Jill Steeples - It's Now Or Never

‘Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ll pick them up later.’ He sat down in his leather swivel chair and gave a little side-to-side jiggle. ‘So what was it you wanted to speak to me about then?’

‘Well…’

I wondered if I wasn’t about to make the biggest mistake of my life. Matt was much more than a boss to me. Over the years he’d been a mentor, a funny and supportive colleague, and always a friend.

Today he was wearing the Browns standard issue green polo shirt, the same one that all the employees wore, with brown khaki waterproof trousers and big black boots. It only occurred to me now that with his tall, broad build and his well-defined physique, out of all the workforce, Matt probably suited the company uniform best of all. To be honest, with my mid-brown hair (mousy to anyone being unkind) and pale skin (pasty, to the unkind lady over there) it had never really done me any favours.

In comparison, it did Matt many favours. I wondered for the first time if he hadn’t chosen the earthy colours of the corporate identity to complement the warm brown of his eyes and the chestnut hue of his unruly curly hair. His strong, defined forearms were a deep golden brown, testament to the number of hours he spent outdoors, where he could always be found lending a hand to any department where there might be a shortfall of labour that day. You rarely saw Matt suited and booted or sitting behind his desk, come to that. Which probably explained the mess…

‘The thing is, Matt…’ I faltered. Why was I suddenly distracted by the colour of his eyes? It wasn’t too late to change my mind, to come up with an excuse for why I needed to talk to him.

‘The thing is, Matt. I wanted to give you this.’ Boldly, I handed over the envelope with my letter of resignation inside. Too late for backing out now.

He looked askance, at me and then at the envelope.

‘What is it?’

‘I’m really sorry, but I’ve decided it’s time for me to move on. It’s my resignation,’ I added, in case he was in any doubt.

He fell silent, looking at the paper in his hands, his eyes scanning the words, before he looked across at me again.

‘What? Why? You can’t leave! I won’t allow it. You’re my right-hand man, Jen. A central player in the Browns team. Why would you want to leave?’

I squirmed in my seat, my hands clasped together tightly in my lap. That was a good question. It would have been so much easier if I could have told him that I had a brilliant new job to go to, or that I was going off to university to study something unfathomable or I was rushing off to marry my soulmate and we were going to sail around the world together, but I had no such excuses.

‘Well, you know when I joined Browns it was only ever intended to be a temporary summer job. That was nine years ago now.’

‘Yes, and look at you now, Jen! You’re part of the Browns family.’

What is it they say about the best laid plans? It was my first job after finishing my A-levels, a way to earn some extra cash before going off to university in the September, but when Mum fell ill everything changed. There was no way I was going to leave her and move three hundred miles to the other end of country. A gap year spent working at the garden centre and nursing Mum back to health would have been the perfect compromise, but it wasn’t as straightforward as that. Mum’s illness was long and drawn-out and when she died two years’ later my desire to go to uni died with her. In the long and dark days following her death, my job had been a lifeline; it gave me something to wake up for in the mornings, a comforting routine that brought an element of normality to my life. Matt had been instrumental in offering me that small sense of hope.

Since then I’d worked in every department there was; from serving in the restaurant, to working outside caring for the plants, to sourcing items for the gift store, which had become my permanent role over the last couple of years.

‘But if I don’t leave now, I might never leave. I might spend the rest of my life here, picking up my pension when I’m a very old lady.’

Matt grunted.

‘And would that be such a bad thing?’

I laughed. Obviously it wouldn’t seem that way to Matt. This was his life. He’d been brought up in the business, it was all he’d ever known. The success of the store today was down hugely to Matt’s hard work and commitment and he could be proud of that, but to me it was ultimately just a job.

‘I’m sorry, Matt. I promise you it’s nothing personal. It’s just something I feel I need to do right now.

‘Well, I can’t say I’m not saddened by this news. Is there nothing I can do to make you change your mind? If it’s a case of more money then you know that wouldn’t be a problem.’

‘No, it’s not about the money or even the job. I’ve loved working here, you know that, and I’ve made so many good friends. It’s just the right time for me to move on.’

‘What will you do?’

‘I’ve got lots of plans. I’ve been writing some articles for the gardening magazines. I’d like to devote more time to that if I can. I was also thinking about setting up my own blog, gardening hints and ideas for a new generation. Young single people or elderly people living alone, newly married couples, people who don’t have much outdoor space, but who still want to find a way to bring some greenery, a touch of the outdoors, into their lives.’

‘Sounds great.’

‘I’ve also been thinking about developing a range of savoury jams and chutneys. Similar to those we’re already selling in the food store, but maybe experimenting with some different variations.’

‘Really? I didn’t know you were a cook.’

‘I’m not. I might need to learn.’

Matt raised his eyebrows and smiled at me, as though he thought I might be mad. The same thought had actually occurred to me.

‘I’ll have to sign up to a temp agency to see me over for a few months while I settle on what to do, but I think it will be good for me. You have to remember, I’ve only ever worked here. I don’t know what’s it like to work for another company.’

‘Not as good as working for Browns, that’s for sure,’ said Matt, a rueful smile on his lips.

I wondered if that might be true; that I might never find such a friendly and interesting company to work for, but it was too late for those kind of worries now. I’d done it! After all the prevaricating, I’d finally handed my notice in and taken the first small step on my way to a brand new exciting chapter in my life.

Chapter Three

Ms Angela Peters

and

Mr Tom Sidney Cooper

request the pleasure of your company

at their marriage

on Saturday 19th April

at 1.30 pm

at Casterton Registry Office, Bucks

followed by lunch at Chez Michel

‘Jen, over here!’

I walked up the stone steps of the town hall – one arm held against my forehead blocking out the warm rays of the sun – just managing to make out the small huddle of people congregating outside the doors.

‘Look at you,’ I said, my gaze alighting on Angie when I reached the top of the steps. She was wearing a simple cream linen shift dress with a scalloped collar and hemline, and a matching pashmina wrapped around her shoulders. Her strawberry blonde hair was tied in a French plaint at the back of the head. ‘You look absolutely stunning,’ I whispered in her ear as she grabbed me for a hug. Beautiful, radiant and utterly feminine too. Almost unrecognisable from the Angie I knew and loved, who spent most of her time in cargo trousers, crop tops and Doc Martens.

‘Hi Tom, lovely to see you!’ I said, turning to the groom, trying to sound as though I meant it while the words ‘scumbag, grotbag’ played over in my head. ‘Congratulations!’