‘I’m pretty confident, Coleson. This big idea of mine is pretty darn big.’
‘Just because I was your runner all those years ago, you think you’ve still got one up on me,’ he says, a note of bitterness creeping in. ‘I’m not Coleslaw any more.’
‘I never called you Coleslaw.’
‘You didn’t correct people though, did you?’ He spits out the words. ‘Now I’m going to take your job, your team and your office too. All that badger décor is getting covered in ferrets.’
‘Not if I wallpaper your office first,’ I say, riled by his aggressive tone.
‘Well, you can’t, because I don’t have an office,’ Coleson declares smugly. ‘Ferret Productions operates a hot desk system for all staff. Ha.’
‘Oh really? You like working like that? Isn’t that really annoying not being able to put your stuff anywhere?’
‘Yes, it is quite annoying. I have my chair set at a certain height and people will keep messing with the back support.’
‘I hate when people mess with the back support.’
We both pause, aware our rivalrous repartee has stalled somewhat.
‘So did you just call for a little verbal sparring, or is there anything else I can help you with, Coleson?’
‘Just the verbal sparring, thanks. Byesy bye.’
He hangs up and I shake my head in incomprehension. Coleson Matthews is my rival and work nemesis? Coleson Matthews who barely knew how to work the photocopier, made tea in the microwave and wasn’t even aware you could pause live TV. I frown at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, then Amy’s high-pitched whine slices through my ear canal, forcing me to rain check this meeting with myself and dart off to find her.
Amy, I’m learning, is not very good at entertaining herself. Sitting on the playroom floor, I use one hand to help her with a farmyard puzzle while using the other to scroll through emails, trying to piece together a puzzle of a different kind. Searching ‘Gary’ and ‘Kydz Network’， I find an email from a few weeks ago. There’s no text, just an attachment. When I click on it, I almost drop my phone as a lifelike, three-dimensional hologram of a man shines out of my handset. The unexpected brightness and incredible realism of the technology takes me by surprise, and I let out a gasp. Amy abandons her puzzle in favour of swiping her hand through the air, trying to grab hold of the hologram’s leg.
‘Morning, Coleson, Lucy,’ says the man, and a flashing ‘Gary Snyder – CEO’， illuminates on the floor beside him. ‘As you know, since incorporating both your companies into our wider Bamph family, we’ve been looking to streamline development budgets. Two teams competing for the same slots is, as I’m sure you can understand, not optimally efficient. I’ve spoken to you both independently, and neither of you were keen on a merger. So we’re going to go with Lucy’s suggestion of a good old-fashioned “pitch off”。’ My heart beats faster in my chest at the mention of my name. ‘Kydz Network needs a new show for their prime-time Saturday slot – it’s a high-value commission. You’ll both pitch directly to the channel and the team with the best idea will get to keep their department in intact. Best of luck to you both.’
The hologram vanishes. Below this email from Gary, there’s an exchange between Michael and me.
From: [email protected]
L
Do you really think this is the way to go? It’s a lot of people’s livelihoods to gamble on one idea. Kydz Network are re-staffing their commissioning team, we won’t know who we’re dealing with.
M
From: [email protected]
I don’t want to lose a single member of my team, and I won’t work with Coleson’s numpties. Don’t worry – I’ve got a big idea that’s perfect for this slot. Trust me. L
Trust me.
Great. So, Future Me has gambled the jobs of my entire team on some ‘amazing big idea’ that no one else knows about, least of all me. I’ll need to call Michael and break it to him that however screwed he thinks we are, we’re infinitely more screwed because there is no idea, big, small, or even medium-sized. As I’m mulling the unfortunate timing of all this, a small thought takes hold. Isn’t this what I asked for – to have my ideas heard, to be taken seriously? If Coleson Matthews can do this job, surely I can – memory or no memory. How hard can it be to come up with one great idea? These last few days, grief has knocked me into neutral. But now, with the prospect of doing something useful, something inside me notches into gear. I always loved a challenge.
Felix is in his room doing homework. I offer to help, but he says he’s not doing alien studies right now. Rude. He does ask what we’re having for tea though, and with Maria gone, I guess that’s now my responsibility. Ooh I could make my signature dish – risotto balls, everyone loves my risotto balls.
But cooking with a toddler in tow turns out to be significantly harder than regular cooking. I end up throwing one batch in the bin because I burnt them, then resort to letting Amy watch cartoons on my phone to get the second batch in the oven. By the time I’m done, it feels like I’ve used every pan in the kitchen, and both my and Amy’s patience have been thoroughly tested. Abandoning all the dishes in the sink, I take her into the hall to roll a ball back and forth, which delights her for all of two minutes before she decides she’d rather chew the ball.
‘You’re not in bed.’ Sam’s voice takes me by surprise, and I turn to see him standing in the hallway watching us, a huge smile on his face.
‘Yes. Sorry I’ve been so out of it,’ I say, getting to my feet.
‘It’s fine,’ he says, walking across the hall to pick up Amy, who gurgles in delight as he lifts her above his head. ‘Do what you need to do to get well.’
‘I’m not sure bed rest was helping. I think I should try and get back into my normal routine, if you could just tell me what that involves.’
‘Well, on a Saturday, we’d usually have friends over for a game of jetpack polo in the garden,’ Sam says, swinging Amy from side to side.
‘Really?’
‘No,’ he says, his expressive eyes flashing with mischief.
‘Okay, some ground rules, no jokes like that – not fair on the woman with amnesia,’ I say, pretending to frown. ‘Do we really have jetpacks though?’
‘No jetpacks. Sorry,’ he says, then puts Amy on the floor and walks across to pull me into a hug. ‘It’s great to see you up.’
He leans forward to kiss me, but he must feel me tense because he pauses then kisses me on the head instead. ‘Sorry. I keep forgetting I’m a stranger to you.’
I shake my head, feeling awkward. ‘It’s fine, sorry, it’s just—’
‘Don’t apologise,’ he says, covering the sting of rejection with an overblown smile.
‘I know this must be difficult for you too, and for the children,’ I say, then pause, pulling my hands behind my back, not sure where to put them. Seeing Sam again in daylight, I’m reminded how tall he is, what a presence he has, how perfectly his jeans fit, sitting at just the right level on his hips. ‘Can I ask, do you know anything about a pitch off, something happening at my work?’ I ask, drawing my eyes up from his hips.