Page 144 of Good Sisters

I held out my arms for her to snuggle into. ‘Clara, you are only to do what you feel up to. If you decide you want to go, we will organize every detail together and I’ll be by your side every step of the way.’

She pulled back and lay down. ‘I think I will go. I’ll decide for definite tomorrow.’

‘Okay, sweetie.’

I turned her lights down low and left her to sleep on this big decision. I was worried it might be too much. But her relationship with Marco was developing so well and she really did seem to be getting closer to her father, so if she wanted to go, I would support her all the way.

The next day, Zoë arrived late, yet again, for our Tuesday meeting. The other four made it in on time, but not Zoë. I’d been awake half the night researching the best, least stressful and calmest way to get Clara to Italy and worrying about it overwhelming her. Marco was brilliant with her and understood her boundaries, but I wasn’t sure Anna would. I was concerned that she might smother Clara and bring on a big meltdown.

Zoë swanned in, with a barely mumbled ‘Sorry for being late,’ sat down and proceeded to drink her take-out coffee. She was, as always, immaculately dressed in a designer trouser suit with a large Cartier watch sparkling on her arm. Clearly Mummy and Daddy had a lot of cash.

I glared at her.

‘What?’ she asked, as cool as you like.

‘I’m confused. If you were running late, why did you stop for a take-out coffee?’

She giggled. ‘OMG, Louise, if I don’t have my coffee in the morning, I’m a monster.’

‘Why are you late?’ I could feel the other interns tensing.

‘I was awake all night having, like, mini panic attacks, so I slept through my alarm.’

‘What were you panicking about? Being late for work? Shoddy work? A bad attitude to authority?’

Zoë’s eyes narrowed. She placed her coffee down. ‘Actually, Louise, I have some personal issues I’m struggling with right now. My mental health is very fragile.’

‘What issues?’

Her eyes widened. ‘Personal ones that I have no intention of discussing.’

‘What are you doing about it? Are you seeing a therapist? On anti-anxiety medication?’

‘That is none of your business.’ She looked at her fellow workmates for support, but they were all studying their notes with great intensity.

I stood up. ‘Actually, it is my business because your very convenient mental-health issues are affecting my clients, my department and my reputation. So I need to know what you are doing to make sure you begin working to a level that is worthy of my team.’

She stood up and eyeballed me. ‘I am working really hard. I was here until seven last night, wasn’t I, Josh?’

Josh looked up. ‘Uhm, about six thirty, seven.’

I began to clap slowly. ‘Congratulations, Zoë. You didn’t rush out of the door at five, like you usually do. You deserve a promotion.’

‘There’s no need to be a bitch.’

I froze. ‘Excuse me? What did you call me?’

Zoë reddened. ‘You’re being totally unfair and kind of a bully right now.’

A red mist descended on me. I was just so tired of looking at that face lying to me and using mental health to do it. It was wrong and cynical, and I had reached my limit.

Leaning across the table towards her, I roared, ‘I am so sick of your bullshit, your whining and the way you throw mental health around as if it’s a cold. There are people in this office dealing with serious issues, people who have realproblems, but who still manage to make it in on time and do their work. You are an overindulged, entitled, pathetic excuse for a young woman. Your attitude stinks. You don’t have mental-health issues or anxiety. The only things you have are a shoddy attitude, a complete self-obsession and a pathetic attitude to work. It’s disgusting the way you use mental health so casually to excuse being hung-over, lazy or late. You are insulting and demeaning the people, like my own daughter, who truly struggle. You need to take a long, hard look at yourself and figure out if you want to continue going through life being a selfish, self-centred, pathetic excuse for a human being. You will go nowhere and achieve nothing with your attitude. Now get out of my sight and do not come back to this office.’

Zoë’s eyes flashed. ‘How dare you speak to me like that? I’m going straight to HR and, FYI, I recorded your hate speech.’ She waved her phone at me triumphantly.

‘Run along, Zoë. Go and tell HR about your mean boss.’ I kept my voice calm, but my mind was racing. What was the legal position of filming without my consent? Could the recording cause me trouble?

I got an answer to that question very quickly. At midday my assistant, Jenny, came into my office and shut the door behind her.

---