Page 3 of Forever, Never, Always (Forever #2)

Sofia

I take a bite of my pizza slice and close my eyes in delight. Nothing beats a gooey, cheesy slice when you’re hungry. “So, you didn’t enjoy your first day back?” asks Ric.

“You really didn’t need to wash the dishes,” I tell him. “It was next on my list.”

“But now you can eat in peace and not worry. It really isn’t a problem.”

“First day back was different.”

“Different good or different bad?”

I sigh, dropping the slice in the box. “I’ve only been off for twelve months and it feels like the entire place has changed.” I take a drink of water. “I mean, it has changed . . . a lot. I don’t think I like that.”

“It’s a big thing to go back after such a long time off, but I reckon the changes won’t feel so bad once you settle.”

I nod in agreement. “I daren’t call anyone he or she for fear of offending them.”

Ric grins. “It’s a sign of the times for sure. Imagine nine hundred teenagers all feeling the pressures of it. I stick to names, it’s easier.”

“I don’t know anyone’s name,” I mutter.

“But you will, Sofia. It’s like anything new—you just have to find your feet.”

“And Harry was distraught when I returned to collect him. The playroom leader said he’d been unsettled all day.”

“Again, it’s new for him too.”

“I had to cut my hair to escape his clutches this morning.” I stare, waiting for her to laugh, and when she doesn’t, my eyes take in the tuft of hair poking out from the rest. She pats it down again, and I smile, fighting the urge to laugh.

“You can laugh,” she says, shrugging. “I would if it wasn’t me being so pathetic. ”

I place my hand over hers. “I don’t see you as pathetic at all. I see a mother who is struggling to find her feet in the next stage of motherhood. But you will. I promise.”

The following day, I set my alarm an extra thirty minutes early.

I find a cute soft pink trouser suit, which I don’t put on until Harry is fed and ready.

I leave my hair down to hide the hideous chunk I cut yesterday, promising myself that if I can just get through this week, I’ll treat myself to a new haircut.

We get to nursery ten minutes early, and I sit with Harry, reading a book before I hand him over to the room leader. He seems more settled and even offers me a watery smile as I leave.

I glide into the office with five minutes to spare, relaxing as I dump my bag on my desk.

A girl who looks around eighteen bounds over with a huge smile and thrusts a device in my hand. “It’s your music day. Pick anything.”

I stare at the iPad. “Erm, I’d rather skip my day until I settle in.”

Her smile fades like I’ve punched her puppy. “You have to choose. It’s your day.”

I sigh, glancing at the streams of music presented to me. “I’m really not good at this.”

“You can choose anything you like. No judgement.”

I glance at her. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

I sigh again, tapping the search box and typing ‘90’s R n’ B’. I smile, handing it back, and she rushes off. Minutes later, the sounds of Ashanti fill the space, and I smile wider. Maybe this isn’t so bad after all.

It’s almost lunch when I print off an article I’ve written at Dexter’s request about a small author whose book has been picked to be the next big film.

I tap on his office door and enter, freezing when I see the girl who forced me to choose the music selection mounting him like a horny dog.

“Oh,” I say, turning my back on the pair so they can compose themselves.

“You’re supposed to wait until I say enter,” Dexter barks, and I hear the rustle of clothes being straightened.

“Sorry, it’s habit. My old boss was relaxed about entering her office.”

“And she isn’t here anymore,” he spits.

The girl rushes past me to leave, and I finally turn to face Dexter, who looks more than annoyed. “I finished the article,” I tell him, placing it on his desk.

He snatches it up, and I back out. “Wait,” he says firmly, and I stop by the door.

“This is no good.” He slides it back to me.

I frown. “You’ve hardly read it.”

“I’ve seen enough to know it won’t make print.”

“But why?”

He sighs heavily, turning the article back to face him and running his eyes over it. “It’s boring.”

“Boring?”

