Precious You. Helen Monks Takhar

      ‘Right. Thanks. I am really strong,’ I flustered.

      ‘You probably understand it was a bit of a tussle with the new board to keep you on, but I won and I’m really glad I did.’

      ‘No. No, I don’t, exactly. A tussle? Could you … what does that mean?’

      ‘Oh, Lord, I assumed they’d kept you quite close to the process … Well, it was the board’s preferred option that we maybe start afresh. New look, new management, new editor. But I thought it right and proper you got to be part of the new now, so here we are.’ She smiled, as if she expected me to thank her for letting me keep my post at a magazine I’d lived and breathed since I was almost a girl, a title I’d shaped. I had no choice but to play along. I needed my job, my second home in the world, so I couldn’t get as angry as I was entitled to.

      ‘OK, well, thank you, Gemma. You can count on me to … I’ll always keep going,’ I garbled. My once-familiar territory as unstable as the broken chair trembling beneath me. Gemma began speaking again, talking at me like she’d made index cards beforehand. I knew if I could muster the energy, I’d already despise her.

      ‘They tell me you’ve put a huge amount of effort into the first new-look issue. I can’t wait to read it all tomorrow, I’m so glad to hear you’ve committed so much to what I really hope is going to be an exciting new chapter for all of us.’

      I was glad she’d noticed. I’d gathered enough resolve to make sure we’d come out of the blocks under the new owners with a strong issue, getting the interns to set up most of the interviews, do the background research and fact-checks, but writing the lion’s share of the features and profiles myself. My picture byline would be all over the magazine and website by the following day. I can’t say my heart and soul went into those pieces, but sweat and elbow grease certainly had. I am a fighter by nature, Lily. As soon as I feel my back on the wall, my fists go up. My primal instinct.

      ‘Thank you, Gemma.’

      ‘Now, was there anything you wanted to discuss?’

      ‘No, not really,’ I said, but then you waltzed by outside the glass and I swear you winked at me. Behind you, Asif’s eyes followed your arse until it disappeared into the kitchen area. ‘But I suppose it’d be good to know if there’s anything else I should know about Lily?’ My opening move.

      ‘Well now, perhaps there is. It’s actually down to Lily we’re here. When she read Leadership was in trouble, she thought it had huge potential. She was excited. It was wonderful to see. I was looking for a new project, she was living with me at the time – I’m really her second mum, if you must know – she could see what it could be and brought me right into her vision. So there you are.’ Gemma beamed at the memory, and I imagined the two of you holed-up together in some palatial slice of prime central London real estate, plotting how to give old lady Leadership some commercial CPR, rescuing her from the demise of which I was the figurehead.

      ‘So your buyout, it was all her idea. That’s quite a vision for someone so young. Young people are so different now to how I was, how things used to be.’ I was unsettled, almost sure you’d given no indication whatsoever that you were in the driving seat of the buyout. And wouldn’t this mean you’d have known who I was when you muscled your way into my cab? Because for more than twenty years, up until that day, I was Leadership. Perhaps you were embarrassed, too modest to draw attention to your ability to see the latent opportunities in my ailing empire.

      But then I watched you again through the glass.

      You’d returned to your seat and Asif had come round to lean at the same level as your screen. While you spoke, pausing occasionally to gesture towards the images, he nodded in the general direction of your sideboob. You clocked him doing so and flicked your fingernails to your throat to maintain his attention.

      ‘Now, I’m glad you’ve mentioned how things used to be, Katherine.’

      ‘Yes,’ I said, without really listening, as I watched you call my picture research intern over to you. She obeyed and was soon nodding along with you and Asif.

      ‘I’ve had a bit of feedback from your team. There’s clearly a lot of admiration there for you.’

      ‘OK.’ I finally had to look away from you as you corralled my team around you, doing what, I didn’t know yet, but I had a feeling I wouldn’t like it.

      ‘An appreciation you come from a tradition of journalism that has some really excellent traits, one of those being a certain resilience. But certain elements, it might be that some of them are a bit of a hangover, you might say.’

      ‘A hangover from what?’

      ‘From maybe the atmosphere of an old-school newsroom. A bit of banter with the interns? Fine, of course, but it may be we need to think about …toning it down a bit.’

      ‘Toning down what?’

      ‘I think it’s probably a vocabulary issue as much as anything. One of your team said you’d called them “soft” when they’d been nervous about calling a consultant who’d just lost their business; another individual said you liked nothing more than to refer to them as precious “Snowflakes”?’

      ‘Who said that?’ Really, it could have been any one of the current crop of interns and I wasn’t surprised they’d swooped on the opportunity to plead their case to Gemma. I was more alarmed the Snowflakes had found such a ready advocate in a woman of my generation. But of course, this conversation, all of it, was about you, not them. Gemma wanted to arrange the world so it worked better for you, matched more closely with your lofty expectations, where any challenge to your status quo was banned. Five minutes in and you were already well into the process of reshaping my office into something closer to your liking. I looked over again to see the picture researcher offer you a palm to high five. You slapped it meekly, smiling at your feet.

      ‘I’m not going to get into who said what, but let’s take this as an opportunity to think again about the kind of place we all want to work. It should feel inclusive. It should feel safe. I know you’ll want to get on board with that.’

      ‘Of course, yes.’ I was hobbled, but I needed to keep fighting somehow. ‘Is there anything else I should know? Anything more on what the interns fed back?’ I paused. ‘Or anything else about Lily?’

      The corner of Gemma’s lip twitched. ‘No. Nothing else that springs to mind.’

      ‘Well, OK then.’ I didn’t move towards the door yet. I wanted her to know I didn’t feel this conversation was really over. You see, I could tell your aunt was hiding something. People like you and me, Lily, we’re excellent liars, aren’t we? People like Gemma? Not so convincing.

      ‘Oh, one more thing, Katherine. Sorry, I forgot to ask … How are you? Would you say you’re feeling well?’

      ‘I’d say I was stronger than ever.’

      ‘Great, well, just to let you know, I’m going to have to keep asking you. It’s part of our new Wellness Policy.’

      ‘Good to know the new team are committed to caring.’

      She nodded and gave me a squishy smile. She believed me. Excellent liar, see?

      I got back to my desk, avoiding the eyes of my team, and you. But as I booted up my machine, I heard you say, ‘How did that go, then?’ Casually, as if you’d known me for years; more than that, as if you were my peer. You didn’t even look away from your screen, which you already seemed to be filling with prodigious amounts of copy. Who did you think you were? You thought you’d saved my sorry arse from unemployment. You thought my world was your empire because you were the niece of a chequebook publisher. Lily, there are some postcodes you can’t just buy into.

      ‘You didn’t say how lovely your aunt is,’ I said loudly enough for the other interns to hear. ‘Let me get organised and we’ll talk about some background research you can