TEN
For every problem I solved at EasterEgg, every moment I felt like a winner, there was always Dylan glaring at me across a conference room to bring me back to earth. At every opportunity, he would make things unpleasant. I asked a question, he’d scowl. I’d sit quietly, and he’d wonder aloud if they were getting their money’s worth. But I wasn’t going to let him win. And sometimes, just sometimes, I’d catch that look before he rearranged his features into something unpleasant, where he looked at me with intrigue, as if he’d forgotten to play his part.
I lived for those moments. But I wasn’t sure what to do with them when I got them.
At one point, whilst Priya was explaining the functionality of the app, my phone rang: Felix. I winced and sent him to voice mail, but Dylan raised an eyebrow.
“Are we having an impact at all, Miss Aresti?”
“Yep, you’re making me think I should have upped my prices for consultation,” I said roughly, before turning back to Priya with a sweet smile. “Sorry about that, could you tell me more about the journaling feature?”
She grinned back. “There is a journal, that’s for notes, but what I’m super proud of is this.” She sent the image up to the whiteboard behind her, a video she’d made using the app. She was scrolling through different words, moving them about and sorting them into piles on the screen.
“It’s like that fridge magnet poetry, you know?” she said. “Sometimes kids find it hard to find the words. And you don’t want to feed them thoughts because they won’t connect, they’ll just latch onto the easiest one that feels the least painful. But this allows them to find the words that resonate and spend a few moments playing, sorting through feelings and images, identifying or categorizing them. It’s calming, but it also makes them feel in control. This tested really well in our demographic as a sweet extra that set us apart. Play is important.”
I tapped my nose and then pointed at her. “That, right there. That’s it. That’s how you pitch it. With that warmth and care and innovation and playfulness.”
Priya looked briefly proud of herself, then sat down.
I caught Dylan watching me, head tilted, and I didn’t pause to give him time to get his next barb in.
“Okay, so we’ve covered features. I’ll make a few notes and send them over. But it’s such a strong product, you should be really proud.” I paused, preparing myself. Time to start bringing in a little more Fixer Upper flavor to this situation. “Seeing as you can’t load it up to the app store and show sales, my recommendation is to find other forms of social proof.”
Dylan ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends. “What does that even mean?”
“It means, Mr. James, get a freaking social media account. I don’t even particularly care which one. Show people are interested in your app, that it fits with what you stand for and what the kids these days are using. You can’t sell a piece of tech without acknowledging how they use their devices.”
“Yeah, you can, because the mental health of both adults and children is significantly damaged by social media.” He crossed his arms and properly glowered at me.
“Maybe so. But they’re going to keep using it, right? It’s their way of feeling connected, less alone. It gives them a road map toward happiness, even if it’s wrong. If you go out there shouting it down, if you make them choose between feeling popular and their own self-care, they’re going to pick popularity. If anything, you should harness it with a share feature to connect communities, show them looking after their mental health is something to be proud of.”
Priya started scribbling furiously, nodding her head, and Ben grinned at me. But Dylan was still scowling. What a shame, he’d always had such a pretty smile. I wanted to say it, just to piss him off even more, but I resisted.
“Treat it as an adventure,” I said, smiling broadly, “try something new and see where it takes you.”
Dylan looked at me in confusion, narrowing his eyes as if he was looking for a hidden message in my choice of words. We stared at each other for a moment, trying to figure each other out. What had I said? Finally, he blinked and shrugged.
“You’re just saying that because you work with Nicki.” It was so close to the truth, in some way, that I gathered up all the energy to argue, but he turned to Ben before I could say anything. “Yesterday she spent ten minutes talking to her fans about what kind of cheese she eats. Who cares?”
I laughed, and he whirled round, glaring at me. “But they did, right? They did care. That’s what drives you nuts.”
“Fifteen thousand people listening to my girlfriend list types of cheese. Fifteen thousand, just commenting with different types of cheese so she could say if she’d eat them or not. What the hell is that?!” He snorted, and I laughed, and for the briefest moment, we were smiling together. Until he met my eyes and stopped abruptly, looking at the floor as that frown reemerged.
“You know why, though, right?” I turned to the others. “Connection. She’s giving them something of herself.”
