Daydreamer

Felix

I was daydreaming. And when you’re supposed to be managing millions of pounds worth of developments, daydreaming is not ideal. But that didn’t seem to matter to my wandering mind. It wasn’t even the kind of productive daydreaming Lucy often did. It was more along the lines of torturing myself and wishing I could rewind time: never letting Lucy out of my bed, never believing that total weasel, actually asking Lucy about herself, listening to her rather than lecturing her. The list was endless.

It didn’t help that, aside from Tabitha, two other associates had also come forward as victims of Will’s sexual harassment, which made TBea feel even more guilty. Having learned my lesson about not listening, I heard her out and was taught some hard lessons about my management style. Tabitha hadn’t felt that the environment in the office was one where she was comfortable disclosing inappropriate behaviour. Terms like boys’ club, systemic sexism and masculine environment were used. Great store was put on not whingeing and getting on with the job. Apparently Tabitha believed that unless you made yourself “a robot like Victoria” there wasn’t a hope in hell of progressing as a woman. And even then, even after Tabitha kept her head down and didn’t complain about Will, did a good job – she was still the one I asked to take Lucy shopping.

“But you’re an assistant,” I said, bewildered that this was an issue.

“An executive assistant who had compiled actual data needed for that meeting you made me miss, which was presented by John instead of me when he hadn’t put any of the work in. Would you have asked John to miss the meeting if it had been the other way around?”

Yes, I was definitely learning hard lessons. Everything in the office had to change. An entire culture shift. Less emphasis on being the pushiest, shouting the loudest, more on quiet competence and inclusion. So, in the end, Lucy was even right about that. It was better to be nice, even in business. God knows after the changes the office was brighter and more inviting, meetings were more productive, everyone in the firm was performing better.

It was ironic that I had hated and railed against my dad so much, but when it came down to it I still believed that in order to be successful I had to emulate him. There’s no way Dad would tolerate the new soft seating areas with colourful armchairs and sofas, the explosions of personal effects on people’s desks now, the baby in a sling at yesterday’s meeting, the office dog. But then my dad was a short-sighted arsehole, and if I didn’t want to remain one too, I had to change the way I did business.

Vicky approved all the changes. For her, the atmosphere in the office was less a conscious choice and more complete lack of awareness of how the culture and environment in a workplace could affect employee satisfaction and productivity. Nothing ever affected Vicky’s productivity. Well, that’s what I thought…

“You need to sort my sister out.”

I blinked and jerked my head round from staring out of the window daydreaming – because apparently, that’s what I did nowadays. Mike was standing in the doorway of my office looking furious with his arms crossed over his broad chest.

“Mike, I⁠—”

“She’s miserable and she’s stuck in her head, writing all the time. Won’t even come out to the pub with Emily. Barely comes out of the office she’s set up at Mum’s.” He stomped over to the chair opposite me and threw himself down in it. “She’s gone all weird. It sometimes happens when she’s deep in a story. She forgets to eat, won’t change her clothes, barely looks up from her computer screen. Her room is covered in maps she’s drawn and Post-its with character details or scene ideas on them.”

“It sounds like she’s gone down the rabbit hole of her next book,” I said. “I don’t think I can⁠—”

“She’s finished the book and has gone straight into another series. No break.”

“Mike, I can’t tell Lucy what to do. You know that. If anything, I need to respect her wishes more after everything that happened.”

“She’s yours,” Mike said simply, and my eyebrows went up.

“Lucy has made it very clear that she is not mine and never will be.” I took a deep breath, and my voice was quieter when I spoke again. “And Mike, I’m sorry, but I don’t blame her. I don’t even think she should forgive me. God knows, I can’t forgive myself. It’s not even just the way I threw her out; it’s everything, including me being a dismissive, self-absorbed arsehole, just like…” I trailed off and looked to the side, unable to speak past the lump that had formed in my throat.

“You’re not your dad,” Mike said, leaning forward in his chair and fixing me with his glare. “You never were anything like him. If that’s the bullshit you’re selling to yourself then you need to start paying attention. Lucy was angry and taken off guard when she implied that. She didn’t mean it. I know she didn’t. And anyway, it’s not like Lucy and Mum are completely blameless in this. You didn’t have all the information. They should have told you why Lucy was coming to London, why she wanted to work for you. It was unfair.”

I sighed. “Mike, she’s asked me to back off. I’m not going to force her to⁠—”

“You know about her hands, right?”

“Yes,” I said slowly.

“Well, she can get joint pain with the Raynaud’s too. She’s not supposed to be leaning over with her back hunched for long periods. And all of that’s gone out the window. And, of course, she’s not to get cold, and at the moment she’s working in the bloody outhouse. There’s damp in there. She’s in pain, man. Your woman is in pain, and you need to put a stop to it.”

