want him to see me so vulnerable. I’ve always prided myself on being self-sufficient, and he likes that about me. I hate the expression ‘power couple’ but I feel like that’s what we are. Admitting weakness to Nathan doesn’t come easy. It isn’t how our relationship works. Or, at least, it isn’t how the perception of our relationship works.
If I were to tell him that my business might be in trouble, would he be sympathetic and supportive, or would he blame me and get angry? There’s no way of knowing, because we’ve never had any major hurdles like this to get over before. Our careers have always been pretty plain sailing. I guess it could go okay if I told him – maybe he’ll give me some practical advice. Help me to get through it. That’s how marriages are supposed to work, aren’t they? You support one another through the good times and the bad.
Nathan and I met eight years ago at a local awards ceremony for young entrepreneurs, where he was presenting the prize and I won first place. On both counts, it was a big deal. Winning the award got me the publicity to really boost my client base, and meeting Nathan changed my life. I’d only been in one serious relationship before, but that one didn’t work out. Nathan broke down a lot of my barriers and we ended up falling in love and getting married within a year.
That awards ceremony kind of set the scene for our lives. Success. Happiness. Perfection. Nothing less will do. I sigh. There’s no way I can tell Nathan that my business is under investigation. Pushing my sketch pad away, I stare out through the window at the shops opposite, at the people walking past, going about their daily business. I wonder if they’re happy. If their lives are straightforward and simple. Or if their minds are in turmoil and they’re simply presenting a calm exterior. Sometimes I’m amazed at how everyone in the world isn’t freaking out more.
‘Fiona…’
I look up to see Molly walk in with an armful of next month’s interiors magazines. She fans them out on the coffee table and then straightens up, smoothing down her skirt. I always like to have an up-to-date selection for clients to browse through while they’re here.
‘Thanks, Molly. Shall we have a cuppa?’
She nods and goes over to the coffee machine. She’s always so immaculately turned out – her hair, clothes and make-up are all flawless. I often think Molly would be better suited to a career in fashion than interiors. I’ve tried to get her interested in the design process. I want her to wow me with fresh new ideas, but disappointingly she hasn’t ever shown any real initiative. She does what’s asked of her and that’s it. She’s a decent enough assistant I suppose, but I don’t think her heart’s in the business.
She stands at the coffee machine, her back to me, shoulders down. I’m not sure what’s up with her at the moment. She’s been distracted over the past couple of weeks. And while she’s never exactly been the most enthusiastic employee in the world, lately her mind has been elsewhere. I think I’m going to have a word with her, check everything’s okay.
Finally, she brings me a coffee and hovers awkwardly by my side.
‘Aren’t you having one?’ I ask.
‘No thanks.’
‘Sit down for a bit, let’s have a chat.’
Her cheeks flush and she pulls out a chair and plops down next to me. ‘Are those the new mill house designs?’ She nods at my sketch book.
‘Yes, if you can call them that. I haven’t got very far with them.’
‘You will,’ she says flatly. ‘Your designs are always amazing.’
I’m surprised by how touched I am at her praise – even if it’s said grudgingly. I honestly never thought she was that bothered by what I do. ‘Thanks, Molly.’ I give her a warm smile. ‘You know, we could work on them together, if you like?’ I’m usually quite precious about my designs, but I’m suddenly overcome by the need to be generous towards her. To be kind. I realise I haven’t exactly been the most approachable boss. I haven’t really given her any opportunities to shine.
‘That’s… that’s nice of you. But I can’t.’
‘Oh.’ I’m disappointed by her response. ‘Sure you can. I’ll help you with it.’
‘I don’t mean I can’t. I mean, I’m sorry, Fiona, but I’m handing in my notice.’
‘You’re…’
‘It’s not that I don’t like the job.’ Her expression