Love Rules​
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Cat risked another look at her page-a-day desk calendar: three days to go. Never in her life, all twenty-one years three hundred and sixty-two days of it, had she dreaded her birthday – until now.
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She let slip a sigh. At first, Marketing Co-ordinator in Zyng!’s London office had seemed like her dream job – although wouldn’t anything, after almost ninety applications? Five months on, it was a different story; while the work itself might be the stuff of dreams, most of the people in her office were a nightmare.
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On Monday – her birthday – it would be ten times worse.
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Maybe she could go home for the weekend; Cumbrae folks were more … straightforward than her work colleagues. When she’d said as much to Mum, the response had been a knowing laugh. ‘You mean we share our resources, help each other out. Hardly surprising, Catherine, in this place!’
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Because Cumbrae, a small island off the west coast of Scotland, was ruled by the sea; or, more accurately, the ferry timetable. Funnily enough, Cat felt more isolated in London – despite the crowds cramping the streets and a bus stop round every corner.
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Her shoulders drooped. She couldn’t afford to go home unless it was an emergency. After rent and travel costs, she had barely enough salary left to buy food and – very occasionally – something to wear. She’d gone home for Christmas, of course; her parents had paid her fare, and it had been such a happy time that she hadn’t wanted to come back. She couldn’t ask them to fund another trip just because –
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‘Morning, Pussycat!’
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The familiar greeting, delivered with a flourish of repellent charm, sent her thoughts scattering for cover. She stared intently at her computer screen as if absorbed in something terribly important, and steeled herself. Here it came: that blast of too-loud after shave, with beguiling notes of fresh cigarette smoke and stale beer fumes. Jack, Assistant Sales Manager and unofficial head of laddish humour, had arrived in the office.
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‘Morning,’ she said, dredging up a smile from her dwindling reservoir of goodwill.
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He sandwiched his smug red face between her and the screen. ‘Big day on Monday, eh? I’m licking my lips in anticipation. When it was my birthday – I’m a Virgo, y’know, astrologically speaking – I told the girlfriend to sort it. Stupid cow forgot and I had to spend shed loads at that posh French place down the road. Makes me glad I’m single again,’ – an elaborate wink – ‘lucky for you.’
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Cat pushed back her chair, mumbled something about a drink and escaped to the kitchen. She’d lost count of Jack’s clumsy attempts at chatting her up; maybe he simply needed the practice – because surely he knew Zyng!’s policy on workplace romances? Everyone else did; it was almost the first thing Izzy, her ‘buddy’, had pointed out in the staff handbook. But then Izzy was so stunning that she’d probably had to quote the policy on many occasions. Cat wasn’t in the same league; besides, the only colleague she’d ever fancied was Harry, the guy from head office who’d interviewed her. Although she’d never seen him since, they emailed each other most weeks about her induction programme. It felt like a friendship, if a long-distance one …
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In the kitchen, Izzy was making coffee. Real coffee, Cat noted, savouring the aroma. And on the counter was a plate of little cakes, cookbook-perfect with their pastel faces framed in gold paper ruffs. Haunted by birthday thoughts, she fantasised about having a whole trayful delivered here on Monday morning.
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Fat chance of that.
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She squeezed some brightness into her voice. ‘They look lovely. Have we got visitors?’
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‘Just someone from head office, I’ve got a meeting with him later.’ Izzy pouted. ‘He needs sweetening up apparently, Freddie sent me to Chez Patrice for these.’
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Freddie, one of the directors, was always calling Izzy into his room for something or other – even though he had his own PA. Not that Izzy seemed to mind, and Cat was just relieved that he didn’t pick on her. The few times they’d spoken, she’d found him terrifying: Count Dracula, in a suit.
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‘I’ll make sure they leave some,’ Izzy went on, ‘then you can see which ones you want for Monday.’
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‘Monday?’
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‘Your birthday, silly. When it was mine, I spent a fortune at Chez Patrice. I mean, there are twenty-eight of us and greedy slobs like Jack always take more than their fair share. Unless you’ve already ordered yours?’
