she felt.
Although the days passed in a welcome blur of loan applications, nights were sheer torture as Emma wrestled with her duvet, eyes wide open, waiting for sleep to come. Eventually, she’d trudge to the lounge and camp in front of the flickering telly, praying the mind-numbing show on hair products would knock her out. Instead, she’d sit for hours, watching women get extensions clipped in, transform their locks from dry to luscious, and be sprayed with some kind of Miracle-Gro guaranteed to turn tresses to Rapunzel in no time. How could people believe all this, Emma had wondered? Optimism was a dangerous thing.
When she’d finally drag herself to bed again, her brain tumbled over with images of George and that final scene in the café. She wasn’t upset, of course – in fact, they’d seen each other so infrequently she didn’t even miss him – but George’s daily texts and voice mails claiming he needed to talk grated on her nerves. Why couldn’t he leave her be to deal with what happened and move on, the same way Mum had left her alone after Dad died? Emma had deleted the messages, trying to force George from her mind.
After yet another sleepless night, the shrill ring of the alarm clock jerked her eyes open Thursday morning. Outside, the sky was dark, and rain tapped against the windows. She snapped on the bedside light, squinting against the harsh glare reflected off the white walls.
Emma trudged to the bathroom and stood under the hot spray, hoping the heat would make her alert. Thank God she had a lot of work on her desk. She could comfortably bury herself in reports until late tonight, late tomorrow night, all weekend . . . relief flooded in that no matter what else happened, people always needed money. The well of loan applications would never run dry.
Sluicing citrus shampoo through her hair, Alice’s words about how she had no life circled around her mind. What was with the desperation to see her take up knitting or pottery, or getting off her head at raves? Emma wasn’t the exception – most City workers didn’t have lives. Their job was their life, and there was nothing wrong with that. Why couldn’t people just be proud; impressed with what she’d accomplished?
Dad would have been, Emma thought, scrubbing her skin with the loofah. In fact, Dad would have believed she could be CEO in no time, although he’d find her choice of the corporate route surprising. A smile lifted Emma’s lips as she thought of how he’d always encouraged her endless sketching of houses and rooms, buying notepads and pencils, and saying she’d make the world’s best interior designer.
But that unstinting positivity had also been Dad’s downfall, Emma reminded herself. He’d waited too long to check out the lump on the side of his throat, and by the time he’d visited the doctor, it had been too late. Within a couple months, her father had been gone. It was then Emma had learned positivity changed nothing in the long term. Much better to be unfailingly realistic about life and its harshness. And even that couldn’t prepare you for everything – look at what had happened with George.
After towelling off, Emma twisted her dark curls into a bun, stepped into one of her many grey trouser suits, slipped on her mac, grabbed an umbrella, and was out of the flat by half past five.
On the stroke of six, she pushed through the glass door of Gladstone, tension easing as she entered the plush confines. The receptionist wasn’t in yet, but the low hum of voices drifted from behind closed doors. Hmm, that was funny. Usually, she was the first one here. Dropping her handbag by the desk, Emma settled into her chair and booted up the computer, losing herself in the flow of numbers.
‘Emma? Can I see you for a minute?’ Henry’s voice interrupted her concentration, and she lifted her head from the screen, noting with surprise it was already nine. Her boss’ eyes looked strained and his face was paler than she’d ever seen it. He’d obviously been working too hard. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black!
‘Of course.’ Smoothing her skirt, she followed Henry down the hushed corridor. He probably wanted to off-load some extra work. Great timing, since with all the hours she’d been putting in lately, Emma was blowing through her queue of applications much faster than normal. The more she had to keep her occupied right now, the better.
‘Have a seat.’ Henry motioned to the chair beside his desk, and Emma’s eyes widened as she spotted the company’s human resources officer in the corner. What the hell was she doing here? Oh, God. Was Henry going to give her a ticking off for working so many hours this week? He’d been around to notice all the extra time she’d put in, too. Emma’s heart sank. The last thing she needed was a chat from HR about life balance and fluffy bunnies. As she met Henry’s glum expression, it was obvious the news couldn’t be good. Maybe he was retiring? The thought of this place without his friendly face was unimaginable.
Henry’s shoulders lifted in a sigh. ‘Emma, you’ve been a brilliant part of the Gladstone team for over ten years now, and I’ve really enjoyed working with you.’
Ah, so he was retiring. Emma was about to say she’d miss him when his next sentence stopped her.
‘I’m terribly sorry, but we’re going to have to let you go.’
