Worn Out Wife Seeks New Life Read online

  For a few moments afterwards, Tess sat at her desk. She glanced at her email – but there was nothing new. She looked through the list of tasks she’d set herself for the morning – all paperwork, nothing immediate. And, quite frankly, she couldn’t face any of it. Quite frankly, if her computer burst into flames right at this very moment, it would be a welcome distraction.

  ‘Seventeen years…’ she repeated to herself. How could it possibly have been so long?

  She felt an intense need to leave the office and get some fresh air.

  ‘I’ve got a quick errand to run, back soon,’ she told Katrina, as she whisked through reception, pulling on her raincoat because it was a cold, grey spring day out there.

  But once she was outside, she didn’t know where to go or what to do with herself. She just wanted to be alone with her torrent of thoughts, so she made for the car park, bleeped open the door of her sensible Volvo, got into the driver’s seat and burst into bitter tears.

  It wasn’t even jealousy. It wasn’t a feeling of ‘how dare you pick her, when I’d be so much better at this’. No, it was more complicated. Just like seeing that guy – Jason was his name – with his new girlfriend all those years ago. It was such deep disappointment with herself. It was understanding immediately that of course that girl with the long, tanned legs in a cream-coloured sweater dress was just right for him, and, of course, Jamila would make the perfect, dynamic new Leamington partner. And now Tess was again on the sidelines, so frustrated, disappointed, and so upset with no one but herself.

  And she asked herself the impossible question: why couldn’t she have been the kind of person they wanted?

  There was, of course, a packet of pocket tissues in her handbag, so head down, hoping no one would spot her out here in her car, she cried hard. She’d been crying a lot lately, to be honest. Since Natalie had gone back to her second term at university, the house felt too empty. The evenings were too quiet and there was this saggy lack of momentum to family life that made her feel bored and pointless and… just sad.

  And now this.

  From sadness to annoyance and back again – lately, she’d begun to wonder if sadness and annoyance were the only emotions she was going to have from now on.

  And look at the state of her face! She would have to lock herself into one of the toilet cubicles for some time to get the repair work done before the big, happy company announcement.

  Out of habit, she glanced at her phone, where eleven new messages flashed at her.

  Dave reminding her to bring home red wine and the sourdough bread he liked. He’d obviously completely forgotten about the partnership announcement being today.

  Her mother reporting on Dad’s doctor’s appointment:

  Doc not too worried but yr Dad will need dreaded tube up bottom, LOL Mum xx.

  She meant ‘loads of love’ but still…

  Natalie asking too nicely, with too many hug and heart emojis, if it would be okay to use the family Amazon account to buy a new duvet because she was freezing (snow cloud, snowflake, snowman emoji).

  The dry cleaners to say she could pick up her suit.

  The dentist reminding her that Dave had an appointment tomorrow, possibly because they’d given up reminding Dave.

  The vet to tell her Bella’s worming tablet was available.

  Four clients asking for one thing and another.

  And finally, in came a message from her colleague, Sophie:

  Yes, I’m early but I just wanted to be the first to congratulate you. You’re going to be an amazing partner and I’m so happy for you. Sx

  ‘I’m just so tired…’ Tess said out loud to her phone, her steering wheel and her pocket hankies.

  Remember way back, Tess, when you enjoyed wearing a bikini? Had hair halfway down your back? When you had fun, and sex, and big ideas… and a spirit of adventure?

  ‘Oh… what am I going to do?’

  2

  Lavelle’s on LaJolita in downtown Los Angeles was the current place for evening cocktails, mocktails, smoothies and espressos. Its artisan drinks and plant-packed patio were instant Insta. So River Romero, waiting for the producer who had just agreed to hire her for a lucrative rewrite to show up, decided that for the next string of Thursday evenings, she would spend a couple of hours here to see who she could casually bump into. Like just about every other writer in this town, she could be busier. She was on the lookout for a big project, the lucky commission, or that executive with sway who could make all the difference.

