Читать книгу The Law of Attraction - Roxie Cooper - Страница 10

CHAPTER 2

The last thing I feel like doing tonight is going out and getting hammered. All I’ve thought about is yesterday’s interview; how it went, how I could have answered each question better – going round in circles. I’d be quite happy lying on this sofa until Monday, eating crap food, drinking wine and watching Netflix, while crying about how I’ve fucked up my one big chance in life. But I promised Heidi we’d go out tonight and she isn’t letting it go.

At 5.45 p.m. she stands over me, menacingly, hands on hips, scorn pouring from her eyes.

‘Mandy, I’m giving you ninety minutes to sort yourself out. Stop moping and go get glam. You don’t have a say in this.’

I screw my face up, recoiling even further into my foetus position.

‘But…’

‘No buts! Come on!’ she says, pulling me off the sofa with such force that I actually bounce on to the floor, making us both laugh. ‘Okay! I’m going!’

Two hours later, we’re in our favourite bar, Cryptic. In high contrast to yesterday’s conservative interview look, I’m now sporting a black body-con dress so tight I can’t wear knickers with it, big hair and even higher heels. I suspect Mr Rude would have a heart attack if he saw me tonight.

To a casual observer, I probably look very lucky; I am slim with curves in the right places, long blonde hair, big blue eyes, ‘cute button nose’ (or so I’ve been told) and ‘bee-stung’ lips (magazine terminology). Because of this, and because I’m classed as intelligent, people seem to assume that my life is all shades of wonderful. The truth is, my appearance is probably the only thing I’m actually confident about. People don’t have a clue about the stuff going on inside, behind the constant smiles, under the bleach… and why would they? At the end of the day, why would they care about your personal issues when you can do a great liquid eyeliner flick?

Heidi is quite the siren tonight, going for a slut-red mini-dress which should look tarty and yet she manages to make it look classy, but that is Heidi all over.

It’s a lovely warm summer evening, which means we can sit outside. But because I’m with Heidi, we can’t ‘just sit’ outside. Best viewing tactics must be fully executed. Close enough to the entrance/exit to see new talent come in, but not right next to the door because that’s ‘too close’, meaning guys ‘won’t see’ us/her. She has a weird system I’ll never understand. It’s something to do with parading yourself like a peacock, but guys fall at her feet, so who am I to judge?

Heidi is my best friend in the whole world. She is model-esque with the longest legs you’ve ever seen. She has a sexy, yoga-toned figure (rather her than me) and a razor-sharp, brunette bob. Because of this, she is never short of male attention. She stirs up contradictions in both sexes. Women are fascinated with her because she’s so bloody perfect, but hate her for it. Men are intimidated by her, but simultaneously worship the ground she walks on. She doesn’t really ‘do’ emotions.

Another thing Heidi doesn’t really do is boyfriends. She does playtoys, fuck-buddies, flings, attached men, unavailable men, rich men, interesting guys who have no money, intelligent men, hot but stupid men… but they all have the same thing in common: they’re all under Heidi’s spell. She could have anyone she wants, but she gets bored of them very quickly. Well, she says it’s because she gets bored, but it must run deeper than that

My own love life is disastrous. You know how there’s a spectrum of guys? Bad boys on one end (chase you for months then act like complete dicks when you eventually fall for them, never text you, act like complete players and chuck you away when they get sick of you?); and on the other end of the spectrum you have too-nice-for-words guys (complete gents, pay you loads of compliments, would make great husbands and would ALWAYS text you back). Well, I always go for one or the other – never anywhere in between. This causes problems because it never ends well. I gravitate towards the bad boys because, y’know, don’t we all? I’ve had some proper horror shows, but my best way of dealing with them is to just not think about them, because if you just ignore the CringeFlings then they cease to exist. That’s basically the rules of physics. But, having said that, I don’t like the really nice guys either because they lavish me with compliments and loveliness and it makes me feel… uncomfortable.

Between the pair of us, Heidi and I are a relationship car crash, which is a huge shame because we spend hours planning our weddings.

We’ve been friends since the second week of university when I sat next to her in a lecture on contract law (the legal concept of ‘discharge by frustration’, funnily enough). She leaned over and whispered, ‘Have you seen the arse on that guy, Tom?’ in her obvious-but-not-too-harsh Geordie accent. We’ve been inseparable ever since. I suppose it could be said that we bonded through our love of law (and Tom’s arse, come to think of it, an arse Heidi would be digging her nails into on a regular basis until she got bored of it, which was after about three weeks).

Of course, she got a job at Newcastle’s best commercial law firm. She’s unbelievably bright, killed it at the interview and had an offer before she even left the building.

