Love & London by Ellie White
CHAPTER ONE
For many, New Year’s Eve is a wonderful tradition, a time for reflection and a time to dream of what’s to come. For me? Well, I'm just thankful that my Mum is here to hold my hand tight while we stand in a room full of people listening to the overly enthusiastic radio DJ that counts us down to midnight.
10, 9, 8...
Another year has passed and, in 7 seconds, another year begins. New Year is a time where people all around the world make resolutions they will not keep; pay for gym memberships they will not use and attempt to give up alcohol for the month of January to make themselves feel charitable. They'll fight over who had the best firework display. Sydney? Hong Kong? NYC? Everyone knows that London does it best, Edinburgh, a close second.
7, 6, 5...
Here I am, as usual. Nothing has changed for me. I'm reliving the exact same New Year’s Eve as last year and the year before that and many more before that. I know exactly how this year will play out and it starts with just getting through tonight.
4, 3, 2...
The clock strikes midnight and everyone around me kisses and hugs each other, erupting in laughter and cheers, yelling ‘Happy New Year’ at the top of their drunken voices followed by the explosion of party poppers and air horns. As much as I don't want to, I make the effort to join in, for my Mum's sake. Just like every New Year, I give mum and dad a kiss on their cheeks before they start making their way around the room, embracing aunties, uncles, friends and neighbours.
One of the things I hate about New Year is the unnecessary touching. Don't get me wrong, I like a brief hug every now and then but having people I've not seen for 6 months want to hug and kiss me seems like overkill.
Like I said, it's the same every year. The same old people telling the same old stories. Janice from next door tries to set me up with her perpetually single son who she promises is a lovely man. Considering his first wife left him over his addiction to prostitutes and his second wife left him when he gambled away their life savings, I think I'll pass. Thanks anyway!
My Great Auntie Tricia talks enthusiastically about how innovative silent fireworks are. Little does she know, her daughter has turned down her hearing aids to preserve what is left of her hearing.
"Keep that chin up, you're doing great, kid," Ray, my dad's business partner and my boss, says as he claps me on the shoulder. He knows I hate these things but he also knows how important tonight is for my family.
Ray and I are like two peas in a pod; driven and meticulous, some may even say picky. We love a plan, a to-do list and to be in control. Our similarities are why I'm the Director of Strategy at his and dad’s advertising agency, Sixth Street Advertising. My attitude towards our work is what makes me good at my job.
"Always do," I reply with a loaded smile. I don’t pretend with Ray: He knows me too well.
"I know, kid, I know," he says, offering a smile that mirrors my own.
My in-laws embrace me next, squeezing my hand and giving me a knowing look. For a lot of the people here, this night is a time for celebration and rejoicing: For us, it's remembrance.
My brother, James, walks in from the cold and empties his arms onto the living room floor. Coal and bread are among the items that spill onto mum's new carpet. I know she's going to have a shit fit when she notices and the thought of my perfect big brother getting into trouble makes me grin.
"Gifts from the first foot," he says, dramatically pulling his girlfriend, Helen, in for an extremely passionate (and inappropriate) kiss before encouraging everyone in the room to stand in a circle. Everyone joins hands and sing Auld Lang Syne, bouncing their arms in time with the music. No-one bothers asking me to join in anymore, they know what my answer will be.
James has always been the more outgoing one which, when you're an introvert like me, isn't such a terrible thing. He's a welcome distraction. People don’t pay attention to me when he’s around and he knows that’s how I prefer things. Put me in a boardroom or have me pitch a campaign to a hundred people, no problem at all. Stick me in the middle of a family party and it's a different story.
It’s not just our personalities that differ, other than our matching Hazel eyes, we don't look alike at all. He's tall, almost 6’5” and with shoulders built like a rugby player. I'm short and petite, barely 5’4” and, when we stand next to each other, I look even shorter.
As the music ends, Mum shushes everyone as she attempts to sneak into the front room with the worst kept secret that has ever graced our family. Every year, after the fireworks and singing have ended, she brings out my birthday cake like it's some shocking surprise. Every year, I dutifully blow out the candles and feign my excitement as my friends and family sing their terribly out of tune and out of time chorus of ‘Happy Birthday’.
