Louise Leverett - Love, and Other Things to Live For

‘Sit down,’ Sean said. ‘I’ll dish out the egg fried rice.’

Amber sat down at the table, the sleeves of her dressing gown covering her hands as she held her phone tightly.

‘It’s been a couple of weeks and we’ve been back and forth and now I just don’t know what to do,’ she said, looking to us for answers.

That was always what happened with Amber. She would tell you eventually – it just had to be on her terms.

‘About what?’ I said, leaning forwards in my chair.

‘Well, a couple of weeks ago, I was working on this new proposal for promotion. I’ve been developing a new business growth plan, completely in my own time, in the hope that one day my boss might look at it and see me in a more, I don’t know, competent light. I’d shown it to Marlowe and it was good.’

‘Really good,’ Marlowe said, now seated with us at the table.

‘Okay…’ Sean said, knowing there had to be more to the story.

‘Well, there is a woman at work, Linda. She’s senior to me and literally questions everything I do. I can’t win. But if I got the promotion I wouldn’t need to answer to her. I would just be working directly under my boss.’

‘Amber, just get the point, what happened?’ I said.

‘I mean, this promotion would be an extra £7,000 a year and it would mean that my voice actually gets heard rather than working every hour God sends on someone else’s ideas.’

‘Yeah, but what actually happened, Amber?’ Sean said.

‘I was called into my boss’ office about two weeks ago and asked what progress I was making in this quarter. I discussed my development and what I hoped to achieve. He said I was ambitious and liked to see that in an employee. He made a joke or two. I laughed. And then he talked about how we should discuss my ideas further. He got up and put his hand on the back of my chair. The other hand went on my knee. I didn’t move.’

We all sat staring at her phone, which was now in the middle of the table like a piece of evidence in a crime scene.

‘I know I shouldn’t have but I kept thinking about my position and how I didn’t want to offend him. So instead I just nodded. I could feel his eyes follow me as I left the office.’

‘But isn’t that sexual harassment?’ Sean said.

‘Not exactly,’ Marlowe said.

‘Two days later he called me into his office again and told me he was giving me the job of project manager at the new e-commerce merger.’

‘What, just like that?’ I said, in cautious belief.

‘Yeah. Just like that,’ she continued, ‘but when I got to work on Wednesday he said that the position would mean that we should spend more time together and he invited me to lunch.’

‘Just the two of you?’ Sean asked.

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘Is he married?’

Amber sat in silence.

‘Just be careful…’ Marlowe said, answering for her.

‘It’s a work thing,’ Amber replied, dismissively.

‘Is he married?’ I repeated.

‘Yes.’ Amber looked at me with wide eyes. ‘So we went to lunch and to be honest it felt great: I was being heard, he was flirting and so what if I flirted back, it was totally harmless. But late this afternoon he called me into his office again.’

‘Smooth.’ Sean laughed.

‘Go on…’ I said.

‘He told me how much he valued and appreciated me, now that he’d got to know me better and how he had come to rely on my opinion. And then he tried to kiss me.’

‘What did you do?’ I asked.

‘I didn’t pull away.’

‘Amber, he’s married!’ I cried.

‘I know! But I was scared, he’s my boss and now I’m stuck in it. And I don’t know what to do.’

At that point her phone pinged.

‘You’ve got to keep him sweet,’ Sean advised. ‘Don’t piss him off. You don’t know what he might do…’

‘But don’t have sex with him either!’ I shouted.

‘It’s a tricky one,’ Sean said as he leaned over to look at the phone. ‘He’s typing…’

‘What about my business proposal? I’ve worked for weeks on it and it’s really good. I don’t want to lose the opportunity.’

‘Babes, I don’t think he cares about your business proposal,’ Sean said, drily. ‘He’s still typing.’

‘Can we just change the subject?’ she said, pulling her phone off the table.

After dinner, I stood in the kitchen by myself, clearing away the forks that we’d used to eat from the cartons.

‘The upside of eating takeaway…’ Amber said as she walked back into the kitchen. ‘No washing up!’

Marlowe had left early to relieve the babysitter and Sean needed to be up early for a gym session. We were alone: just the two of us.

‘You can’t have an affair with your boss, Amber. He’s married. What about his wife? Did you even think about her?’

‘Hold your horses,’ she said, defensively. ‘I don’t know that I am.’

‘What if you piss him off? If he rewards you with a promotion, how does he punish you? It’s your job. Seriously, take it from me, life without an actual career, at our age, well, it’s not ideal…’

‘I think you’re overreacting.’

‘I’m not,’ I said. ‘I know how hard you’ve worked to get here.’

I switched off the lights throughout the flat and went to bed, leaving Amber still texting at the kitchen table.

‘Amber,’ I said quietly. ‘Trust me, it’s not worth the heartache.’

I’d passed the piece of paper that was sellotaped in the window numerous times and wondered what loser would want to work in an off-road Italian restaurant. As it turned out, that loser was now me. After the equivalent of a car boot sale for the heart, I felt unshakeable and remembered the advert in the window, sandwiched between a children’s clothes shop and a pharmacist.

I found myself in front of a small stone building that had been transported from the Italian coast. Terracotta pots hung from the windows and a small layer of condensation gave the windows a slightly blurred feel. I made my way through the door and could immediately smell homemade soup and strong coffee. Through the customers that were gathered around the counter, I saw a large man with a tidy, jet-black beard and, assuming he was the manager, made my way over.

‘I saw the advert in the window and was wondering if I could apply for the position?’

‘Which position? Chef or waitress?’ he replied.

‘Waitress,’ I said quickly, slightly thrown at the prospect of being hired as a chef.

‘Maria, can you bring in the large case of tiramisu?’ he called towards the back of the room.

I noticed his dismissive attitude and tried to hold his attention. ‘I can bring in a CV if you’d like,’ I continued. ‘I live just around the corner…’

‘Not necessary,’ he cut me off. ‘Can you come back at midday to help with the lunchtime rush?’

‘Of course,’ I said.

‘Ask for Guido.’

‘Who’s Guido?’

‘Me,’ he said.

I left hastily before he had time to reconsider and returned two hours later, after a quick sandwich and dressed in a white blouse and black trousers. I’d tied my hair into a high ponytail and put on some lipstick so that I felt a little perkier.

‘Hi, Jess,’ Maria, the woman I’d heard on my earlier visit, shouted from the back of the restaurant. ‘I’m Guido’s wife.’ She led me through the door reserved for staff. ‘Next time,’ she said, ‘you must enter from the side door on the left. The main door is for customers only. I don’t mind but Guido doesn’t like it.’ She held out her small delicate hand for me to hold. ‘Follow me, the steps are steep.’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know,’ I said, as I looked back at the daylight disappearing as we descended the stairs.