“Her views on dairy?” Ben laughed.
“It doesn’t matter. She’s consistent, she’s there. She’s sharing something. That’s what a brand is. You can know exactly if something is ‘Nicki’ or not. If she posted up a picture of her bedroom with a dinosaur duvet cover, you’d immediately know she’d been hacked. Consistency gives people something to depend on.”
Priya and Ben nodded, and I turned to see Dylan leaning against one of the desks, legs stretched out in front of him, scanning me. I could feel his eyes on me but couldn’t tell what he was doing. His brow was furrowed but not with that same look of displeasure he seemed to always be giving me these days.
“You know much about giving people something to depend on, Aly?” he asked, and it should have been pointed and sharp, but he just sounded sad.
Something tightened in my chest, so I started packing up my bag and kept my eyes down. What a weird dance this was: He’d press and I’d retreat. He’d back up and I’d push forward again. Always on edge with no one winning.
“Not really. I stay for a while, fix what I need to fix, and then I’m gone and on to the next,” I said lightly, sliding my laptop into my bag and putting it over my shoulder. It was mostly the truth. I walked away before he could say anything else.
—
“Aly, get in here!” Felix yelled across the office as I went in the next morning, and I felt my cheeks color. I carefully placed my jacket over my chair and picked up a notebook.
“Good morning, boss!” I said, cheerful and channeling efficiency as I closed the door behind me. “What do you need?”
“I need you to stop taking days off!” Felix stroked his little mustache and pouted. Felix looked like an actor in a silent film. Unfortunately, he sounded like someone filming one through a foghorn. “You tell me you want this job, you want to step up to the next level, yet you’re not here!”
I wanted to make excuses: I’m sorry, I need to turn my ex–best friend into a Prince Charming for the Kitty Litter Princess or my mother will lose her home. Otherwise I’d be here, promise.
“Felix.” I tried to sound as confident as I had with Dylan the day before. “I haven’t taken time off properly in years. And it’s odd days, I’m not off for weeks!”
“I need you dedicated, I need you hungry. Showing leadership . . .” He tapped his fingers on the table in irritation, eyes on the door. Oh, crap.
I dropped into the seat opposite him. “What happened?”
“Can I trust you with this?”
“If you want me to fix it, sure,” I replied and he didn’t blink at how forthright I was. I was clearly the only one who could fix whatever this issue was. If I wasn’t, it would have already been dealt with.
“The BigScreen account . . .” he started.
“Teddy Bell. He’s coming in next week to talk strategy,” I supplied, trying to keep myself from rolling my eyes. Teddy Bell booked in to talk strategy every quarter, and every time he came in, listened to our presentation, told us it was all a bit too “modern,” and insisted we just carry on doing exactly the same thing we’d been doing for the last ten years. Which was very little.
“I need you to go and talk to him before then. He’s giving a talk at Tech X-Change tomorrow.”
“The same as every year.”
“Probably the same talk as last year, too,” Felix snorted, softening slightly. “I need you to convince him to stay with us.”
“He’s being poached?” I was silently relieved. Letting go of a client with no vision freed us up to do bigger, better things. And make more money. “Maybe it’s for the best.”
“He’s not being poached. And it’s not for the best.” Felix tugged on one side of his mustache, the same side he always did when he was frustrated, which was why he continually looked lopsided. “Teddy Bell is a close friend of the big boss, has been for years. It’s the reason we put up with him. And Teddy is looking for a new firm due to an . . . indiscretion from one of our staff members.”
I frowned in confusion. “Someone propositioned him? Isn’t he in his seventies?”
Felix rolled his eyes. “Not him, his wife. His thirty-six-year-old, very pretty wife.”
I watched as Felix tilted his head to the left of his office, and I almost didn’t need to follow his gaze.
“Hunter.” I sighed.
“He and Teddy play golf sometimes. He became . . . acquainted with Teddy’s wife through the club.”
Ah, to be young, posh, and free of any of the consequences of your actions.
“So send Hunter, make him grovel. The end.”
Felix huffed. “Teddy doesn’t want to see him. But he wants someone on their knees promising him the world and it’ll go down easier if it comes from you.”