  And she was tired of trying to get meetings with these, quite frankly, a-holes. Fed up of getting dressed up, driving across town and waiting in over-styled lounges only to be told by some infant with an earpiece, ‘I’m soooo sorry, something urgent has come up for Mr Asshat, and he’ll have to rearrange.’ Or – even worse – actually getting the meeting, only to hear her carefully crafted pitches crash and burn as a committee of dummies failed to grasp even the very basic concept of what she was pitching.

  River, who would admit only to being ‘in her thirties’, was becoming aware of an increasingly disheartening situation. Just as she was stepping into her writing prime, just as she had finally figured out what she was doing and how to do it, she was surrounded on all fronts by newbies and dimwits who wouldn’t know a great idea or a quality piece of writing if their lives depended on it. And this being LA, almost everyone’s lives depended on great ideas and quality writing.

  Never mind, she told herself, as she was shown to her table where she ordered a coconut and lavender cooler, hoping it wouldn’t be too weird. She did not want to get snarly and bitter, like many a mature writer. Good things happen to good writers all the time, she reminded herself. Her last commission had been a challenge, but she had thrown everything at it, determined to take the opportunity to create quality and worthwhile work. But truth be told, both she and her bank account could do with something meaty, substantial… something big. Something that would make all this hustling and scrabbling worthwhile.

  ‘Well, hello there, Phillip Renfield. And how are you doing?’ she gushed, delighted to see that a major producer she’d been trying to snag a meeting with for weeks was passing right by her chair. ‘I’m River Romero, just to jog your memory in case you’ve sunk a couple of their pearl martinis.’

  ‘The writer,’ she added, as his gaze fell on her without any sign of recognition, ‘We worked together on Spangled.’

  This seemed to work.

  ‘Oh yeah, of course, hello, River. How are you doing?’

  ‘I’m great. But… hey, if you’re on your way to the rest room, don’t let me stop you. I can catch up with you on the way back.’

  He smiled and seemed to like this.

  ‘Nah… on my way out. Are you here on your own?’

  ‘I’m waiting for Steve Kay,’ she dropped the well-known producer name, ‘and as usual, I’m too early.’

  ‘Steve Kay?’ Phillip’s interest was pricked, ‘Cool. Care for some company while you wait?’

  ‘I’d be honoured.’ She waved at the empty chair opposite hers. This guy had been impossible to get a meeting with, she had called his executive assistance at least ten times in the past four weeks, and now here he was, offering to sit down and shoot the breeze. She was definitely going to hang out in this place regularly.

  Phillip Renfield was an important producer. He was in his late forties now but expensively preserved – fit, tanned, nice haircut, maybe a touch of Botox to the frown lines, and an expensive linen jacket. He took the seat and rested his folded hands on the table.

  ‘How’s it going?’ she asked first, ‘Your name is all over the trades. You’re a very busy guy.’ Her smile was warm and she amped up the charm.

  ‘Yeah, I’m having a good run,’ he replied, ‘there’s lots of things happening. I’ve just wrapped one production and starting a new one next week with great names attached… so, all good, all exciting. How about you?’

  ‘I’m meeting Steve tonight to sign up with
him for a nice rewrite, but I have a slate full of projects looking for good homes, so I’m hustling as always.’ River followed this with a smile she hoped projected positivity and excitement.

  Just to be clear, she certainly didn’t want a date, she wanted a chance to pitch to Phillip, but she knew pitching required patience. Most likely, she wouldn’t even pitch to him this evening.

  ‘So what’s the script rewrite?’ Phillip asked, waving over a waitress and ordering a pineapple and passion fruit smoothie for himself. ‘And for you?’

  ‘I’m fine with my cooler here, thanks.’ When the waitress was gone, River answered his first question, ‘Well, I can’t say too much, it’s still under wraps. I can say it’s for the high school/young adult market and we all know how important that audience is.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ Phillip agreed with a smile, ‘I’ve got dragged into making a teen movie that’s supposed to be “High School Musical meets Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice”.’

