even though her line manager had told him she was greatly admired for her research skills, scarily analytical thinking, concise yet comprehensive reports, confident presentation skills, unfailing adherence to deadlines, ability to grasp financial data at a speed not known to normal humans, as well as fascistic attention to detail – rumour has it that a stray or absent comma has yet to be detected
so he was going to make sure the firm promoted her to Associate sooner than most
because she deserved it
so what if she was only interested in spreadsheets and not spreading her legs, although those days have long passed as a way for a woman to get on, quite right too, he said, plunging into tales of the heady hedonism of his stock trading career in the eighties, when boozy lunches ran into ‘gin & tea time’ and from thereon spilled tipsily into the ‘cocktail hour’ before a pack of them trawled West End bars eventually ending up at strip joints
he’d been tamed by middle age, he said
she saw no signs of it as he became progressively inebriated, leery and confessional about his increasingly plasticized wife, who was at risk of becoming more man-made than organic
who put up with his affairs in order to hold on to the lifestyle he offered her, recently buying a fish tank for their conservatory filled with the rarest, ugliest, most expensive fish in the world
what else was she going to spend his money on when she had everything?
and until recently he’s had an indecently juvenile mistress from Lithuania ensconced in his pied à terre in the Barbican, who’d since graduated with a degree in computer science
freeing up space for a third woman in his life, if you’re ever tempted, I mean that body with those brains, he has fantasies, he said, before rushing off to the loo to throw up before he had a chance to divulge them
Carole and Brian greet and exchange pleasantries as they stand opposite each other in the see-through lift that shoots six people at a time in six seconds up to the top floor offices
whereupon Brian turns towards his suite to sit facing a glass wall that overlooks the spires of the City’s gothic churches and the baroque guild halls of the livery companies, including his own
The Worshipful Company of International Bankers
he still wants her, she can tell, the filthy old lech, how dare he talk to her like that, she still got promoted to Associate prematurely, she almost respects him for that, and she recently became a Vice President, one of several hundred in this bank, as opposed to the thousands in others
her mother tells everyone about her daughter the Vice President
as if she’s VP of the United States of America
Carole stops a while and looks out of the glass wall on to the undulating wave of the Millennium Bridge
elegantly slim-line and initially so unstable it closed for two years shortly after opening because no one suspected that so many people crossing it at the same time would begin to walk in lockstep
and the effect, like armies of marching soldiers stamping the ground in sync, created vibrations that caused the bridge to sway
it’s how she sees herself, walking in silent lockstep with the people who are going places
she watches the stream of people crossing the bridge this morning, most of whom are more engaged with their phones, taking selfies, tourist pics, posting, texting, than actually taking in the views either side of the bridge
people have to share everything they do these days, from meals, to nights out, to selfies of themselves half naked in a mirror
the borders between public and private are dissolving
Carole finds it fascinating and appalling, she’s read that one day humans will have a network of nano-electronics integrated into their neural pathways, implanted at the cellular level a month after conception, self-growing, self-repairing
we’ll all be cyborgs, she thinks, primed to behave in socially acceptable ways, instead of primal beings who cannot be so easily controlled
perhaps it will stop vile men raping drunken little girls
(and getting away with it)
perhaps it will stop little girls feeling it’s their fault
(and never telling a soul)
far off in the distance, Carole sees a plane begin its descent into City Airport, probably passing over her childhood estate in Peckham
she wonders what happened to LaTisha, last seen by Carole sticking two fingers up at the school as she exited the doors of the former workhouse at sixteen, they’d been such great friends once – I swear, on my life, this ain’t no joke
LaTisha’s probably a babymother now, or a gang leader, or banged up, or all three
all of Carole’s closest circle of friends are from university, most are high flyers
Marcus, now a great friend after their relationship ended when he returned to Kenya after university, works in wildlife conservation, has a Kenyan wife and mixed-race children, Carole is godmother to their eldest
Rosie is a barrister for Slaughter & May, a Magic Circle law firm; Toby is a management consultant with KPMG, a Big Four auditor; Patricia is completing a PhD in Theoretical Physics; Melanie is an executive at Google UK; and Priya is in training to become a GP
only two of them are straggling behind, Lucy, who doesn’t know what she wants in the long term so takes short-term temping contracts, saves, goes off backpacking like a teenager, returns to England full of stories but her career hasn’t moved on
poor Gerry became a learning mentor in a Middlesbrough school to research the great novel he was going to write about northern working-class boys
seven years later, he’s still there and the novel hasn’t been written
they catch up when they can, individually, as a group, at dinner parties, the occasional wedding, or they decamp for the weekend to Rosie’s parents’ manor where she has the run of the place now since the parents retired to their second home in Barbados
Carole, who took up horse riding there while still a student, considers herself an equestrian these days
she also counts clay-pigeon shooting as a hobby
she looks over at the Tate on the opposite side of the river, where she occasionally wanders the galleries to clear her head during lunchtime (when she takes one), to marvel at the ability of artists to make such mind-blowing creations out of their imagination
imagination
what was that?
does she even have one?
she allows her gaze to travel south along the river path that leads towards the National Theatre, opening an all-female production this very night about black lesbian warriors, according to Freddy, who was probably exaggerating for comic effect
he has tickets, insists she attend, is going to drop by to drag her away to see hot lesbian action on stage and hopefully be turned on enough to entertain the idea of the mythical threesome: two women, one man, you know you want to, Honeycakes
no I flipping well don’t, she replies, laughing
he never fails to amuse her, never fails to be there for her when she wants him, to love her as she wants to be loved
to leave her alone when she needs solitude
Carole has only had two boyfriends, Marcus and Freddy, it’s not that she consciously rejected black men, it was the other way round, they were in short supply at university and those that made it there didn’t generally go for the few dark-skinned black women around
nor in the City brasseries she frequented when single and on the lookout
not that she’s blaming them, it’s what they have to do to get on, to reduce the threat they’re supposed to be to society
one thing she’s learnt is that falling hopelessly, helplessly in love is actually a highly selective process
she was never going to marry a street cleaner, was she?
she met Freddy at a party a couple of years into her job when she was living back home with her mother to save money