Page 4

Chapter Four

Gemma

An announcement chimes through the airport Tannoy – ‘… flight to Barcelona is now boarding …’ – and there’s a flurry of movement inside the gate: people gathering bags, getting to their feet, patting pockets to check their phones and passports are secure.

I should be one of them. I should be elbowing my way to the front of that queue, actually, because I’m on my way to my best friend’s wedding, and what’s more important or exciting than that?

Instead, I’m stood frozen, phone clutched tight to my face, my boss’s words ringing in my ear. ‘I’m sorry, it’s a bit noisy in here. Do you mind saying that again?’

So she does. And somehow, it isn’t magically different to what she said before. I’m not hallucinating after all. This is real .

They’ve given my promotion to Kayleigh. The one I suggested because we were both taking on more than we ought to, the one I found money in the budget for, the one I presented on and petitioned to make happen.

I didn’t even know they were interviewing for it! They didn’t post a job advert anywhere. I’d made it clear in my pitch for the role how I’d be the best fit, and I thought they’d agreed. So for them to have hired Kayleigh instead …

She had to have gone behind my back and asked them about it.

The perfect job, and they’ve given it to her .

She’s taken everything else from me – and now this, too. The one thing that felt truly mine . I deserved that promotion. I fucking earned it . And she’s taken it.

I wait for my stomach to drop, for tears to flood my eyes, but it never happens – probably because, deep down, I’ve known this was coming all along.

The little side-chats between Kayleigh and our boss Janet, all, ‘Kayleigh, can I just grab a quick minute?’ and the two of them returning to the office with matching Starbucks cups looking all pally while I’ve been chained to my desk and flooded with work she’d begged me to help with. I should’ve known.

‘Does Kayleigh already know about this?’ I ask. She’s been off all week – already in Barcelona luxuriating in the sun before her wedding, but she must know.

There’s a beat before Janet says, ‘We discussed this with her last week. I’m sorry it’s taken us a little while to get back to you—’

‘I was in the office earlier,’ I snap – snarl – because God, I know things are hectic right now but it’s not like she couldn’t have found two minutes to call me on Teams. It’s not like we weren’t both in the same meeting, in person, today.

Clearly, Janet was too much of a coward to tell me to my face, but thought Friday afternoon when I’m headed to the airport was just the right time.

I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d clean forgotten about me and had a last-minute panic because she knew I’d be seeing Kayleigh and should’ve heard the news by now.

I’m seething .

She’s still talking in a gentle, steady cadence, as if to a child.

‘We want you to know how much we appreciate all the work you put into making the case for this role, Gemma. It really showcased your willingness to go above and beyond; maybe if you continue to apply yourself this way there will be future opportunities for progression, but we’ve made our decision … ’

I roll my eyes at the buzzword-filled banality of Janet’s little speech, until she says –

‘And Kayleigh mentioned that you’ve been struggling a lot with your workload lately, which was obvious to us all in your pitch for creating the new position …’

Hang on. She did what?!

‘It just wouldn’t have been the right fit for you at this time. And of course, we’d encourage you to seek out our mental wellbeing services if you find you are a bit burnt out.’

I hiss, ‘I’m burnt out because you keep overloading us with work, which is exactly what I explained when I pitched the need for this new role. I’m more than capable of doing this job and you know it. It’s what I already do—’

I’m interrupted by a gentle, patronising sigh.

‘We appreciate how hard you work, Gemma, but you have a real follow-through problem. It’s been made very clear to us that you struggle to complete tasks and need additional support, which Kayleigh has already proved she provides …’

Now, I’m seeing red.

The airport around me has become a hazy, scarlet blur, and my whole body is vibrating with white-hot fury.

My mind throws up a quick montage of all the times Kayleigh has asked me for help at work, only to take it back at the last minute when her schedule has miraculously cleared.

The work she’s oh-so-kindly suggested helping me with because she has the contacts or the time, and I’m just glad to have something taken off my overflowing plate …

Fuck. She’s Vultured me. Exactly like that arsehole from Brooklyn Nine-Nine. She’s The Vulture .

How didn’t I see it before?

The worst part is that I’ve always known what she’s like, and I still didn’t see it happening. I thought we were just … being collaborative. Helping each other out. Doing what friends do. If I never noticed, how can I expect our boss to?

But I still snap, ‘This is way out of order and you know it. You know I deserve that promotion. You know I put the time in, the effort. So what, just because I’m not the smiley, bubbly one who doesn’t actually get shit done, then—’

The sigh this time is definitely short-tempered. Janet mutters, ‘This is exactly the sort of attitude problem we were concerned about, Gemma … Look, we’ve made our decision. That’s that. Now, enjoy the long weekend away, and we’ll see you back here bright and early Tuesday morning, yes?’

Attitude problem? She thinks I’ve got an attitude problem ?

What the hell has Kayleigh been saying about me behind my back?

I think I say something at least halfway polite before hanging up.

I want to scream. I don’t, obviously, because I think that’s the kind of shit they’ll arrest you for in an airport, but my knuckles go white around the handle of my wheelie carry-on bag, and bile rises in my throat.

I let it happen, ride out this wave of angst and jealousy and (fully justified) righteous indignation, because I’m going to have to bury it way, way down for the next couple of days.

