Blame it on the Onesie: A romantic comedy about work, water and wine Read online

  Blame It On The Onesie

  by

  CJ MORROW

  Copyright © C J Morrow 2015

  All Rights Reserved

  All characters, locations and situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover artwork and design © Jenny Tiley and Amy-Rose Mayes

  For Amy, Sophie, Jenny and Chloé – beware sleaze weasels.

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  One

  ‘The thing is, Ella.’ Gwynnie leaned in as though about to share a secret. ‘You earn more than my husband and he’s got a mortgage to pay.’ Gwynnie stood up, moved her Barbie doll body across the room and grasped the door knob, signalling the end of the meeting. ‘It’s just not appropriate,’ she continued, ‘if I give you a pay rise, everyone will want one. And let’s face it; you have had rather a lot of time off.’

  Gwynnie opened the door and waited for Ella to walk through first. Ella squeezed past Gwynnie and the two exchanged gritted-teeth smiles. Ella could see the remnants of Gwynnie’s macrobiotic lunch nestling along her bottom gum line. Good, thought Ella.

  ‘I love these one-to-ones,’ Ella said as they walked back to the main office. ‘Such a good opportunity to get to know each other.’ Ella had given up arguing all the right and just reasons why she should be paid more. Instead she took pleasure in watching Gwynnie stroking her hair flat in an attempt to stop its natural curl winning the frizz battle – a losing battle. Ella allowed herself to delight in that, even though the bile of spite tasted bitter.

  Gwynnie Palmer styled herself on her near namesake, but there the similarities ended. For Gwynnie’s hair was not baby-soft and super-smooth and her body was not boyish and lithe. Behind her back she was known as Barbie and she had all of Barbie’s attributes – an abundant chest, snake hips and overlong legs. But it was her penchant for pink which had probably earned her the nickname – Gwynnie just loved her pink.

  Gwynnie had been Ella’s manager at Gubbins Wholesale Stationery for a whole glorious month now and Ella could still feel her anger rise every time she remembered her first day back in the office. She’d only been away for seven weeks – and five of those were unpaid – and it wasn’t as though she’d been enjoying herself. The timing couldn’t have been worse. There was Ella, confident that she was next in line for the manager job – hadn’t Don Perkins promised it to her more than once – then suddenly he vanished and Gwynnie appeared in Ella’s absence.

  Gwynnie was well ensconced by the time Ella came back, introducing new initiatives almost weekly. Very few of them had anything to do with the actual work – they already had efficient processes for that, a lot of which had been designed by Ella. That was why she fully believed, especially when Don Perkins repeatedly promised her, that she was next in line. And then, while Ella was off nursing her sick mother on her deathbed, Gwynnie was parachuted in from the offsite warehouse and put in charge of the whole office. It made Ella feel sick.

  ‘How did it go?’ Tiffy asked as Ella returned to her desk. Tiffy liked to keep tabs on everybody’s one-to-ones; it allowed her to pass on accurate gossip later as well as keep up-to-date with everybody’s business, even though it had nothing to do with her. She wasn’t a manager; she was the same grade as Ella, though she was paid considerably more. Tiffy was another new face, originally brought in as an agency temp to cover Ella’s absence. She’d been made permanent by Gwynnie as soon as she took over.

  Ella made a mind your own business face at Tiffy. Tiffy made a get stuffed face in return. Ella sat down and pulled her chair up tight to her desk then opened her bottom drawer and reached inside. She rummaged under the smelly, unwashed old cardigan that had been Ruben’s bed – poor Ruben, a great stinky beast of a dog, her mum’s dog, who’d pined away and died in the middle of the funeral tea – he’d died on that cardigan. Ella tightly scrunched the head of the blonde Barbie doll she kept rolled in the cardigan. Ah, that felt better, nothing like a squeeze of Barbie’s head to relieve stress. And did she just imagine Gwynnie wince?

  ‘You all right, Gwynnie?’ Ella smiled mock sympathy over her computer.

  ‘Bit of a head,’ Gwynnie mouthed quietly. ‘Just come on.’

  ‘Ahh, poor you,’ Ella said and pushed the Barbie’s face flat before letting go and closing the drawer.

