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be at the top of the short list.Otherwise, I fear I will have to make a complaint to a more senior
level.Best,
MartinWhat?
Dear Sam,Will we be having a special presentation of all our ideas? Could you please let me
know the time limit on a PowerPoint presentation? May we work as teams?Best wishes,
MandyThere. You see? A brilliant, positive reaction. Teamwork! Presentations! This is
fantastic!
Dear Sam,Sorry to bother you again.If we don’t want to work in a team after all, will we be
penalized? I have fallen out with my team, but now they know all my ideas, which is totally
unfair.Just so you know, I had the idea about restructuring the marketing department first. Not
Carol.Best,
MandyOK. Well, obviously you have to expect a few glitches. It doesn’t matter. It’s still
a positive result …
Dear Sam,I’m sorry to do this, but I wish to make a formal complaint about the behavior of Carol
Hanratty.She has behaved totally unprofessionally in the new-ideas exercise, and I am forced to
take the rest of the day off, due to my great distress. Judy is also too distressed to work for the
rest of the day, and we are thinking of contacting our union.Best,
MandyWhat? What?
Dear Sam,Forgive the long email. You ask for ideas.Where to start?I have worked at this
company for fifteen years, during which time a long process of disillusionment has silted up my
very veins, until my mental processes …This guy’s email is about fifteen pages long. I drop
my phone into my lap, my jaw slack.
I can’t believe all these replies. I never ever meant to cause all this kerfuffle. Why are
people so stupid? Why do they have to fight? What on earth have I stirred up?
I’ve read only the first few emails. There are about thirty more to go. If I forward all
these to Sam, and he steps off the plane in Germany and gets them in one fell swoop … I
suddenly hear his voice again: round-robin emails are the work of the devil.
And I sent one out in his name. To the whole company. Without consulting him.
Oh God. I’m really wishing I could go back in time. It seemed like such a great idea.
What was I thinking? All I know is, I can’t land this on him out of the blue. I need to explain it
all to him first. Tell him what I was trying to achieve.
My mind is ticking over now. I mean, he’s in a plane. He’s off-radar. And it’s Friday
night, after all. There’s no point forwarding anything to him. Maybe everyone will have calmed
down by Monday. Yes.
The phone suddenly bleeps with a text and I jump, startled.
Taking off. Anything I need to know about? Sam
I stare at the phone, my heart beating with slight paranoia. Does he need to know about
this right at this very moment? Does he need to?
No. He does not.
Not right now. Have a good trip! Poppy
61 In fact, probably pressing a glass up to it.
62 His waistcoat cost nearly the same amount as my dress.
63 I think cymbals in the work of Coldplay would make more sense, but what do I know?
64 Wanda made beef stroganoff for us the first time I met her. How could I tell her the
truth, which is that it makes me gag?
65 He was on Newsnight and everything. According to Magnus, Antony loved all the
attention, although he pretended he didn’t. He’s been saying even more-controversial things ever
since, but none has ever taken off like the Philistines thing.
8
I don’t know what to do about Antony and Wanda and Antechapelgate, as I’ve named it
in my head. So I’ve done nothing. I’ve said nothing.
I know I’m avoiding it. I know it’s weak. I know I should face the situation. But I can
barely even take it in, let alone talk about it. Especially to Magnus.
I didn’t realize how good at acting I was. All weekend, I’ve given nothing away. I’ve had
di
and talked and exclaimed and joked and had sex. And all the time there’s been this little gnawing
pain in my chest. I’m almost getting used to it.
If they’d say something to me, I’d almost feel better. We could have a stand-up row, and
I could convince them that I love Magnus and I’m going to support his career and I do have a
brain really. But they’ve said nothing. They’ve been outwardly charming and pleasant, politely
inquiring about our house-hunting plans and offering me glasses of wine.
Which only makes it worse. It confirms that I’m an outsider. I’m not even allowed into
the family powwow about how unsuitable this new girlfriend of Magnus’s is.
It would even be OK if Magnus hated his parents and didn’t respect their views and we
could just write them off as loonies. But he does respect them. He likes them. They get on really
well. They agree on most things, and when they don’t agree it’s with good nature and banter. On
every subject.
Every subject except me.
I can’t think about it for too long, because I get all upset and panicky, so I allow myself
only a tiny snippet of worry at a time. I’ve had my quota for this evening. I sat in a Starbucks
after work, nursing a hot chocolate, and got quite morose.
But right now, looking at me, you’d have no idea. I’m in my best LBD and high heels.
My makeup is immaculate. My eyes are sparkling (two cocktails.) I caught a glimpse of myself
in a mirror just now, and I look like a carefree girl, wearing an engagement ring, drinking
cosmos at the Savoy, with nothing to worry about.
And, to be truthful, my mood is a lot better than it was. Partly because of the cocktails
and partly because I’m so thrilled to be here. I’ve never been to the Savoy in my life before. It’s
amazing!
The party is in a stu
and waiters handing out cocktails on trays. A jazz band is playing and, all around, smartly
dressed people are chatting in clusters. There are lots of back slaps and handshakes and high
fives going on, and everyone seems in a great mood. I don’t know a single person, obviously, but
I’m happy just to watch. Every time someone notices me standing on my own and starts to
approach, I get out my phone to check my messages, and they turn away again.
This is the great thing about a phone. It’s like an escort.
Lucinda keeps texting, telling me how she’s in North London, looking at another variety
of gray silk, and do I have any thoughts on texture? Magnus has texted from Warwick about
some research trip he’s cooking up with a professor there. Meanwhile, I’m having quite a long
conversation with Ruby about the blind date she’s on. The only thing is, it’s quite hard to text
and hold a cocktail at the same time, so at last I put my cosmo down on a nearby table and fire
off some replies:
Sure, the gray slub silk will be fine. Thanks so much!! Love, Poppy xxxxx
I don’t think ordering two steaks is necessarily creepy … maybe he is on Atkins diet???
Keep me posted! P xxxxx
Sounds fab, can I come too?! P xxxxx
There are scads of messages for Sam too. Loads more people have replied to the
new-ideas request. Many have enclosed long attachments and CVs. There are even a couple of
videos. People must have been busy over the weekend. I wince as I catch sight of one entitled