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Cat shook her head. ‘Actually, I thought I might make mine –’
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‘Make them?’ Izzy’s exquisitely tailored eyebrows disappeared fleetingly behind her immaculate fringe. ‘How … amazing! Deirdre did that, once.’
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‘Deirdre?’
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‘Just someone who used to work here. Hers were awful, but – who knows? – yours might be okay.’ And, with a pretty little smile of condemnation, she swept out.
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Cat stared gloomily at the empty kettle – did no one ever think of filling it for the next person? As for finding a clean mug –! She busied herself with washing up; but inevitably, like flies on a carcass, her thoughts clustered round the problem of her birthday. How on earth would she meet everyone’s expectations? On the other hand, wasn’t she getting it all out of proportion?
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‘What an idiot you are!’ She spoke out loud, scolding herself into a better mood.
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Behind her, an amused voice murmured, ‘Hmm, not quite the welcome I’d hoped for.’
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She whirled round and found Harry grinning down at her. ‘Oh, it-it’s you – I didn’t know you’d be here.’
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His grin faded. ‘Didn’t know myself until last night ... How are you?’
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She hesitated, see-sawing between confession and cover-up. After a moment, he ushered her into the nearest meeting room; and there they sat, while she grappled with her answer.
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At last he said, ‘Let me put it another way. How are you getting on with the staff handbook?’
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She frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
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‘Adjusting to a new workplace can be stressful. The official rules may be written down, but there’s plenty of stuff that isn’t.’
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‘Tell me about it.’ A rueful laugh. ‘I’m always asking Izzy to explain some little ritual or other.’
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‘And I thought her buddying you would help.’ He added absently, ‘If it had, of course, I wouldn’t be here.’
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‘Why are you here?’
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He avoided her gaze. ‘Let’s just say that rules have been broken, and I have to remind people of the consequences.’
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Her stomach knotted. Everything he’d said – the staff handbook, the buddying – made sudden sense. This was the first stage of Zyng!’s disciplinary process; in a few weeks she’d be sacked. Who would employ her after that?
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She managed to croak, ‘Wh-what have I done?’
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His eyes found hers, instantly. ‘Don’t look so worried! I’m not here because of you – but I’d like to know how you are, and I’ve only got a few minutes before my next meeting. Is it so hard to give me an honest answer?’
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‘No – yes – I don’t know.’ Another pause, another struggle; but his gaze never wavered. She stumbled on, realising that here was the only person in London who seemed to care a jot. ‘What you said about rules and rituals … There’s nothing in the handbook about birthdays, but everyone’s expecting me to buy lots of fancy cakes, and I don’t have the money … I was going to make some instead, until Izzy put me off. I just don’t know what to do …’ Her voice faltered to a stop.
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‘I knew we’d missed baking skills off your job description!’ He dashed his head dramatically against the heel of his hand, then slanted her a wicked look. ‘Let’s cover them as part of your six-month appraisal – are you free on Sunday afternoon?’
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‘Ye-es. Why?’
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‘I’m in London this weekend – my sister’s just moved here, and she needs some emergency DIY. Why don’t you come over and we’ll make cakes for your birthday?’
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‘But I haven’t actually done any baking for years –’
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‘No problem – Ellie’s an expert. It’ll all work out, you’ll see.’
*****
Outside Ellie’s front door, with its ‘Wet Paint’ sign clamped under the knocker, Cat hitched her bag over her shoulder and wondered why she’d come.
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Friday and Saturday had passed in a mist of excitement. She’d phoned Mum and casually dropped Ellie’s address into the conversation – knowing that it would be given to the police in the extremely unlikely (but strangely arousing) event that Harry kidnapped her. More to the point, she’d copied down the family cupcake recipe, anticipating the thrill of sharing it with an expert.
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Now she was tormented by what ifs. What if … this was a real test and she’d totally underprepared? … Or she and Ellie hated each other on sight? … Or, even worse, she liked Harry more than ever? Because if – by some miracle – he fancied her back, there was no future in it. He might be based somewhere else, but according to the Zyng! handbook he was still part of her workplace. One of them would have to leave, and she couldn’t until she had at least a year’s experience –
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She stopped short, before this dangerous fantasy tightened its hold.