  ‘God, what’s that smell?’ Tiffy said, her nose up like a sniffer dog.

  ‘Can’t smell anything,’ Ella said, confident that the sweaty dead dog smell had been wafted over the desks by the air-con and was now languishing on Gwynnie and Tiffy’s side.

  ‘Oh, it’s vile. It’s making me feel nauseous.’ Tiffy stood up and looked around for the source, staring across the office before finally giving up and dropping back down. Then Ella twisted the head of the ugly little green rubber troll she kept on her desk. Tiffy Troll.

  ‘Ow,’ Tiffy yelped, rubbing her neck.

  Just coincidence, Ella thought to herself before giving the troll’s nose a quick flick, she saw Tiffy flinch and touch her nose. Pure coincidence.

  The day, like most days in Gubbins now, wore on. Ella wished five pm would hurry up, just like she did every day. What a waste, she thought, I’m just willing my life away – this is no life. She thought about her poor mother who would have given anything for time to pass slowly, to live longer, but cancer had made that impossible. I mustn’t waste my life, I mustn’t, Ella chanted internally. Even if only for my mother’s memory I must make it better.

  Finally it was home time; she switched off her computer and stood up to get her coat.

  ‘Oooh,’ Gwynnie said, suddenly jumping up, she already had her coat on, her bag over her shoulder. ‘I meant to tell everyone, tomorrow is Pink Day. Should be fun.’ With that Gywnnie turned and strutted down the office, her frizzy bob trailing behind her.

  ‘Oh fab. I know just what I’m going to wear,’ Tiffy said, following in Gwynnie’s wake. Ella watched the two of them as they scuttled away, Gwynnie so tall, Tiffy so squat. Barbie and the Troll.

  ‘So Ella, what are you wearing?’ The voice came from behind her and there was a hint of smirk in it. She turned and smirked back at Ben who stood next to Kevin who was also smirking. These two worked at the back of the office, reported to Gwynnie and had already learned how to keep out of her way.

  ‘The trouble with you,’ Kevin said as the three walked out together, ‘is that you challenge her. It’s much easier if you just play along.’

  Ella looked at Ben and Kevin. So far as she could see they pretty much did as they pleased while pretending to do as Gwynnie told them. They laughed behind her back as much as they smiled and nodded to her face, and she hadn’t caught them out yet.

  ‘Yes, well that’s easy for you to say, easy for you to do. She doesn’t understand the inventory or how you control it. She thinks she knows all about my job and tells me frequently how I should do it.’

  They reached the car park; as they parted Ben patted Ella on the back. ‘Ella,’ he said, ‘you’ve had a shit time. Don’t make it any worse by letting her get to you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Ella said and forced a smile. She knew Ben was right,
but it really didn’t help. Ben knew how to play the game, in his mid-thirties he’d been at Gubbins for years, he’d survived several managers, good and bad and he was training his apprentice Kevin to master the same techniques. They were each other’s allies. Ella didn’t have an ally, not in her own office anyway.

  She drove home through the rush hour traffic, cussing at every traffic light, cursing every other motorist. Before her mum’s illness she had enjoyed working at Gubbins and liked the people she worked with – just Don, Kevin and Ben. But now, well now she struggled to force herself out of bed every day. She dreaded walking into the office because no matter how early she arrived, Barbie and the Troll were always already there, watching, keeping tabs. Ella hated the way the whole situation made her feel so angry and bitter. It wasn’t a good way to feel; yet she couldn’t stop it.

  She turned into her street, drove all the way down to the end and back again before struggling into a parking space. Shame it couldn’t have been closer to her home, because just as she got out of her car the heavens opened. Great.

  Once inside her studio apartment – huh, that was a laugh, bedsit with its own shower was a better description – she sat down and wailed.

  ‘What the hell am I going to do?’ she cried through snot and dribbles. Then she glanced around the sorry little room, its miniscule kitchen at one end, the sofa bed at the other and the stack of cardboard boxes in the corner. And that made her wail even more because the contents of those boxes were all that remained of her mother.

  Finally she stood up, grabbed a tissue, blew her nose, pulled herself together, wrestled her phone from the bottom of her handbag.

