This Time Next Year(97)
Greg and his flatmate Clive had helped her put together a PowerPoint presentation with statistics and graphics.
‘Don’t be too effusive,’ Clive prepped her. ‘Don’t act like she’s doing you a favour. You’re doing her a favour by bringing her the idea.’
‘And put your hair up,’ said Greg. ‘Don’t hide behind your hair – you always do that, it’s annoying.’
‘And take a business plan printed out to leave with her. She’ll want to look at the numbers once you go,’ said Clive.
‘And take a pie,’ said Greg. ‘That’s your product, that’s important.’
‘And testimonials,’ said Clive. ‘Everyone loves a testimonial.’
‘Oh god,’ said Minnie, trying to take it all in.
Greg put a hand on each shoulder. ‘You can do this Minnie, I know you can.’
Since they broke up, Greg had finally decided to start work on the book he’d always wanted to write: Jennifer Aniston’s unofficial biography. The process of writing it had led him to reassess his priorities in life. He’d called Minnie a few months ago to say that, like Jen, he was happy being single, that he didn’t need a partner to define him, and that he wanted to champion the women in his life, so if she ever needed championing, he would be there. Minnie hadn’t realised how deeply his passion for Jennifer Aniston ran, but this new, supportive, Jennified Greg was definitely an improvement.
*
Walking into the shiny Lexon offices, Minnie felt like Sheryl Sandberg and Hilary Clinton rolled into one. Katy Perry’s ‘Roar’ played in her head and she was definitely strutting as she walked – Minnie never strutted. Lucy and a man in a pinstripe suit with dark, slicked-back hair welcomed her into their boardroom. There were miniature bottles of water lined up in a row along the enormous boardroom table and huge shiny wall-mounted TV screens at either end of the room.
‘Thank you for meeting with me,’ Minnie said, shaking Lucy’s hand while fastidiously keeping eye contact. She wanted to say that she knew Lucy was busy, that she wouldn’t keep them long, but she stopped herself – that would be old Minnie talking.
‘We’ve met before, right?’ said Lucy, squinting, trying to place her. ‘Greg was rather vague on the phone.’
‘Yes – last New Year’s Eve,’ Minnie said. ‘At the Night Jam.’
Lucy cocked her head to one side and then slowly looked Minnie up and down.
‘Oh yes … ’ A glimmer of recognition. ‘I hardly recognised you, have you changed your hair?’
Minnie launched into the presentation. She’d rehearsed it so many times over the last few days. She had all the stats and figures. She’d even made a short video of her old clients explaining what a difference it made to their lives, having her pies delivered.
It went without a hitch – well, except for a glitch with the PowerPoint where the screen froze. When she tried to reset it, a picture of her and Leila on a beach in Goa popped up instead. She was holding Fleabag dog with one hand and a cocktail in the other – she looked sunburnt and happy.
‘Sorry, technical difficulties,’ Minnie blustered.
Lucy and her colleague Rupert asked questions and listened politely. They both tasted samples of the pies she had brought and Minnie left them with a bound presentation of her proposal.
‘Well, thank you for coming in, we’ll be in touch,’ said Lucy. ‘Great jumpsuit, by the way.’
Minnie skipped all the way home. She wasn’t sure, but it felt as though the pitch had gone well. If Lexon said no, she would try someone else – she was going to make this happen. On her phone, she had a text from her mother: ‘I hope it went well love. I’ve got my course this afternoon, but call me later and let me know xxx.’
Her mother was retraining to be a midwife. She’d surprised them all at dinner the other week by saying it was something she’d always wanted to do. Tara had researched a course for her online, specifically for nurses wanting to retrain, and she’d signed herself up. She made Dad sell another of his clocks to pay for it. Number thirteen was getting quieter and quieter with all the family’s changing career plans.
Back at her flat in Willesden, Minnie let herself in and flopped on the sofa. She took out her phone. She should reply to Jake, one of the chefs from the catering firm she’d been on a date with last week. Jake was attractive, kind and popular with the waitresses. He’d surfed his way around Mexico in a van last year, and was off base-jumping in Yosemite once he pulled some more cash together. He was the kind of happy-go-lucky adventurer it was impossible not to like. There was no reason not to go on another date with him. Minnie’s owls were not overly enthusiastic, but the owls had not proved helpful in the past.
Just as she was typing out a reply to Jake, a text came through on the No Hard Fillings WhatsApp group. It was a link from Fleur. Her producer friend who’d filmed the video of Leila’s engagement had finally sent through an edit, and she’d uploaded it to her YouTube channel. Minnie watched the video and laughed out loud; it perfectly captured the joyful madness of the occasion. Minnie watched the close-up of Leila’s delighted face and kissed the screen.
‘We’ve gone viral!’ read Fleur’s message beneath the link. ‘We’ve 60,000 views and counting!’