“From me? Hunter’s apology should come from me?” I frowned, searching for a logical conclusion. “Because . . . I’ll be his manager?”
Felix grinned at me. “There’s that hunger! Aly, I’ve seen you talk people into things I could never have believed if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. You suggest something, ever so gently, and forty-five minutes later they’re acting like it was their idea all along.”
“So you are paying attention when people steal my ideas?” I asked, eyebrow raised, but he shook his head.
“Not the point. Look, go and get Teddy back onside. You’re great at making people feel important. Take him for dinner, promise him whatever he wants, apologize for us hiring a shithead who can’t keep it in his pants. Just make sure he promises to stay with us. Take it as a task to prove you’re capable of the responsibilities of the new role.”
“So I will be Hunter’s manager?”
Felix held up his hands, and then made a little zipping motion across his mouth. “I guess we’ll have to see, won’t we?”
I gripped the arms of the chair and sat up. “So, just to confirm, you want me to go to Birmingham tomorrow morning, sit through his stupid talk about how great his rapidly failing company is, beg for forgiveness on behalf of Hunter, and flirt with the old guy to make sure he stays in contract?”
“Yes.”
“And what will Hunter be doing while I’m doing all that?”
“Ruminating on his own stupidity.” Felix frowned. “Do it for the job, Aly. Forget Hunter. Do it to prove you can, whilst you’ve got an audience.” He smiled encouragingly, and something flickered within me, a semblance of that fighting spirit, I supposed.
And then an idea sparked.
“I want extra tickets to the conference. And I’m getting a first-class train ticket. And I expect my expenses to cover an incredibly indulgent lunch. With drinks.”
He looked amused and slightly proud. “Whatever you say, kid. You’re the boss.”
Time to push my luck.
“Last thing: I need Tola and Eric with me; they’re leading on a few projects for our other clients who will be there . . .” I started formulating excuses, but Felix waved it away, as if he didn’t have time for me to make the case and win. It was easier just to say yes. Even that felt like success.
As I left Felix’s office, I noticed Matthew hovering, and he tilted his head. “Everything okay? He was in a foul mood this morning.”
I waved it away. As much as Hunter was a thorn in my side, I didn’t want the office gossip to be traced back to me. “It’s fine, I’ve just got to go do a little client retention offsite tomorrow.”
“Can I help at all?” Matthew asked, and I blinked, a little surprised. “I mean, I’d probably just get in the way, but . . . if I can, let me know.”
I nodded. “Thanks, I appreciate it. Were you—” I gestured at Felix’s door. “Were you waiting to go in?”
“No, I was waiting for you, actually.” Matthew scratched the back of his neck, a little embarrassed. “I just wanted to see what you thought of this tagline; the copy guys think it’s perfect, but I’m not sure it’s hitting the right tone . . .”
I looked back over across the office to see Tola raising her eyebrows at me, wondering what the hell was going on. “Do you need it now, Matthew?”
“It’ll just take a second,” he said, thrusting the file in my face and watching me, wide-eyed and anxious. I withheld a sigh, gave in, and scanned the document. I pressed my lips together.
“Try changing it to present tense, see if that gives it more urgency.” I shrugged, handing it back with a smile. “But in general, trust the copywriters. They know what they’re doing.”
Matthew’s smile was so wide that I felt a bit embarrassed for him. “Thanks, Aly! I knew you’d be able to help!”
When I finally made it to my corner of the office, Tola was in my chair. “What’s going on? And could that boy stop looking at you like an adoring puppy? It’s distracting.”
“He’s not adoring, he’s grateful,” I corrected, poking her until she stopped spinning and got up from my seat. “Can you and Eric be free tomorrow to come to Tech X? I’ve got a rubbish assignment and a dastardly plan.” I stroked my chin dramatically.
“Oh, can do, I’m always down for a bit of scheming.”
The next thing I had to do was get Dylan onside. And I didn’t really have time for niceties. I rang his number and didn’t bother with a greeting. “I need you guys to be available tomorrow.”
“Well, obviously we’re only here for your amusement. It’s not as if we—”
I huffed and rolled my eyes, phone in the crook of my neck as I looked up train times on my computer.
