I’m constantly unpicking problems that Asher made, which is a pain, but each time I feel fresh satisfaction, because I’m remaking the department how I want it. And hopefully how Lev wants it. It took me a long time to decide I wanted this role, and I had a few long, honest chats with Lev along the way. He’s now admitted that he was so wary of conflict with Asher that he backed away from marketing completely while his brother was running it. No wonder we felt abandoned. But now things are different. Lev shows an interest. He asks me constantly, “Are we spending enough? Do we have enough staff? You need to tell me.” And we get on really, really well. I’ve even been to his house and had dinner with him and his boyfriend.
I’m often tired, but good tired. Not drained. Not ground down. Not burned out. I sometimes glance out of the window at the convent opposite and … let’s say I’m quite relieved I’m here, not there. Sister Agnes knew what she was about. I belong in the workplace, as long as the work is healthy. And I’m being proactive to keep it that way. I’m even managing to switch off my emails in the evening.
OK, not every evening. But most evenings.
I’m on my way to see Lev right now, to give him some promotional coffee-cup samples. And as I travel up to his floor, I have a flashback to my standoff with Ruby. My confrontation with Joanne. Bolting down the stairwell, banging my head … I can’t believe any of it happened.
In just a few months, so much has changed. Ruby has gone. Joanne has gone. The whole setup feels different. There are staff here now who’ve never even heard of the joyfulness program. We’ve long since axed that. The aspirations mood board is still up on the staff portal, but it’s become a place for people to pitch ideas for evenings out to the social secretary. I reckon the more you label something “joyful,” the more you suck the joy out of it. Whereas the karaoke night we had last week truly was joyful.
Instead of the joyfulness program, we now have new rules about emails out of office. We have boundaries. We have realistic expectations of staff. The other day, I noticed our new assistant, Josh, looking beleaguered when I asked him to do something quite small, and I just knew he was feeling overwhelmed. At once I reassigned the task and scheduled a casual coffee meeting to talk about his workload, making sure to say how pleased we all were with his contribution and gently inquiring about what he found challenging. It turned out he was overthinking quite a lot and had completely misunderstood one hurried request thrown at him. No wonder he felt like the job was massive. After we’d ironed that out, we chatted about his hobbies; he told me about his passion for cycling and seemed a lot happier as he left.
I hope I’m watching out for my staff. I hope I am. And by watching out for them, I’m watching out for myself too. I have energy. And optimism. My flat isn’t immaculate, but it has a sense of order now, and I have a new yucca, which is flourishing. It’s amazing how much easier it is to look after a plant when you’re looking after yourself.
As I emerge onto Lev’s floor, his new assistant, Shireen, smiles at me and waves me straight in.
“OK,” Lev says from his customary position, which is cross-legged on his coffee table, as soon as I enter. “So I watched Traingang.”
Zoose is considering sponsoring a TV drama series about some characters who commute together, and last night I sent Lev the pilot episode to check out.
“Views?” I say cautiously, because I can tell something’s brewing.
“None of it makes sense!” he erupts. “The guy who suddenly got violent. Why? And the thing with the horse was just stupid. Now, if I were the screenwriter …”
I can see his eyes drift off in a way that I’ve come to recognize. Lev has a very fertile imagination and is constantly full of ideas for the strategic development of Zoose. Unfortunately, he’s also full of ideas about other things, like how newspapers have gone wrong, or what font the government should use in its official missives, or random bits of new code, which he sends to the team at 2 A.M. And now how to rewrite a TV series.
I can see where Asher gets his randomness from: It’s a family trait. Only Asher didn’t have the genius of Lev. Lev is the creative engine of Zoose, and he really is a genius, but he needs managing if you’re going to work closely with him. I’ve learned to rein him in and keep him on topic, whilst still keeping an ear out for the flashes of brilliance which keep us all employed.
“Lev, you’re not a screenwriter,” I say patiently. “You run a travel app.”
“I know,” he says almost regretfully, and I know that given half a chance he would now take the rest of the day off to go and write a pilot episode to his own liking.
“It gets better,” I say. “And it’s a great demographic for us.”
“Hmm.” Lev still looks moody. “I just object to crapness.”
“Try that new crime thing on Sky,” I suggest. “The one set in Amsterdam. I’ve seen a couple of episodes. It’s good.”
I watch box sets now. I can enjoy them and even talk about them. Sometimes for old times’ sake I get out Legally Blonde, but it’s more to smile at and say, Thanks for being there when I needed you.
Now I put the sample coffee cups on Lev’s desk and say, “Look at these when you have a moment. But I’m afraid I’ve got to shoot off. You know today’s—”
“Yes!” says Lev, coming out of his trance. “Of course I know! Red-letter day.” He looks at his watch. “In fact, what are you still doing here? You must go and catch your train! I’ll see you there.”
“You’re really coming?” I say incredulously.
“I’ve told you I’m coming!” says Lev, sounding a bit offended. “I wouldn’t miss this!” He pauses, then adds, “Will Finn be there?”
My stomach gives a painful churn. It’s been churning pretty much solidly ever since I woke up this morning and thought, It’s today.
But my smile stays steady. I’m good at keeping a steady smile.
“Yes,” I say. “Finn’ll be there.”
I haven’t seen Finn since that day I left Rilston Bay. We’ve talked a bit via text and email, and we’ve kept it friendly but very much focused on arrangements for today. So I know that he’s well and back at work. He’s even sleeping eight hours a night these days. But that’s all I know.
He hasn’t mentioned Olivia. And the trouble is, I’m not supposed to know about Olivia. So that’s been a gap in our communications. Both of us have studiously avoided the whole area of love, sex, dating—any of it.
I’ve stalked him online a bit, because I’m only human. But he doesn’t do social media, and Olivia has made her Instagram account private, and so there hasn’t been a lot to see. I’m only guessing that behind Olivia’s private Instagram gate, there’s been a joyful reunion. Because I did see a photo of Finn and Olivia on her sister’s Instagram page, arm in arm, smiling for the camera at some garden party. （I instantly closed it down.） And Finn has said he’s “bringing someone” today. “Bringing someone” were his exact words.