Beware of the Boss

‘I mean it,’ Lanie said—and she did. ‘I’m thrilled for her. Very proud of her.’

Her sister was in London, living Lanie’s dream.

No, Sienna’s dream. Lanie’s dream had ended months ago, at the selection trials.

Lanie held her mug in her hands for a few moments, then raised an eyebrow at Bob, who still hovered.

‘It’s the relay tonight,’ Bob said.

‘Uh-huh.’ Lanie took a too-quick sip and the hot liquid stung the roof of her mouth. She pressed her tongue against the slight pain, dismissing it.

Bob didn’t push, but she felt the occasional weight of his gaze as he swept around her. He was a sports nut—pure and simple. Fanatical, actually—he had to be to have recognised her that first morning she’d emerged from her mother’s house. Lanie Smith was far, far from a household name. Sienna Smith—well, that was another story. A story that could be read in the sports pages, in gushing women’s magazines, or even in lads’ mags accompanied by pictures of her in far more revealing bathers than her sister wore at swim-meets.

It didn’t bother her. Her younger sister was suited to the limelight and she deserved it. Lanie was much happier in the shadows and perfectly satisfied with her accomplishments as a world-class relay swimmer. Besides, she certainly didn’t crave the adulation that Sienna seemed to draw like a magnet.

Mostly satisfied. Lanie mentally corrected herself. Mostly satisfied with her accomplishments.

Absently she flicked through the sporting pages, full of photos of winners on podiums.

‘Wish it was you?’

She hadn’t realised Bob had approached her table again, and she glanced up in surprise. ‘Of course not,’ Lanie replied—snapped, really. Immediately she wished she could swallow the words. ‘I’m retired,’ she clarified, more calmly.

He nodded and drifted politely away again—but Lanie didn’t miss the questions, and maybe concern, in his eyes.

She stood and left a handful of coins on the table, trying to ignore how her eyes had started to tingle and squint.

It was the sea breeze.

She slung her bag onto her shoulder and took big, brisk strides to exit the café and get home as quickly as possible.

She’d walked past three huge mansions, heading towards the street where her mother’s small neat cottage was, when something caught her eye.

The glint of sun off a sweaty, perfectly muscled chest.

That man.

He jogged along the footpath on the opposite side of the road. His dog was now on a lead, intermittently gazing up at his owner in adoration.

Lanie felt herself tense, for no reason she could fathom.

She’d slowed her walk, but now she deliberately sped up—back to the pace she’d been before.

She didn’t care about that guy. Didn’t care if he was rude. Didn’t care what he thought of her.

Didn’t care what Bob thought.

Didn’t care what her sister thought. Didn’t care what anyone thought.

She held her head high and walked briskly past. With purpose.

But out of the corner of her eye she couldn’t help but watch the man.

And notice that he paid her absolutely no attention at all.

It was as if she were invisible.

* * *

The knock on Lanie’s front door later that night was not unexpected.

She headed down her narrow hallway, her slippers thudding against the hundred-year-old floorboards.

She flung the door open, and—as expected—behind the fly screen stood Teagan. Her long black hair was swept off her face and semi contained in a messy bun on the top of her head, and her eyes sparkled behind red-framed glasses.

Her oldest friend held up a plastic grocery bag. ‘I have four types of cheese, olives, sundried tomatoes, and something I believe is called quince. The guy at the deli told me it was awesome, but I remain sceptical.’

Teagan bounded up the hall, as comfortable in this house as her own. As kids they’d split their time between their family’s homes, although Teagan’s family had long upgraded and moved on, while Lanie’s mum had quite happily stayed put in the house she’d grown up in.

Lanie watched as Teagan pottered around the kitchen, locating a large wooden board and helping herself to cutlery.

She didn’t bother asking why her friend was here as it was so obvious. Equally obvious was the fact that Teagan had ignored her when she’d politely declined her offer to hang out with her tonight.

‘It’s just another race, Teags,’ she’d told her. ‘I’ll be fine.’

Apparently she’d convinced Teagan about as well as she’d convinced herself.

Soon they’d settled on the rug in front of the TV, red wine in hand, cheese platter set out in front of them.

‘You do know the final isn’t until, like, two a.m.?’ Lanie asked, her legs sprawled out in front of her.

‘That’s what coffee is for,’ Teagan said between sips of wine. ‘Besides, this current job I could do in my sleep. Hardly anyone calls Reception. In fact I’m starting to think they don’t have any customers at all. You know...’ Teagan paused, leaning forward conspiratorially. ‘I reckon it’s possible that it’s all an elaborate front for something dodgy. I’ve always thought that my boss has shifty eyes...’

Lanie laughed out loud as Teagan outlined a typically outlandish theory. More than once Lanie had suspected that Teagan’s preference for temping over a more permanent job was purely to get new material—whether they caught up for coffee, dinner or a drink, it was guaranteed that her friend would have a new story to tell.

As they ate—and polished off the bottle of wine—Lanie flicked from channel to channel of the sports coverage—heats of rowing, horses leaping over huge fences across country, cyclists whizzing around a velodrome.

‘So, have you made a decision?’ Teagan said a while later, her tone much more careful than before.

Lanie shifted uncomfortably. ‘Has my mother been in touch?’

Teagan pulled a face. ‘God, no. And it isn’t like your mum’s not capable of nagging you directly.’

Lanie’s lips quirked unevenly.

Teagan drew her legs up so she sat cross-legged. ‘I was just wondering.’ She paused. ‘Worrying, maybe,’ she added softly.

Lanie found herself biting the inside of her lip. When it happened twice in one day—first Bob, and now her best friend—that look really couldn’t be misinterpreted.