Rebecca Fielding had spent twenty years handling paperwork, answering telephones, smiling at visitors who rarely deserved it, and brewing the sort of coffee for her superiors that nearly got her promoted to head of the staff room. Nevertheless, she was made redundant. Thats life for you.
Now she found herself facing an interview. The first one in two decades.
Rebecca stood in her narrow hallway, peering seriously at herself in the mirror. The suit was decent. The hairstyle presentable. The face, well, forty-six years are never hidden, but she wore them well. The most important thing was not to be nervous. This was just another job. Merely a new office, a new desk, a new phone to answer.
Tammy, her dear friend, had insisted on escorting her there and stuffed her with encouragement in the lift.
Chin up. Youre a professional. Twenty years experience is no small thing.
Twenty years, Rebecca echoed, and they still let me go.
So what? All the better for the next placeyou have experience.
Tammy, Rebecca sighed, do get yourself to work.
The office stood in a quiet mews near the edge of the city, a four-storey building with delusions of grandeurcolumns, glass doors, a security man in a blazer. Rebecca straightened her shoulders. Inhaled, exhaled. Walked in.
The receptionist pointed her to the third floor.
The director is expecting you. Room 302.
Third floor. Corridor. Door with a brass sign.
Rebecca knocked. Entered.
And stoppedbehind the desk sat Philip.
Her ex. The very man whose splinter shed once carefully pulled out, whom shed fed pasties during exams, whom shed forgiven for things never truly forgivable. The man after whom shed barely slept for three years.
He looked at her. She looked at him.
The pause stretched so long that it became one of those moments when its clear you either turn and leave, or you stay. Theres no third way.
So this is what they mean by fate has a wicked sense of humour, Rebecca thought, with a sort of detached amusement.
Philip looked well. Thats what stung.
Truth be told, over the last eight years Rebecca had imagined meeting her ex-husband again many times, always picturing him as shrivelled, wiltedif not with a paunch, then grizzled at the edges. Surely, by now, life had left its mark on someone capable of such pain.
But no.
Philip sat behind the directors desk in a sharp jacket, crisp haircut, and an air of a man whod long ago come to favourable terms with his conscience. Greying temples. A laptop, diary, and a small cactus on his desk. A cactus, of all thingshow symbolic.
Rebecca, he said. Not Miss Fielding, not even hello. Just Rebecca. As if theyd simply parted after dinner the night before.
Hello, Philip, she replied.
He gestured to the chair. Rebecca sat, clutching her handbag on her kneesshe needed something to hold, even if only a bag.
I have your CV here, he said, nodding to the desk. Ive already looked.
All right.
Twenty years as a secretary. Thats solid experience.
It is.
His tone was measured and brisk, his gaze fixed somewhere to the left of her head. The way people look when they understand everything, but pretend otherwise.
So, well play the professionals, Rebecca realised. Fine. Ill play.
Tell me about your most recent post, Philip said.
So she did.
She explained calmly, precisely: her duties, responsibilities, volume of paperwork, the systems she used, how many she supervised. Yet, in her head, another conversation ran parallel.
This is the man who left you for Irene from accounts, saying you just dont understand me.
What software did you use?
She listed them, even as she thought: this is the man because of whom you couldnt eat for months, nor sleep for half a year.
Did your role involve attending partner meetings?
Yes, liaising with top management and in contractual negotiations.
This manright heresat in his smart jacket, at the directors desk.
Philip nodded, made notes in his diary (or pretended to). Rebecca, watching his pen, marvelled at lifes capacity for ironyelegant, even cruel.
Outside, the mews was still and leaf-strewn; a typical October. Inside, the office held eight years: a divorce, two property disputes, nights when shed called Tammy just to listen in silence because words wouldnt come.
And there he sat. With a cactus.
Why did you leave your previous job? Philip asked, voice cool, perfectly businesslike.
Redundancy. The whole department was closed.
I see. He paused. Were you comfortable working with company directors?
Yes. I regularly communicated with the managing director and the board.
Are you discreet?
Yes.
Philip looked at herlooked properly, for several seconds. Rebecca met his gaze, unmoving, with neither a smile nor hostility, but simply looking back.
Good, he said at length, setting down his pen. Id like to continue our discussion somewhere less formal. Perhaps over a coffee?
Here, Rebecca felt something shift withinno fear, just the sense that a different conversation was coming, and she had to be ready.
I dont mind, she answered simply.
Philip stood, moved to the little coffee machine by the window, his back turned. Rebecca watched him and thought: hes about to say something. Something significant or awkwardsomething for which he offered coffee.
The machine puffed steam, gurgled.
You look well, Philip said, not turning, the pronouns slippingthe forced formality gone.
Rebecca said nothing.