It’s not happy though. I haven’t had a happy birthday since I was twenty-one.
Aside from New Year’s Eve, New Year’s Day/My Birthday is my least favourite day of year but Mum always insists on having a party. This year, my 30th birthday, she went all out. Big cake, decorations, every single family member that still lives all crammed into her front room.
‘Maggie Jones promise me that, if you aren't married by thirty, you'll marry me.’
Although it’s just a memory, his voice echoes in my ears, reminding me of the first time he proposed to me. We were just eight years old and it was the first time he kissed my cheek. The memory from twenty-two years ago was as vivid as yesterday.
As it happened, Philip didn't need to wait until we turned thirty. He proposed for real on my 18th birthday and we married the day after we graduated university. We were only twenty-one.
It was a small affair with only immediate family and friends in attendance but it was perfect, none the less. Philip was so handsome in his perfectly tailored, navy suit; he looked like he could be on the cover of GQ with his deep brown eyes and his usually shaggy, dark blonde hair styled neatly.
I felt like the luckiest girl alive that day. I was the luckiest girl alive.
For the first six months of our marriage, life was perfect. I had my husband (who I had loved since birth) and my dream job working with my dad and Ray. We had booked a trip of a lifetime to Iceland for our honeymoon so we could see the Northern Lights, something we had always dreamed of seeing. Our life together was just starting. We had dreams, plans of a family one day and the desire to grow old together.
We spent five days travelling around the Land of Fire and Ice. We had a spa day at the Blue Lagoon, walked across a glacier and visited the beautiful waterfalls and geysers. We had never seen such a beautiful landscape before and promised that we would be back again.
We had arrived back to London Heathrow on New Year’s Eve, the night before my 22nd birthday. As we drove to Mum's house for her annual New Year’s Eve party, we were in a car accident.
We hadn’t been married long at all; I hadn't even had chance to legally change my name to his.
I survived with a few broken bones, a mild head injury and a collapsed lung but Philip… Well, he wasn't so lucky. They kept him alive long enough to donate his organs and, although my life fell apart that night (or rather when I woke up from my coma), so many other people were getting a second chance: Other families were seeing hope for the first time in forever. How could I resent that?
He was as selfless in death as he was in life.
My true hero.
My mum had held a joint New Year's Eve/Birthday party every year since my first birthday but continuing the parties was my mother-in-law’s idea. She wanted the anniversary of her son's death to be a celebration of his life, to be a reminder that life is too short and the fact that I get to grow older each year is a blessing to each one of us.
How can I argue with her when she is so desperate to remember him like this?
As much as it was a painful reminder of what I had and what I have lost, I go because it's what they need. I go every year when I would rather be wallowing in my own grief. I smile, blow out my candles and thank my mum and dad for a lovely evening. I hug my mother and father-in-law, make sure they know how much I love them and then I return home to my small flat, alone, so I can try my best to remember him.
As a result of the head injury, I don't remember anything from that night but memories I've formed based on what people tell me feel real.
"Welcome to the thirties club. How are you holding up?" Laura asks as she brings me a large slice of cake, pulling me back to the present. Laura is Philip's twin sister and my best friend. She's gorgeous and tall with the longest legs and the brightest pink hair that sits neatly on her narrow shoulders. She's the only one who knows the real extent of my hatred for this party and, like me, she only endures it to appease her parents.
“You know, the usual. Cake’s good though. I didn’t think you could improve on last year’s but you've done it," I say with my mouth full of the salted caramel, lighter-than-clouds sponge cake.
Laura is our resident cake maker. On every special occasion, Mum orders from Laura's bakery and for good reason: She's the best baker around. We keep telling her that she should enter Bake Off: The Professionals but she says she does it for love, not fame.
"I've already packed some up for you to take home, too. I assume you're leaving soon?"
"Yeah, I have a big meeting on the 2nd. I need to be well rested and focused."
"Okay, drinks are on Harry on Friday since he had to work tonight."
Harry is our other best friend. He lived in the student flats over the road from ours when he was a studying to be a paediatric nurse. The job suits him perfectly; he’s strong and compassionate yet goofy and fun. He has a knack for making people smile and an ability to calm any situation, a godsend since Laura and I were both known for being slightly over dramatic.
