Page 4 of The Do-Over

‘Not exactly,’ she admits. ‘But it’s obviously important to you, so we’re very pleased. Thinking of good news, did Phil tell you about Saffy’s OFSTED report?’

I tune her out as she witters on happily about my sister and the pre-school she works at in the town where we grew up. I’m trying not to be annoyed by it; Mum finds it easier to understand what Saffy does, but there’s no doubt that my bubble of pride has sprung a nasty leak. It wouldn’t have killed her to be a little more enthusiastic, would it?

After ten minutes or so, she dries up and we end the call with our usual promises to speak soon. We probably won’t; she never calls me and I only call them once a month or so. Hoping for a better result, I text Alasdair.

Guess you heard the news. I have champagne in the fridge if you fancy celebrating with me. Txx

The ticks go blue straight away and I can see he’s typing.

Sounds lovely. Unfortunately I’m at the airport. Singapore deal is back on, surprise surprise. Congrats though – you totally deserve it. Maybe we can have a belated celebration when I’m back? Axx

What to do now? For a brief moment, I contemplate calling Mum and Phil back to tell them I’m coming home for the weekend. Maybe, after I’ve explained it properly, they’ll be able to show a bit more excitement. Oh, who am I kidding? It’ll just be a weekend of them droning on about how clever Saffy is while my expensive champagne goes warm and flat in their glasses. With a sigh, I fire up my laptop, log into the network and navigate to the agreement I was working on earlier. As soon as I double-click to open it, I get a message:

This document is locked for editing by Jessica Thorne.

Wow. They obviously haven’t hung around reassigning my existing work. It’s going to be a very long weekend.

3

Monday at last. The weekend felt like it was never going to end; I’ll confess to having spent quite a bit of it in my study watching the comings and goings of Rollo and the woman with the SUV. I’ve been trying to work out whether she’s his mother or a nanny. They don’t share similar physical characteristics; she’s blonde with a thin, slightly pinched face and he’s dark haired with rounder features. He could get those from his father though, I suppose. By Saturday evening, I’d decided that she probably is the unfortunately named Rollo’s mother, simply because of the way she speaks to him. If I were ever to have a child, which is highly unlikely, and a nanny spoke to it like she does, we’d be having a difficult conversation.

Being at home with nothing to do is obviously not good for me, because I did start to obsess a little bit about her, trying to imagine what her life is like. Poor Rollo, from what I’ve seen, is hot housed to within an inch of his life; she’s been in and out with him all weekend and, looking at the accessories for each trip, none of them seem to have been for pleasure. He had a swimming lesson on Saturday morning followed by some kind of martial art. They then came home for lunch before he wasbundled back into the SUV with a pile of books, I’m guessing for some sort of extra tutoring. Sunday didn’t appear to be any more restful, as they were up and out early for football. Judging by the look on his face as he reluctantly clambered into the car in his strip, football is really not his thing. I think Sunday afternoon was some sort of social visit, as she finally swapped the gym gear for a summer dress, but Rollo didn’t look any more enthusiastic about it than he had his other activities.

Watching Sarah (my made-up name for her) and Rollo has made me reconsider whether I should have taken the opportunity of a rare weekend off to visit my family after all. Although I think I am justified in being pissed off by Mum’s lack of engagement on the phone, I’ve had time to reflect and I can see it’s not all her fault. She sees Saffy several times a week and even helped with childcare when her son Louis was a baby, looking after him while Saffy was at work until he was old enough to join the pre-school. The last time I saw them, on the other hand, was Christmas, a snatched visit for a few hours nearly six months ago. I can still remember Saffy’s puzzled face as Louis unwrapped the chemistry set I’d thought would be both fun and educational, but which I hadn’t noticed was labelled as not suitable for children under ten. ‘I’ll put it to one side for now,’ she’d said kindly as my cheeks burned with embarrassment. ‘He’ll love it when he’s old enough to understand it.’

Given all of that, is it surprising that Mum and Phil find it easier to connect with Saffy than me? Maybe, my critical inner voice told me sternly as I watched Rollo departing for one of his many activities, they would take more of an interest in me if I had taken more time to engage with them and explain my life to them. I came very close to calling them again on Sunday afternoon, even picking up my phone a couple of times and bringing up their number, before realising it would probably becounterproductive. We’re all creatures of habit to some extent, and breaking a pattern of monthly phone calls with two in the same weekend would probably make them worry that I was having some kind of secret breakdown. So I left it, and now the opportunity has passed.