  River couldn’t suppress her burst of laughter at this, then immediately worried that she’d blown their friendly chat, but Phillip shrugged, smiled and said, ‘I know, right.’

  They exchanged a look and she remembered how much fun he had been to work with on the movie that was, so far, the biggest hit of her career, but the start of Phillip’s very successful career.

  ‘Well… it sounds interesting and pretty different,’ she told him.

  ‘So before I got involved, the script that got turned in – no names – was a dog,’ he confided. ‘And now I need to make sure it gets a serious do-over. I mean, a musical for kids based on a Shakespeare play. Gimme a break. It is going to be hard. But we’re going to get some kids fresh out of film school involved and hopefully they’ll funk it up and turn it around.’

  ‘Hmmm…’ River didn’t like to say what she really thought about this idea. Letting some inexperienced juniors loose on a script that was already bad would almost certainly produce something that was even worse. But she didn’t want to rain on Phillip’s parade this evening, instead she wanted to smoothly pave the way for her to call him up in a day or two, and pitch him a handful of her new ideas.

  So they spent a few enjoyable minutes swapping industry gossip and reminiscing about the best days of working together on Spangled. Then Phillip glanced at his phone and said he’d love to stay longer, but he had another event lined up tonight. River, in turn, said she better find out what was keeping Steve Kay.

  ‘This has been fun,’ Phillip told her as he stood up. ‘Call me, run me through your slate and let’s see if there’s anything I like.’

  ‘That would be amazing. I will. And thank you!’ River enthused, ‘Have a great evening.’

  ‘You too.’

  And so he headed off into the night for a fresh round of producer schmoozing, while River picked up her phone and was dismayed to see a WhatsApp from Steve, especially as the first words were ‘Sorry River…’

  Sorry River, she said under her breath, what the fresh freak is this?

  She opened the message and read:

  Sorry River. It’s a bust. The budget’s been pulled for this project. It’s not happening. So no point us meeting tonight to discuss. I’ll be in touch about something else soon.

  What the actual…?

  Unless technology had caused a delay, the guy had sent this message two minutes ago – exactly twelve minutes after he was supposed to be sitting right here in this bar with her.

  She was angry, of course. No, make that she was freaking furious. But she was also so disappointed. This was a harsh business, always fraught with last-minute changes and disappointments. But she’d thought that by now she’d earned the right to something more professional than a lousy blow-out WhatsApp twelve minutes into a meeting that was supposed to celebrate the sign up.

  That was supposed to have been a good job with a decent paycheck attached. And now she was left staring at a message that it was a bust. She was so angry and insulted she didn’t dare to reply. She was frightened of how much bridge-burning abuse she could hurl in under thirty words.

  The truth was, her bank account was running low, lower than it had been for years. The warning lights were starting to flash. She’d long ago sold her swanky apartment, bought on the Spangled success money. Now she was facing the real worry that she might never be able to move out of the much cheaper place she’d bought with a generous helping hand from her brother. She needed something to work out soon.

  And now the waitress was hovering at River’s elbow with the check. And jeezus… that’s how much they charged for mocktails in here? What in the world did a drink with actual alcohol in it cost? And yes, Phillip had, of course, left her to pick up the bill. That was the price of being the pitcher in this town.

  River opened her purse and made the painful payment by card. She needed new work. She needed to land something exciting, packed with potential and big. She needed the last few years of scraping about doing script polishes and rewrites, even comedy sketches, to all finally come good.

  3

  ‘I thought you handled it so professionally, Tess, very well done. Your off-the-cuff speech about Jamila was gracious and generous.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Tess replied, ‘and thank you for coming to me and talking it through beforehand, John, that made everything easier.’

  The dust had settled on the partnership announcement, made two days ago now. Tess was beginning to feel that although she wasn’t over it, she could sort of handle it. A sparkling-wine-soaked evening out with Sophie had helped and so too, had the three-course commiseration dinner with all her favourite food that Dave had made for her when she’d told him all about it: ‘I know you can’t be sad if you’re eating spaghetti alle vongole.’ And he was sort of right. But then he’d ruined it by saying: ‘You don’t want to be a partner anyway. All the ones I’ve met through your work are complete tossers.’ When the truth was that she did want to progress up the ranks but in a different kind of way.

