Page 6 of One Month's Notice

“Hi, Harriet,” Nat said, her heart rate picking up as she braced herself. She shifted her weight from one foot to another, waiting for the response that could potentially shape her future.

“I’ll cut straight to it.” Harriet’s words were clipped and efficient against the low rumbling of the traffic as it hummed in the background. “Your portfolio is creative, certainly, but it lacks the commercial insight we need for our industry. Frankly, your experience doesn’t quite match our expectations either.”

Nat’s grip on her phone tightened, the sting of criticism sharper than the chill in the air.

“I’m sorry to say,” Harriet added, almost as an afterthought, “we’ve decided to go with a much stronger candidate.”

“Right, I see,” Nat managed, her throat tight. “Thank you for letting me know.”

“Best of luck with your future endeavours.” Harriet ended the call before Nat had a chance to respond.

Steeling herself, she returned to the restaurant, the sound of clinking cutlery and background chatter suddenly overwhelming. Her parents looked up expectantly as she approached the table. The hopeful gleam in her mother’s eyes made what she had to say next even harder.

“They gave the job to someone else.” Nat forced the words out like bitter pills. “They thought my work wasn’t commercially viable enough.”

Anita’s brows knitted together in a frown that wrestled between concern and disapproval. “Natalie, really, I think this just shows you should focus on finding a proper job. Something stable, not these… artistic whims.”

A hollow laugh threatened to bubble up in Nat’s throat, but she suppressed it. ‘Proper job’—the phrase was an all too familiar one, a pointed reminder of how far her dreams strayed from her mother’s definition of success.

From across the table, Geoff caught Nat’s eye. She was comforted by the softness in his expression. He opened his mouth as if to intervene, perhaps to offer consolation, or maybe challenge Anita’s harsh critique. Instead, he simply offered Nat a sympathetic smile, a silent acknowledgement that some battles weren’t worth fighting—at least not here, not now.

“Maybe you’re right,” Nat conceded with a shrug, tucking away the hurt for later reflection. She wouldn’t let her mother see the depth of her disappointment. Not when there was still a glimmer of hope that one day, her aspirations would become reality.

Nat pushed her food around on the plate, no longer interested in its colourful presentation. What appeared appetising just moments ago now looked like a messy art project from school, trying its best to impress but lacking any real substance. Her appetite had vanished, leaving behind only the sour taste of rejection.

“Nat, aren’t you hungry?” Anita glanced at her daughter’s barely touched meal, her voice laced with impatience rather than concern.

“Lost my appetite, I guess.” Nat forced a small piece of food past lips that struggled to accept it.

“Geoff, we really should be going.” Anita checked her watch. “Can you get the bill?” She stood up with a sense of urgency, excusing herself to visit the ladies.

As her mother’s clicking heels faded into the distance, Nat felt the tension in her shoulders ease slightly. The absence of her mother’s scrutinising gaze brought a brief respite. It was just her and her dad now, sitting in the aftermath of yet another clash of dreams and expectations.

“Nat,” Geoff began softly, reaching across the table to cover her hand with his—a gesture so gentle it felt like a whisper, calming the chaos of her thoughts. “Are you going to be OK? I can stick around this afternoon if you’d like some company.”

She looked up, meeting her father’s kind eyes. There was a depth of understanding there that she rarely found in her mother’s pragmatic stare. Nat managed a half-smile, appreciating the offer more than words could convey.

“No, Dad, it’s fine. Really,” she reassured him, although part of her yearned to take him up on his offer. “Mum would never let you hear the end of it if you missed the show.”

“Alright, but if you change your mind…” he trailed off, giving her hand a comforting squeeze before letting go.

“Thanks,” Nat whispered.

At that moment, the waiter arrived with the bill. Geoff pulled his wallet from his jacket pocket and handed over a credit card without a glance at the total. The noisy clatter of Anita’s heels announced her return. She swung her coat over her shoulders, buttoning it up as if sealing herself away from the afternoon’s disappointments.

“Come on then,” she said sharply, her eyes darting to the ornate clock that hung above the bar. “We can’t dawdle, or we’ll be late.”

Nat and Geoff exchanged a glance—his apologetic, hers resigned—as they rose from their seats. The overstuffed velvet chairs released them reluctantly, as if they too sensed Nat’s need for comfort. Geoff rounded the table, reaching for his own coat and offering a supportive arm to guide Nat towards the exit.

“Thank you for lunch,” Nat managed to say, her voice steadier than she felt.

“Of course, darling,” Anita replied, her attention already focused on the door and getting out onto the bustling London street.

“Take care, sweetheart.” Geoff’s eyes were warm with unspoken empathy.

“Chin up, Natalie. This is just a small bump in the road.” With a final adjustment to her scarf, Anita shepherded Geoff down the pavement, an urgency to her stride.

“Call us later,” Geoff called over his shoulder, his figure receding as he was propelled by his wife’s single-minded determination towards their important prior engagement.

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