“Kill the attitude for a moment, would you?” I sighed. “I’ve got you tickets to the Tech X-Change.”
“The conference?” In his shock, he briefly forgot to be cold.
“Yeah. Birmingham, tomorrow. Can you make it?”
“Wait a second.” I heard muffled voices. “Priya’s gotta see if her parents can watch her kid, but me and Ben can definitely come.”
“Okay, I’ll see you both at Euston Station at nine a.m. Dress the part, you’re going to be networking.”
“I know how to dress, Aly,” he huffed, and if I closed my eyes it was like we were seventeen again.
“Sure. Well . . . I’ll see you then.”
“I guess we’re going on a bit of an adventure,” he said quietly, and I smiled to myself, feeling a little sad. Oh, that’s why he looked like that earlier.
“I haven’t been on an adventure in quite a while,” I replied, barely daring to hope we might have reached an impasse.
Dylan had always had this thing he picked up from his mum, this saying.
Stop what you’re doing, he’d say, and tell me five things you’re excited about today.
“Five Wonderful Things” was what his mum called it. She said that she couldn’t bear to live one day without finding five things to be grateful for. Joyce was great at finding things to delight over: the sound of the wind through the trees, a hug from her son, the cat making her laugh. And if she couldn’t find something, she’d conjure it. A perfect piece of cake, or dancing in the kitchen to her favorite songs.
I had this really clear memory of her asking me, and I just couldn’t answer. My parents had been fighting again, and Mama had been crying, and I was dreading going home. “You can’t think of one thing, pet?” she said. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?”
She drove us out to get ice cream before we’d even had our dinner. “If you can’t think of five things, you’ve gotta take yourself off on an adventure, sweetheart, those are the rules.”
She’d seemed so infinitely cool in her stripy red and white jumper, eating her chocolate ice cream and stealing some of Dylan’s scoop of strawberry. She was like someone who could conjure all the wonderful things out of thin air.
After she died, we didn’t talk about it anymore. Until the day after my dad left. The next morning Dylan called me up and asked me for five wonderful things.
“I can’t think of anything, Dyl. Seriously.”
“Then we’ve got to go on an adventure.”
We jumped on a train to Brighton and spent the day at the seaside, eating candy floss and sticking our toes in the water. We browsed the shops and went to the movies, spent pennies in the arcade and ate burgers on the train home.
“Can you think of five things, Aly?” he’d asked again.
“I can think of a hundred.”
His smile had been unbelievable.
That was who he’d been back then, my instigator. Dragging me along by the hand and refusing to let me be unhappy. He knew I always needed to be busy, to be distracted. That I loved facts and stories, nuggets of trivia. Dylan kept a list in the back pocket of his jeans. I saw it once: True Things for Aly. We had our routines, our sacred rituals, that way that kids know how to look after each other.
When that perfect Brighton day came to an end, and we had to get on the train home, I was dreading it. Dreading walking back into that house and seeing the carnage, and worse, letting him see it. But Dylan was unfazed, as always. He walked me home, poked his head in and saw my mother, a barely coherent lump on the sofa, and then he said, “You and me are gonna cook dinner, Aly. Let’s see what we’ve got to work with.” He opened the fridge, made it a game, and even my mother took a seat at the table, painting on a ghost of a smile as she ate dinner and listened to us talk about our day of adventure. It was like he’d worked magic.
The man on the phone now, making snarky comments about late notice and last minute, who hadn’t even thanked me, he wasn’t the same boy who kept that list of facts in his back pocket. The one who knew exactly the right thing to say.
But maybe that little exhale at the other end of the line was some sort of acknowledgment? Maybe that mention of adventure meant he thought about those moments, too? Shared history was a secret language, and I was surprised to find how much of ours I still remembered.
“Dylan . . .” I started, hopeful, but he cut me off.
“Try not to be late,” he said, suddenly gruff, and I half laughed in outrage.
“I’ve never been late a day in my—”
He hung up.
It’s easier to miss a ghost, to build up these moments and memories into something that has meaning. A history. But when that ghost turns up every day and is so different from how they used to be, it makes you wonder if any of it was ever real at all.