I’m a creature of habit myself and, when I’m not travelling, my daily routine follows a set pattern. I wake with a jolt just before five, throw on the clothes that I’ve laid out the night before and leave the house just over ten minutes later, dragging my precisely packed cabin bag if I’m going away. It’s not much fun in the winter when it’s cold and dark, but I find the early mornings magical in the summer. The streets are quiet and the Tube on my half-hour ride to Farringdon, the closest station to the office, is empty apart from a few other early starters like me. On arriving at the office just before six, I greet the night security guard and make my way down to the gym in the basement for my workout. After showering and drying my hair, I’m usually at my desk by seven. If we’re in the early stages of a transaction, I’m generally away by eight in the evening, but it can be ten, midnight, or even not at all if a deal is close to the wire. Like I said, you don’t go into this line of work if you value your personal time. I love it, though; the constant problem solving, finding innovative ways around obstacles to deliver results for our clients. The adrenaline surge when you’re under intense pressure and spot a way to break through a seemingly impossible barrier is better than the high you could get from any drug, I reckon.

In among the usual raft of emails that I dealt with over the weekend, including information about a three-week trip to New York for my new assignment, was one from our HR department, congratulating me on my new role and summoning me to a meeting with someone called Janice at seven o’clock in one of the meeting rooms on the seventh floor before I leave for theairport. When I get there, my hair still a little damp from the shower, I find her waiting for me. She’s one of those people who looks vaguely familiar; I’ve probably seen her around but never had occasion to talk to her before. I’d estimate that she’s in her early forties, and her generous figure is flattered by her beautifully cut trouser suit.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ I tell her, checking my watch.

‘Oh, you’re not. Don’t worry,’ she assures me in a no-nonsense tone. ‘I had an issue to sort out for one of the other junior partners, so I came in a bit early. I’m Janice, by the way, your PA.’

‘Oh.’ I’m not sure what else to say. I know the partners have personal assistants, but it’s not a part of the role I’d really connected to and, if I’m honest, I’m not sure what they do.

‘It’s funny,’ she remarks. ‘Every new partner reacts the same way. You’re all so focused on the application process and whether you’ll get through that you never consider what happens afterwards. I liken it to getting married.’

I’m intrigued. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Partnership applicants are like brides to be. All your energy is poured into creating the perfect wedding day, ensuring absolutely nothing can go wrong, because the smallest mishap will ruin everything. That’s you during the application process, if you haven’t guessed. Then the wedding-slash-partnership interview happens, nothing goes wrong, and you glide through it on a wave of euphoria before going off on honeymoon. But what happens when you get back? You have to learn to be married, and nobody ever seems to think about that part. How was your weekend off, by the way?’

‘Honestly? I’ve never been so bored.’

She laughs. ‘I think they do that deliberately. Bore you to tears to make sure you’re champing at the bit when you comeback in. Anyway, the wedding’s over and I’m your new wife. Pleased to meet you.’ She holds out her hand for me to shake.

‘Let me see if I can guess what you’re thinking now,’ she continues as we take our seats at the table and she opens the folder in front of her. ‘You’re wondering what it is I do and whether you need me. After all, you’ve never needed a PA before.’

I smile. ‘Guilty as charged.’

‘OK, let’s start with the basics. This is a polygamous marriage. Illegal in the real world but that’s how it is in here. What I mean by that is that I don’t work exclusively for you. I have another four junior partners that I look after, so please don’t fool yourself into thinking that I spend every waking hour looking for ways to make you happy. If this marriage is going to thrive, it requires give and take. It may sound rude, but I often liken junior partners to puppies. You need a firm hand and a bit of house training before we settle down into a rhythm. So please don’t be offended if I have to say “no” to you a few times while we’re getting to know each other. You’re busy; I’m busy; if we don’t have clear boundaries we’ll quickly end up in a mess. Does that make sense?’

There’s something about her direct approach that gels with me, and I’m starting to suspect that Janice and I will get on very well. ‘Yes, perfect,’ I tell her.

‘Good. Let’s move on to what I do and what I don’t do. Rule number one: I don’t do legal stuff. I know a bit about it because you can’t work in a place like this without some of it rubbing off on you, but I’m not legally trained and it’s not my role. You want documents finding or stuff copying, that’s what the trainees and associates are for. My job is to make sure everything else runs smoothly, so you have 100 per cent mental capacity for your work. I’m on call pretty much twenty-four seven every day except for Christmas Day. If your cat gets stuck up a tree whileyou’re in Kuala Lumpur, you call me and I sort it. Do you have a cat?’

‘No.’ I smile again. ‘But what if I did have a cat and it got stuck up a tree on Christmas Day?’

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