"I'll be there. Promise"
At 1am, my taxi arrives and I say my goodbyes. I hold it together as we drive through residential London, Christmas lights flashing, music filling the air around me as the feeling gets heavier and heavier. It's not until I'm finally alone, wearing my new comfy pyjamas that Laura bought me for Christmas, that I finally let the tears flow free, like they do every year.
***
January 2nd is when my life goes back to normal, when I rebuild the walls that surround my vulnerability and lock up the sadness in a tiny box. Apparently, that's called compartmentalising my grief, so the hospital appointed therapist told me after the accident. I don't have time to dwell on the past for any longer than one day. I don't want to dwell on it, I can't change what happened but that doesn't mean my mind doesn’t run through a thousand ways in which I could have done something differently.
On January 2nd, no matter what day of the week it is, I always go into the office to get a jump on the year ahead. This year, it's a Friday and most of the team have taken the day off so the office is still half empty when I arrive from my meeting, just before midday.
I was glad when the client called a meeting this morning as it gave me a reason to get up, wash my hair and put on my makeup when all I wanted to do was stay in bed.
"Good morning, Maggie. How was the meeting?" my assistant of 4 years, Sasha, asks as I place her favourite Maxwell's takeaway coffee down in front of her.
"Well, we've made progress. They've asked us to pitch an idea for their Easter campaign which starts just after Valentine’s Day. I need you to call a meeting with senior staff for first thing Monday morning, please. We've only got six weeks to make this work and I need all hands-on deck."
"It'll have to wait, Maggs," a smooth, deep voice says from my doorway. I know who it is immediately. Only one person on the planet calls me ‘Maggs’.
"Knock much?" I snap in annoyance at my familiar yet unwelcome visitor.
He rests his lean shoulder against my door frame in a way that would have most girls melting into a puddle on the floor. As he brushes his ink black hair away from his face, he brings his ice blue eyes up to meet mine, smiling his most perfectly charming smile my way. It may work on the floozies he usually keeps company with but he should know better than to try his charms on me. That's not to say I'm not occasionally dazzled by him - Okay, most of the time, he dazzles me but the only time it causes a reaction are the moments when he's not purposely trying to flirt with me or bait me, which are rare.
"What do you want, Jake?"
Jake Mills only ever comes to my office to point out a mistake in one of my business plans or annoy the living daylights out of me by telling me about his latest conquest. Right now, I don't have the time, nor the patience, to deal with his shit.
"We've been summoned."
I sigh in annoyance as he pushes away from the door frame to let me through. "Do you know why?"
"Nope," he answers as we make our way to the office belonging to our dads.
Jake is the only child of my dad's business partner and co-founder of Sixth Street Advertising, Raymond Mills. He is tall with a body that looks like it was chiselled from the finest marble and he is, of course, devastatingly handsome. He's also arrogant and obnoxious and a huge pain in my arse. I've known him since I was born. He is just over two years older than me, the same age as James. Growing up, he wasn't always entirely insufferable and, as kids, we got along well. Our parents are best friends, along with my in-laws, and we were all raised together; my brother, Philip, Laura, Jake and me. We were a second generation of best friends.
It was childish and unrealistic, thinking that we would be friends forever, but something had changed between us when he left to study at Leeds University. I'm not sure if it was the distance between us or if it was intentional when he stopped talking to me out of the blue. I hoped he would have gotten over it when he started working as a Junior Graphic Designer in the Creative Department on the same day I started my internship as a Planning Assistant. I was so excited to have a friend here since everyone else was so daunting to my eighteen-year-old self.
A lot of people didn't have much faith in me: They thought I got an easy ride because I'm the boss' daughter, they thought that was the only reason I got my job. I assumed he would understand since he's the other boss' son and had worked just as hard as I had to get to where we were. I was wrong and, no matter how hard I tried, he just wasn't my friend anymore. I just couldn't put my finger on what it was that had changed but it didn't stop me trying to get him to talk to me, at first.
I gave up trying after the accident. I had bigger problems to think about than Jake's attitude towards me so I just got on with my job and chose to ignore him. I focused on perfecting my skills and worked my way up the company. At least I had started to gain some respect from my peers if not from him.