  And now she was making the call to John Lloyd that he had suggested. All the upset and soul-searching prompted by not getting the promotion had finally given Tess an idea and now that she was about to discuss it with John, she hoped her nerve wouldn’t let her down.

  ‘So,’ he continued, ‘I said I would listen to you and now’s your chance. Is there anything you’d like to discuss? Any opportunities you’d like to take? Anything you want to raise? You’ve been here for a long time. You have so much insight.’

  There was only one thing on her mind, but it was not the kind of ambitious, eyes-on-the-prize suggestion that ‘call-me-John’ would be expecting.

  Her glance fell on the collection of magazines that was stacking up on the shelf beside her neat desk. She wanted to go to the other side of the world for the first time ever. She wanted to be somewhere completely different; feel sugary white sand between her toes as she gazed out over turquoise water. She wanted to see rainbow-coloured fish dart past her legs as she walked into the sea. She wanted to stand in front of mysterious and ancient temples, and join the hustle of those frantic cities she’d only ever seen on TV. She wanted to go on a family adventure with Dave, Alex and Natalie.

  She wanted to feel properly free and unburdened of the day to day. Above all, she needed some serious time off work to do this. Not just the annual two, at best three, week trip that would leave her jet-lagged and exhausted. No, this was going to be a proper summer holiday, like the seven week long hiatus that Dave, a school art teacher, was able to take every year.

  This was her big chance to ask because John would want to do her a favour after the disappointment of the partnership. But she had to frame it right, not try to explain to her CEO that she wanted to reconnect with her children once again, because there had been a time, not so long ago really, when she had known every tiny little detail about their lives, but now she was lucky to speak to them for thirty minutes once a week. The CEO also wouldn’t want to hear that she needed to spend time with Dave when
they weren’t just talking about doing the groceries, or what was for supper. Or were the kids okay? And when were the gutters last cleaned out? And did the car tax need to be renewed? And why leave the empty cracker box on the shelf when there were no crackers left? And all those other necessary, but utterly mundane, details of long-time-married life.

  Above all, she needed a change. Family life, which had sustained and surrounded her for twenty-two years, had come to an abrupt end. It was only a short time ago that she and Dave had first dropped Natalie off at university, when Tess had managed to smile bravely through the goodbyes, but then cried almost all of the 322 miles home. The day-to-day rush and busy-ness of running a family; the natural trajectory propelling you all forward through the school years – making the team, getting the grades, choosing your subjects, passing your exams, new friends, birthday parties, planning the school holidays, buying uniforms and party dresses, agonising over uni choices… it was all over.

  More than anything, Tess longed for time away, to be somewhere brand new so she could come to terms with it; make some kind of sense, some kind of plan for this new chapter, this whole new era of life that seemed to have arrived far too soon.

  And an idea had come to her in the aftermath of the Jamila partnership shock. So now she summoned her confidence and her scattered knowledge of current business speak and began. ‘You know, John, I do have an idea, but it’s a little left-of-field.’

  ‘I’m all ears, Tess. I love left-of-field. Fire away.’

  ‘I’m a midlifer, John. I know that fifty-three per cent of employees at the company are my age and older – that’s a lot of people – and we’re at risk of getting set in our ways. We can be change averse, technophobic and reluctant to embrace the new. We can lose our enthusiasm for making progress and improvements at work. Lose our drive. So… I’d like to suggest taking a sabbatical over the summer – unpaid is fine – because I want to take a proper block of time away from the office to travel. I want to explore ideas around how to stay enthusiastic about work, no matter what your age; how to remain open to new ideas; how to embrace tech when you’re over forty-five. And obviously, I’ll share my learning with the whole company when I get back. I hope I can help to inspire the company’s more… well… senior members.’