Three’s a Crowd (39 page)

‘No,' she said flatly. ‘That's not an option. You cannot work seven days a week, Scott, we'll have no family life. It's not acceptable.'

‘We might not have a choice.'

‘There's always a choice.' She took a breath. ‘I could go out to work.'

‘No!'

‘But if things are that bad, it's a better alternative than you working seven days,' she insisted.

‘But I don't want you to have to go to work while the kids are young.'

She glared at him. ‘How very 1950s of you, Scott. So you'd rather I'm alone in the house with the kids, seven days a week, scrubbing floors –'

‘No,' he said, raising his voice. ‘For Chrissakes, Lexie, I wish you didn't have to do any of that.'

‘Scott, you have to stop treating me like I'm some fragile china doll.'

‘I know you're not fragile, I was in the room when you gave birth, remember?' He gazed at her across the table. ‘You're the strongest person I know, Lexie.'

She stared at him. ‘Me? You think I'm strong?'

He nodded. ‘You grew up with everything, and you gave it
all up to be with me. You moved into this little house, we had no money, you patched things together and painted and put up with crap, and you never complained. You're always so happy. And I know that all you want to be is a mum, it's more important to you than anything. I can't give you a big house, Lexie, and trips overseas, but if I work hard I can at least give you that, the chance to live your life the way you want to.'

Lexie's heart felt so full she thought it might burst.

‘Oh, Scott,' she said, getting up and coming around the table to him. She held his face in her hands, looking into his eyes. She was barely taller than him even though he was sitting down. ‘You're wrong, you know, or at least partly wrong,' she said, lacing her fingers through his hair. ‘Being a mum isn't more important to me than anything – you and the kids are what's most important to me. Don't you know that?' She leaned in to kiss him, and he drew his arms around her, holding her close.

She slipped down onto his lap. ‘We have to find a way through this together, honey,' she went on. ‘So no more heroics. I'm your partner, you have to share it all with me, the good and the bad.'

‘I was only trying to protect you,' he said.

‘I know that, and I love you for it, but I'm not a child, Scott.' She brushed her lips against his. ‘And I want to help, I want to get involved in the café,' she said, breathily. ‘Isn't there some way?'

She planted a trail of little kisses all the way down to his neck as she felt for the buttons of his shirt, slowly undoing them. Scott released a moan, suddenly taking her face in his hands and kissing her urgently.

‘There's dessert,' Lexie murmured against his lips.

‘Later.'

‘Rachel,' said Lloyd, standing directly behind her, so close that the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

She swivelled her chair around, pushing it away from him at the same time.

‘My office,' he said, his tone grave, before turning on his heel and striding away.

Rachel groaned. He was such a drama queen, so full of his own importance, even though he wasn't. Important. She stood up and traipsed after him, past the rows of cubicles. When she got to his office she walked straight in and stood inside the door. He was already at his desk, pretending to be completely engrossed in something on the computer screen. He made a few clicks on the mouse and then turned to look at her.

‘Take a seat.'

Jeez, how long was this going to take? Rachel sat down heavily, crossing her legs.

He rested his elbows on the desk in front of him, lacing his fingers together. ‘As part of my constant and ongoing commitment to improving efficiency at Handy Home Health Care, I have lately undertaken random performance reviews . . .'

And been studying self-help management manuals, obviously.

‘To cut to the chase, quite frankly, Rachel, your performance leaves much to be desired. Since the implementation of the new invoicing procedure, your rate of errors has not decreased in line with the rest of the staff. Your turnover is tardy, your statistics and record-keeping are patchy at best, and your phone manner is often . . . disinterested, to say the least. And while I do not wish to be a tyrant about these things, you have been taking too many personal calls. In summary, your performance is well below the standard we strive for at Handy Home Health Care.'

Rachel paused for a moment, taking all that in. ‘You're right,' she said finally.

‘Pardon?' he blinked. He was probably not prepared for total acquiescence.

‘You're absolutely right, Lloyd,' said Rachel. ‘I haven't been doing my job to the best of my abilities, and you know why I think that is?'

‘Why?'

‘Because I just don't like it. I don't like the work, I don't like the place, I don't really like many of the people. So I think it's time for me to move on.'

‘I beg your pardon?' Lloyd was blinking furiously now.

‘I quit.'

‘You can't just quit.'

‘Yeah, I can. I can just quit.' Why hadn't she thought of this before? She could already feel the proverbial weight lifting.

‘But you are required to give notice,' he said pompously.

‘Of course. No problem. Two weeks, isn't it?'

Lloyd was scowling at her from across the desk. ‘On second thoughts, that won't be necessary,' he said. ‘If you don't want to be here, far be it from me to keep you. In fact,' he said, getting to his feet, ‘I would like you to leave immediately. I will personally escort you to your desk, you can have five minutes to clear it out and vacate the building.'

Rachel frowned at him. ‘What, are you worried I'm going to steal sensitive client information –'

‘No further discussion will be entered into. Please proceed to your desk, Ms Halliday.'

‘Lloyd, are you trying to pull a swiftie and fire me instead so you don't have to let me serve my notice?'

‘Incorrect,' he replied crisply. ‘I always adhere to the rules and regulations as set out with the utmost stringency. You will receive the appropriate remuneration, but your services are no longer required in the office. Your continuing presence here will only be bad for morale.'

Rachel walked out of the building ten minutes later. She felt free, unencumbered. She wasn't even carrying the infamous cardboard box under her arm, like a character in a movie. When she went to clear out her desk she realised there was nothing there to take. She wasn't going to steal the stationery, she couldn't anyway with Lloyd breathing down her neck. She had no photos, no personal knickknacks; there was a packet of Tic Tacs, a tube of hand cream that she never used, and a magazine in the top drawer, all of which fitted quite easily into her handbag.