What? Emma’s jaw dropped as the words swirled around her. They couldn’t be letting her go! She was the hardest worker, got through the most applications. . . for God’s sake, just a few weeks ago, Henry had been praising her to high heaven, claiming he didn’t know what they’d do if they lost her. She tried to find something to say, but her mouth flapped open and closed without sound.
‘We’ll be announcing this next week, but Gladstone will soon be merging with Aquarius. Unfortunately, we’re forced to cut areas where resources overlap. In this case, I’m afraid that means our underwriting department has to go.’
Wait a second. Had Henry just said Aquarius? That was George’s company! Had he known about this? As lead actuary, it was very possible he’d been aware of the plans. Emma sat mutely, struggling to take in everything. Not only was she being made redundant, she was being made redundant by her cheating ex-fiancé’s company – the same cheating ex-fiancé who hadn’t even bothered warning her. Even without doing a quick calculation, Emma knew the chances of such a coincidence were miniscule.
‘To help smooth your transition, we’re offering counselling advice and information on how to sign onto benefits,’ the HR said in an uber-calm voice, as if Emma was a psychiatric patient about to have an episode. The way her eyes were popping at the news, Emma really couldn’t blame the woman.
‘I’m sorry,’ Henry said, shaking his head. ‘I tried everything I could to keep you, but in the end, the decision came from the top. I’m sad to lose you. I don’t think we’ve ever had such a dedicated employee.’
Emma forced herself to nod, conscious she had to do something to show she understood. Inside, though, every inch of her fought the knowledge she no longer had a job. What the hell was she going to do now? It felt like she’d been plunged into the cold ocean without even knowing how to swim. And with the current economic situation, she might be flailing for some time.
‘I’ll just finish up the application I’m working on, then,’ she croaked in a deadened voice.
‘Er, actually’ – the HR darted a nervous glance at Henry – ‘We’re going to have to ask you to leave now. Gather up your things, and Taz will collect your pass and escort you from the building.’
‘Escort me from the building?’ Emma echoed. What did they think she would do? At five foot seven and one hundred and twenty pounds, she was hardly going to cause problems. Then she remembered the report she’d read last year, citing the probability of disgruntled workers creating disruption in the office. One in a thousand was a potential problem, and Gladstone was obviously taking no chances.
Henry stood, signalling an end to the session. ‘Keep in touch,’ he said, holding out his meaty paw. ‘It’s been a pleasure working together. Don’t hesitate to let me know if I can do anything for you.’
Emma nodded again, sadness panging her heart as Henry’s fingers closed around hers. He’d been a constant presence in her life for the past few years, checking in to see how she was doing, ordering her to rest when she was tired, as well as being an invaluable mentor. She’d learned so much from him, and now . . . today would be the last time she’d see him. She blinked to hold back the liquid pushing at her eyes.
‘Good luck.’ Henry smiled sadly, and Emma withdrew her hand, ducking her head as she headed out the door. Back in her office, she flopped onto the chair, conscious she’d never again sit here. The cool rationale of the numbers on the screen mocked her, and her heart started beating fast with panic. What if she couldn’t find a new job quickly? Sure, she had some savings to tide her over; money she’d set aside each month to prepare for a worst-case scenario like this. But finances weren’t what worried her.
No, what really alarmed her was the expanse of emptiness stretching out before her. Over the past few years, work had been so absorbing Emma hadn’t contemplated the concept of free time. Even her weekends revolved around numbers, numbers, numbers, much to Alice’s chagrin. And the rare afternoons Emma spent with George usually resulted in the two of them working side by side at his penthouse in Islington.
Work had given the day purpose and structure, allowing Emma to sink into the consistent world of percentages and block out life’s unpredictability. Losing George was one thing, but her job . . . without it, what would anchor her down?
Taking a deep breath to calm the rising anxiety, Emma gathered up her favourite calculator, the Parker pen Henry had given her after completing a decade in the company, and . . . she flung open her desk drawers, frowning at the tangle of paperclips and PostIt notes. Ten years here, and all she had to take away was a calculator and a pen. To be honest, she didn’t even want to say goodbye to anyone. She’d kept her head down and worked hard, and the only person she’d interacted with beyond grunts had been Henry.
Right. Hauling herself to her feet, Emma took a final look around the office. As she walked down the silent corridor, it was impossible to believe she’d never be back again. She thought she’d been prepared for everything and anything, mentally running statistics and probabilities through her mind to ensure she kept one step ahead of life.
But as the lift plunged downwards and Emma joined the chaos of the street, she had to concede she’d never seen this coming. Sometimes, even expecting the worst didn’t prepare you for how bad life could be.