“Yes. It’s quite clear a . . .” He looks me up and down. “Thirty-something wrote it.”

I scoff at his rudeness. “Thirty-two,” I snap. “Hardly a dinosaur.”

“Yet you chose music from the nineteen hundreds.”

“Late nineteen hundreds,” I correct, “and she said I could have what I wanted . . . no judgement .”

He holds his hands up. “Hey, I’m not judging. I’m just saying that we’re a little more up-to-date these days. Have you even read the book?”

“Of course I haven’t, I only came back yesterday. If that was a requirement, you shouldn’t have given it to me.”

He stares back at the article. “So, how do you know it was dark and gritty in places while still filling the urges of thousands of housewives?”

I blush at my words. I guess it does sound a little cringe. “I read the reviews.”

“We can’t trust reviews, Sofia.”

I shrug. “It’s how we always used to do it.”

“Like I said, things have changed.” He opens his laptop. “Look, I’ll take what you’ve written to Jessie and let her work her magic. She’s read the book. I’ll send you a less complicated task.”

I frown. “I don’t need simple tasks. I can write an article. But if I need to read the books first, give me more time.”

“I’ve emailed you a list of things to do.” He slams his laptop shut. “And by the way, I forgot to mention that we’re less formal these days.” He points to my outfit. “You can leave the powder pink suits at home.”

I swallow the retort on the tip of my tongue and leave the office.

Wanker.

Eric

Samantha Hague has been a royal pain in my backside since the day she started in year nine.

She joined halfway through the year, which didn’t help things, and she’s struggled to make friends, like a lot of girls her age.

Because even when they do find a group, arguments soon ensue, which is why I’m sitting in my office with her right now while she rants and rages.

She paces angrily, her fists balled and her face red, while she reels off the names of all the kids she hates in this school, giving me reasons for each one.

“Have you got many friends, sir?” she eventually asks.

I frown. “Yeah.”

“Really?” she asks, looking surprised.

“This isn’t about me,” I tell her.

She stops pacing. “You’re alright, sir. I guess.”

I smile. “Coming from you, Samantha, it’s a compliment. Now, if you’ve finished your rant and you’re feeling calmer, can you head back to Spanish?”

Meg appears in the doorway, and Samantha grins. “Oh, I see, you need some alone time with Mrs. Headford.” She skips out the room.

“That’s a rumour starting,” says Meg.

“It could be worse—they could say I was shagging Cora from the art department.”

Meg laughs. “Cora is lovely.”

“And at least ninety. I swear she was here when the building was first built.” I lean back in my chair. “What can I do for you?”

“It’s nothing to do with work,” she says, stepping farther in. “Are things okay with Zoe?”

“I think so, why?” Her words cause alarm bells ringing. It’s not often Meg asks me about Zoe because she tries not to involve herself.

“She’s acting odd. I can’t put my finger on it, and I was wondering if you’d noticed too.”

I shake my head. “Actually, it’s probably Sofia you should be worried about.” And then I wince, wondering if I should have said anything.

“Oh god, why?” she asks, taking a seat.

“I called round last night because Harry was screaming the house down. I think she’s really struggling at the moment. She could probably use a friend.”

She smiles slightly. “Seems she’s made one if you’re calling round to check on her.”

I laugh. “Only because her other neighbour commented on Harry crying all the time. I was trying damage limitation by showing him she’s got friends.”

Meg looks hurt. “She does have friends, but when we offer to go over to see her, she arranges to meet somewhere else.”

“Yeah, I think I know why. Maybe call round unannounced?”

Zoe

I clamp my mobile between my shoulder and ear while I unlock the front door to my apartment. “Can we do it tomorrow instead?” I ask.

“No, Ric seems to think she’s struggling.”

“How does he know so much?”

“He popped in to see her last night.”

I frown. He cancelled seeing me last night. “Oh. He never said.”

“I don’t think it was planned or anything. But anyway, can you meet me or not?”