He set a cup before her, returned to his seat.
Honestly, he added.
Rebecca looked from the coffee to him.
Thank you, she replied, evenly.
Philip fell silent a moment.
Rebecca, I want to say something. Not as a director, but asas someone who knows you.
Rebecca noted this with wary interestthe way you might brace when a pilot steps out of the cockpit with something unnecessary, but meaningful to say.
Im glad you came. Here, I mean.
Mere coincidence, Rebecca said.
Perhaps. But I am glad. Youre a true professional, thats clear straight away. I need someone exactly like that.
All right.
But I want he hesitated, choosing his words as one might pick their way across thin ice. I want us to be clear from the outset. To understand each other. No old baggage. A blank slate, so to speak.
There it is.
Rebecca placed her cup down.
A blank slate. So thats what eight years amounts toa blank slate. The court battles over the housea blank slate. The months she couldnt eat, presumably also erased.
She paused, studying him as one examines something closely before deciding.
Philip, she said. So if I understand you, youre offering me the job provided I forget everything that’s been?
He twitched an eyebrow.
Im saying lets start fresh. Theres a difference.
No, said Rebecca. Its the same.
Silence. The cactus stood mute and pointed.
You see, Rebecca continued. I have no intention of dragging up the past. I have neither time nor desire. But Im not about to pretend it didnt happen, either. Because it did. That was my life. Not a page someone else can simply turn.
Philip looked at her, wordless.
Im here for an interview, Rebecca said. Not a sentimental stroll down memory lane. If you want a professional with twenty years experience running an office, lets discuss terms. If youd rather I pretend nothing happened eight years ago, Im not your person.
She picked up the cup, sipped. The coffee was quite good, she noted with detached, almost irrelevant pleasure.
Philip was silent, watching her with a look Rebecca struggled to place. Then she recognized itrespect.
Youve changed, he said.
Yes, Rebecca agreed. Eight years is a long time.
Philip stood, went to the window, gazed at the mews a while, then turned.
Rebecca,his voice was softerI know I was wrong, then. Its not a blank slate. Youre right. It all happened, and I behaved badly.
She looked at him.
She hadnt expected that. Not in the slightest.
Over eight years shed played out this meeting in her mind, with dozens of endingsanger, indifference, some offhand dismissal. Never had she imagined hed just say, I behaved badly.
Its nice to hear it, she said after a pause. Late, but nice.
Yes. He nodded. Late.
A new, easier quiet followedthe silence you reach after all that needs saying has been said.
As for the position, Philip began, Id like to offer you the role of head of administration. Its higher than what you did before. The salary’s fair. The decisions yours.
Rebecca was silent.
Ill think about it, she said finally.
All right.
She rose, picked up her bag. Philip stood too, abandoning all directorly airs.
Rebecca, he called as she neared the door.
She turned.
Thank you for not leaving straight away, when you saw me.
Rebecca paused.
I didnt expect to stay either, truthfully, she admitted.
Out in the corridor, Rebecca stopped, just for a moment, at the closed door bearing his name.
Outside, Tammy waited with a takeaway coffee in a paper cup. She saw Rebecca and, reading her face, asked at once:
Well?
Theyve offered me a job, Rebecca said.
A good one?
Yes. Head of administration.
Blimey. Tammy was quiet a moment. Whos the director?
Philip.
Tammy stared.
Philip? Your Philip?
My ex, Rebecca clarified.
And what did you do?
Told him Id think about it.
Rebecca took the coffee, had a sip. It was nothing like the coffee upstairs, but somehow more familiar and dear.
They walked down the mews. The leaves rustled beneath their feet in that particular October way. The sun shone without warmth, only marking its presence.
But this time it’s my choice, Rebecca smiled, just a little. Mine, not his. Absolutely.They walked on, letting silence settle comfortably between them, the sort that didnt need filling. At the end of the street, Rebecca paused, turning her face up towards the breeze. She felt, for the first time in years, neither small nor overlookedjust entirely herself. Something unlatched inside her, as if shed finally set down an old, heavy box shed carried for far too long.
What will you do? Tammy asked gently.
Rebecca smiled, a real smile, warm and unguarded. Ill decide tomorrow, she said, but in her heart she already knew. She had choices now, and the power to walk forwardor, if she wished, to turn away.
As they passed under the archway back to the world, the city opened around them, vast and waiting. Rebeccas steps felt lighter, her shoulders straighter. The future, with all its uncertainty, looked less like a corridor she had to walk down and more like a square she could cross in any direction she chose.
Lets get lunch, she said, looping her arm through Tammys. But somewhere new.
Together, they set off, the autumn sun catching in Rebeccas hair, the crisp air threaded with the quiet promise that this, at last, was the beginning shed been owed.