  Hi hun, you free tonight? xxx she messaged her best friend Samantha who worked in Gubbins HR department.

  The reply came straight back. Hey hun, you okay? Sure. Charlie’s going out. Come at 7 xxx.

  Wine? No. Just for me then. Lol. xxx Ella smiled as she messaged, not just because at four months pregnant Samantha couldn’t drink, but also because she would be glad to see her friend alone.

  Bad day? L Samantha’s next message said.

  Kind of. CUlater. xxx. Ella put the phone down, went to the kitchen end – not a long walk – found a pasta ready meal in her mini-fridge and whacked it in the microwave, simultaneously taking her top off and unbuttoning her trousers. One good thing with such a tiny place – you could do everything at once. Multi-tasking in a mini-world.

  ‘It’s Pink Day again tomorrow, Sam,’ Ella said after they’d exchanged greetings and Samantha had filled Ella in on how she felt and how the baby was growing. Ella felt thrilled for her friend and a little bit envious. They were the same age – twenty-seven – but their lives couldn’t be more different. Sam lived with her husband Charlie in a designer three-bed semi they owned, while Ella lived in a grotty rented studio hovel.

  ‘Pink Day. Oh God, not again. What is that about?’ Sam laughed and sipped on nausea suppressing soda water.

  ‘I don’t know. I really don’t. God knows what she hopes to achieve by it. Even Ben and Kevin have to comply.’

  ‘Want another wine?’ Sam reached for the bottle and started to pour Ella another glass.

  ‘Hey, be careful. Just because you can’t drink doesn’t mean I have to drink for two.’ They both laughed.

  ‘I have to eat for two.’ Sam reached for another marmite twiglet. ‘Can’t get enough of these now. I used to hate marmite.’

  ‘I don’t know what to do.’ Ella sighed and despite her protestations took another gulp of wine. ‘I did think, with my mum dying, that they might have been a bit...’ Ella stopped speaking and caught her breath, ‘kinder. Instead I have to put up with this shit. And her. That job was mine. I’ve worked really hard. I used to love coming to work; now I hate it.’ Ella stifled a sob before continuing. She’d started, so there would be no stopping her now.

  Sam gave her a sideways glance, a little smile of sympathetic encouragement; Ella knew Sam was humouring her, because they both knew it all had to come out, even if it was a repeating loop.

  ‘When I think of all the times I stayed late, all the effort I put in. It just makes me so angry. And sad. It was me who designed the best processes in our office; remember I even got a prize for that?’

  Sam nodded vigorously.

  ‘How many times did Don tell me I was next in line? Dozens, that’s how many.’

  ‘He probably shouldn’t have said that,’ Sam offered.

  Ella shot her a quick look. ‘Don’t use your HR speak on me. Where was I? Then the minute my back’s turned… And they didn’t pay me when I was off; said I should have got a doctor’s note for depression. Two weeks compassionate leave – that’s all they paid me, then five weeks with nothing. I must have worked all those hours twice over during our system change – do you remember?’

  Sam nodded. ‘It’s at the manager’s discretion,’ she said, sounding rather meek.

  ‘No HR speak. No HR defence,’ Ella said a bit too sharply before continuing. ‘And do you know what Gwynnie the Barbie doll said to me? She said that she saved the day when I was off, what with Don leaving so suddenly. Everything was fine when I left, Don was there and everything was normal. Then I’m off, he leaves and it all goes wrong. Anyway, why did he leave so suddenly?’ Ella turned to Sam and waited.

  ‘You know I can’t comment.’

  ‘Huh. Anyway, Barbie tells me that everything was a shambles and she had been brought in to save the day. Bitch. It’s not even true. Nothing has changed, we’re still doing things the way we have been since the new system, yet she claims credit for everything. She actually said I was lucky to still have a job.’ Ella took a deep breath. ‘Do you think I’ve got grounds for a complaint against her?’

  ‘You shouldn’t ask me that. See someone else in HR.’ Sam said, then added quietly, ‘but maybe.’