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There was no doorbell, she noticed miserably; she’d have to use the knocker. Just as she reached up to remove the sign, the door swung open. Taken aback, she lost her balance and toppled towards the fresh paint.
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‘Cat!’ It was Harry who swung her away from disaster and into the bliss of his arms. But she stayed rigid with horror – had he sacrificed his expensive-looking jumper for her cheap coat?
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He shuffled her into the hall, then gently let her go. ‘Are you okay?’
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‘Yes, thanks – what about you?’
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He twisted round and grinned. ‘Looks like the paint’s still wet.’
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She felt her face burn. ‘I’m so sorry – your jumper –’
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‘I rather like the green stippled look, may do the same to the other sleeve.’ Another grin. ‘Come and meet Ellie.’
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She shut the door and trudged after him. Could things have got off to a worse start? Except … in the kitchen Ellie’s smile was like her brother’s, the tang of herb-roasted chicken spiced the air, and the tulip buds she’d bought as a thankyou revealed rainbow tips.
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A slight setback when Ellie gasped, ‘Your new jumper!’
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‘Not that new,’ Harry put in, too quickly. ‘Which reminds me, I’d better touch up the front door.’
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When he’d gone, Ellie took her coat and gestured to the breakfast bar stools. ‘Have a seat, they’re more comfy than they look.’ A pause; then, ‘Have you known Harry long?’
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‘About six months.’ Cat wriggled up onto the stool. ‘He interviewed me and we’ve kept in touch ever since. Although I didn’t actually see him again until Friday.’
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‘He hates London, only comes here for recruitment or HR meetings.’ Ellie bent to take the chicken out of the oven. ‘We’ll have this later – you’re staying for dinner, I hope?’
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Cat thought of the empty fridge in her dreary bedsit. ‘I’d love to.’
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‘Good. Now, I’ve left the oven on for the cakes … What was he like as an interviewer?’
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‘Great fun, nothing like the ones I’d had previously.’ Cat chuckled. ‘He gave me sixty seconds to draw an advert for the Titanic –’
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‘And the result showed you had an instinctive grasp of marketing.’ This from Harry, breezing back into the room. ‘Under that sort of time pressure, you wouldn’t believe how many people panic and draw a sinking ship.’ He reached across the counter to flick on the kettle. ‘Cup of tea, before you both initiate me in the art of baking?’
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Ellie gave him a quizzical look. ‘More of a science, surely? Measuring the ingredients, doing things in a certain order, getting the oven temperature right. You have to be precise, or you’ll fail.’
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He retrieved three mugs from the dishwasher. ‘That’s probably why I’ve never bothered, it would stifle my creativity. I prefer a more intuitive style of cooking.’
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‘Yeah, very intuitive,’ Ellie said drily, ‘like leaving out the seasoning last night.’
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‘I thought the casserole would be salty enough from the bacon –’
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‘You forgot!’ A playful punch on his arm. ‘That’s the problem with making it up as you go along.’
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‘Imagine if we did that at work,’ Cat said daringly. ‘Ignored the rules, followed our intuition.’
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His eyes met hers as he brought her tea to the breakfast bar. ‘That’s why we have rules, for our own protection.’
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Ellie laughed. ‘That’s why we have recipes, too. Have you got one in mind, Cat?’
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‘Yes.’ She rummaged in her bag, blushes hidden by the swing of her hair; why had she blurted out that stupid thing about rules? She found her little blue flowery notebook, opened it at the right page and placed it awkwardly on the table. ‘Harry said you’d have the basic ingredients, and I’ve brought the rest. Enough for several batches – partly to cater for appetites like Jack’s, partly in case I screw up.’
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A good-humoured tut-tut from Harry. ‘Have more faith in yourself! But you’re right about Jack.’ He turned to Ellie. ‘A man of many appetites, or so he claims. If a rutting stag could talk, he’d sound like Jack.’
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His sister shrugged. ‘Every office has a lech – although it’s not always the obvious candidate, as you know.’
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Cat glanced from one to the other, aware that another conversation was in play; but Harry merely smiled. ‘Let’s get baking. What do you want me to do?’
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‘Mash this.’ She handed him the banana. ‘Ellie, have you got flour, eggs and butter?’
