“We should probably start walking back soon,” I say, glancing at my watch. “If we’re aiming to get back for supper.”
“Unless …” Finn shoots me a wicked glance. “Fish and chips on the beach and then a cab back to Rilston?”
“Yes!” I say. “Except I’m too full for fish and chips.”
“You won’t be,” says Finn with assurance. “Not once you get to the chip shop. Not once you smell the vinegar.”
“Fish and chips on the beach,” I say fondly. “Beats the office any time.”
“Certainly beats the office,” agrees Finn, with a firm nod. He pauses, then adds, “So, since you’ve brought up the subject of work, there’s a question I’ve been wanting to ask.”
“Oh yes?” I look up. “What?”
“You sound like you were so miserable at Zoose. Why didn’t you change job a long time ago? Why stick it out till you were so desperate you ran away?”
“Because changing jobs is exhausting,” I point out. “It’s a job in itself. You have to find new opportunities, go to interviews, sparkle—”
“You sparkle,” says Finn at once.
“I do not.” I give a wry laugh.
“Didn’t you ever get calls from headhunters?”
“Yes, but I didn’t take them.”
“Why not?”
“Didn’t have the time. Or energy.”
“Hmm.” Finn thinks for a moment. “Do you want to leave marketing? Do something else?”
“No!” I say, surprising myself with my conviction. “Marketing is great. It’s creative. It’s finding solutions. It’s fun. Or, you know, it can be. It’s what I do,” I finish emphatically.
“Got it.” Finn chuckles.
“My previous job, that was in marketing too. I loved it. But Zoose … Zoose was a game-changer.”
“OK then, another question,” persists Finn mildly. “Why did you let yourself get so exhausted that you couldn’t even muster the inner resources to change jobs? Why did you keep saying yes?”
“Because …” I exhale, thinking back. “Because the work needed to be done and no one else was there to do it. That’s what Zoose is like. It’s chaotic.”
“So you refuse. You say no.”
“No doesn’t work. They just pile on more tasks.”
“So you threaten to move on. You leave jobs undone and explain why you didn’t have time to complete them. You create boundaries and stick to them.”
As I gaze at him, I feel like he’s speaking a foreign language. “That’s not really me,” I say at last.
“It has to be you.” He meets my gaze resolutely. “You’re talking as if you have no value, no leverage. If it came to it, couldn’t you just leave your job and get by for a while till you found a better one?”
I feel a spasm of panic, which I swallow down. “Don’t know. I’m pretty risk-averse. I really, really don’t want to fail.”
“So you think it’s better to be half-living than risk failure?”
I feel a visceral shock at Finn’s words. Half-living is a pretty brutal assessment of what I’ve been doing. Although possibly accurate.
“I’ve never wanted to be caught out,” I say, staring rigidly ahead. “Financially.”
“So your bank balance is healthy.”
The way he leans on the phrase bank balance, I know exactly what he means. My bank balance might be healthy, but every other bit of my life: not so much.
“I know I should leave my job,” I hear myself say. “I will leave it. I really will. I’ll leave it.”
Again, words are slipping out of me that I didn’t intend. I stare up at the darkening sky in a state of slight shock. I’m going to leave my job? Leave my job? Actually leave my job?
A weird, heady feeling is rising up inside me, very slowly. It feels like … happiness. Bright, golden happiness. It’s euphoria, joy, freedom.
Is this what I’ve been chasing?
“I can just leave my job if I want to.” I give a strange, almost hysterical laugh. “I can resign.”
“Yes. You can.” Finn nods. “You have that power. Power.” He leans forward and squeezes my hand. “You’re valuable, Sasha. You’re in demand. Believe it.”
“And Zoose is …” I pause, trying to think of another way to describe it. “Zoose is dysfunctional.”
“Tell me more about Zoose,” says Finn, and I laugh.
“I’m serious,” he persists. “I’m a consultant. I like to hear about dysfunctional companies. Helps me sleep at night.”
So I tell him. I describe the lack of staff, the wrong priorities, the infighting—everything. I describe Asher. I describe Lev. I describe Joanne. I find myself analyzing everything differently, now I’ve had some time away.
“Sounds messy,” says Finn as I come to a finish. “Start-ups often go through a tricky stage, especially if they grow too quickly. It’s great to be successful, but be careful what you wish for. And the incompetent-brother thing …” He shakes his head wryly. “Your founder will end up paying off his brother to get rid of him, but he needs to do it soon. Tell him that.”
“I will.” I laugh. “Next time I’m in conversation with him.”
“Great.” Finn nods as though I’m perfectly serious. “Now, fish and chips?”
Finn volunteers to go into the fish-and-chips shop, which is crowded with a bunch of kids, so I give him a tenner, then wait outside, sitting on the exact same wall I sat on when I was ten years old. I was filled with good feelings then, and I’m filled with good feelings now. Good, jittery, surreal feelings. But still good.
I could leave my job. No, I’m more certain than that: I am going to leave my job. When shall I do it? How shall I do it? Do I need to think about this more?
For a few seconds I sit with my eyes closed, processing everything—then I open them.
No. I don’t need to think anymore. Enough thinking, waiting, stagnating. I know Mum said, “Don’t make any big decisions,” but I have to. I need action. Right now.
Trembling, I take out my phone, find the email address of the head of human resources at Zoose, Tina Jeffrey, and begin typing:
Dear Tina:
I would like to resign from my post as director of special promotions. I believe my current holiday entitlement is sufficient to cover my notice period; therefore, I will not be returning to the office.
Sincerely
Sasha Worth
Without pausing to consider, I lift my thumb and press SEND. Then, as Finn appears, holding fish and chips and two Cokes, I look up, forcing my mouth into a smile.
“I just left my job.”
“What?” He stops dead and stares at me. “You what?”
“I left. While you were getting the fish and chips. I emailed the head of human resources.”
“Wow!” His eyes widen. “That was quick.”
“I know!” I try to sound extra-positive, because beneath my smile I’m already feeling the swell of panic. It didn’t take long. Questions are bombarding my mind: Should I have waited? Do I need to tell Mum? What will everyone say?