  ‘Anyway, there’s more. Today I asked for a pay rise. I know it was pushing it a bit, but after Tiffy Troll left her payslip lying around and I saw what she was getting…’ Ella took a big breath. ‘Six grand more than me,’ she said, almost shouting to make the point. ‘And she’s younger and she doesn’t know what she’s doing and she’s only been there five minutes, well... She constantly asks me how to do things. Why is she getting paid more than me? She was an agency temp then suddenly she’s permanent and earning more than me. How can that be right? I’ve been back a month now so I thought what the hell. I asked Barbie for a rise. Do you know what she said?’

  Sam shook her head.

  ‘She said, “you earn more than my husband and he’s got a mortgage to pay.” Can you believe it? Bitch Barbie.’

  Sam made an eek face.

  ‘Do you think I’ve got grounds to make a complaint about that?’

  Sam shrugged her shoulders slowly, looked away, embarrassed.

  ‘I know, I know, you can’t say. Just give me a clue.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Sam said quietly. ‘But you need to think about the long term damage it might do.’

  ‘What to Barbie? I doubt it. She’s flame proof.’

  ‘Not her – you. Your career.’

  ‘Huh, what career?’ Ella took another mouthful of wine, looked at the glass then knocked the rest back. ‘I suppose I’ll have to leave. I can’t see any other way for it. I can’t work with Barbie; she seems to have it in for me. I don’t know why. Bloody Barbie and her pinky-pink-pink days.’

  ‘Careful you don’t call her Barbie to her face,’ Sam said, trying to lighten the mood.

  ‘What, like it’s any worse than her real name – Gwynnie Palmer? She styles herself on Gwyneth Paltrow but that’s a joke, she’s nothing like her.’ Ella poured herself another glass of wine. ‘Her parents must have been psychic to name her after a celeb when the celeb wasn’t even a celeb then. Anyway, Ben and Kevin call her Barbie too.’ Ella drank from her wine glass again; then glanced at Sam.

  ‘Gwynnie isn’t her real name, is it?’ Ella said. Suddenly it had dawned on her; of course it wasn’t her real name.


  Sam shrugged.

  ‘I know, you can’t tell me,’ Ella said, half mockingly. ‘Hey, I’ll do a Derren Brown on you.’

  Sam reared back from her friend and frowned.

  ‘It’ll be fine. I’ll just say a few names and I’ll watch your face for a reaction.’

  ‘No,’ Sam almost shouted. ‘No.’

  ‘You don’t have to react. What I mean is, if I hit on the right name, you’ll give it away without meaning to. You know how Derren Brown can tell…’

  ‘You’re not Derren Brown.’

  ‘Humour me. Does it begin with A?’ Pause. ‘B?’ Pause. ‘Oh, G? Yes, I saw a twitch. It’s G, of course it is. Should have started with G. Obvious really.’

  Sam got up. ‘I need the loo,’ she said, half sighing, half laughing.

  ‘Well, we’ve made progress,’ Ella said, pouring the remainder of the wine into her glass, though it only filled half the glass this time. She made a sad face, then drank the wine in one go. Had she really drunk a whole bottle?

  When Sam returned she was carrying two large glasses of water. She placed them on the coffee table in front of Ella.

  ‘Sit back down; I want to get on with Derren Brown-ing you.’

  Sam sat and nodded at the water. ‘Drink one of those first.’

  Ella harrumphed but downed one, then faced her friend again. ‘Right. Gillian?’ Pause. ‘No. Um, I can’t think of any names beginning with G. Oh, Glenda?’ Pause. ‘No. Gerty?’ They both laughed. ‘I can’t think of any. Griselda? No. Ger, Ger, I can’t think of any. Give me a clue.’

  Sam shook her head and nodded at the other glass of water. Ella picked it up and drank.

  ‘Thought of one, thought of one. Gladys? Oh. Gladys. You twitched. I saw your left eye flare.’

  ‘No it didn’t.’

  ‘It’s Gladys, isn’t it? Gladys. Ha ha ha. Her parents weren’t psychic; they were cruel.’ Ella fell about laughing. ‘Gladys. I love it. Now I need to go to the loo, you’ve made me drink too much water. Gladys. Ha ha ha.’