Daisy James - The Runaway Bridesmaid

An uneasy laugh spluttered down the phone line.

‘Hello, Rosie. We were just wanting to confirm that you are over in the UK to attend your aunt’s funeral and checking on your return date. Let me just say that I’m in the boardroom on speaker phone. I have CEO George Harlow with me, as well as Lauren, Toby and Brad Carlington.’

‘Perfect!’ Clearly Giles had gathered a group of colleagues around him, believing that she would never take him to task for his abhorrent behaviour in front of them. He was right, of course. But that was before he’d cheated on her with her sister. In fact, she felt even more inclined to speak her mind in front of an audience to ensure she did not retract what she was about to do. Lauren already knew what he had done of course, but only via a text, she didn’t have the details.

‘Rosie, I know how you must be feeling, how close you were to your aunt…’

‘Giles, I resign.’ Wow, how liberating it was to say those words. The concrete block that had taken up residence in her chest since the afternoon of the wedding shifted a little. ‘Yes, I resign.’

‘Ah, come on, Rosie. I know you may be a little put out about the… well, the situation we find ourselves in, but you don’t have to resign ! We value your involvement at Harlow Fenton…’

‘Actually, I do. I do have to resign. With immediate effect.’

‘Well, I’ll need to check your contractual obligations with HR. I may be wrong, but I believe you are required to give the firm six months’ notice of your wish to terminate your employment.’ Rosie could hear the officious tone that had crept into his voice. Why hadn’t she noticed his tendency to petulance before?

‘Really, Giles? Is that so? I have a contractual obligation? Is that the same as an obligation owed by a boyfriend to his girlfriend not to cheat on her with her sister ?’ She realised too late that instead of taking the moral high ground as she had intended, her voice had escalated an octave to shriek mode in place of the dulcet, sarcastic tone she was aiming for.

‘Ha, ha, Rosie. I do love your sense of humour. Maybe what we have here is a case of mistaken identity…’ She could almost hear the beads of perspiration bulge from his salon-steamed pores.

‘No, Giles. I’d recognised those pallid buttocks anywhere, even when they are concealed in the linen closet of the most expensive hotel Stonington Beach has to offer its residents. I’m resigning so that I don’t have to set eyes on your bouffant, lacquered locks, your plucked and tinted eyebrows and chemically enhanced lips ever again.’

‘Come on, Rosie. Don’t make this personal. There are great prospects for you at Harlow Fenton. I thought you dreamed of being VP one day?’

‘I doubt that will happen, Giles, whilst you continue to steal the credit for every high-profile deal you can get away with. It’s only because of our “involvement” that I’ve let that particular treachery slide, against my better judgement.’

‘Now, Rosie, I must protest…’

‘You want details? I can give you details.’

‘There’s no need. Perhaps we can discuss this in a civilised and professional manner when you return to the US and your senses. Clearly your aunt’s death had affected your behaviour more than we anticipated. It’s understandable. But this is your career we are talking about here…’

‘I resign, Giles. I’d rather get a job scrubbing toilets than continue to work under your management.’

To her amazement she heard a smattering of applause in the background and knew it was either Lauren, or more likely Toby, who had been unable to resist the urge to celebrate her moment of revenge, or was it madness? Had she really thought this through? What on earth was she going to do without an income? Wasn’t Manhattan the most expensive city in the world to rent an apartment? And how could she throw away everything she had been working towards since she left college? All those late night scrambles to close an investment deal to make their wealthy clients more money than they could spend in one lifetime? Was that all for nothing?

A curl of self-doubt tickled at her abdomen as a crystal clear image of her mother’s gentle face floated into her mind, swiftly chased by a rendition of her father’s mantra which he had repeated often since they had laid her mother to rest. ‘ Pursue your dreams as hard as you can, but don’t forget to pause and smell the flowers you were named after! ’

She returned her cell phone to her bag but knew she would be retrieving it again shortly to take Lauren’s flabbergasted call. She was amazed to find the crushing weight that had taken up residence in her chest since the wedding had not just shifted, but melted away.

As she set the ancient kettle to boil and searched for a packet of the loose tea her Aunt Bernice favoured, she contemplated her now-former workplace. She envisaged the stony faces of Giles and the other two senior VPs at the boardroom table in that temple of insatiable greed which preached any problem could be solved by throwing enough money at it, so why not take the risk? She knew that those who shied away from the excessive risk-taking were destined to wallow in the lower echelons of the company hierarchy and became mindless paper-shifters, indoctrinated in the culture that screamed money was king and its accumulation the only goal worth pursuing.

Young associates at Harlow Fenton existed on frequent injections of caffeine which disguised the lack of restorative sleep and the ever-tightening tentacles of the stress they all constantly fought against. They were obliged to accept these tortuous conditions as a rite of passage; they, like their predecessors, had to pay their dues. There was no slackening of expectations even when those who had endured the gruelling journey had reached the top and were in a position to make changes. More was always better in the corporate culture of excess – more hours, more money, more clients, more deals, which often translated into more booze, more food, more sex, more emotional crutches.

Chained to their computer monitors, blinkered to the outside world in their corporate cocoons, where nothing worth knowing happened anyway, their only companions were stale, stained coffee cups and gut-wrenching fear. Every waking hour was spent nose-to-screen until they succumbed to their chosen poison or expired. Then they’d be wheeled out, without a word of thanks, and a fresh-faced business school graduate would be slotted seamlessly into the vacated booth to continue the relentless cycle, their naivety exposed when they swore they could tame the corporate tigers lurking in the financial jungle.

Her only regret was that her resignation had left Lauren alone to continue the fight against the ‘male, pale and stale’ culture that was so prevalent on the Harlow Fenton board. In order to survive an executive needed to focus firmly on their intended escape route for when the pressure became unsustainable, and Rosie knew Lauren’s was motherhood. Lauren and Brett had been trying for a child for well over a year now, the failure of which, in itself, piled on more pressure. The couple were engaged in a constant, low-key battle about the excessive hours Lauren spent under the cosh of Harlow Fenton. Brett had now expanded his arguments to include the submission that the constant stress and anxiety of the continual deadlines were playing a significant role in their inability to conceive and the reason they had to resort to expensive IVF. They had their first round of treatment scheduled for the end of the week and, with another painful jolt to her stomach, Rosie realised she wouldn’t be around to support Lauren. What a truly useless friend she’d turned out to be.

Now that she had tossed away everything she had worked towards since she left college nearly ten years ago, all she had to figure out was what she was going to do with the rest of her life when she returned to New York after her aunt’s funeral. She knew finding a soul mate was a non-starter – she had no intention of subjecting herself to that minefield again. Every foray she’d made into the field had blown up in her face. There were only so many hints that she was not ‘girlfriend material’ that she could ignore. Whatever her character flaws were, she harboured no masochistic tendencies.