So what now? It was after eleven, maybe she could go into the city and meet Tom for lunch? She thought about surprising him, but if he wasn't available she didn't want to schlep all the way into the city for nothing. And it's not as though she could just walk straight up into his office, she'd have to call him from outside the
building, so it wouldn't be much of a surprise anyway. She took out her phone and dialled his mobile.

‘Tom Macklin.'

‘Hi, it's me.'

‘Oh, sorry, honey, I didn't look at the screen. Hey, how are you?'

‘Unemployed.'

‘What?'

‘I quit my job.'

‘Really?'

‘Yeah, really.' And the reality was just hitting her.

‘Are you okay?' asked Tom. ‘What happened?'

‘Picture me as a camel and Lloyd piling on the final straw.'

‘Where are you now, you sound like you're out on the street?'

‘I am,' she confirmed. ‘He was kind enough to escort me from the building.'

‘Rach, did you quit or were you fired?'

‘No, I quit, but Lloyd took it to heart.'

‘He has to let you serve out your notice.'

‘I know that,' said Rachel. ‘It's all covered, he just doesn't want me in the office, bad for morale. I don't know how morale in there could get much worse, mind you.'

‘Are you sure you're okay?' he asked.

‘Yeah, I'm fine,' she assured him. ‘It's time, I've been wasting away there.'

‘You've been wasted there, I know that much.'

She smiled. ‘Listen, what are you doing for lunch? I could come in and meet you in the city.'

‘Damn, sorry, hun,' said Tom. ‘I've got a lunch meeting in . . .' he must have been checking his watch ‘. . . half an hour.'

‘Never mind, thought it was worth a try.'

‘What are you going to do?' he asked.

‘Whatever I feel like, I suppose.'

‘I'll call you later, maybe I can leave work early, after the meeting, that'd give me an hour or two before I have to pick up Hannah.'

‘Okay.'

‘I'll see what I can do.'

Rachel caught the bus towards home, but as it pulled in to Bondi she decided to get out there. She had time to kill, she could get some lunch, wander round the shops – though she'd better not buy anything. It was all very well to throw in her job, but she still needed an income. She barely had any savings to speak of, and she had rent to pay. And bills. And she had to eat. She hesitated as she walked past a noodle bar. Maybe she shouldn't buy lunch after all.

But she was being ridiculous; she had another few weeks' wages coming, between her severance pay and leave owing, and that gave her plenty of time to find a job. She could probably walk straight into another admin position, but she didn't think she could stand it. She still didn't know what she really wanted to do with the rest of her life, or even the next part of it, but what she did know was that she needed to do something different right now.

And then she saw it. It was like a sign. Actually, it was a sign, propped in the window of one of those juice bars that seemed to be everywhere these days.

Half an hour later Rachel sat opposite ‘Mel' – according to her name badge – as she read through her application. She was the manager, as well as the owner, Rachel was pretty sure. She looked about her own age, quite short but sturdy, with intense dark eyes and what Rachel assumed was a wild mane of dark hair tucked underneath her cap, on account of the frizzy curls escaping at the back.

‘Your experience is all office administration,' Mel remarked after a while.

‘Yes, that's true, more recently,' said Rachel. ‘But prior to that I travelled extensively for many years, working as a waitress and a bartender, right across Europe, in holiday resorts, all kinds of places. I can do this job.'

‘But why would you want to?'

Rachel blinked. ‘I'm sorry?'

Mel looked at her squarely. ‘This is a casual position, the pay's not great. With your experience you could get a better paying office job with some kind of future. I own and operate this
franchise, and I employ casual staff to support me. But it's my show. There's absolutely nowhere to go here – you make juice, you sell it, you clean up afterwards.'

‘Suits me,' said Rachel. ‘I just left an office job that I hated by the end. I'd like to do something completely different, in a more relaxed environment.'

‘Hey, don't let the ads fool you,' said Mel. ‘The ones with all the zany people dancing around, juggling fruit and laughing hysterically. We get busy, flat out in fact, especially over holidays and weekends.'

‘Of course, I understand that.' Rachel paused, thinking about how to explain herself. ‘The thing is, I'm tired of pushing papers around, sitting at a desk, sealed up in an airconditioned box all day. I want to work somewhere with a bit of life, and energy, and deal with people face to face instead of on the phone or through the computer. I'm desperate for a change of scenery, and look at this,' she said with a sweep of her arm. ‘I can see the ocean from the counter, I can smell it! I'm sure it's busy, hard work, I'm not afraid of hard work. But I can't help thinking it has to be less soul-destroying than what I've been doing.'

Mel had listened closely to her spiel, and now she seemed to be mulling it over. ‘Can you do weekends?' she asked finally.

‘I can do absolutely any time.'

She frowned then. ‘Have you just broken up with a boyfriend?'

‘No, not at all.' And then it struck Rachel, she could actually mention Tom to this woman. She'd be able to talk about him freely here. It was suddenly the most attractive thing about the job. ‘Actually, I have a wonderful boyfriend.'

‘No need to skite.'

Rachel looked at her. ‘Is that going to go against me?'

A little smile crept onto her face then. ‘Nuh, I'm not that bitter and twisted. Though, to be honest, I'm a little sick of hiring young things with their long legs and their tits up to here.' She cupped her hands in front of her. ‘And always with the lip balm, these girls, what's that about?'