Page 22 of Seven Reasons to Murder Your Dinner Guests
“Sure,” she says, giving him a small smile.
She flips over the CV he dropped and works her way through correcting spelling and punctuation mistakes.
Never in her wildest dreams did she expect to be helping Damian get a new job, but when she’d caught him mid–panic attack one night after work last week, she unexpectedly felt sympathy for him.
He explained that a rival publisher had asked to see his CV, but his undiagnosed dyslexia meant he struggled with the formal format. His “creative mind” (as he put it) had no trouble with mood boards and layouts for the magazine but panicked over a simple CV. Vivienne surprised herself by offering to help. She waited for the inevitable trill of jealousy, of bitterness, to follow since she herself had had no response from the speculative CVs she’d sent around, but those feelings didn’t come. In fact, she started to wonder if the magazine closing might be an opportunity for her to try something new. And really, what harm could helping a colleague do?
After returning the CV to Damian—receiving a second wink for her trouble—she walks past Cat’s desk. As the rest of the team busy themselves with packing up their desks and printing off their cover letters, having already sent their rushed jobs over, Cat is still at the center of the storm, totally focused on her screen, methodically typing away at her final article.
“Cat, could I have a word?” Vivienne asks.
“I’m nearly finished,” Cat says, eyes not leaving her screen. “I know I said I’d have it done this morning, but would one o’clock this afternoon be OK?”
“That’s fine. It’s not about the article. Shall we go to the café and get some fresh air?” Vivienne suggests.
In the café, Vivienne pays for her own tea, Cat’s coffee, and a large slice of chocolate cake to share.
“Is everything OK?” Cat asks, her hands clutched in her lap, not touching her coffee or cake.
“Fine—well…as good as it can be,” Vivienne says, picking up a knife and cutting the cake carefully in half. “Did you get up to much over the weekend?”
“Not really. Had a look around the shops yesterday.”
“Actually, I saw you…with Charlie,” Vivienne says evenly.
“Charlie?” Cat splutters, taken off guard. “He’s… He’s… I’m sure you realize, Vivienne. He’s my son.”
Despite being caught in a two-year-old lie, Cat can’t seem to help the pride shining on her face at the wordson. And Vivienne can’t help smiling back. Cat should be proud; he is perfect. Albeit a reckless rider and ruthless web-slinger.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you about him,” Cat says. “I didn’t expect to get the job; then I swore I’d mention it on my first day, but the opportunity never seemed to come up because—”
“Because I was such an evil cow,” Vivienne finishes.
“I wasn’t going to say that,” Cat gasps, her hand rushing to her mouth.
“Well, it’s true.” Vivienne sighs. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I’ve treated you terribly these past two years.”
“You don’t need to apologize,” says Cat. “You’ve taught me so much. I just hope I can find another job soon.”
A look of such concern crosses Cat’s face that Vivienne finds herself reaching across and touching her hand.
“Do you have any help with Charlie?” A question that feels two years too late in the asking.
Then tears roll down Cat’s cheeks and something strange happens: Vivienne doesn’t feel the usual combination of frustrationand anger. She just feels sad. She pulls a tissue from her bag and hands it to Cat.
“My mum passed away just before Charlie was born. His dad lives in Australia. I’ve got a friend with a little girl who takes him when I’m at work, but she’s moving away, too, and I’m already behind on my rent…”
“Deep breaths,” Vivienne coaches.
“I’m so sorry. I know you hate tears at work,” splutters Cat.
“We’re not at work, though, are we? And this really is something worth crying over. Never mind a tired old magazine closing down.”
Cat looks up at Vivienne and smiles.
***
“Two years she’s worked for me and never once mentioned that she’s a mother,” Vivienne says as she marches along the pavement.