"Sorry, I couldn't make it the other night," he says, breaking the silence between us as we walk together through the unusually empty office. "James said you had a great night."
My brother would say that, he has my back completely and it sounds better than the truth that I couldn't wait to get home to wallow in my own self-pity. I should thank him for keeping my secret as last thing I want is for Jake to know how pathetic I am.
"Didn't know you were invited. You haven't stepped foot in my parents’ house since my 18th birthday party when you got drunk and threw up in Mum’s good vase."
"Come on, Maggie, it’s not like I ruined your night. Philip is the one who got me drunk in the first place with those Jaeger bombs he was making. Your mum has forgiven me so surely you can too," he says, nudging me playfully while we walk. I've always been accident-prone so it's no surprise when I stumble over my own feet. Thankfully, he catches me before I crash right into an intern passing us in the corridor.
"I'm so sorry," I say to the young girl who can't seem to tear her eyes away from Jake when he winks at her. I roll my eyes as he hangs his arm casually around my shoulder. When we were kids, he would always do it to try and make Philip jealous. It would never work and everyone knew I only had eyes for the boy I loved. Besides, Jake was always a massive flirt with everyone he ever met and he didn't mean anything by it. It's just the way he was and, apparently, still is.
"She's really clumsy," he says as the girl bats her eyelashes at him.
"Ugh, come on, Prince Charming," I say, pushing him along but letting him keep his arm around me as the intern finds her voice.
"Goodbye, Mr Mills," she almost sings in a sickly-sweet voice.
Jake doesn't respond to her. Instead, he continues our walk with his arm firmly in its place while I make a dry heaving sound. When we walk like this, it takes me back to the way things were between us, back when we were friends. Maybe that's why I don't shake him off. Deep down, I miss him.
"Is someone jealous? You could just save us the trouble of all this backwards and forwards and just ask me out," he taunts me with a laugh.
"Pft, I'm not jealous. I'd just rather avoid a sexual harassment complaint against a senior member of staff."
"I'm glad you think of these things, Maggs."
"Well, someone has to," I say under my breath.
We've both come a long way since we started working here eleven years ago. We've both worked our way up and, now, I head up the strategic side of the business and Jake heads up the creative side. We often have to work together but we usually do this from separate floors of our building so he doesn't drive me completely batshit crazy.
"You don't need to worry; I don't dip my toe into the office pool, if you know what I mean," he says with a wink. "It's just a bit of harmless flirting.”
I don't respond and, instead, I shrug out of his embrace as we approach Dad's office, an action to which he pouts at.
"Hi, Nikki, how are you?" I ask their assistant.
"You two look rather cosy," she whispers as we walk into the boardroom, leaving Jake talking in the hallway with his assistant, Thomas, who has appeared from nowhere.
"If ‘cosy’ means wanting to kick someone in the balls then yeah."
"Whatever. You could just screw him and get all this awkward sexual tension out of the way. He obviously fancies you and you can't tell me you don't find him sexy as hell." Nikki has never been one to mince her words.
I shoot her a look, warning her to shut up as he walks through the door to take his seat at the large boardroom table, Thomas dutifully following at his side.
Yeah, Jake is sexy as hell and maybe I do look when he casually leans back in his chair, resting his hands behind his head and showing off his sculpted biceps. He may be a huge shithead but there is no denying he is nice to look at. If he weren’t such a knob, maybe I would fancy him but he’s a massive knob, so I don't.
I don't join the others at the table right away. Instead, I stand with my back to them and look out of the large window to avoid getting caught by Nikki when I will inevitably check him out again.
I'm only human after all.
Out of the three board rooms we have in our office building, this one is my favourite. It has a killer view of the Thames. Tower Bridge on the right, the Financial District across the river on the left, the Tower of London directly in front of us. It's the perfect location for office space. At Christmas, there’s a lovely market down on the riverbank that sells food and gifts by independent traders. There's Potters Field Park, right next to City Hall, where you can sit in the sun and plenty of bars and restaurants within walking distance.