I groan, looking around my nice, clean apartment. I love staying home when the cleaners have been and everything feels fresh. “Fine,” I say on a sigh. “Let me change and I’ll head over.”

I disconnect and hiss when a sharp pain rips through me. I was told to expect heavy bleeding and pain, and I should be resting, but Meg’s already asking me a hundred and one questions, and I don’t want to give her something else to quiz me about.

I change into joggers and a vest then pull my hair into a ponytail and slip a cap on. I feel like crap and look just as bad, and the last thing I want is to bump into anyone I know.

By the time I get to Sofia’s, Meg is already there, sitting in her car. I knock on the window, and she jumps a mile before getting out “Shit, you scared me,” she mutters. Then she looks me up and down. “Okay, who are you and what have you done with Zoe?”

I roll my eyes. “I felt like wearing my comfies.”

“You never wear comfies outside. In fact, I didn’t even think you owned comfies.” She peeks under my cap. “And you’re pale. Have you even got makeup on?”

“Can we concentrate on Sofia, please?” I snap, heading towards her house with Meg following.

I knock on the door, and the familiar sound of Harry screaming begins. “Great. Now, we’ve set him off,” I hiss.

The door swings open and Sofia stares back wide-eyed. “What are you doing here?”

“We wanted to see how you are,” says Meg, smiling brightly.

Sofia scowls. “Are you ill?” she asks me.

I sigh impatiently. “Can we come in or not?”

“Did Eric put you up to this?” she asks, her eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“For goodness sake, Sofia,” I mutter, stepping inside and giving her no choice but to let us in. I freeze as I scan the mess in the living room.

“I was just about to clean up,” she mutters.

Harry is in his highchair covered in food and screaming for attention. Meg goes over, grabbing a discarded pack of wipes and cleaning him up before lifting him from the chair. She gives me a wary look before gently asking, “Why didn’t you call us, Sof? We would have come to help.”

“I’m fine,” she says, her voice high-pitched and wobbly. “Everything is fine.” And then she bursts into tears.

I wrap my arms around her. “It’s clearly not fine at all.”

“It’s just a lot,” she sniffles, “with work and Harry. The house is last on my list.”

“How is work?” I ask.

“Terrible. My new boss hates me. Everyone else is half my age, and I don’t know who the fuck is straight, gay, or pansexual. There’s so much to take in,” she wails.

I arch a brow. “Why do you need to know their sexual orientation?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know, but they all seem to think it’s important.”

I give a small laugh. “Okay, take a breath and start at the beginning.”

“Dexter, my new boss, hates me. He keeps referring to me as Gen Y. I don’t even know if that’s bad.”

I stifle another giggle and sit down, pulling her beside me. “It’s how the Gen Z refer to our age,” I say. “We’re Gen Y because we were born eighties to nineties. Gen Z is the younger generation, the one’s you’re probably working with.”

“I keep getting corrected for using he and she,” she adds.

“Yeah, Gen Z is particularly anal about that. They just want you to accept and respect their pronouns.”

“Dexter said my article was shite.”

Meg sits too, gently patting Harry’s back as he snuggles into her neck. “Dexter sounds like a big twat.”

“He really is,” mutters Sofia sadly. “He wants me to go on a course to ‘update’ my knowledge,” she says, using air quotes. “I’ve been writing articles since I was sixteen years old.”

“Hey, if he’s paying for this course, take it,” I say. “You can never have enough knowledge.” I turn her face to me. “What did you do to your hair?”

She automatically brushes down a sticking up piece, but it springs back up. “Harry was holding onto it when I was running late, so I just cut it. I think it was a mini breakdown.”

I gasp. “We need to sort that,” I say, shaking my head. “You can’t go out like that.”

“Let me take care of bath time,” offers Meg.

“Great. I’ll call my stylist,” I say, standing and ignoring the pain as I pull out my mobile.