Short Story

2020-06-08 -

Child’s play

Laurie closed the front door and slumped back against it, Margo’s rebuke, delivered at a volume that could be heard the length of the office, echoing in her head. Jan Devries, the newly discovered designer who’d flown in from the Netherlands to discuss granting Margo’s mag exclusive coverage of the eagerly awaited Devries bridal range, had left and the soughtafter scoop she’d been chasing for weeks would go to rivals All Sewn Up instead. And it was all Laurie’s fault…

‘But I thought you’d realise,’ she’d faltered. ‘I did, as soon as I saw Jan in person.’

‘Then it’s a shame you didn’t tell me,’ Margo had ranted. ‘Instead you stood there letting me insult the man, over and over again.’

Laurie felt that was a bit rich. Agreed, Devries, with his curly fair hair, peach suede loafers and oatmeal-coloured suit, did have a rather androgynous look. But if everyone else on the floor was able to spot that the ‘she’ they’d expected was actually a ‘he’, why not Margo?

As for not warning her, Laurie had tried but Margo had ignored her, gushingly welcoming ‘Miss Devries’ to England. Bemused, Devries had turned to Laurie, asking if this was some sort of joke. As Laurie had opened her mouth to apologise, Margo blurted, ‘No, Miss Devries, of course not. Why?’

‘I’VE HAD IT WITH YOUR CRITICISM, MEANNESS, AND SARCASM’

Laurie saw his face flush before he turned and walked out, leaving Margo staring after him demanding to know what had just happened!

‘He’s a man,’ Laurie said desperately. ‘In the Netherlands, Jan is a boy’s name.’

Margo had recoiled at the enormity of her blunder. ‘Well, why didn’t you say? I can’t be expected to notice everything – are you trying to derail me, you silly...’

Drawing a veil over the rest, Laurie headed for her lounge, her mind awhirl with all the things she could have said: ‘I tried, you horrible, insulting woman, but you were too busy talking yourself up to look properly. Short of cutting across you to ask if MISTER Devries would like a coffee, what more could I have done?’ With her laptop booting up she went to fill the cafetière.

Ten minutes later, with the insults she would have loved to have traded now clear in her head, she took her coffee and logged on. She opened up a new email, inserted Margo’s address, then typed RESIGNATION as the subject.

‘Dear Margo,’ she began, ‘I’ve had it with your criticism, meanness and sarcasm. You are without doubt the worst…’

Her fingers hovered over the keys, itching to continue. The freedom that came from knowing that she would never actually press send lent boldness to her words and she found herself filling the white space with searingly honest sentences that would, were Margo ever to see them, undoubtedly signal the end of her career. And what would she do then? The fashion world was exciting. Still, it did cross her mind that it might be nice to try something different.

A wildlife periodical perhaps, or a hobbyist magazine. Or a children’s one. She enjoyed writing stories after doing a few for her neighbour’s son, Jordan.

The little boy was a joy and loved listening to her tales of Freddie the field mouse and his woodland friends.

As if conjured up by the power of thought, her phone beeped, indicating the arrival of a text. It was from Mike.

‘Hi, R U free? Jordan’s here and dying to come visit.’ She felt her spirits lift.

‘Sure, come over.’ She pushed back her chair and went to open the door. Mike saw his five-year-old son sporadically, usually when his ex-wife needed a sitter. He was an illustrator, a gentle man with a shy smile, and they’d been friends since the day he’d moved in six months ago. A minute later, the door opened and a blond whirlwind charged up the hall.

‘Laurieeee,’ he cried, as she scooped him up and swung him round.

‘Jordaaaan,’ she returned, kissing his dimpled cheek.

‘How come I never get a welcome like that?’ Mike said, following. She pressed her lips to her fingertips then placed them on his cheek. Traces of evening stubble chafed her fingers and for one moment,

she was tempted to brush her thumb along his lips. She withdrew her hand.

‘Now, little man,’ she said to Jordan, ‘come in and let’s see what my lemon cake turned out like. And I think I might have a new Freddie story tucked away too.’ Jordan’s eyes shone. ‘Yay!’ Laurie led them into the kitchen, where she cut a slice of cake and put it on a plate. ‘Take it into the lounge, sweetie,’ she told Jordan. ‘I’ll bring in some juice when I’ve poured Daddy’s coffee.’ Jordan sped off, leaving them together.

She looked at Mike. ‘Another last-minute drop-off?’ He rolled his eyes.

