Take A Look At Me Now. Miranda Dickinson

each, were sitting like deflated balloon bookends on the edges of Terry’s desk. Nick was trying his best to look sympathetic for everyone while clearly relieved he was still employed. Vicky was slumped in her office chair, systematically peeling the layers of French polish from her nails. She didn’t look up when I arrived.

      ‘She’s back, then,’ Terry said. ‘We thought you’d legged it.’

      ‘I just needed to get out for a while.’

      ‘Fair enough.’

      ‘Couldn’t face seeing the people she sold out,’ Vicky muttered, still not looking at me.

      ‘Now hang on a minute …’ I began, but Dave held up his hand.

      ‘It’s OK, Sully. She’s just upset. We all are.’ His smile bore the weight of the world. ‘We know Matthews put you in a position.’

      ‘Thank you.’

      ‘You probably shouldn’t be standing around chatting.’ Connie’s expression was one of pure, spiteful delight. ‘Management want you out in ten minutes.’

      ‘Who told you that?’ Vicky demanded.

      ‘Mr Matthews. While you were in the recruitment agency meeting.’ Her grin was about as sincere as a politician’s promise. ‘There are cardboard boxes in the meeting room. You might want to use them.’

      I could feel the resigned despair of my colleagues as we collected the empty copier paper boxes and began to clear the contents of our desks. Packing my box alongside them, I felt a bit of a fraud: yes, it was horrible and scary, but since my revelation I couldn’t escape a tiny thrill of excitement dancing around within me. The sensible part of me, which had been in charge for most of my life, was uncharacteristically quiet and for the first time in many years I felt as if the constraints of my life had been removed by this curveball of sudden redundancy.

      Out on the street we gathered, a box-toting band of newly unemployed people, not ready to walk away from each other yet secretly not wanting to prolong the agony. After a few mumbled words of solidarity and promises to meet soon for a drink, we dispersed. Vicky sniffed and walked over to me.

      ‘I’m sorry, Nell. I shouldn’t have said what I did.’

      Relief flooded through me as I hugged her. ‘It’s OK. You were upset and angry.’

      ‘And also a bitch. But thanks for understanding.’ She sighed and looked at the sickly cactus that was poking out from her box of belongings. ‘I think I’m going to go straight home. Are you coming to the tube station?’

      ‘No, not yet.’ I wanted to pursue the thought in my mind while it still burned, before cold reality had a chance to dawn and spoil the party. ‘I just need to – you know …’ I tilted my head in the direction of the shops in the distance.

      Vicky clearly thought I was referring to the pub at the end of the street. ‘Don’t blame you. Call me tonight when you get home, OK?’

      I watched her slumping frame shuffle away and finally allowed myself to feel the excitement that had been steadily building within me. Taking a deep breath, I turned and walked purposefully down the street, my resolve building with each step.

      This is it, Nell Sullivan: this is your time.

      A few blocks down from the Council building, I stopped outside a small travel agency. Its windows were filled with cards promising exciting destinations and deals. It was as if I was staring at a gallery of possibilities, each smiling model asking me the same question:

       Where are you going, Nell Sullivan?

      A young male sales advisor with startlingly lustrous black hair smiled as I entered, his friendly expression flickering a little when I put my cardboard box on his desk. The bushy fronds of my desk plant spilled over the edge of the box, while my stolen office stapler – one final act of defiance against my now former employer – caught the light from his computer monitor.

      ‘How can I help?’ he managed, scrabbling to reconstruct his professionalism. His name badge read: Hi, I’m Josh.

      ‘I want to know where I can go for –’ I pulled the folded redundancy notice from my jacket pocket and handed it to him to show him the sum my former employer was willing to pay to be rid of me ‘– this much.’

      ‘Um, well, lots of places,’ Josh stammered, his travel agent training clearly not having covered crazy customers with pot plants and cardboard boxes. ‘Where would you like to go?’

      I hadn’t considered this far ahead in my plan. ‘I’m not sure. I want to do something exciting, something just for me. I’ve just been made redundant, you see.’

      ‘Wow. I’m sorry to hear that. When?’

      ‘About three hours ago.’

      ‘Heck, that’s awful. So you definitely deserve a treat.’ He smiled and heaved a huge stack of brochures onto his desk. ‘OK, let’s start with the kind of things you fancy doing on holiday. Beach?’

      ‘No, I don’t think so. I want to move about more, I think.’

      ‘No problem.’ He pulled out four brochures and dropped them onto the floor by the side of his desk. ‘Ski holiday? Watersports?’

      ‘No. I don’t mind activities but I don’t want to just focus on that.’

      ‘Excellent.’ Two more brochures were eliminated from the pile. ‘How about a trek? Some kind of adventure trip?’

      ‘Maybe.’ I tried to picture myself hiking across the Gobi Desert, or climbing the Great Wall of China. Even with the most optimistic version of myself this seemed a little extreme. ‘Actually, no.’

      Another brochure was dropped to the brown carpet. ‘Good. We’re making progress.’ After several more questions, Josh’s slightly russet features worked into a smile and he held up a thick brochure. ‘How about the USA?’

      On its cover were Rocky Mountains, Las Vegas signs, bustling cities, New England autumn trees and the majestic sweep of the Grand Canyon. ‘America – where anything can happen’ was emblazoned across the images and instantly I felt my heart racing.

      ‘Yes! That looks amazing.’

      ‘Excellent.’ Josh nodded and began to flick through the glossy pages. ‘So – America pretty much has something for everyone. What do you want to do? Cities? Beach? Fly-drive?’

      My mind was racing. ‘I – I don’t know. Where would you suggest?’

      ‘Personally, I love Vegas. But Florida is great if you want beaches and theme parks. If history’s your thing there’s New England or Philadelphia. Or how about one of the cities? New York? Chicago? San Francisco …?’

      ‘That’s it!’ I yelled, making Josh jump and a middle-aged female customer at the next desk frown at me. Giggling, I lowered my voice. ‘Sorry. My cousin Lizzie lives in San Francisco. I don’t know why I didn’t think about it before. I could visit her.’

      ‘Well, it would certainly keep your costs down if you could arrange some of your accommodation.’

      ‘It would.’ A thought occurred to me. ‘Actually, would you mind if I just made a phone call?’

      ‘Um, sure. Be my guest.’ From Josh’s expression it was clear this latest development couldn’t make his current customer any odder in his eyes.

      I checked my watch, mentally calculating the current time in San Francisco. Seven hours behind GMT – so Lizzie would be just getting up. Or at least that was what I hoped. I dialled her number, willing her to pick up. After more rings than were comfortable, the call connected and a sleepy voice spoke.

      ‘Hello …?’

      ‘Lizzie, it’s Nell. Did I wake you?’

      ‘Who