“I might just go and lie down quietly in the other room, if you don't mind.” I head swiftly toward the door, my hand still shielding my eyes from the sight of the cream mountain. “I'm sorry, Eric, after you went to so much... trouble...”
“Darling, it's fine! I'll come too” Eric makes to get up from the bed. “No!” I cut him off a bit too shrilly. “You just...sort yourself out. I'll be fine.” Before he can say anything else, I hurry out and flop down on the big cream sofa. My head is spinning, whether from the Mont Blanc shocker or the whole day... I don't know. All I know is, I feel like curling up under a duvet and pretending the world doesn't exist. I can't cope with this life of mine. Any of it.
Chapter 16
I can't look at Eric without seeing whipped cream. Last night I dreamed he was made of whipped cream. It wasn't a great dream. Thankfully we've barely seen each other this weekend. Eric's been doing corporate entertaining and I've been trying desperately to come up with a plan to save Flooring. I've read through all the contracts of the last three years. I've looked at our supplier information. I've analyzed customer feedback.
To be honest, it's a crap situation. We did have a small triumph last year, when I negotiated a good deal with a new software company. I guess that's what impressed Simon Johnson. But it masked our real position.
Not only are orders too low, no one even seems interested in Flooring anymore. We have a fraction of the advertising and marketing budget that other departments do. We're not running any special promotions. In the weekly directors' meeting, Flooring always appears last on the agenda. It's like the Cinderella of the company. But all that will change, if I have anything to do with it. Over the weekend I've devised a total relaunch. It'll need a bit of money and faith and cost-?trimmingbut I'm positive we can kick-?start sales. Cinderella went to the ball, didn't she? And I'm going to be the fairy godmother. I have to be the fairy godmother. I can't let all my friends lose their jobs. Oh God. My stomach heaves yet again with nerves. I'm sitting in the taxi on the way to work, my hair firmly up, my presentation folder in my lap. The meeting is in an hour. All the other directors are expecting to vote to disband Flooring. I'm going to have to argue my socks off. Or else... No. I can't think about “or else.” I have to succeed, I just have to My phone rings and I nearly jump off the seat, I'm so on edge. “Hello?” “Lexi?” I hear a small voice. “It's Amy. Are you free?” “Amy!” I say in astonishment. “Hi! Actually, I'm on my way somewhere” “I'm in trouble.” She cuts me off. “You have to come. Please.” “Trouble?” I say, alarmed. “What kind of trouble?” “Please come.” Her voice is quivering all over the place. “I'minNottingHill.” “Notting Hill? Why aren't you at school?” “Hang on.” The sound is muffled and I can just hear Amy saying, “I'm talking to my big sister, okay? She's coming.” Then she's back on the line. “Please, Lexi. Please come. I've got myself into a bit of a mess.” I've never heard Amy like this. She sounds desperate. 288 “What have you done?” My mind's racing, trying to think what trouble she could have got into. Drugs? Loan sharks?
“I'm on the corner of Ladbroke Grove and Kensington Gardens. How long will you be?” “Amy...” I clutch my head. “I can't come now! I have a meeting, it's really important. Can't you phone Mum?” “No!” Amy's voice rockets in panic. “Lexi, you said. You said I could ring whenever I wanted, that you were my big sister, that you'd be there for me.”
“But I didn't mean... I have this presentation...” I trail off, suddenly aware of how feeble this sounds. “Look, any other time...” “Fine.” Her voice is suddenly tiny. She sounds about ten years old. “Go to your meeting. Don't worry.” Guilt drenches me, mixed with frustration. Why couldn't she have phoned last night? Why pick the very minute I need to be somewhere else? “Amy, just tell me, what's happened?” “It doesn't matter. Go to your meeting. Sorry I bothered you.” “Stop it! Just let me think a second.” I stare blindly out the window, wired up with stress, with indecision There's forty-?five minutes until the meeting. I don't have time, I just don't. I might, if I went straight now. It's only ten minutes to Notting Hill. But I can't risk being late for the meeting, I just can't And then suddenly, against the crackly background of the phone line, I can hear a man's voice. Now he's shouting. I stare at the phone, feeling a nasty chill. I can't leave my little sister in trouble. What if she's got in with some street gang? What if she's about to be beaten up?