I’ll have to spend the entire time smiling and prettily crying happy tears (I’ve been practising, for the photographs) and gushing over how lovely everything is and how well it’s all come together and what a gorgeous, stunning, lovely, perfect couple the two of them make, being the model maid of honour.

I hope to God some cow has the gall to wear a white dress so I can throw a glass of red wine on her. And picture Kayleigh’s smug face as I do it.

I could blame it all on the promotion she stole from me, but this runs a lot deeper than that.

As I join the shuffle from the gate to the plane, I’m equal parts dread and impatience. Once I’m on that plane, it’s real, it’s all happening. On the other hand, the sooner this is over, the better.

I’ve been sucking it up for months , planning the hen do, going dress shopping and then for fittings, trawling through websites looking for venues and chasing up emails asking for quotes, discussing bouquets and catering …

I spent hours finding the perfect insoles for Kayleigh’s shoes.

Nobody can say I’ve been anything less than an outstanding maid of honour.

As if she’d let me live it down if I’d been anything but.

So I gave it my all, and we both pretended I was happy to do it, and every so often Kayleigh gushed how grateful she was.

I grit my teeth thinking about last weekend, when I took her and Marcus to the airport so they could ‘settle in’ ahead of the wedding. Kayleigh gave me the biggest hug, squeezing tight.

‘You’re the actual best, Gem, love you so much! It’s going to be the most amazing time!’

‘Yeah.’ I wondered if she could hear the tightness in my voice, the edge to my words. ‘So amazing.’

Kayleigh laughed. She tossed her hair as she drew away, and the ends smacked me in the face, and neither of us mentioned it. ‘You have to say that. It was all your idea! I’m just so glad you didn’t mind me borrowing it.’

She beamed at me, and I smiled back, and wanted to punch her in the face. Because she was right: she stole my dream wedding, and I helped her do it.

She’d never even considered a destination wedding before Marcus proposed. She wanted something in the countryside, in summer. But as soon as I mentioned the sunny springtime wedding abroad I’d always pictured for myself – well, that was that.

She’s always had to one-up me.

She got the flat. She got the man. She’s getting the wedding. And now, she’s got the promotion, too.

It’s not fair .

But I’m the only person who seems to see that.

And what was I supposed to do? We’ve been best friends since secondary school, when I moved and was the awkward new girl who didn’t know anybody.

Thick as thieves, practically our entire lives.

My whole friendship group, I adopted from Kayleigh at school – even if I supplanted them quickly as her bestie.

We were housemates for ages, too. We’ve always shared clothes and gossip and a Netflix account, so why not weddings, too?

I shove my bag into the overhead cabin with more force than strictly necessary, the wheels punching the plastic edge with a loud noise that makes a stewardess look over with a raised eyebrow.

She comes over, all smiles, and gestures at the garment bag I’ve dumped on the seats while I put my luggage away. ‘Would you like me to take that for you?’

‘Yes, please.’

Get it out of my sight. Lose it, if you have any compassion at all. Burn it.

‘Special occasion?’

‘Wedding,’ I say through gritted teeth, then remember I’m meant to be happy about it. ‘My best friend’s getting married. That’s my bridesmaid dress.’

‘Oh, how lovely! Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of it.’

‘Thanks so much.’

Don’t trouble yourself, really .

If that frilly turquoise monstrosity just happened to fall on the tarmac and get run over and rained on, it could only be improved.

Also to file under things Kayleigh absolutely knew she was doing: putting me in that grotesque ‘boho classic-romantic’ dress in a colour that does nothing but wash me out, with all its tiered frills, while the other bridesmaids get to wear something sleek and flattering with a cute little ruffle just around the neckline.

I’d have looked better wearing Katherine Heigl’s Bo Peep look from 27 Dresses , honestly.

I settle into my window seat and pull on my headphones, burying myself in my phone. I have some last-minute maid of honour duties to triple-check.

There’s a text waiting on my screen from Kayleigh, from just two minutes ago.

Just checked and looks like your flight is all on time – let’s hope it stays that way with the bad weather coming in!

Wish you’d gotten here yesterday, could have done with you this morning to help deal with the caterers lol, ended up late to my massage because of it. Safe trip hon! See you soooon! xxxxx

I bite my tongue, hard, and feel nothing except the rage boiling in my veins.

Oh, sure, like I should’ve been the one running around arguing with people because Kayleigh pitched a fit, when she had much more important things to do – like get a massage.

Kiss kiss!

I hate her, I hate her, I hate her.

But she’s my best friend. She’s all I’ve got. What else am I supposed to do?

I send back an equally trite text, unable to resist a dig about her massage when I couldn’t get the time off work because we’re in the middle of a project rollout, and open the Photos app.

I stare for a long while at the little thumbnail of the video from the hen do. The one I should’ve deleted.

God, won’t it be such a shame when – if, of course, if – it played during my speech, instead of the adorable slideshow I’ve painstakingly put together?

What a totally diabolical accident that would be.

How totally furious I’d be on her behalf, her staunchest defender, so she could never blame me for being at fault.

God, wouldn’t it feel so good to give her a taste of her own medicine?

Just this once.