Page 1 of The Book Swap

1

ERIN

They say it takes one moment to change your life. My moment will happen at twelve minutes past three this afternoon, but there’s no way of knowing that when I wake up.

Everything else about this Thursday is the same as any other except for one thing: the date. It’s in my mind before I even open my eyes. It’s heavy on my shoulders as I get dressed for a breakfast meeting, pulling on a long white skirt, light gray T-shirt and leather jacket, while considering every possible reason I could call my boss, Charlotte, and tell her I won’t be going to work today. It stands beside me as I step onto a rush hour tube from Brixton to Oxford Circus and it follows me all the way to the Ivy Brasserie, where I take a seat outside and prepare myself for one of those ridiculous meetings you’re forced to have in PR. The ones where neither of you are allowed to say it’s a meeting, and instead you spend an hour talking about anything but the reason you’re both there, then I pick up the bill, which confirms everything that has gone unsaid. You will feature our Traitor Fashion label in your magazine and say good things about it.

Martha isn’t even one of the worst editors, but lunch drags the way anything would drag today and I’m relieved when she picks up her hot pink spring/summer Jacquemus bag to go.

“You know, the first time I met you, I wasn’t sure if you were cut out for this industry,” she says, smiling down at me, handbag already on her shoulder. It can’t hold much more than a lipstick. “But you’ve got it, Erin. A few more years and Charlotte better watch her back.”

Her eyes are warm as she turns away and I have to wait until she can’t see me anymore before I shudder.

“Ewwwww,” Cassie says, when I relay the story of being compared to Charlotte, once I’ve got to the Traitor head office on Oxford Street. It’s open plan, with over a hundred people sharing the room. Every day I’m grateful that, out of everyone, I was put next to Cassie. Today she’s dressed in rainbow dungarees that look super fashionable on her, but would make me look like a walking tote bag. She opens up her drawer and pulls out a minibag of Haribo, throwing it at me. “Are you okay? Do you need a cold shower? Shall I start calling you Char?” Her clear plastic-rimmed glasses hang off the end of her nose.

“I’ll just scratch all the skin off my body and then I think I’ll be okay.” I put my new-season Traitor handbag onto my chair and open up the Haribo, turning to leave. I’ve got to tidy the whole showroom before my ten-o’clock influencers arrive.

“Fuck it, shall we just quit while we’re ahead? Set up our own thing, do something worthwhile?” Cassie throws it out there, stopping me in my tracks.

I lean my head back and breathe in, imagining it. “The dream. A job that doesn’t suck out your soul. What though?”

Cassie’s bright blue eyes light up, her curly hair dancing. “Okay, stay with me. We could make tiny little outfits for bees, and then—”

Charlotte appears beside me, her nails freshly painted a bright red, and her roots, which were dark yesterday, are blond again. Lucky, given how busy she’s constantly reminding us we are, that she has the spare time for self-care. Probably because she palms most of her work off on us.

“Both of you, less of this chitchat and into the showroom, now.” She leaves, wafting a trail of expensive perfume in our direction as she spins away. Cassie raises her eyebrows as though it’s some exciting mystery, but I know exactly what’s about to happen. As we approach the glass room, I can see everyone else is already in there, waiting. She’s asked the whole team. We’ve got a meeting together in just a few hours’ time; it makes no sense to call another one now.

“Who was the last person in here?” Charlotte asks, her eyes landing on me for a second before scanning across the others. Of course this couldn’t wait.

I swallow. “I was. Alicia Gold could only do 9:00 p.m. last night and I know how much you wanted her, so—”

“And you thought this was an acceptable way to leave it afterward?”

I look around. There are clothes all over the floor. Last night I made the executive decision that rather than work an extra hour overtime, I’d tidy it in my paid hours today, but that’s not exactly something I can say aloud.

“No,” I say, my cheeks turning red as I feel everyone’s eyes on me. They’ll all just be glad that it isn’t one of them. Only Cassie will really care. “I’m sorry. I’ll sort it now.”

“I should hope so. You think anyone’s going to post about us if they see our showroom like this? It’s an embarrassment.” She looks at me with this expression at least once a day. Like I’m something her creepy-looking bald cat, Boris, dragged in. I wait for her to dismiss everyone.

“Cassie,” she says instead. “What do you see that’s wrong with this room?”

I can’t look at Cassie. She has to answer, and I don’t want to make her feel bad. Especially because Charlotte knows we’re friends. She’s chosen her on purpose.

“The...erm...the clothes aren’t hung up.”

“Dominique?”

“Bin is full of cans.”

“Sara?”

“The colors of the clothes are all mixed up.”

My whole body’s shaking with rage. Charlotte knows how late I worked last night. I thought she might finally compliment me on something.

“Francesca?”

“There’s smears on the glass.”