I Heart Forever: The brilliantly funny feel-good romance. Lindsey Kelk
And then boom! Jesus, what if it had exploded? What if I’d fallen through the ceiling too?’
‘Yeah, I was quite surprised as well,’ I replied. ‘And, you know, right underneath it.’
‘Should we call someone? Do you need to go to the hospital? Is it going to blow up?’ Lorraine suggested, looking at Vi for confirmation. Vi looked at me and I looked back. Lawyers, both of them. Degrees from Harvard. And as much good in a crisis as a pair of chocolate teapots.
‘I think I’m all right and it’s pretty late.’ And I’ve had four cocktails, I added silently. ‘No one died. Maybe we can sort it out in the morning?’
‘Yeah,’ she agreed with a sigh of relief. ‘That sounds good. We’re like, sorry?’
I was still stood there, frozen on the kitchen counter and not entirely sure if I was going to be able to get down. I wasn’t quite sure what the proper etiquette was for when someone’s washing machine fell through your kitchen ceiling but I was fairly certain it should include at least one cup of tea.
‘Angela?’ Vi said.
Ahh, here’s the offer of tea. I smiled graciously at the redhead above.
‘Your robe is kind of open.’ She waved her hand awkwardly up and down her body. ‘Just, so you know.’
‘OK, thanks,’ I said, yanking it shut and tying the belt in a tight knot under my boobs.
Both women slowly backed away from the gaping hole, leaving me perched on my dusty kitchen top, chocolate bar in one hand, cupboard handle in the other. I stared at the washing machine embedded in the floor, surrounded by broken tiles, rubble and shards of shiny wet floorboards with soapy water slowly leaking out around the somehow still intact glass door. Even though my kitchen had been destroyed, and even though I clearly could have been killed, all I could think about was what was in the washing machine and did the girls need it for the morning?
Very, very, very slowly, I clambered down from the kitchen top, careful not to stand on anything stabby, and tiptoed back into the bathroom, checking my heart rate on my Fitbit as I went.
‘Would you look at that, it’s up,’ I noted as I turned off the taps. Instead of fighting with my hastily tied belt knot, I yanked Alex’s robe over my head and tossed it on top of my day clothes before stepping into the hot water, opening the freezer bag and pulling out the bar of milk chocolate. I sank into the bath and let my hair soak around my shoulders before chomping down on the Galaxy. There was no time to break off individual squares, this was an emergency.
‘Still,’ I said to absolutely no one. ‘At least tomorrow has to be better than today.’
The Tuesday morning team meeting was usually a pretty pleasant affair. After the madness of Monday when we sent the magazine to print, most people were either too exhausted or too hungover to kick up much of a fuss. And most importantly, I always brought donuts. Even as the editor, I was not above bribery.
Megan, my senior beauty editor, took the seat beside me and grabbed a delicious-looking, pink-frosted donut. I reached out to nab one before they were all gone, but before I could reach the box, my stomach turned. I hesitated. Too many cocktails and an entire bar of Galaxy was not a balanced meal but I was so hungry. Why hadn’t I got bagels? Or pizza? Or pizza bagels?
‘Have you heard the latest?’ Megan asked.
‘About Britney and the dancer and the box of cupcakes?’ I asked. ‘I refuse to believe it. Unless it’s true in which case, it’s amazing.’
‘No, about The Look,’ she peered around us and leaned forward with a furtive frown. ‘Sophie says one of the girls at Belle heard the new brand manager tell the editor that it’s closing.’
I felt a wash of something cold and icky run all the way from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.
‘My first job in New York was on The Look,’ I whispered urgently. ‘They can’t close it, The Look is an institution.’
Megan’s eyebrows flickered upwards in agreement and she held a hand over her mouth as she chewed. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘It’s only a rumour but it’s awful. Still, I know this is terrible to say but better The Look than Gloss, right?’
It was terrible to say but it was even more terrible that I was thinking the exact same thing.
‘Spencer has got off so lightly with mags closing,’ she said, swallowing a bite of donut. ‘Condé Nast, Hearst, Bauer – they’ve all folded big titles. I guess we should have seen this coming.’
‘I say we don’t worry about it until we know what there is to worry about,’ I said, turning my rings around my finger underneath the table. ‘I’m almost certain the people at Vegan Parent Quarterly should be more worried than us or The Look.’
Personally, I still wasn’t convinced that VPQ wasn’t a front for some kind of underground meth operation, but Delia insisted it was a real publication. The world was a strange and confusing place sometimes.
‘You’re right,’ Megan nodded in agreement. ‘We shouldn’t stress out so much, they’re only rumours right now. Do anything fun last night?’
Drank too much. Ate too little. Listened to my best friend being a complete tool. Almost died.
‘Nope,’ I replied shortly. ‘You?’
‘I had a date,’ she grinned. ‘Tinder finally came up with something decent.’
‘How was it?’ I asked, sipping slowly from a tiny bottle of water.
‘Not terrible,’ she replied brightly. ‘I know my bar is set kinda low but I liked him, he was nice. Not a serial killer.’
‘Not a serial killer is about as low as you can go,’ I said. ‘But yay.’
‘Probably shouldn’t have gone home with him,’ she replied, weighing up the decision on her face as I tried to hide my matronly shock. ‘But that whole not sleeping with guys on a first date is a myth, right? It doesn’t really make any difference, not if he likes you?’
‘I feel like we have published that article more than once,’ I assured her. ‘All you can do is what’s right at the time. And, you know, use several methods of protection.’
‘Thanks, Mom,’ Megan laughed before stopping short and biting her lip. ‘Um, do you need me for this meeting because I kind of need to run out to the drugstore?’
‘Go,’ I ordered. ‘Now. Leave the donut.’
Leaving her laptop and the rest of the sugary pastry on the table, Megan bolted for the door just as Cici appeared, long blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail and, for some reason, heavy-framed black glasses on her face. She turned her nose up as Megan ran by, slipped into the meeting room and closed the door behind her.
‘Why are you wearing glasses?’ I asked as she took Megan’s seat, pushing her colleague’s computer and breakfast into the middle of the table.
‘I’ve worn them before,’ she said, turning her phone to silent. ‘I wear glasses.’
She definitely hadn’t, and she definitely didn’t, but I didn’t have the time or the energy to investigate Cici’s weirdness today.
‘Hey guys, can we get started?’ I waved to the team assembled round the table. ‘Lots to get through.’
I was proud of my magazine. I’d come up with the idea for Gloss with the help of my friends – a cool, fun weekly magazine we gave away for free across New York City, and after five years of my literal blood, sweat and tears, it was now a real, live actual thing that was distributed