Читать книгу The Forgotten Girl - Kerry Barrett - Страница 18

Chapter 8

‘I’m not staying,’ Jen said, sliding into the seat opposite me. She looked tired and her hair was scraped back into a tiny bun.

I nodded. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy.

‘Drink?’

Jen shook her head.

‘I’m not staying,’ she said again. I poured myself a glass of wine, took a huge mouthful and grimaced at the acidic taste. We were in an old-fashioned pub down a side street near my office – I’d wanted to be sure no one from work would see me meeting Jen and as the only other customer was an older man in a creased grey suit with beer stains on the sleeves, I was fairly sure no one would.

‘Just say what you’ve got to say,’ Jen said. She fixed me with her unflinching gaze and I wilted a bit.

‘Firstly,’ I said, taking another swig of horrible wine. ‘I want to apologise. I should have told you about the offer from Mode as soon as they rang me. I was stupid and inconsiderate.’

‘And selfish,’ Jen said.

‘That too.’

There was a pause. Jen carried on staring at me.

‘I still want to launch The Hive,’ I said. ‘And I think this job is going to help with contacts and giving us an edge when we approach writers and financial backers.’

Jen shrugged.

‘Perhaps,’ she said.

I took a breath.

‘Being editor of Mode is my dream job,’ I said. ‘When I was a teenager, it was what I dreamed of. I couldn’t turn it down, Jen. I couldn’t.’

Jen looked at me for a moment longer.

‘I know,’ she said. ‘I know. I get it. I was just so hurt.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s what you do, Fearne,’ Jen said, a bitter edge to her voice. ‘It’s what you do. You pretend you need people, that you’re there for people, but when push comes to shove, all you really care about is your career.’

‘That’s not true,’ I said, even though it was a bit. ‘I care about you. I do. We’re a team, Jen, in work and out.’

A tiny, humourless smile worked its way onto Jen’s lips.

‘You’re never not working,’ she said.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said again. ‘I’m sorry I ran out on you and our plans.’

Jen sighed.

‘All that work we’d put in…’

‘It still counts,’ I said. ‘We can still do it. In a year or so, maybe.’

I gulped the wine again. It was beginning to taste a bit nicer.

‘But for now I want to save Mode,’ I said. ‘And I want you to help me.’

Jen blinked at me.

‘Save it?’

I nodded.

‘You know I said it was my dream job?’

Jen picked up the wine bottle and poured some into her empty glass. I was pleased. Maybe she was staying after all.

‘Yes.’

‘Well it’s actually more of a nightmare.’

Jen had been perched on her chair, looking as though she might flee at any moment. Now she shrugged off her jacket and sat back. I almost wept with relief.

‘Spill,’ she said.

So I told her all about Mode and how it was haemorrhaging sales to Grace. How I had barely any staff, a shoestring budget and a defiant features editor. How I was trying to theme the issues and give ourselves an edge.

‘So we’re kind of forcing this issue into Back to Basics,’ I explained. ‘Next we’re doing body confidence, and then I’m thinking about feminism or something like that.’

‘Sounds pretty meh,’ Jen said. ‘It’s hardly groundbreaking.’

I stared at her.

‘That’s exactly my worry,’ I said with relief – she was already beginning to engage with the project I pulled my notes out of my bag and thrust them at her. ‘Look, this is what I’m planning. It’s all okay but I’m not sure it’s going to be enough.’

She smiled for the first time since she’d sat down.

‘You need something big,’ she said. She picked up the notes and leafed through them – I could almost see her brain working, churning out ideas as she read, and my stomach squirmed in excitement.

‘Jen,’ I said. ‘Come and work with me.’

She looked at me over the top of my scribbles.

‘What?’

‘I need a deputy. And I need someone who’ll tell me the truth, tell me when my ideas are hopeless and when they’re working. I need you.’

Jen lowered the notes slowly.

‘Thought you had no budget,’ she said.

‘All my staff have left,’ I said. ‘I’ll move some stuff around.’

She bit her lip and I sensed she was weakening.

‘Unless you want to stay at Happy,’ I said. ‘Must be nice being the boss at last…’

‘I hate it there,’ Jen said. ‘I’m slogging my guts out as editor, and no one’s said thank you, or told me I’m doing a good job. And they’re still recruiting to replace me.’

She paused.

‘And, I suppose I miss you.’

I grinned.

‘So are you in?’

‘This doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you.’

‘Of course not.’

Jen waved the notes at me.

‘This has got something already and I can make it better,’ she said. ‘But you need to promise me you’ll listen to my ideas, and not shout me down or pull rank?’

‘I promise,’ I said, so grateful she was listening to me that I’d have promised anything at all.

‘Then I’m in.’

I squealed in delight and reached across the table to hug her. She drew back and gave me a fierce look.

‘No hugging,’ she said. ‘We’re not at the hugging stage yet.’

‘Sorry,’ I said.

‘Who else do you have?’ Jen said. She found a notebook and pen in her bag and started making notes. ‘Who’s your team? You’ve got Riley Dean, right?’

‘Right,’ I said.

‘And Milly Thompson?’

I shook my head.

‘Gone,’ I said. ‘I’ve basically got Riley, an intern called Emily who’s enthusiastic and potentially brilliant but very green, a good beauty editor called Pritti, and a sulky features ed called Vanessa.’

Jen made a face.

‘Vanessa Bennett?’ she said. ‘I remember her from years ago. She’s not really an ideas person.’

I chuckled.

‘That’s a nice way of putting it,’ I said. ‘I’d have said boring and uninspired.’

‘Ouch,’ said Jen. She made a note in her book. ‘Who’s on your art desk?’

I shrugged.

‘Designers work across a few mags, so that’s fine,’ I said. ‘But Milly was my art editor and she’s left now so I need a replacement. A really good one.’

‘Any ideas?’ Jen said, frowning as she thought. ‘What about Danielle Watson?’

‘She’s gone to Hot,’ I said. ‘She’d never come to us now.’

I paused.

‘I did have one idea,’ I said. ‘But it might be crazy.’

Jen looked at me.

‘Who?’

‘Damian Anderson,’ I said quickly. ‘I thought I might ask him.’

Jen looked at me, not understanding.

‘Damian…?’ she said, frowning slightly as she tried to work out how she knew the name. Then realisation dawned.

‘Damo?’ she said in astonishment. ‘You want to ask Damo to be your art editor?’

I stared into the bottom of my wine glass.

‘He’s really good,’ I muttered.

‘I know he’s good,’ she said. ‘But he’s not good for you. And anyway, isn’t he in Sydney?’

‘He’s working on Homme,’ I said. ‘He’s in my office.’

‘Shiiiiiit.’

I nodded.

‘And you’ve seen him?’

I nodded again.

‘And you didn’t ring me?’

I gave her a fierce look.

‘You wouldn’t have answered,’ I said.

She shrugged.

‘Fair point,’ she said, with a grin. ‘Seriously, though, Fearne – is this a good idea?

I shook my head.

‘Probably not,’ I said. ‘But I’m desperate, Jennifer. The magazine’s dying, my team is uninspired and uninspiring, and I really want to make this work.’

She looked at me for a moment, then she drained her glass.

‘So ask him,’ she said. ‘But keep it professional.’