After several cocktails in Cryptic we move to the main stretch of bars in Jesmond. We couldn’t afford to live here when we were at university but vowed we would when we became ‘grown-ups’. Look at us now, the bees-knees. Okay, so we live in a tiny maisonette next to the Metro station, which shakes every time a train goes past (every twelve minutes), but we have a delightful row of restaurants, bars AND a Starbucks at the end of our road.

WE HAVE MADE IT.

By 10.30 p.m., we are drunk so, naturally, we sit down to have a deep and meaningful chat (only allowed or desired after massive alcohol consumption). I discuss my worries over whether I’ll get pupillage, Heidi tells me her period is late (again), and we hold a mini referendum on whether we’d shag Richard Madeley (yes).

Some old blokes come over and try their luck. They’re literally old enough to be our dads and aren’t attractive in the slightest. This is when it’s handy to have Heidi around, as she deals with the situation swiftly and effortlessly.

‘Eugh. Why would you be that arrogant and unattractive?’ I slur, taking a sip of my mojito.

‘It never stopped Martin Gregg, did it?’ Heidi teases.

‘Nooooo! Don’t EVER mention him in my presence again! Good riddance to him!’ I squeal.

Just the very mention of this guy’s name makes my flesh crawl. A creep at law school who had a weird infatuation with me. Yuk. The less said about him, the better.

Before we know it, it’s 1.30 a.m. and we stagger home. I crawl up to my bedroom and collapse on the bed. No water is consumed and I know that regret will kidnap me during the night, hold me ransom in the morning, and make me pay for such a foolish decision. The rest is hazy, but I just know I am about to fall asleep fully clothed, with eyelash adhesive super-gluing my eyes together.

***

I am awake ludicrously early on Monday morning. A million cups of tea are consumed and I put the news on, waiting for the post to arrive. After yesterday’s epic hangover, I’m grateful to just feel human again.

By 9.15 a.m., it still hasn’t come and I consider phoning the Post Office to ask what the delay is. In reality, our post doesn’t usually arrive until after 10.30 a.m., but, quite frankly, that is not the point.

Finally, at 11.07 a.m., I hear the letterbox rattle.

This is it.

All that hard work, all those hours studying, all those tears. Please let it be me. I take the letter into my room and sit on my bed. I frantically rip it open, take a deep breath and unfold the paper.

The next few minutes are a blur because I am hyperventilating so much.

‘Following your recent interview with us, we are delighted to offer you a twelve-month pupillage commencing in September…’

I burst into Heidi’s room, only to find her in a somewhat compromising position with a man who looks utterly mortified.

As an aside, I have no idea when she sneaked him in.

I quickly shut the door, screaming, ‘I’ve got it!’ Next thing, Heidi runs out with her dressing gown on, makes lots of high-pitched, dolphin-type noises, hugs me tightly and tells ‘Jason’ he’d better get going.

‘I’m SO proud of you, sweetie!’ she squeals.

Within five minutes, a bottle of Prosecco has been opened and I’m reading the letter over and over.

‘Hang on. It says here they’re taking on two pupils but only one tenancy is available after twelve months…’

‘So?’ Heidi replies, totally unperturbed, handing me a glass of fizz. ‘You’re better than anyone you’ll be up against.’

‘You don’t know that. What if it’s someone amazing? They said they’d only take two pupils if they were both outstanding.’

Heidi looks at me, waiting for me to comprehend my own words.

‘Yes, okay. They obviously think I’m outstanding… but they also think this other person is too. Could be either of us.’

‘Bloody hell, Mandy!’ Heidi yelps. ‘You’ve just beaten two hundred people to get pupillage! It’s now down to you and someone else for tenancy. You’ve got a pretty good chance, I’d say! This is the final hurdle. You can do this.’

‘It’s okay for you to say. You don’t have to fight anyone for your place at your firm.’

‘No, I don’t. But if I did, I wouldn’t think about it. I’d concentrate on being so bloody good, it wouldn’t be an issue. So just go there and be brilliant.’

Heidi has this never-ending confidence. I wish I had that. And she’s right, obviously… annoyingly.

But there’s something else I’ve also been ignoring, hoping it would go away.

‘What if they find out, Heidi?’ I ask, with genuine dread in my voice.

‘Stop. They won’t,’ she says firmly, giving me the look she knows means business.

‘But…’

‘Stop it. We’re not going there. It’ll be fine,’ she reassures me, giving my hand a little squeeze.

I nod. She’s right. Absolutely no point in coming all this way and stumbling now. I need to get on with this.

‘So’, I continue, both of us pretending the last thirty seconds of conversation never happened, ‘it’s basically a curse if you complete pupillage but don’t get tenancy because it’s like you become known as the person who was given a chance but you “just weren’t good enough”. You’re “damaged goods”. Nobody takes you on after that. I have to get tenancy. This is not an option,’ I say, defiantly.

‘That’s my girl!’ Heidi coos, like a proud mother. ‘Now, let’s celebrate…’