Page 96 of One Night With You

‘How exactly did you leave it?’ Ollie says, as we walk up the drive to Mum’s.

‘With no formal conclusion,’ I say, ringing the doorbell. ‘She doesn’t want to be with a man having a baby, and thatis obviously very final – but none of this feels like the end. I can’t explain it. It’s like some sort of invisible pull between us.’

‘Does it come from your trousers by any chance?’ Ollie quips, right as Steve opens the door.

‘How do,’ he says, reaching out a hand for us each to shake in turn. ‘Your mum’s just in the kitchen. Come in, lads. You’re letting the cold in.’

Ollie and I dump our duffel bags and kick off our shoes – rule number one growing up: no shoes in the house. We traipse through the front room with our stinking feet and kiss her hello.

‘My two home,’ she says. ‘And it’s not even Christmas. Should I be worried?’

‘Worry about that one,’ I say, pointing at Ollie. ‘He’s being unnervingly considerate.’

Ollie steals a lump of cheese from the block Mum has left out by the grater. She bats his hand away. ‘I’ve been upping my game, Mum, since your eldest is having an illegitimate child and can’t stay in one place for more than five minutes. You need to be proud of one of us, don’t you?’

‘I’m proud of you both,’ Mum says, loyally, but I know she’s still unsure about everything. I think she’s too afraid to be excited – I know she’s going to be an amazing grandmother but it’s like she can’t believe it’s really going to happen. My phone pings.

‘Is that your girlfriend? Or your baby mama?’ Ollie teases, and Mum shoots me a look.

‘Has he got a girlfriend now?’ I hear her asking him, as I focus on what it says. It’s my recruitment agent, asking me to call her.

‘I don’t have a girlfriend, Mum,’ I say. ‘He’s just being anarse. I do have to make a call about a potential job, though. I’ll do it upstairs.’

I move past Steve watching the six o’clock news and sit at the top of the stairs.

‘Nic, hi,’ my recruitment agent Sinead says as she picks up my call. ‘Thanks for getting back to me so fast.’

‘No worries,’ I say. ‘Any news?’

‘Well,’ she says. ‘I just wanted to sound you out about a potential role that is a bit left of the middle.’

‘Says every recruiter ever,’ I joke.

‘I promise you’ll want to hear about this,’ she says. ‘I only get my cash if you stay in the role, remember? So I’m not fobbing you off here.’

‘I trust you, Sinead,’ I say. ‘I’ve heard nothing but great things.’

‘That’s because I’m nothing but great,’ she retorts, and I can hear the smile in her voice as she talks.

‘I’m listening,’ I tell her, and I’m smiling too. Am I flirting with my recruiter? I pull the phone from my ear to see if Ruby has replied. She hasn’t.

‘There’s a year-old company who need a chief financial officer. With everything you’ve said about being willing to sacrifice money for time, but also wanting to do something socially conscious if you can, I think culturally this is a great fit. I know the founders socially, actually, through my husband, and they’re great – but they need a proper money man. They’ve got talent and vision and are attracting great press, but somebody needs to steer the ship, financially speaking. It’s a generous enough package, a four-day week, and they do a lot of remote working too. It’s not all in the office – so for childcare stuff, by the time your daughter starts school, all of that, it’s a good fit for you. They want to meet you. Are you up for it?’

‘I mean, yeah, of course,’ I say. ‘You’ve basically checked off my job requirement wish list.’

‘I really am as good as they say,’ Sinead replies. ‘I’m sending you the details now. It’s thirty days’ notice in current role, correct?’

‘Correct,’ I say.

‘Okay awesome. Check out their profile and I’ll call them now to arrange. Any limitations on your schedule tomorrow?’

‘I can stay flexible,’ I say. ‘That’s fine.’

‘Dream client,’ she says, and I can hear that smile again.

I get a text at 10 p.m. telling me to be in the lobby of one of the central hotels at 8.30 a.m., for an informal meeting with the founders who, Sinead reiterates again, have read my CV and heard all about me and ‘love’ me. I wear my suit, which I almost didn’t bring, and drive myself into town. John and Craig, the founders, are already there when I arrive. They’re about my age, both wearing wedding bands, sat in a corner table with a couple of ring binders and a laptop each. They stand up as they see me approach.

‘Nic?’ and I nod, reaching out a hand. ‘Great to meet you. I’m John, this is Craig. Sit, sit. Do you want coffee? Thanks so much for coming on short notice.’

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