The view is beautiful all year round and today is no exception. The clouds are heavy as snowflakes begin to flurry towards the ground. Businessmen and women rush through the crowds of slow-moving tourists in a bid to get back to their offices on the first working day of the year before the snow really starts to fall.
There are people sat enjoying brunch under patio heaters and umbrellas in the restaurants' outdoor seating below, wearing big coats and covered by soft blankets, not letting the cold temperature ruin their plans.
"Your coffee," Sasha says, handing me my new mug. I smile when I see the photo of me, Philip, Laura and Harry that Harry got me as part of my Christmas present. It’s a copy of a photobooth picture we took one night in Vodka Revolution in 2009. It’s a terrible photo; we’re all far too drunk but were having the best time!
I thank her and take the seat on Jake's other side, between him and Sasha, leaving the three seats opposite for Nikki, Dad and Ray.
"Sweetheart,” Dad greets me, kissing my cheek as they walk in the room.
"Quite a party you missed, kid," Raymond says, "After you left, your brother got out the Sambuca and your mum set fire to the coffee table in the conservatory."
Jake doesn't say anything but raises his eyebrow at me. Clearly, James failed to mention to him that I left before the party really got going.
"Sounds about right. Mum loves a Flamin’ Sambuca." Although my brother is almost thirty-three years old, he acts like a uni student on Freshers week and Mum thinks she can drink him under the table. She can't but she gives it a good go anyway. Luckily for James, his long-term girlfriend, Helen, is just as wild as he is.
"Well, thank you both for being here so promptly. We appreciate we didn't give you much notice," Dad says as he and Ray take their seats.
"We won't keep you too long. I understand you have a lot of work to start today, Maggie."
"I've got to start work on preparing the Stephenson’s Chocolate pitch. I got the brief this morning. When everyone is back in the office next week, we can hit the ground running first thing Monday morning," I explain. "We’ll be having a meeting to discuss so Sasha will forward you the minutes from this when we're done."
Dad and Ray agree before getting right down to business.
"Well, Kev," Raymond says, leaning back in his chair. His fingers wound together in front of his chest as his elbows sit on the arm rests. He looks almost nervous when he glances at my Dad. "Think I'll just cut to the chase. We would like to retire but, to do so, we need someone to take over the company."
I fail to find the words as Dad nods along in agreement. Mum has been on at him for years to retire, especially after his second heart attack and subsequent open-heart surgery a few years back, but he always brushes her off when she raises the issue of his health.
"Dad? Are you okay? Is it your heart?"
"No, sweetheart. I'm just old and tired."
"You're sixty!"
"Exactly. Things have changed since we started this firm. Times are different. It's time we let the next generation take the reins."
"So, what? You want one of us to take over?" Jake asks the question I didn't want to. Could I compete with Jake to get the position? I honestly don't know.
"Not exactly. We want you to work together. I couldn't have gotten this far without Ray's strategic planning," Dad answers him.
"And Kev has a creative eye that I simply do not have," Ray adds.
"You want us to run this company together?" I ask, unable to disguise the shock in my voice or hide it from my expression.
"Would that be so bad?" Jake says indignantly, turning in his seat to face me.
"Jake, if I say... I don't know... this notebook is black, you would argue that it's white," I say, holding up my own black notebook to drive home the point.
"Well, technically, the paper inside is white," he says smugly. I can feel my annoyance returning.
"You see?!" I exclaim, dropping my notebook to the table in front of me. "Insufferable."
"I'm not wrong," he argues back, holding my notebook open as proof. "The key to success is seeing things from an alternative perspective to your own. Give it a chance. You might grow to like it."
Highly unlikely!
"Work together on the Stephenson’s pitch. You'll see how important you are to each other’s successes," Dad says, interrupting our argument.
"Are you serious?" I don't have time to process what they're saying before Dad abruptly ends the conversation.
"We've made our choice. It's either pass the company to the both of you or find a buyer. Work together or not at all. Before you argue, your new joint office will be ready to move into on Monday."
"Then we'll do our best," Jake says, smiling. "Right, Maggs?"
"Of course," I say, putting on my best poker face. On the outside, I'm portraying calm and confident but, on the inside, I'm pushing down the fury I feel when I think about having to share this account with Jake, let alone having to run the company and share an office space with him.