“What?” I pushed back from the desk and stood in one sudden movement.

“Back pain and pain in her hands. None of us can convince her to move out of the outhouse, not even that bossy mare Emily.” Mike sighed. “My sister doesn’t process hurt and loss like most people. She goes into herself. You remember how she was when Dad died?”

Nobody had been able to find Lucy the day after Henry Mayweather died of pancreatic cancer. The whole village had turned out to search. I was home from boarding school for the holidays at the time. I’d known where to look. I’d run over to the cottage and into the back bedroom. There in the depths of the cupboard, behind all the coats and shoes was little seven-year-old Lucy. She was writing in her notebook and she didn’t look up when I crawled in after her. It was dark in there, but I could just about make out her face. Tears streaked down each pale cheek slightly as she wrote. It was the absolute silence of the crying that broke my heart the most.

“Hey, Luce,” I’d whispered. She didn’t look up. “Tell me a story?”

After a few more moments, she blinked and raised her head to look at me. The pain in her eyes caused my chest to squeeze hard. Then in her croaky little voice, hoarse from crying, she told me her story about a good king who had been cursed by an evil witch to make him fall asleep and not wake up. About how he had a daughter who fought her way to find the antidote that could save him. About how she managed to make her way back and give it to her father before it was too late; and how the kingdom rejoiced when the good king at last woke up again. When she’d finished, her tears had stopped; it was like they’d run themselves dry.

“Daddy won’t wake up, will he?” she whispered, and my throat burned as I shook my head. She threw herself into my arms then and I held her in a tight hug, telling her that it would all be okay, something she knew wasn’t true. After a little while, I picked her up and carried her out of the cupboard to Hetty and Mike. I watched as the three of them just fell into each other, collapsing in a group hug with their shared pain. I turned to walk away, but Hetty grabbed my hand and pulled me down with them. I was part of the Mayweather pain, part of their grief, and I felt it acutely. Henry Mayweather had been more of a father to me than my own.

“Listen, mate, you found her that day, remember?” Mikey asked, his tone uncharacteristically soft. I nodded but couldn’t bring myself to speak. “Well, you need to find her again, right? She’s not run away this time, but she’s gone all the same.”

I blinked. What if Mike was right? What if I could find her again? What if she did need me after all? What if I was exactly what she needed? She could daydream to her heart’s content. I’d be awake for both of us. I’d make sure all the real-world stuff got sorted.

“Felix, I was just going over the figures for the July reports, and I—” Vicky appeared in the doorway to my office, staring at Mike. She was wearing her pristine white suit, heels, perfect make-up, as always. It was a sharp contrast to Mike’s cargo pants, tight thermal and crumbled lumberjack shirt over the top. His beard had a few days growth and his hair was a good couple of weeks past needing a cut. Vicky froze and her mouth dropped open.

“Sorry, love,” Mike said, and Vicky blinked at the casual endearment. Nobody really ever had the balls to use endearments with Vicky. “But Felix and I are busy.”

Vicky just stood there staring at him. It was bloody awkward, and I wasn’t really in the mood to deal with it. Luckily, Lottie came in after Vicky and went straight to her, touching her wrist, which I knew was a signal they’d developed to snap Vicky out of herself when she became hyperfocused on something. It took longer than normal but eventually Vicky noticed Lottie’s hand and blinked before coming out of her staring-at-Mike trance.

“Vics,” Lottie muttered. “Let’s get you back to the office. Leave these guys to alpha it out together.”

“I’m sorry about your sister,” Vicky blurted out, her weirdly intense focus back on Mike.

“So you bloody well should be,” snapped Mike as he glared across at Vicky, who swayed back almost as if she were absorbing a physical blow. “My sister trusted you.”

“When it comes to people, I can have poor judgement.” She cleared her throat. To my surprise, Vicky actually sounded nervous. I don’t think I’d ever heard her nervous before. “I should have listened to Lottie. I should always listen to Lottie.”

Lottie smiled at Mike and gave him a small wave. “Hi, I’m Lottie, the all-knowing.”

“Listen, Mike and I—” I started.

“Can you let Luce know how sorry Vics is?” Lottie said to Mike, completely ignoring me. “We’ve been trying to contact her, but she’s not answering our calls and messages. We miss her. Is she coming back to London?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Mike and I spoke at the same time, then he looked at me and raised his eyebrows.

“Yes,” I repeated. “Lucy is coming back to London. She’s moving in with me and she’s staying.”

Lottie’s eyes went wide. “Oh, right. Well, that’s sorted then. Hopefully she’s back here for Taco Tuesday. It’s Vics’s turn and we’re making TBea come next week.”