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‘Yes, how much do you need?’
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And they worked through the recipe together, companionable silence alternating with easy banter. The resulting cake mixture looked promising, and Harry informed them that it tasted as good as it looked. Once the cakes were in the oven, they toured the flat: an entertaining double act, with Ellie providing the estate agent’s blurb and Harry the less rose-tinted reality.
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Back in the warm fragrance of the kitchen, Ellie and Cat checked on the cakes and agreed that they were ready. As they transferred them to a cooling rack, Harry selected the smallest and cut it into three. ‘We’ll have to sample each batch,’ he said gravely, ‘to make sure they’re all up to office standards.’
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He served Cat first – his hand steadier than hers – then Ellie, and popped the last piece into his mouth. Cat closed her eyes, focusing on texture and taste, hearing her mother’s voice: ‘It’ll do.’ When she opened them again, Ellie was telling Harry, ‘Don’t even think about second helpings.’
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‘Okay, I’ll think about the second batch instead. Haven’t had such a sense of achievement for ages!’
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Cat beamed at him, wishing she’d brought enough for ten batches. On impulse she said, ‘Isn’t it weird how baking turns basic ingredients into something magical?’
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‘As long as you follow the recipe,’ Ellie put in, making a face at Harry. ‘No room for creativity.’
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He grinned. ‘Maybe I’ll make up my own recipe, just to prove you wrong. But for now’ – fetching a bottle of Pinot Grigio from the fridge – ‘let’s celebrate our success.’
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‘And Cat’s birthday.’ Ellie produced some glasses. ‘Best do it today, given what’s happening tomorrow.’
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Cat froze.
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‘You might as well tell her, Harry.’
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‘Perhaps you’re right.’ His voice flattened. ‘Cat, I suggest you give out your cakes before eleven. That’s when Freddie and Izzy will be making their relationship public – and resigning.’
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Her eyes widened as she rearranged in her mind the jigsaw pieces of previous impressions and created an entirely different picture. She said slowly, ‘All those times they were supposedly discussing work – it was just a front?’
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‘The damage they did to the company went much further than that.’ He paused. ‘Let’s just say resigning was their best option.’
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Ellie handed them each a glass of wine. ‘No more office talk – happy birthday, Cat!’
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And it was happy, even if it wasn’t her actual birthday. They baked more cakes and ate a leisurely dinner; she discovered much in common and nothing to dislike. Best of all, when she climbed into the taxi that Harry had insisted on ordering – and paying for – he got in beside her.
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‘I’ll see you home, can’t risk anything happening to those cakes,’ he said. ‘And I wanted a private word.’
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Her stomach fluttered. ‘What about?’
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‘I’m moving to London.’
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Another flutter. ‘But Ellie said –’
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‘– I hated London? I did – I still do. Life’s more about people than places, though. And it’s always been part of my career plan – I’ve just been putting it off.’
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‘Oh.’ It sounded small and sad, exactly how she felt. She stared unseeingly at the dazzle of headlights. Monday through Friday she’d see him in the office, talk to him, share a laugh. And it would hurt like crazy, because she couldn’t share anything else.
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Then she heard him say, ‘I’ll be looking for another job, of course, moving on from Zyng!.’
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Her head jerked round. Was he joking? Hard to tell in the dark.
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He went on, ‘I’ve been thinking about it for a while, but recent events have made up my mind.’
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She fumbled for the right thing to say. ‘The last few days must have been very difficult, with the Freddie and Izzy thing.’
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‘More like the last few hours.’
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‘What do you mean?’ Oh crap – that hopeful lilt in her voice was a dead giveaway.
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‘I mean’ – his smile was mesmerising, half light, half shadow – ‘I’d like to spend more time with you, which is impossible while we both work for Zyng!. But if you don’t feel the same, I’ll still leave. Wouldn’t want to embarrass you.’
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She laughed at the very thought. ‘We’d better follow office policy, then, and make your job search top priority.’
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As the taxi rumbled across London, they didn’t kiss or even hold hands. It was enough to know that soon they’d be free of Zyng!’s rules – free to write their own.
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Love rules.
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The End