The Forgotten Girl

Lizzie looked at a point somewhere past my ear.

‘Print isn’t working,’ she said.

‘But Mode is an iconic brand,’ I said desperately. ‘It’s been going since the sixties. It was the first ever young women’s glossy. You can’t close it.’

Lizzie still didn’t look me in the eye, but she did at least assume a slightly sympathetic expression.

‘We’d still have the website,’ she said. ‘It’s not ending, it’s just changing. Mode will still exist – just in a different form.’

‘A glossy mag is a treat,’ I said. ‘People will pay for that.’

She shrugged.

‘Would people lose their jobs?’ I asked, suddenly realising this didn’t just affect me.

‘That’s also possible,’ she said.

I put my head in my hands. This was a nightmare. My dream job was collapsing around my ears.

Lizzie took a breath.

‘Fearne, we took you on for a reason,’ she said. ‘You’re a great editor with a good reputation.’

I forced myself to raise my head and smile at her. That was nice to hear.

‘But you’re also known for being cut-throat,’ she carried on. ‘We all know you’re single-minded and determined. That you don’t let anything get in the way of success,’

I nodded slowly. I wasn’t sure I’d use the word ‘cut-throat’ but I was definitely single-minded.

‘We know you won’t let emotions or sentiment get in the way of doing your job.’

Oh.

‘You brought me here to close the magazine?’ I said, as I worked it all out.

Lizzie had the grace to look slightly shame-faced.

‘Well,’ she said. ‘Close it or make it work. Take back some of the sales we’ve lost to Grace.’

I looked at the budget again. With the figures she’d given me it was obvious which option she wanted. I could barely cover the staffing costs with this amount of money – and I had no chance of booking top photographers or paying for big-name writers. It was an impossible task.

‘How long have I got?’ I said. ‘How long do I have to make Mode pay?’

Lizzie looked a bit confused. She’d clearly not considered this.

‘Six months?’

I swallowed.

‘Give me a year,’ I said, wondering how on earth I managed to keep my voice steady when I was so terrified by the task that lay ahead. ‘I need a year to have a proper go at this.’

Lizzie looked at something on the papers in front of her. She rubbed the bridge of her nose and sighed.

‘Nine months?’ she said.

I shrugged.

‘Is that the best you can offer?’ I said. She nodded.

‘So if I can increase sales enough in that time, you’ll let the magazine carry on?’ I said.

Lizzie nodded again.

‘If you can make it work on the new budget, then we’ll reconsider,’ she said, sounding incredulous that I was even thinking about it.

‘Great,’ I said, faking excitement when all I felt was despair. ‘Nine months is more than enough.’

I gathered up my things and stood up, hoping she couldn’t see my legs trembling. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to meet my team now.’

Chapter 2 (#ulink_44d52646-3638-5860-a5ad-cc006214f728)

That may have been a fairly terrible way to start my new job, but as it turned out, Lizzie was a pussycat compared to the rest of the Mode team.

There weren’t many of them – lots of staff had left recently and a few people had gone with the former editor, Sophie, to her new role on a supermarket magazine. The features desk was down two writers, I had no deputy, and the art editor was working out her notice. The words rats and sinking ships crossed my mind, but I dismissed that. I had to make this work. I’d sacrificed a lot for this job.

My office was bare, with a clean desk and a shiny computer. There was no good luck card, or welcoming cup of coffee. In fact, there weren’t even many smiles. I stared round at the stony faces in our planning meeting that morning and wondered if I hadn’t just made a massive mistake.

‘So,’ I said, uber-brightly. ‘What have we got for the next issue?’

I looked at my new features director, whose name I couldn’t quite remember. She was tall and angular with pale skin and fine blonde hair pulled back into a bun – like a ballerina with a bad attitude.

She looked back at me, unsmiling.

‘Veronica?’ I said.

‘Vanessa.’

Shit.

‘Sorry,’ I sang. ‘Vanessa, who’s on the cover this month?’

She named a soap star, Dawn Robin, who was well into her forties and though stylish, nothing like the celebs our readers were interested in.

‘Oh,’ I said, so surprised that manners deserted me. ‘That’s an interesting choice.’

‘It was Sophie’s choice,’ Vanessa said.

I chuckled.