‘Trish has been invited to Ibiza for the weekend; a hen do. I couldn’t say no. Not that I’d have wanted to, of course. I’ll grab any opportunity I can to spend time with him.’

‘Naturally, but a hen do? They’re usually planned well in advance, surely?’ He shrugged. ‘I guess. But you know what Trish is like. At least I’m always available. I work from home, my social life is non-existent.’

She reached past him to grab a carton of juice from the fridge. ‘And she knows that. So shake things up a bit. Start getting back out there. She clearly has.’

He grimaced. ‘I’m not sure. No one seems to meet the old-fashioned way any more. It’s all dating websites and singles bars. I wouldn’t know where to begin.’

You could try looking closer to home, she thought.

He took a sip of coffee. ‘So, how did the big meeting go? Did Margo land the deal?’

It was Laurie’s turn to grimace. ‘Oh, Mike, it was awful. Jan Devries turned out to be a man. Margo didn’t realise – she just kept on digging an ever-deeper hole while the rest of us squirmed. That poor man’s expression will haunt me for months.’

Mike caught his lip between his teeth. ‘Ouch.’

‘The worst part is she decided it was my fault. My ears are still ringing!’

He shook his head. ‘Laurie, when are you going to go somewhere you’re appreciated? A writer of your talents could get a job anywhere.’

‘Funnily enough, I was just typing my resignation letter when you texted. I’d never send it, it’s almost libellous, but it felt great to vent.’

‘It’s only libellous if what you say isn’t true, and I doubt you’d exaggerate.’

‘I might’ve done this time,’ she giggled, replacing the carton. ‘But it was fun.’

They headed back into the lounge. Jordan was sitting at the table, his plate empty and his fingers on the laptop. Laurie hurried over.

‘Oh, no, sweetie,’ she said, thinking of the icing jamming her keys. She saw the screen and her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh, no, please...’

‘I was looking for the Freddie story,’ Jordan said happily. Incredibly, he had clicked her emails off and brought up the story. Gently, she eased his fingers away and brought the email page back up.

The message wasn’t there. Hoping he’d deleted it, she clicked on the sent box. Her stomach plunged. There in capitals was the word RESIGNATION. The email had gone. She looked up. ‘My career is toast.’

Thirty minutes later, with Jordan snuggled next to them with a colouring book, Laurie and Mike sat reviewing her options.

‘You didn’t say anything she could sue over,’ he assured her. ‘You need to see this as an opportunity, not a catastrophe.’

She nodded. ‘You’re right. It’s serendipity. I was never that much of a fashion fiend.’

Jordan looked up. ‘You could write stories,’ he said helpfully. ‘Or cook cakes.’ She ruffled his hair. ‘I’m guessing that means you’d like another slice. If Daddy says it’s OK.’

Mike smiled. ‘Daddy says it’s fine, as long as he can have some, too.’ She went into the kitchen.

A moment later, he followed. ‘I want to show you something,’ he said, taking out his phone. ‘I know it’s cheeky but Jordan loves your stories so much, I did some illustrations for them. I was going to frame them for your birthday…’

There were her characters in all their glory: Freddie, the field mouse, perched on a cornstalk. Sandy, the squirrel who loved to swim, about to rescue Betty Buzz. Happy Hoppy, the rabbit with feet so big the trees shook when he passed.

‘Oh, Mike, they’re gorgeous,’ Laurie cried. ‘You must’ve spent ages on them.’

‘A while, yes, but you’ve made us so welcome. This is just a little thank you.’

‘But they should be in a book,’ she said. ‘They’re too beautiful not to be seen.’

‘So should your stories,’ he said. ‘I’ve read lots of books to Jordan and yours are right up there.’

It was a tempting thought. ‘There’s a children’s publisher on the same floor as Margo’s mag. Maybe I could ask them?’

‘Why not?’ he said. ‘This is great. We should go for a drink to celebrate.’

She laughed, ‘You’re starting Jordan early!’

His eyes crinkled. ‘I don’t mean tonight. Next week. We’ve known each other six months, Laurie, and I’ve never plucked up the courage to ask you out. Well, I am now.’

‘I’d love that,’ she replied. Her heart started to hammer as he leaned in…

‘Could I have my cake, please?’ a small voice piped up from the doorway.

Laurie grinned. ‘Come and get it, little man. You’ve well and truly earned it.’

THE END

‘YOU NEED TO SEE THIS AS AN OPPORTUNITY, NOT A CATASTROPHE’

Christine Sutton, 2020

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